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ma-yawntu · 7 months ago

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for you, anything.

pairing: neteyam x female!omatikaya!reader

summary: you're mad at Neteyam for some reason and he's determined to find out why

word count: 2.2k

warnings: mentions of injury and blood, mentions of parent death (father), fluffy, angst (sort of)

now playing... first love/late spring by mitski

Neteyam’s wound was angry and red, his skin raw with jagged cuts. Your skilled hands made quick work of his injuries, cleaning the area with fresh water to avoid infection, but despite your delicacy with his wounds; something was wrong. Neteyam could tell you were angry with him from the way you kept your lips drawn together instead of playfully lecturing him like you normally did. His ears were flat against his head as you worked, your eyes refusing to look up into his despite his obvious desperation for you to give him something– anything.

Neteyam wasn’t sure why you were angry with him, sitting there wracking his brain for possible causes of your turmoil. He knew you worried for him when he attended raids with his father and brother, but you worried for everyone. Unfortunately, it was in your nature to worry. Neteyam thought it was an admirable trait but you saw it was more of a curse.

For you, it was different with Neteyam. The two of you had been close since you were children, being born mere months apart meant you hit almost every milestone together. As children, the two of you were competitive, always pushing harder and harder to be better than the other… of course it was friendly competition. As you grew up though, you found yourself caring more and more about Neteyam as more than a friend. Of course you would never tell him– he was the Olo’eyktan’s son! Future clan leader of the Omatikaya and your best friend. You were absolutely dreaming if you thought anything could ever happen between the two of you.

That logical reasoning didn’t deter your feelings though, the heart unfortunately wants what it wants. Instead of facing the reality of your situation, you buried yourself in work. Work always needed to be done around High Camp. The Sky People closed in more and more every week and their war strategies were only getting bolder.

You worked closely with Kiri and a few other healers under Mo’at, learning to tend to the sick and injured which only seemed to increase tenfold after every war party’s return. You wanted to be out fighting like everyone else– like Neteyam. But Jake would never allow it after you lost your father during a raid; he made Jake promise to never let you out in the field and that’s how you ended up stuck at High Camp working as a healer instead of where you were meant to be.

“You are upset,” Neteyam mumbles after almost half an hour of uninterrupted silence as you run a damp cloth over his cuts and grazes.

“I am not upset,” your tone alone was a dead giveaway that you were kind of upset. Neteyam’s ears flatten against his hair and he curls his lips inward, electing to give you some more time before he starts prying again.

Your shoulders relaxed as your gaze flickered to his face. Neteyam was usually pretty unreadable; a product of his upbringing you assumed. Neteyam took after his mother in almost every way and that woman was terrifying, so it made sense. But you were always able to see through it, you’d grown up learning his tells and habits, you were sure you could understand him better than yourself most of the time.

He seemed hurt by your short attitude with him; you weren’t even sure why you were mad in the first place, maybe it was because you were stressed and unintentionally taking it out on Neteyam. Or maybe it was because he got himself injured again and almost gave you a heart attack when Lo’ak and Jake had to carry him bleeding into the healer’s kelku because he was too injured to walk himself. It was likely a culmination of both things.

Mo’at had originally dealt with him since you, Kiri and the other healers were busy tending to the several other injured warriors. But Mo’at was quickly called away, her expertise needed elsewhere and you were left to clean and stitch Neteyam’s body back together with shaky nervous hands.

You scooped up a heaping of Kiri’s yalna bark salve, applying the waxy substance to the jagged cut you had sewn shut along Neteyam’s chest. He winced at the slight sting, his brows knitting together at the feeling he would never get used to.

“Sorry,” you mutter, spreading the salve along the cut. You weren’t sure if you were apologising for your temper or for putting him in pain– possibly both. Now seeing his face and listening to him wince made your heart hurt and now you felt bad for being sort of mean to him. “I’m… I am not mad at you.”

Neteyam’s gaze lifts to yours and you give him a flicker of your eyes before you’re back to ignoring him and dressing his wounds. Your fingers work diligently to dress the wound but your movements quickly cease when Neteyam’s much larger hand wraps around your thin wrist. You stop what you’re doing and your eyes flicker up to meet him, falling victim to his intense golden eyes.

“Then what is wrong?” His voice is quiet, as if speaking at a normal volume would somehow scare you.

You avert your eyes, a sigh rippling from your chest before you look at him again, heart drumming in your chest. “I was worried, that is all.”

“You always worry,” he doesn’t believe your answer but he is always gentle in his prying.

“Then there is nothing more to say,” you retort, twisting your wrist out of his grip to get back to your work.

Neteyam lets out a defeated sigh, “you know that is not how I meant it,” he cautions.

You know you’re being slightly unreasonable right now. But he simply doesn’t understand what it is like for you to see him like that; to see his limp body be dragged off his ikran, to see him covered in bruises, dirt and dried blood. It’s a horrifying sight to see, especially when it is someone you love and cherish. Yes, you love your best friend; you’re aware of the predicament.

You know that it won’t go anywhere. Sure, you can fight, heal and hold your own but you are nothing exceptional. There are far more pretty and talented Omatikaya women who are basically falling at Neteyam’s feet. You don’t stand a chance, you’re fully aware of that and you’ve tried to make your peace with it.

You almost feel like you have no right to worry over him the way you do. He is not yours and you are not his. You are forced to put on a brave face whenever you’re left to heal his wounds and act like it doesn’t twist your heart seeing him in pain.

You dress Neteyam’s wound and quickly move to gather your materials, completely disinterested in continuing your conversation. Your days at High Camp are never ending and at this point you’re beyond exhausted knowing you still have to clean the kelku top to bottom before you can even think about leaving.

“You need rest, no strenuous exercise or movements for at least a week or you’ll split your stitches,” you sigh, organising your materials back into their original places around the kelku.

Neteyam’s eyes follow your body as you move around, still unconvinced by your behaviour and determined to get to the bottom of it before he leaves you alone for the night. He hates seeing you upset, it hurts him when he can’t fix things for you but it hurts even more you might be upset with him.

Neteyam groans and winces as he stands up, his hand coming to clutch his side. You spin on your heel and let out a noise of frustration, “Neteyam, I’m serious.” You’re at his side in a second, your hands clutching his shoulder and arm to help him sit back down; he’s much heavier and taller than he was when the two of you dragged each other around as kids, you notice.

You allow him to get comfortable before you attempt to leave his side only for him to grab your arm, forcing you to stop. You peek over your shoulder and he looks so upset and your heart twists at the mere sight.

“Talk to me,” Neteyam mutters, his eyes wide and pleading.

You frown and sigh, relaxing in his grasp and letting him just hold your forearm for a moment. Your eyes meet his and you just crack under the overwhelming presence that is Neteyam. You feel tears welling up in your eyes, your jaw aching painfully as you attempt to hold back the flood that swirls around inside you.

“Don’t cry,” Neteyam coos, using his other hand to pull you closer and wipe your tears with the rough pad of his thumb.

You sniffle and wipe your wet face with the back of your hand, eyes averting upward to will the tears to sink back down where they belong. You don’t know why you’re crying. You’re worried, angry, tired, frustrated; everything one person under immense pressure can feel.

Neteyam waits for you to calm down, his chest aching watching you heave and sniffle, your tears betraying you as they slip down your cheeks faster than he can catch them. His hands are holding yours, his thumbs stroking over the backs of your hands to help ground you. And he just watches you, afraid to take his eyes off you as if you’ll disappear.

“I’m fine,” your voice comes out slightly broken and Neteyam just frowns.

“You’re crying,” Neteyam retorts.

You avert your eyes again. “Seriously, Neteyam. I’m just tired.”

“Please, sevin–”

“I worry about you!” You say rather loudly. Neteyam’s mouth presses closed and all he can do is wait with bated breath for you to continue. You sigh, eyes still glassy with tears, “I do not worry about you in the same way I worry about everyone else, Neteyam… You have to know that.”

He has to know how you feel by now, surely he is not that dense– then again, you’ve known him for a long time and he can be very dense (a trait courtesy of his father you assume).

His brows are knitted together in a mixture of both confusion and worry as he stares at you, attempting to decipher what it is you’re trying to tell him. Neteyam has always felt something for you, how could he not? But he was so sure the two of you had grown apart because of your equally strenuous responsibilities.

“When I watch you leave,” you start, your voice slightly shaking. “I just… I never know if you’re going to come back.”

Neteyam sighs, his hand reaching out to hold the side of your face, “I will always come back.”

“My father didn’t, Neteyam,” you reply, eyes falling shut as you will yourself to stop crying, knowing how much seeing you upset hurts Neteyam. Neteyam falters at your words and sighs sadly, his larger hand holding your jaw gently. Your lip quivers as you open your mouth to speak, another tear slipping down your cheek, “I… I cannot lose someone else, ‘Teyam.”

Neteyam feels his chest tighten at the sight of your sadness. “Sevin…”

“I cannot lose someone else that I love,” you whisper, your thumb stroking the back of Neteyam’s wrist. Your gaze finally meets his and your eyes are glossed with tears as the stress and anxiety pours out of you right in front of him.

Neteyam’s heart pounds in his chest, he knows you love him, you’re his best friend. But you’ve never said it with such sincerity before. You’ve always been special to him, the only person who seemed to understand who Neteyam was outside of being the Olo’eyktan’s son. He’s always loved you, how could he not? But it was in this moment that he realised how desperate he was to keep you.

Neteyam’s thumb strokes along your cheekbone and you let out a soft breath, completely drowning in the golden hues of his kind eyes. And without thinking, your body surges forward, your eyes falling shut as you plant your lips firmly against his.

Your hands find purchase on the nape of his neck as you force his much taller frame down to meet you halfway. Neteyam’s free hand lands on the lower section of your ribs, his body stiff at the sudden contact. But the kiss is over as soon as it starts and you pull away, your face flushing and eyes blowing wide as you realise your actions.

“Shit,” you curse. “I’m… Neteyam, I’m sorry I didn’t mean to–”

Neteyam is quick to shut you up when his hands reach out to cup your face and he kisses you again. His kiss is softer than yours, far more gentle than the awkward peck moments ago. He breathes hard against your lips between kisses, his body suddenly crippled with the urge to keep you close.

Your smaller hand holds his cheek, careful to avoid the small cut along his cheekbone. You smile giddily against him and he pulls away to smile back at you, his thumb gently wiping away the last of your tears.

“Now you really have to come back,” you whisper.

Neteyam smiles, “For you, anything.”

a/n: i know it's short but it's cute!!

#avatar #atwow #avatar way of water #avatar x reader #atwow x reader #avatar the way of water x reader #neteyam x reader #neteyam #neteyam x y/n #neteyam x you #neteyam sully #neteyam te suli tsyeyk'itan #neteyam fluff

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maeve-rose · 3 months ago

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I came out the day after the election

and I did not do it with grace. I did not do it softly. I did not do it kindly. But I did it because I could no longer stand by and be a quiet/acceptable gay when the next generation was watching their future burn.

I came out to my mother in an awful in-your-face. I-dare-you-to-be-a-bigot way. Because I could. Because for the first time in my life I am free of having anyone relying on me.

I came out to my family. Because I watch as half my niblings have come out to me and are terrified as my siblings spout anti-gay rhetoric. I came out to my family and hope I paved the way for those young eyes who are watching their parents closely to gauge their reaction. The way I once watched my parents reacting to Ellen coming out and knew it was not safe.

I came out the day after the election to a family that voted for Trump.

I came out angry that I will be attending more funerals.

I came out feral and biting.

I did not come out gracefully.

I did not come out kindly.

I did not come out softly or quietly or acceptably*probably not a word*

I will be gay out loud.

For me

For those who would not be safe if they came out

We forget pride is not about love.

Pride is a bloody fight for survival against those who would be happy to watch us burn.

I came out

And I am not apologizing.

#transgender #lgbt pride #asexual #asexuality #lgbtqia

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oh-my-damn · 11 months ago

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Reverie

Pairing: Astarion x f!Tav/reader

Summary: You wake up to your lover having a nightmare. You do your best to soothe him afterwards, but Astarion knows the perfect way to distract himself from it, and it includes having your naked body under his – among other things.

Wordcount: 5500

Warnings: Angst (regarding nightmares/Cazador), fluff (including cute nicknames for Astarion 🥹), smut (fingering, piv, unprotected sex, dirtytalk, explicit sexual descriptions, breeding kink, blood/blood drinking).

Masterlist

You jolt awake at the sudden movement against you, your mind alert and ready to face danger even if you were just hauled out of sleep.

Your wide eyes search the dark room for any threats, rapidly moving over the space until you realize no one is there.

But then there is another movement next to you, this time followed by yelling.

"No.. No! NO! Don't-please!"

You look to your right to find your lover tussled up in the sheets, his eyes firmly closed while he thrashes, his yelling intensifying.

"Please! NO!" Astarion yells again, making your heartbeat spike, your hands quickly finding his bare shoulders to offer him comfort.

He's asleep, clearly embedded in a nightmare that's causing him horrors you could only dare imagine, given his history. You keep your voice low and soothing to your best ability, your hands gentle when you stroke them up and down his arms.

"Stari, baby, wake up. You're safe. Wake up."

He doesn't react, instead tossing his head from side to side as he screams again. Your heart breaks at the terrified look on his sleeping face, your touches turning more determined to try and wake him.

"Astarion, hey. Wake up baby, you're having a nightmare, wake-"

He suddenly jolts awake, his wide, crimson eyes finding you in a panic, his breathing ragged. His cold fingers wrap around your wrist, and it takes a moment before he realizes who is touching him.

"Shh, it's just me, you're okay baby. You were having a nightmare."

His panicked eyes bounce between yours, a beat passing before he breathes in heavily, almost like he was suffocating under the pressure. His fingers stay wrapped around your wrist, but the touch turns more desperate than panicked, like he needs to touch you to ensure you're real.

"Shh," you coo, letting your hand run through his hair to soothe him, "It's okay, you're okay. You were having a bad dream, but you're okay."

He lets out a small sob, and then he suddenly wraps his arms around you. You let out an oopmf when he pulls you down to him, hiding his face in your neck, one of your hands continuing to caress his hair while the other strokes his arm.

You gently shush him, doing your best to help him calm down, and he gradually does, although he elects to stay quiet.

After a while, he calms more, allowing you to gently shift him around. You move to lie down on your back, pulling him with you, his face still buried in your neck while his arms wrap around your waist in an iron-tight grip.

He moves slightly to allow himself to lie on top of you, holding you close, and you wrap your legs around his waist to make the new position more comfortable for both of you. Your fingers gently move down his back, careful as they move over the scarring there, occasionally running up over his shoulders and the back of his neck.

You let him take his time, deeply breathing in your scent as your warmth envelopes him, his cold lips brushing over the skin on your neck occasionally.

You let your fingers travel up into his hair, carefully playing with his curls, and when you feel he's mostly calm you quietly whisper, "Do you want to talk about it?"

"No. I'd just like to hold you a little longer, please."

His response is immediate, making you nod and wrap yourself tighter around him. He hums at the feeling, nuzzling his face into your neck while your fingers scratch his scalp.

"Okay, my love. Take your time. Do you want me to talk or stay quiet in the meantime?"

"Talk," he murmurs against your skin, "Your voice always helps."

You hum, smiling softly while you continue caressing him as if he was the most precious, delicate thing in the world – which to you, he truly is.

"In that case, do you want to hear about the time Gale almost consumed my favorite pair of boots?"

Astarion pauses, then huffs out against your neck, "That oaf would eat anything even remotely magical."

You chuckle, shaking your head, "That's the thing, they weren't even magical, he just figured they were."

Astarion snorts against your neck, and then he finally leans back to look down at you with an amused smile, "Are you telling me Gale almost consumed a pair of your normal boots for no reason at all?"

You smile up at him, reaching up to cup his cheek in your hand while you nod, "Mhm, and they were an old, dirty pair, too. I almost let him do it but I didn't want to be mean."

"How'd he get them if they weren't magical? Why would you give them to him?"

"He tried to steal them," you muse, and that makes Astarion chuckle, that beautiful smile of his finally returning to his face.

"You should have let him eat them, my love."

You grin up at your lover, and he mirrors it, his crimson eyes taking in the features of your face.

"I knew you'd say that."

He chuckles again, and then he leans down, his soft lips meeting yours in a gentle kiss. He pulls back for a moment, but then he leans back down, kissing you more intensely this time. His lips move over yours languidly, like he's relishing in it, his lips careful and sweet against your own.

You let him control the pace, kissing him back with the same fervor, and then your stomach does a flip when he whispers against your lips, "I love you. Thank you for being mine."

You smile into the kiss, your thumb caressing his cheek, "Always."

Astarion hums at your reply, his lips moving over yours with more determination, his tongue swiping at the seam of your lips. You part them for him, granting his tongue access to your own, and he lets out a rumbling groan in response.

Your fingers slide back to curl in his hair, letting the soft locks envelop your digits before you lightly pull on it, earning another groan from him.

When his lips travel down your jaw to your neck, however, you let out a small chuckle, "Star."

He only hums, his lips lightly sucking on your neck while his tongue darts out occasionally to soothe your skin. You can feel a noticeable hardness growing between the two of you, pulling a breathy gasp from your parted lips when his hips grind down into yours.

"Astarion.. Are you trying to distract me so I won't ask about your nightmare?"

Astarion pauses, a moment passes before his lips latch on to your skin again. Then you feel something sharp and pointy pressing against your neck, scraping over it teasingly.

"Mmh, why on earth would you think that?"

"Because I know you," you snort, but it's becoming more and more difficult to remember why you're protesting when he presses himself against you again, his cock rubbing against your covered core. Your legs tighten around his waist in response, eliciting an amused chuckle from him.

"How about I make you a deal," he murmurs, his tongue swiping over your pulsepoint while his hips start to slowly move, rubbing his covered length against you, "You indulge me now, and I'll tell you all of my innermost secrets after. How's that sound?"

He starts grinding more determinedly, his clothed cock rubbing on your core in a way that makes your toes curl. You only manage to breathe out your words, halfway to a moan before you finish speaking, "Deal."

"Good girl," he hums, making your stomach flutter, and when you feel his fangs nip at your skin again you muse, "Are you hungry or horny, hm?"

"How about both?" He replies, his words followed by another groan when you tilt your hips up to rub against him, his breath catching before he whispers against your skin, "Will you let me have a nibble, my treasure? Just a little one, if you'll allow it – you just taste so sweet, you feel so warm and soft.. I can't resist."

You smile at his words, your fingers tugging on his hair again while your head tilts to the side, presenting the curve of your neck to him, "I'm all yours, you know that."

Your words earn you a few gentle kisses, his voice soft when he whispers, "I do. Just like you know that all of me belongs to you."

You gasp when he sinks his teeth into your neck, your skin stinging when it splits from the pressure. Astarion moans, latching on while his hips start moving more eagerly against you, his clothed cock pressing firmly into your core.

You moan in turn, feeling delirious at the combination of him drinking from you while the feel of his cock turns you into a needy mess, your fingers tightening in his hair.

Astarion drinks from you for a few seconds longer before he gently licks over the spot, his bite turning into delicate kisses instead. He licks his lips, kissing his way up your neck to your jaw, and then his lips brush over your ear when he whispers, "Would you like to know what I want, my darling?"

"Yes," you breathe out, a shiver running down your spine from the desire laced in his voice, "Tell me, please."

"Mmh," he hums in approval, one cool hand sliding down your side, his fingers brushing the side of your breast. Then it wanders back up, and you keen when his palm cups your breast through your nightdress, your back arching in response.

"I want to be inside you," he whispers in your ear, his deft fingers finding your hardened nipple through the fabric, "Gods, how I miss being inside you. It's been far too long, don't you think, my sweet?"

You moan out your words, your mind turning hazy, "You.. Oh gods, you were inside me this morning."

"I know," he purrs in your ear, his fingers squeezing the hard peak, "It's been far too long."

He buries his face in your neck as his hands travel down your sides, finding the hem of your nightdress. His slender fingers curl in the fabric before he starts lifting your dress up, sliding it up over your ass and hips. Then he leans back on his haunches, his crimson eyes watching as his hands reveal more of your skin to him, a smug smile painting his lips when he sees the panties covering you. You're wearing a new pair you found at Facemaker's; thin lacy material, more skimpy than your usual findings at the boutique, and you bought them specifically hoping that he would enjoy how they barely cover anything.

"Cute," he muses, fingers inching under the waistband, "All for me?"

You nod, letting out a breathless giggle when his touch tickles your sensitive skin, your eyes meeting his when they lift to watch your face. Then his expression turns more serious, one perfect brow arching.

"You know what I need," he says quietly, his lust-haze temporarily forgotten, "May I make love to you, my darling? I won't do anything further if you don't want to, but please take into account that I am dying to get inside you right now."

For Astarion, the most sacred part of your relationship was the constant reassurance and consent you both cherished from one another. It was the most important element, and something he took extremely seriously. Even after being together for years, he still wanted to hear you say, out loud, that you wanted to be with him before he took it too far.

You nod, smiling softly as your hand travels up his arm reassuringly, "Yes Astarion, I'd like you to make love to me. Please."

His lips lift in a smirk, and then his fingers curl in the waistband of your panties, "As you wish, my love."

His gaze drops to your lace covered core, his deft fingers inching their way underneath, but when his eyes flick back up to look at you, he frowns slightly, as if he is offended at suddenly noticing that your upper half is still covered by the nightdress you went to bed in.

Then he tuts, his fingers changing direction. Instead of moving south, they slide up your stomach, pushing the fabric up as they go.

His touch is cool on your skin, as it always is, raising goosebumps in its wake. You've learned to enjoy and crave the chill that comes with his touch, it feels like being electrified – like you're not truly alive until you feel the coolness of his fingers on you.

Astarion pushes the dress up to your stomach, pausing once he has the fabric bunched up right below your breasts. Then his eyes flick to meet yours momentarily before they move back to watch as he slowly unveils your breasts, a rumbling sound at the back of his throat when they bounce once he pushes the fabric over the plush mounds.

He releases a breath, his face dropping to your stomach before he nuzzles his way upwards, his lips moving over your skin. Then his tongue darts out when he reaches your breasts, licking over one until he finds a hardened nipple. He flicks it teasingly, then wraps his lips around it with purpose, sucking and nippling on the peak with another groan.

You keen, arching your back while your hands fly to his hair, shivering when you feel his cold fingers finding your other nipple to play with it in tandem. You squirm a little on the bed, grinding your hips upwards, your voice breathless, "Oh gods, your tongue is like the sweetest sin."

Astarion chuckles softly against your skin, he loves spending time worshipping your breasts – in fact, he loves worshipping every single inch of you – and you know that too.

He cups the plush mounds in his hands, pushing them together to better smother his face in them, moaning at how warm and firm yet soft they feel against his face.

You help him out by removing your nightdress completely, pulling it over your head to let him have free roam over your body.

His lips and teeth pull on one nipple while his fingers do the same to the other one, his large palms massaging the flesh greedily.

Your hips start squirming more insistently, your fingers back to pull on his hair as you let out a whimper, "Stari, please.."

"Please what, love?" He muses, experimentally biting down a little harder on your nipple before he switches to the other one, his fingers taking over the work on your now spit-covered peak, "Please continue or please more, hm?"

"More," you gasp, lifting your hips needily against him, crying out when he sucks and bites on your other nipple, "More, more, please, more."

Astarion hums, his lips staying firmly latched on your nipple while his hands travel down your waist again, finding the lacy fabric covering you.

His fingers hook in the waistband, and then he starts dragging them down over your hips and ass, groaning in annoyance when he needs to pull away from you to get them fully off. He sits back up, yanking them the rest of the way off you before he finally has you fully naked, his scarlet gaze dragging over your naked form.

"Finally, just as the gods intended for me to have you," he murmurs, his palms wrapping around your inner thighs. He spreads your legs wide, his piercing gaze on your soaked core, "Naked and writhing desperately, so needy to give yourself to me, isn't that right, my treasure?"

His gaze flits up to meet yours, making you nod, "Yes, I need you, please."

He grunts softly at your needy tone, his hands leaving your thighs to pull at his own underwear, now desperate to feel your skin against his without any barrier between you.

He quickly drags them down, his erection springing free and slapping against his stomach when his large cock is revealed to you. It never seizes to amaze you, the sheer size of him, and even after years of being together, you're still not used to how deeply he manages to fill you each and every time. His cock is thick, veins adorning the girth of him while the pink mushroom tip always steals the breath from your lungs.

It surprised you, at first, that his cock still had some coloring to it considering every other part of him is pale because of the vampirism. Astarion explained that it has to do with the very healthy bloodflow steadily streaming through it, and that had made you giggle at the time, because he made a point of telling you that it happened very frequently, especially whenever he is around you, and assured you that you had absolutely nothing to worry about in that department. Showoff.

It wasn't long after that you became obsessed with worshipping his cock, feeling how hard and heavy he would be on your tongue, his taste became an aphrodisiac to you. You've spent many hours tasting him, worshipping every part of him, not just his cock but his sack too, so heavy and somehow warm despite the usual coldness of his body.

Something else that fascinated you was how hard he could manage to get. Depending on what you'd do, it seemed like he would get harder, thicker, especially if he had been drinking from you. He loves drinking from you while being intimate, and you love it too, it feels like connecting on an entirely different level.

You're pulled out of your reverie when his fingers find your core, pressing against your wet folds and dragging down the slit of you. Astarions gaze is lustful when his eyes connect with yours, taking in how your breath hitches when his fingers brush over your sensitive button, and swipes down to experimentally press against your entrance.

He watches, taking in how your jaw goes slack and your back arches when he slowly pushes one thick digit inside you, a groan bubbling up inside him at how wet and warm you feel. And tight, so fucking tight, always squeezing him so snuggly it makes him want to bury himself in you and stay there forever.

You let out a moan when a second finger joins the first, the stretch delicious and welcome. He loves how you always spread your thighs a little wider on instinct, it's your body's invitation for him to ravish you however he pleases, and he adores that you succumb to him so easily, giving your entire being to him without restraint.

It's part of the reason he fell in love with you so quickly. After being used to holding back for centuries because he had to give himself to people he didn't truly want, it was fascinating to be with someone who so freely gave themselves to him, and only him. It made him feel things, the way you'd become so compliant and submissive even, how trusting you were from the very first moment he first touched your naked form.

His fingers set a slow pace, dragging out and then in again, while he leans over your body, his free arm caging you in. Your eyes meet his when his face leans over yours, his lips brushing over your own as you both moan in unison at the way your walls squeeze his fingers. He increases the pace, pumping them inside you quicker, his body covering yours while he fucks you with his fingers.

Your hands slide up his chest, curling around his neck, dragging him down to connect your lips in a wanton kiss when you can no longer hold back from feeling him against you.

Astarion moans into the kiss, his fingers moving quicker now, and then he catches you by surprise when he adds another finger, stretching you more to prepare you for him.

You whimper at the stretch at first, but his tongue swipes into your mouth to soothe you, and soon you're both moaning heavily while your tongues dance around each other.

"Need to be inside you," he suddenly whispers, his words tinged with desperation, "I need it. Now."

You barely have time to process his words before his fingers leave you, but it only takes a moment until you feel his cock prod at your entrance, pushing inside you slowly. Your hands grip his shoulders at the intrusion, his thick tip stretching you out, your breaths mixing as he pants into your mouth when he slowly enters you.

"Oh gods," you moan, tilting your hips slightly to grant him better access to slide home, "You're so big, you feel so good.."

"I know, sweet pet, but you can take it," Astarion whispers, leaning down to brush his lips over your ear, "I know you love how well I stretch you out, you're so tight, my love. You're gripping me so perfectly, I wish I could spend the rest of my life buried inside this sweet cunt."

His crude words make you moan, he always becomes more daring once he feels your walls around his cock, it's like a trigger going off in his brain, and you adore it. It turns you on beyond belief.

He pushes further inside, your hole stretching to welcome him, and then he lets out a deep, satisfied growl once he's finally fully sheathed inside you, buried to the hilt.

"There we go," he murmurs, pressing gentle kisses to your neck and up your jaw, "I'm finally where I belong, hm? Can't believe I have to spend all day doing other things when I could be right here."

He punctuates his words by grinding his hips into yours, reaching depths beyond even your wildest imagination. Your hands grip his shoulders harder, another moan ripped from your lips.

"I'm going to take my time, stretching you out," he murmurs, nipping on your earlobe with his teeth, "And then, I'm going to fill you up so deeply, you'll be dripping and soaked when I'm done. Would you like that, my darling? Would you like to be so full of me you can think of nothing but how every single part of you belongs to me?"

You whine in response, his tone taunting yet somehow still adoring, and the contrast makes your head swim. Your walls clamp down on his cock, forcing a deep growl out of him, his scarlet eyes narrowing, watching your face intently. You hold eye contact, your lips parting in a breathy moan when he pulls out ever so slightly only to thrust back inside, still waiting for your reply.

"I asked you a question, sweet pet. I said, would you like that?"

He pulls out and thrusts back inside just as you're about to reply, making you keen and stammer out, "Y-yes, I would-I would like that Astarion, please!"

"There she is," he whispers, pulling his hips back until only the tip is resting inside you before he snaps forward, filling you to the brink. "There's my good girl."

He sets off an intense pace, his strokes deep and hard, but the look on his face is loving. His eyes stay locked on you, watching the way your brows furrow in pleasure, your body flushing warm.

When your fingers pull on his hair he leans his chest to yours and tucks his face in your neck with a moan, his hands sliding down to grip your hips. His fingers dig into the flesh as he lifts your ass off the bed, giving him momentum to rut into you harder and faster.

You wail at the new angle, his thick tip rubbing over that spongey spot inside you, throwing your head back and baring your neck for him as you cry out.

Astarion growls in response, he can tell he found the spot that makes you unravel, his lips brushing over your skin as he husks out, "That's it, sing for me, sweetheart. Your moans are my favorite melody."

Then he sinks his fangs into your neck again, and the pain mixed with the way he's fucking you brings you to the edge and forces you to topple over it eagerly.

Your orgasm rips through you, causing you to tighten around his length while you cry out loudly, your fingers tugging on his hair roughly.

He grunts against your neck, licking over your sore spot, his voice restrained, "Fuck - your pussy is begging to be filled, the way you're milking me right now. Your body is just begging for me, begging to be stuffed, begging for me to fucking breed you."

You gasp, shivering when you hear the feral edge to his voice. The two of you have played this game before, it's one of Astarion's favorites. For some reason the idea of knocking you up makes him incredibly hard, and it does inexplicable things to you as well, even though you both know the odds of it ever happening are basically zero.

You whimper at his words, shuddering under him while you ride out your orgasm, his thrusts turning deeper, rougher, the tone of his voice possessive when he hisses in your ear, "Gods, just the thought of you, round with my baby, the thought of you being mine so thoroughly. I dream of it, you know. Dream of starting a family, watching you carry our child."

You gasp, your back arching while your hands slide down his back to embrace him, his thrusts turning sloppier. You can feel his panting breath against your ear, his voice turning ragged.

"I wish - oh gods, I want that more than anything," he moans, his lips dragging up your neck and over your jaw before they meet your own. You moan, kissing him deeply while he ruts into you, his own release nearing.

His fingers dig into your skin, his hips rolling against yours to reach as deep as possible, and then he presses his forehead to yours while his eyes hold your own captive, "I'm going to come inside you, my love. There's nowhere else for me, is there? I belong here, just like this – we belong like this. Joined together, in every sense of the word, forever. Isn't that right, baby?"

You whine and nod, tears starting to form in your eyes at the pleasure. Astarion chuckles breathlessly, reaching up to cup your cheek but his fingers quickly travel into your hair to tangle in it, "Fuck, oh gods, I'm-I'm close, you feel so good sweetheart, I can't-"

He lets out a deep, rumbling groan when he pushes his hips flush against yours, his warmth flooding your insides. You moan in turn at the feeling, your entire body overstimulated from pleasure.

Astarion doesn't stop, though; he keeps fucking you, slowly, sloppily, breathing out heavily against your lips while he fucks his spend deeper inside you, "Gotta fill you properly, don't I, my sweet? Can't let any of it go to waste, hm?"

You shake your head in response, whimpering softly at the sensitivity when he pumps into you a few more times, his moans deep and breathless.

He slows down, his hips eventually coming to a halt, releasing a deep breath before he tucks his face into your neck. He doesn't pull out, though – he remains buried inside you, another thing you know he thoroughly enjoys. You wrap yourself around him, holding onto him tightly while you both catch your breath and relish in the feel of each other.

Astarion breathes in deeply, inhaling your scent like he so often does, but when he speaks his voice is quiet, more solemn, "It was about you."

Your brows furrow slightly, your hazy mind trying to make sense of his words while he's still filling you. Your fingers dance up his back and into his hair, burying them in his soft curls, "What was about me, my love?"

"The nightmare," he whispers, "It was about you."

That makes you pause. Your frown turns more worried, concern lacing your voice, "What happened?"

"It.." Astarion hesitates, pulling his face out of your neck to look down at you. Then he gently cups your cheek, his thumb stroking your bottom lip, "We were back at the palace, with Cazador. And he.. He took you."

You blink, your eyes searching his scarlet ones, the emotion flooding his face and making your heart ache. You let your fingers move through his hair soothingly, tilting your cheek into his touch.

"What do you mean he took me, Star?"

"For himself. I was.. I was back, being his.. His puppet, his slave. I couldn't resist his hold. And I brought you there, and then he.. He took you, turned you into one of them. It felt like every piece of me was breaking apart, it was so real, so vivid; all I could do was scream and weep as he drained your life and turned you into yet another of his spawn."

You hesitate, unsure what to reply. Astarion has had nightmares before, they usually get worse this time of year – around the anniversary of the day you defeated Cazador. But he rarely wants to talk about them in depth, usually he just needs you close.

Knowing his screaming was because of what was happening to you and not himself breaks your heart even more.

You reach up to cup his face in your hands, letting your thumbs gently stroke his cheeks. His eyes glisten, the sadness you've unforunately seen before covering his features.

You keep your voice a gentle whisper, your eyes not straying from his, "It wasn't real, Stari. I'm right here - we're right here, together. Just as we will be, forever. I'm okay, we're both okay. He can't hurt you anymore."

"I know," Astarion sighs softly, breaking eye contact to study your face, "I know he can't, even with the nightmares, somehow I'm always sure that it's not real. But this time it wasn't me he was hurting, it was you, because he knew.. He knew that would be the greatest way to harm me, the only way to keep me under his command. He knew I would never be able to leave you, or risk him hurting you. He knew you'd become my biggest weakness, and he took advantage of that."

"It wasn't real, baby," you whisper, tilting your head a little until his eyes meet yours again, "I'm so sorry these nightmares still haunt you, but he can't hurt you anymore. He can't hurt us."

"Part of it was real, though," he whispers hesitantly, searching your eyes, "The part about me not being able to ever leave. That part is real. If he.. If he was still a threat, if he was still alive, that's exactly what would happen. I could never leave you, I don't know if I could survive knowing he was hurting you. I would want to stay under his control for eternity if it meant I at least would get to be near you, with you."

You tear up, your mind conflicted - this is not atypical for Astarion. That a beautiful confession of love comes as a result of pain, but it's part of why you love him. You know every single declaration from him has been true, because he always makes them when he's at his most vulnerable.

You smile softly, caressing his cheeks, "I would endure any form of torture he could throw at me if it meant I'd get to spend my life with you in it, however that may be."

Astarion cracks a small smile, leaning his forehead on yours, "I never thought I would have this. I never thought I would fall in love, be happy like this. I never thought I would find someone I knew I would sacrifice anything for at a moments notice."

"Me neither," you murmur, letting your hands slide into his hair to the back of his neck, "I would do anything for you, Astarion. There is not a thing in this world I wouldn't do to make you happy."

"I would burn the entire world for you, my love," he whispers, his voice gravelly and serious, "I would walk through the nine hells, I would face any devil or deity to ensure your safety. To ensure you'd stay with me, forever. No one will ever take you from me."

Your smile widens, your cheeks flushing at his serious tone. You lean up to plant a quick kiss on his lips, and then you whisper, "The feelings mutual, you know. You're not going anywhere."

Astarion lets out a surprised chuckle, kissing you gently. When he leans down to tuck his face into your neck again, you let out a content sigh, "Although the nine hells sound like a big adventure, I think I'd rather stay here, wrapped around you for a while longer. Do you think burning the world down can wait?"

Astarion hums teasingly, kissing your neck, "Hmm, fine, you've convinced me. Burning the world can wait. At least for a little while."

#bg3 fanfic #astarion ancunin #astarion smut #astarion x female reader #astarion x f!tav #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #astarion x mc #bg3 fanfiction #baldur's gate 3 smut #bg3 smut #astarion fanfic #astarion fluff #astarion angst #astarion romance #bg3 astarion #bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #astarion

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deliciousangelfestival · 4 months ago

Text

The Imperfect Couple - 5

Character: politician!Bucky x ex-wife!reader

Summary: A separated couple must pretend to be happily married while the husband runs for Vice President, dealing with old issues and political pressures during his election campaign.

Warning: The couple's arguments could be triggering.

Chapter 1 , Chapter 2 , Chapter 3 , Chapter 4 , Chapter 5, Chapter 6 , Chapter 7 , Chapter 8 , Chapter 9 , Chapter 10 , Chapter 11 , Chapter 12 , Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist || If you enjoy my work, please consider buying me a coffee on Ko-fi 🙏🏻

Thank you to everyone who has read this chapter. Leave a comment and Reblog, please. I'd love to hear your thoughts. ❤️

You were deep in conversation with Greg, discussing the next move, when suddenly, you were called to Steve’s office. As you entered, you noticed Steve and Bucky sitting with serious expressions.

“What?” you asked, feeling a twinge of anxiety as both men locked eyes on you the moment you walked in.

Steve exchanged a glance with Bucky before he spoke up. "We found a comment that mentioned our divorce," Bucky said, his voice low.

“Oh,” you replied, crossing your arms defensively. “Does it also mention how you kidnapped me?”

Bucky chuckled, a small smile playing on his lips. “The things I’d do to bring you home.”

You rolled your eyes, refusing to be swayed by his charm.

“When we separated, did you ever tell anyone about our divorce?” Bucky’s tone grew more serious as he leaned forward, searching your eyes for the truth.

“Me?” You raised an eyebrow, the memory of Caroline’s threat flashing in your mind. “Did you forget that your mother threatened me not to tell anyone?”

The tension in the room thickened as you spoke. Caroline had made it clear she didn’t want the divorce to be public knowledge. She wanted you as far away from Bucky as possible, and she had the power to make it happen.

You’d learned quickly that fighting her was futile. Every news station and newspaper in the country had mysteriously closed their doors to you after the separation, leaving you with no choice but to pursue a career as an independent international journalist.

“That woman is ambitious as hell,” you muttered under your breath. Caroline’s wealth and connections were unmatched, and she wasn’t afraid to use them. She had even used Julius’s money to secure people who would do her bidding. Once you left the country, it seemed she lost interest in you, allowing you to continue your work in relative peace.

Working alone as a journalist in foreign countries had its challenges, but it also opened your eyes to the world. You found purpose in being a voice for the unfortunate, using your platform to shed light on the truth. Along the way, you met new friends, formed new connections, but you never let slip the truth about your marriage or divorce. The scars left on your heart were too deep, and the thought of trusting another man terrified you.

'What’s the point of having a husband if he can’t protect and defend me? you thought bitterly, the pain still fresh.

But perhaps, in a moment of vulnerability, you’d let a clue slip. You couldn’t lie to fellow journalists; they had a way of sensing the truth.

“What about your family?” you shot back, narrowing your eyes at Bucky. “Don’t just point fingers at me.”

For Bucky, the divorce was never acknowledged. He even burned the documents in the fireplace, a secret known only to him and God.

His parents, especially Caroline, were too embarrassed to admit their golden child had been divorced, while Julius, who never agreed with the divorce in the first place, remained silent.

Shawn, his oldest brother, was too high to care, and Hazel never bothered with such matters.

“It wasn’t my side either,” Bucky said, his voice steady as he locked eyes with you.

“Suit yourself,” you replied, your tone laced with a mixture of defiance and resignation.

“Sooner or later, the person who wrote it will show up,” Bucky added, his voice calm but carrying a cold edge.

“How can you be so sure?” you asked, a flicker of unease crossing your face.

Bucky merely shrugged, a dangerous glint in his eyes. “If they take too long, I’ll use my way to find them.”

A chill ran down your spine at his words, the threat lingering in the air. You knew what he was capable of, and the thought of him resorting to his methods sent a shiver of fear through you.

Steve, sensing the tension, stepped in, patting Bucky’s shoulder in a calming gesture. “Let the cyber team do their job. We don’t need you taking any extreme measures, especially with the convention so close.”

Steve understood Bucky better than most. While Bucky might present a soft, composed exterior, inside he was a beast—a man unafraid to take risks, to do whatever it took, especially when it came to you. The lengths he would go to protect what was his were both terrifying and awe-inspiring.

But Steve also knew the stakes. If the truth got out—that the future Vice President’s family, particularly Bucky's mother, had abused his wife to the point of divorce, and that the wife, thought to be widowed, had been kidnapped before the election—it would destroy the perfect image the Barnes family had worked so hard to maintain.

And it wouldn’t just affect Bucky; it would drag you down with him.

It would be the scandal of the century.

That’s why, before it could escalate, they had to find the source.

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

The Barnes family gathered in the opulent conference room, tension crackling in the air like a live wire. Everyone was present, except for Shawn, who, as usual, was nowhere to be found.

Greg stood at the head of the table, flipping through his notes. “Well, after the Rogers family makes their appearance, it’s time for the Barnes to take the stage.”

“Of course,” Caroline chimed in, her voice sharp with authority. “All of us need to be up there.”

“Me too?” you asked, directing your question to Greg.

“Yes,” Bucky interjected before Greg could respond. “We’ve prepared the ramp for Tim’s wheelchair.”

Before you could even register the thoughtfulness behind Bucky’s statement, Caroline’s voice sliced through the room, dripping with venom. “No. It will ruin the balance. Everyone else can stand on their feet. While…”

“You know what? I hope you die and rot in hell!” you snapped, your voice ringing with years of pent-up anger.

The room froze, every head snapping in your direction. Caroline’s eyes widened in disbelief, her mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. “Did… Did you hear that? She cursed me!”

You didn’t back down, the rage pouring out of you like a dam breaking. “So you’d rather parade your cocaine-addicted son who crashed his car and killed someone than show my brother who, despite losing a leg, works tirelessly from nine to five?”

Caroline was too stunned to reply, her face draining of color. Bucky, though usually stoic, couldn’t keep the anger from his voice. “You’re out of line, Mom. Tim is her only family left.”

Hazel, normally indifferent, nodded in agreement. “This time, I’m with them.”

Caroline, her voice trembling with indignation, shot back, “Is this how you treat your own mother?”

“No, Carol,” Julius said, his voice cold and cutting, “this is what we call karma.”

Bucky’s jaw tightened as he fought to control the emotions boiling beneath the surface. “She’s been in the same position as you,” he said, a lump forming in his throat as memories of his mother’s cruelty resurfaced. “You only felt that sting for three minutes, but my wife endured it for years.”

Caroline’s eyes narrowed, her fury now directed squarely at you. Her face flushed with rage, and you could almost see the steam rising from her ears. “So what? You want me to apologize?”

You met her gaze without flinching, your voice icy. “No. I don’t need your apology. It wouldn’t be enough to cover the pain I’ve suffered because of you. And honestly? I’d feel relieved if you died. If someone could confirm you’re burning in hell, it’d be the best news I’ve heard in years.”

Caroline, still believing she was the true victim, stormed out of the room, her heels clicking angrily on the marble floor. Julius and Hazel exchanged a glance before following her, leaving a tense silence in their wake.

Bucky watched them go, his fists clenched at his sides. He turned to you, his eyes searching yours for any sign of what you were feeling. “Are you okay?” he asked, his voice softening for the first time that day.

You shook your head, the adrenaline still pumping through your veins. “I don’t know. It felt good to finally say what I’ve been holding in, but it doesn’t erase everything she’s done.”

Bucky nodded, stepping closer to you. “You shouldn’t have had to go through that alone. I should’ve stood up for you sooner.”

You looked up at him, the tension between you both palpable. “It’s too late for regrets, Bucky. We’ve both been through hell. The only thing that matters now is what we do next.”

He reached out, taking your hand in his. “Then let’s make sure this doesn’t break us.”

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

Before the convention starts, the air buzzes with the anticipation of the event. As you stand in the corner of the vast convention hall, adjusting your outfit, a familiar voice calls out your name. You turn and see Ian, the British journalist you’ve met a few times before. His tousled hair and easy smile make him stand out in the crowd.

“Ian!” you greet him, a genuine smile spreading across your face. “What are you doing here?”

Ian chuckles, clearly pleased to see you. “I’m here to cover the election, of course. But, honestly, I jumped at the chance to come because I knew you’d be here.”

You laugh softly, shaking your head. “So, you flew all the way out here just for me?”

He grins, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “My boss didn’t believe me when I said I knew you. I had to show him a picture of us together just to convince him.”

You laugh again, feeling the warmth of his presence. “Well, I’m glad you made it. It’s been a while.”

As you and Ian catch up, the conversation flows easily, your shared ideas and interests making the time fly by. He tells you about his latest assignments, and you share some of your recent experiences. The banter between you is light and effortless, the kind that comes naturally with someone you’re comfortable with.

But then, you sense a shift in the air, and before you can react, Bucky appears at your side. He’s polite, as always, his smile perfectly in place, but you can sense the underlying tension in his posture. His eyes dart between you and Ian, and although he doesn’t say it, you know he’s not thrilled about the easy rapport between you and the British journalist.

“Hi,” Bucky says, his voice calm but laced with something you can’t quite place. “I didn’t mean to interrupt. Just thought I’d come by and check in.”

Ian extends his hand to Bucky with a friendly smile. “Ian, nice to meet you.”

Bucky shakes his hand, his grip a bit firmer than necessary. “Likewise. I’ve heard a bit about you.”

There’s a brief, almost imperceptible moment of silence, where you can feel Bucky’s eyes on you. His polite smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes, and you can tell he’s itching to separate you from Ian.

“Well,” Ian says, oblivious to the tension, “I should get going. Need to find my spot before the chaos begins.” He turns to you, his smile warm and genuine. “Let’s catch up properly after this?”

You nod, still smiling. “Definitely. See you around, Ian.”

As Ian walks away, Bucky’s gaze follows him, his jaw tightening slightly. Once Ian is out of sight, Bucky’s shoulders relax, but only a fraction. He turns to you, his expression unreadable.

“You two seem close,” Bucky says, his voice carefully neutral, but you don’t miss the hint of something more beneath the surface.

“We’ve met a few times,” you reply casually, though you can sense Bucky’s unease.

He nods, but his eyes narrow slightly, as if something about Ian doesn’t sit right with him. Deep down, Bucky’s instincts are on high alert. There’s something about Ian—something he can’t quite put his finger on—that doesn’t add up. And as much as he tries to push it aside, the feeling gnaws at him, making him wonder if Ian’s presence here is as innocent as it seems.

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siempre-bucky · 7 months ago

Text

not a senator.

Qimir x Senator!Reader

Summary: On the run after a failed assassination attempt, you run into a peculiar apothecary owner

WC: 1.7k

Warnings: Mentions of blood

A/N: For the Anon that requested a senator!reader meet cute <3

You weren’t sure how long you’d been running through the outskirts of Olega, it felt like as soon as you left your ship you were being followed, hunted. The branches of the trees rustled in warning, and the whispers of threats danced along your ears. You picked up the bottom of your cloak, the last thing tethering you to your former self, and ran. It was a gift from the Senator elected before you, a soft navy blue velvet with matching metallic fiber woven into seams. You treated it as a reminder of who you once were.

The state of exhaustion had set in, hunger squeezed your stomach, but the adrenaline kept you going.

Get to safety, get far from here, the terrified guard told you in the dead of night, an assassin lying dead at the foot of your bed in a pool of crimson that glowed in the bright lights of the Courscant nightlife outside the large windows of your room. It was an assassination attempt, a group of assassins hired by political rivals to remove you from the Senate—permanently. Supposedly, it was an era of peace but you soon learned how fleeting peace was.

“Get the Senator!” a man seethed, pointing his knife in your direction as you disappeared into the bustling crowd of the marketplace, his other hand had the collar of his henchman clenched tightly in his fist, pulling the man in with a look of sudden fear in his eyes. The market had made good cover so far, the people of the planet were barely paying any attention to you running for your life. They went about their business, loitering on rust ridden buildings and eagerly bartering for goods.

You heard someone mention an apothecary as you passed them. Your eyes hastily searched for it, just make it there. There’d be plenty of places to hide inside. You slid the dirty red door open and walked inside cautiously, the patrons paying no mind as you stepped through the doorway. Your eyes scanned the apothecary noting that it was a rather small place. A few people examined the various items on the shelves while a couple of others stood by the window beside you. It was a mess, you thought as you caught your breath.

In front of you, stood a tall slender man behind the small counter. He paid you no mind as his eyes narrowed at the glowing yellow tile in the center of the counter, his hands tinkering with some broken parts that illuminated in the small light. You thought he was peculiar, the way he watched his work so intensely.

“In there,” you heard the same voices from earlier shouting from the other side of the window, “check in there.”

You were out of time to make a getaway, and in this small space, you didn’t have many hiding options. Taking in the lack of hiding spots, you ran towards the apothecary's owner, jumping and sliding behind the counter, his scraps falling in all directions with various clinking sounds.

The man looked down at you with wide eyes and a shocked expression while you made yourself as small as you could, bringing your knees to your chest and pressing your back to the counter, your shoulders hunched over. Panic was setting in. “Hello,” he said lightly, clinging the two metal bottles in his hands together. If you weren’t so scared, you would have thought he was handsome this close up. Cheekbones carved especially by the Maker and disheveled black hair that covered his dark brown eyes. He was beautiful and in desperate need of a good shower. His loose but tattered green and brown clothes made him fit in with the rest of the place, a little dirty and run down.

“There are men trying to kill me out there. Please don’t let them find me!” you pleaded with him, skipping the pleasantries. He just stared at you blankly, and you assumed he already made up his mind. This was the way that the galaxy worked, you were too sheltered on your home planet and then sent to Coruscant where it was no better in the Senate. Things weren't perfect, people were not good like Jedi Masters told you they were.

He smirked playfully down at you, “Was that a pickup line?” he asked with a chuckle. Your face fell, lips falling to an annoyed grimace.

“Maker,” you cursed, accepting your fate The door was suddenly ripped from its hinges, the earth-shattering thunk caught everyone's attention. You jumped, clasping your hands over your mouth to muffle any kind of fearful cry.

The man looked at you and then back to the two burly men who barreled into his apothecary. They strolled up to the bar with confidence, the owner's eyes fixated on them. “Hello!” he greeted with the same light tone, “how can I help you?”

The taller of the two bounty hunters leaned on the bar, his eyes narrowed. “We’re looking for a Senator,” he informed plainly, “Got a high price on that pretty head— we could cut you in for any relevant information.” The man pulled a hologram from his pocket and placed it on the table, turning it on. The owner looked at your official portrait that was slowly rotating in front of him and narrowed his eyes, he was taking it all in. He probably thought you looked more put together in the photo than you do now. Dirt covering your cheeks, strands of hair stuck to your sweaty forehead.

He chuckled, “You sound a little desperate if you’re offering a cut to someone like me.”

You looked up at him worriedly, you could see how his jaw clenched but his body remained light at his tone of voice. Your heart pounded against your chest, the men were about to offer a large sum and the owner was about to take it, you were sure of it.

The bounty hunter snarled, but the other man stood still and held his ground. “I should have your head for that.”

The man put his hands on the counter and nonchalantly turned off the hologram. His face was stone, unreadable as he continued to make eye contact with the bounty hunter. They stared at each other in silence, the background noise of the apothecary began to get increasingly louder in your ears. It was almost deafening, the clanking of jars and whirling of mechanical tools screamed at you. You moved your hands from your lips and slid them up towards your ears.

But you stopped when the bounty hunters began to speak lifelessly, almost as if he was in a trance

“There is no Senator here, we will leave,” the bounty hunters spoke in unison, reaching into their pockets and retrieving two brown sacks of credits. The owner smiled as they placed it on the counter and exited without another word.

You waited until you heard their footsteps fade to cautiously rise from the floor, your eyes frantically scanning the room to make sure it was safe. “They left,” you breathed as if it was the first time.

“See,” he beamed, “Not so bad.” He took the two sacks in one hand, and your shaky one in the other. Your eyes met as he put the bags in your hand, “This should probably be enough to get you started if you choose to stay.”

He let go and made his way to the back entrance, leaving you there staring at the bags in pure shock, “Thank you-,” you whispered before swiftly following him to the back alley. It suddenly dawned on you that you didn't know his name, he saved your life and you didn’t even ask.

“Qimir!” he called back as if he knew what you were thinking. Strange.

You followed close behind him, but once you started to think, your steps became slower and separated the two of you. How was he able to change their minds so quickly, they were dead set on killing you. They were bounty hunters, the most relentless creatures in the galaxy.

You paused, clenching the two bags in your hands tighter. “How’d you get them to leave like that?” You asked sternly, the Senator in you coming out. “Are you—” you paused. You had only seen methods like that from a select few, “—Jedi?”

He stopped, blood running cold in his veins. You saw how his body tensed up then he stood up straight, pushing back his greasy hair, the strands falling perfectly into place. Qimir slowly turned to you and everything abruptly seemed off. His face was no longer filled with meek eagerness, he was secure and held himself with such poise. A whole shift in personality you noted. He slowly strode over, his eyes darkening as he moved. His whole presence felt dark.

A chill ran down your spine as he approached you. Was he about to kill you?

“Quite the opposite, Senator,” he spoke lowly with a slight rasp to his tone, his head tilting to the side, looking up at you. Another chill went through you.

His face was so close you could see every freckle on his face, every shade of brown in his eyes.

You heard the stories of those who practiced the ways of the Force outside the Jedi Order, they had a name but you couldn’t recall what it was. The Council didn’t like to talk about them, another senator you became acquainted with once said they didn’t mention it purposely for it would “dampen the era of peace in the galaxy.” You were too busy staring at the man in front of you, unsure if you wanted to run or kiss him, “N-not a Senator,” you swallowed, you couldn't call yourself that any longer.

“‘I’ll make you a deal.” You nodded. “Tell no one of what happened here,” and I’ll spare your life, “and anything in the apothecary is yours for free.”

You smirked, “Deal,” you said, taking a step back and holding out your hand, “Thank you again, Qimir.” Qimir nodded and shook your hand, his skin tingling at the sensation of your hand in his. Was this desire? He pulled away and began to walk back towards the apothecary, before he reached the door he looked at you with a smirk on his chiseled face, “You’re quite welcome, Senator. I hope to see you soon.”

#qimir x reader #qimir #the acolyte #star wars

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dog-park-dissidents · 3 months ago

Note

i don't know what to do

First of all, stay alive.

Second of all, be fucking obnoxious. Do not let this unqueer you. Hiding and moderating didn't do shit so go absolutely feral. They think you shouldn't even exist? Fuck it, fisting is SFW now and rotate through a new unpronounceable neopronoun every time someone even slightly misgenders you. They want you to fucking die so live each day like it's your last and stop giving a shit.

Third of all, STAY ALIVE, DO NOT ACTUALLY DIE, specifically do not do it to yourself, ever. You will be okay. And if they want to murder you let them do it with their own shitty little hands, not yours.

Anyway. Take a deep breath and realize that we don't know how bad things are actually going to get. These people are terrifying but they are NOT smart. They have spent the past four years brooding and scheming and making it look like they were coming up with some kind of evil master plan that will actually be effective christofascism this time, but they're still monstrously incompetent. Everyone who was present during the first Trump regime who actually knew how to run anything at all has defected and left. True, they were also the people telling this fuckin nutcase not to nuke North Korea, but that is a level of apocalypse completely beyond any of our control like the fuckin sun exploding randomly, and always has been. Barring random armageddon, it is entirely possible these losers will trip over their own shoelaces trying to actually legislate you out of existence.

Honestly their first priority is probably blowing up the entire economy by putting tariffs on China and closing the border with Mexico. The price of eggs and smartphones are about to get ridiculous, a lot of people are going to lose their jobs, and all of this is going to suck but it very well may suck so much that they'll just forget to ban HRT.

Keep in mind the incoherence of what happened on election night. Trump won and so did a bunch of red state abortion protections. The first trans person made it into Congress. The people voting for the Leopards Eating Faces Party also voted for minimum wage increases, so when the leopards start actually eating their faces it's not going to go over very well. This is probably less America's Hitler and more America's Brexit, where life is going to get noticeably shittier and everyone who voted for it is going to be very shocked and confused about why everything is shittier, but we also won't all die.

Whatever happens it is not above your ability to survive. Hold your friends close. Connect to your local community. If you don't have a local community or you're legitimately stuck someplace where you're the only queer person, then it's okay to run away and never look back, but find yourself your friends, your chosen family. Stick by each other.

Our love will help us break through.

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crsssie · 24 days ago

Text

pretty blonde curls

word count: 11.6k || College Frat AU || banner by @temmmry

warnings: mentions of sexual assault (not from reader or curly), depictions of violence (reader beats jimmy up), smut (2 scenes)

summary: "Me or him, Grant?"

Curly would say it takes quite a bit for it to get through his head that someone likes him.

He recalls an early moment in college when he had only been part of the frat, four drinks in before he had been raising a brow at one of the girls who had detached from Jimmy and found him, her frustration evident when she had whined that she was trying to ask him out — only to be met with a quiet "oh" from him and an apologetic shake of his head.

He's not stupid when someone's trying to sleep with him, though. Playing stupid when someone wants to hook up with him is always easier than saying no. It's the same as dressing baggy on campus to avoid attention.

"Too attractive," Jimmy tells him.

Curly doesn't see it, remnants of his health problems evident on the stretch marks on his shoulders, insecurity creeping down his sides and across his stomach onto his thighs — but it's all easy to hide. It makes him less scary to approach when he's on the board by his second and third year of the frat. He had been tugged along by Jimmy — which he's thankful for, really. But Jimmy complains about how much easier it seems for Curly to move up the ranks when he brings a different chick home every other day.

So, when the discussions for the next president creep out, it comes to no one's surprise that Curly is president, but everyone's shocked that Jimmy's the VP.

It's easy for Curly to be elected as the face of the frat, clean record, and everyone's favorite from none else but hard work. His professors appreciate his sincerity, and he had been in contact with many of the executives of the school since he was elected as VP. It's easy for it to be him simply because everyone knows he's reliable enough for it — and he knows when to stop. A clean slate — impossible to break and crumble down the name he has built. False accusations of sexual assault never lasted long. Curly was simply too clean for it.

It was almost always Jimmy's fault when it came to it.

But some people steer clear of the frat and its members in general, and while Curly has been dense when people liked him, he understood. Someone who refuses all advances and plays stupid the same way he does at the parties is agitating. He can't complain but, really, he wishes he'd be at least given a chance.

"Not with you alone, no." You click through your schedule. "I told you, Grant. I don't want... you know."

"He won't—"

"It never ends well. You know the rumors spreading about your vice president. You've not got bloodless hands just because it wasn't you, you know? A friend who does nothing to help is just as guilty." You slide your books into your bag, looking around.

"Not under the law—"

"Maybe." You wave bye to him after class, calling at your friends who have come to pick you up.

Curly understands your hesitation. You don't dislike him — visible from the way you're still friends with him, but you refuse to go out with him to hang out or anything else similar unless he could guarantee you wouldn't bump into any of his brothers. You refuse to be out with him even if all of the professors like him because it'd be terrifying to put yourself at risk of being so close to someone on campus who was known to be a sleaze. The election of Jimmy into the frat board threw you off more when he had called you one night.

You'd built more distance when you had found out.

You know he's not the same, but you didn't ever want to be on Jimmy's radar, and Curly had done a good job not showing you at all to anyone he knew so far, and you only prayed it would continue like that.

Curly understands what you mean. His hands aren't bloodless. Jimmy's smeared blood onto his palms and he's washed it off more times than necessary — dried skin from the bleaching far too many times. He can't count how many times he's had to step in and tell Jimmy that taking home the plastered girl from the party wasn't a smart idea and how people had to get checked for drugs because while getting high would be pleasant, someone coming for the frat because one of the members had slipped in a date rape drug to assault someone would not. He's stern about that, and not even Jimmy is allowed any wiggle room.

But it doesn't matter how much he does to make sure that the parties thrown are safe for all. You still refuse to associate with him too much.

At least the frat's name is growing thanks to his effort.

"Presentation night in three weeks." He mumbles to himself as he texts the board groupchat, fingers quick on his phone as he dabs at the sweat on his forehead with the towel.

"Oh, look who it is." You hum, head tilted as you start the treadmill next to him. "Presentation night? What are you presenting on?"

He beams at the sight of you. "Every single time I've had a complaint from the school addressed to me about the club since the start of the school year. Surprised to see you here. Thought you didn't like hanging with me in public."

"Jimmy's in class." You stretch your arms above your head, humming. "Just gotta make sure I don't bump into him."

"Yeah, he is— how'd you know?"

"A friend shares a class with him." You hit the treadmill twice, speeding up. "Warming up or cooling down?"

"Cooling down." Curly hums. "It's getting dark. I could walk you—"

"It's alright. Anya's class just ended." You wave at him dismissively. "See you in class tomorrow."

"See you."

You don't share a major with Curly. You had one class first semester of freshman together and then exchanged numbers — Curly had looked quite nerdy at the time, tall but lack of muscle evident on his face, and over the 15 weeks of instruction, he had lost the majority of his weight after you had told him you'd be down to be gym buddies with him. By spring, he had joined one of the frats and met Jimmy, and the two had stuck close since.

Gym with you is rarer these days, but still.

He claims you helped a lot early on, completely relaxed when you had mentioned casually that you'd be checking out the gym and were scared to do it alone — and the rest was history. He bulked up much faster than you reached your goal, and by the time that the semester came to an end, you couldn't count on two hands how many people had oogled at Curly when he passed them. You couldn't blame them. His biceps were museum-worthy.

The streaks of white on his back and shoulders that you caught wind of when he walked around in made him insecure. You'd caught it once when his shirt soaked through, and he had thrown his hoodie on almost immediately after. The stretch marks on his skin are oftentimes attributed to his height and muscle — never to his past.

He stares at himself in the mirror longer on some days, your voice in his ear as the two of you call. You do care, Curly knows. You just find Jimmy a bitch and hate him with a passion reserved for no one else.

"It'll be hot tomorrow." You hum. "You gonna go around in a long sleeve again?"

"Might wear a t-shirt." He glances at his back as he flexes, staring at the lines on his back.

"Won't you wear a tank so I can drool over those arms?"

"You and your obsession with muscles."

"Hey, it's not horrible."

"Says the one who took a whole digicam photo of my biceps back in year two."

"Hey."

"I'll tell you. You down to study on Saturday?"

"As long as you drive."

"You wouldn't go if I didn't."

"Maybe." You mumble. "Keep Jimmy away."

"And if he wants to come?"

"Tell him to kill himself."

"I can't do that, sweetheart."

"Sure you can, big guy."

Curly likes you. He thinks it's painfully obvious. His brothers in the frat find it painfully obvious. When he smiles at his phone there's an 11/10 chance that you're texting him, and it's much easier to ask him a question and get away with things when he's on call with you because he's barely listening to their question and wants them away from his door as soon as possible so he can continue to talk to you.

It's just a matter of fact that no one knows quite what you look like or what you sound like.

Curly keeps you in his ear at all times, and you never videocall him.

And if some of the frat brothers try to follow him to a coffee shop, Curly's got the sixth sense of a hawk and everyone's location, so as long as one person's by him, he refuses to let you out of the car, even if it means he goes in to grab your orders and you both sit on the car to study. Refuses to let you out or you refuse to get out. The frat just assumes that it's the former, so they stop trying to follow him out to the study sessions.

"They're not here." Curly offers you his hand, and you hum.

"Thank you, Grant."

"Of course."

"Is there a reason why they call you Curly?"

"Don't you think my last name sounds like my first?"

"Hm... I could see Grant as a last name, yeah." You pause. "You got a preference?"

"You get to use Grant 'cause you don't need t' treat me like a president."

"I suppose so. The professors like your last name better, too."

"I suppose." He lets you order first, glancing up at the menu as you finish grabbing your usual.

He thinks it's unsurprising that he likes you this much. You're easy to like and easy to take care of. The fact that you haven't left him despite his best friend's awful reputation was probably an act of mercy in itself. You never fail to remind him that he's part of the problem, though. Really. Truly. You're very much aware that Curly is constantly on thin ice when it comes to Jimmy, and there are lines that you draw to make sure that Curly can never quite get as close as he'd like to.

You refuse to let him do anything that would give anyone the wrong idea, and the furthest that Curly has managed to push you was the study sessions that you only allow on weekends and only go with him after he makes sure no one follows him out.

You refuse to be made public with him.

And it's not that you worry about your reputation or that you don't seem to like Curly — it's really as simple as how much you despise his best friend. Curly seems to have caught on early, never pushing much further than what you allow him. He lets you initiate everything so that you feel like you have more control. He understands how awful it can get when you feel as though you have no control over anything.

He knows what it feels like to have none.

So you're allowed to boss him around, he really doesn't mind it, and dare he say it, it's almost nice. It makes him feel all warm and domestic when you do. Sometimes you bring him back to your apartment when your housemate isn't home and study there, and he likes it. He likes the way you kick him under the dinner table as you swing your legs to focus. You prefer it to tapping your pen, but you also have the habit of biting the back of your pens and darting your tongue out to lick your bottom lip when it gets dry, and Curly can't help but notice the way your lips glisten with your saliva and wonder what it'd look like wrapped around his— not that he would ever actually do anything about it! The most he'll do is adjust the strain in his pants and let out a sigh.

Someone save him.

He likes you, painfully, though. His heart races when he sees you pass him and he thinks he lights up like the sun when you wave back. It's a little bit concerning. Maybe that's why he insists on studying with you despite the fact that your schedules barely match up and why he slots out his Saturday brunches to hang out with you to study and grab brunch because you never seem to have breakfast. He wonders if you do it on purpose or if you just have the worst eating habits on earth.

You don't let him pay even when he insists.

You draw a line between the two of you that gets painfully clearer and clearer to Curly, and he wonders if he's just somehow really into someone who could lowkey crush his heart if given the chance. He gets it to some extent. You don't like his friends, so by proxy you wouldn't be able to last with him anyway if the two of you could start dating. No. Not friends. Just Jimmy. You despise his best friend, and it's almost as if you're just waiting for him to slip up.

But you let Curly get away with more and more as the semester progresses. You bring him home once without checking if your roommates are there, and you blink as Anya stares back at you, waving slowly at Curly as he nods. Another time you pass a couple of his brothers while passing by the frat, and Curly has to cover up and tell them that he was just walking a classmate because it was late. It wasn't out of character for him to play it off as that. Most of his frat understands to respect his private life. After all, despite how reliable Curly was, most of the frat still didn't like burderning him all that much. It was easier to let things be and stay out of trouble.

Not that Curly gets any less complaints from faculty.

Jimmy's failing this class, this other brother is, and another, and another... Curly finds that it's quite annoying, and soon, he calls for the club to start hosting study sessions so that at least the professors wouldn't be complaining about how the frat life was getting in the way. He suspends nonessential parties for the time being and texts you that Saturdays aren't free anymore, and you laugh.

"They're grown ass men and can't study on their own?"

"Happens to everyone." Curly mumbles, glancing at the study group. "We're in this together."

"Anyone got their girlfriend over?"

"You... miss me?"

"Miss your muscles, gorgeous." You laugh from the other side, voice cutting off as you mute yourself.

Curly shakes his head, glancing at the guys in the room.

"You wanna come over?"

"Is Jimmy there?"

"Yeah."

"Then no."

"I still don't get your problem with him."

"Maybe you'd have to be a woman to find out." You hum. "If you wanna come over just let me know."

"You don't mind your roommates knowing?"

"Everyone's out for the weekend."

"Ah. I'll text you."

"Alright. See you around, big boy."

"See you around, sweetheart."

Curly doesn't think about Jimmy much. He's as much of a friend and maybe even more since he had introduced him to the frat, and although Jimmy's got a questionable reputation, Curly chooses to trust his friend. Jimmy isn't horrific in his eyes. He's just a guy who might come off as a sleaze, and maybe he's definitely questionable because of how seemingly little he cares for women, and maybe he's just... yeah, maybe Curly isn't understanding because Jimmy could never treat him the same way he treats the girls at the parties. Though, it doesn't take a genius to figure out that Jimmy barely cares.

"Hey." Curly grabs a guy's shoulder, and the poor girl scurries off into the crowd of the party.

"Curly. Really?" He groans.

"No fucking the girls who look like they're terrified."

"So I can fuck someone who isn't?"

"Don't go harassing them."

Curly gives the guy two pats on the shoulder as he spots you at the door, grinning at one of the other guys.

"Oh, really?" You tilt your head. "Didn't realize the place was so big."

"I love it." The guy laughs, raising a brow as Curly steps over. "Curly."

Curly tilts his head at you, and you tilt your head to the side.

"Our president. Curly."

"Grant's fine." He holds his hand out for yours, and you take it, nodding as you shake on it. "New here?"

"Got invited by this nerd."

"ey."

"Affectionately, of course." You hum, patting the guy on the chest twice.

"I'll take her from here."

"Of course, prez."

Once you're far away enough, you meet eyes with Curly and laugh.

"You drink yet?"

"Wanted to experience one sober." You press against Curly as someone squeezes past you.

"Sober makes it boring, sweetheart."

"Well I can see someone certainly has gotten a drink or two in his system." You pinch at his cheek, and he brushes noses with you.

"Maybe."

"Where's my charming gym buddy?"

"Still here, sweets." He hums.

"Maybe." You push yourself off of him, glancing at the rest of the crowd. "Smells awful in here."

"It's why I don't invite you. Outside of you not caring, of course." He fistbumps a guy that passes, flicking his chin at him as you stare.

"You look real good, Grant." You tap his chest, humming as you glance in the corner of your eye.

"Why are you here? You hate being here because of..."

"Heard he'll be late. Wanted to come see you." You brush your nose up his jaw, and his eyes flutter as he hums.

"This is nice."

"Of course." Your palm finds his chest, and you hum quietly. "I'll head out in a bit. Just wanted to come say hi."

"Not staying?"

"Not for too long. Heard Jimmy would be late. Not gone." You tap his chest gently, and he presses his forehead to yours. He opens his phone and looks for Jimmy's location, humming as he buries his face in your neck.

"See you around?"

"My place tomorrow? Heard there was no study sesh tomorrow."

"Eleven?"

"Mhm."

"See you." He sends you off with a quick nod, and you're off past the door.

It's a quick call. He would have liked for you to stay longer, but Jimmy walks in five minutes after you're gone, and it's back to being friends with Jimmy.

It's a constant dichotomy - the difference between being friends with you and with Jimmy. You're so tame even when you kick him under the table, and you're in little to no trouble. Jimmy gets allegations every now and then at the parties, and Curly is always stuck cleaning up after him. Sweep them under the rug. It's fine. It wasn't anything — alright, maybe he's starting to get your point. He doubts he'd want to hang around Jimmy if he was a girl, but he isn't, so he gets a little leeway, maybe.

He doesn't even notice that you've settled between his legs on the floor, and he blinks down at you as you bare your teeth and smile at him.

"Hey."

"Hey." He swallows. "Something wrong? Dropped something?"

Your palm makes contact with his inner thigh, pushing them out as you prop your elbows to free your hands to work at his belt.

"Hey, sweetheart, hey—"

"Quiet." You mumble, poking at his dick through his boxers as you pull at the waistband, and Curly panics. No way you're doing this. You barely even like it when he holds open doors for you and offers to walk you home. You're definitely drunk or maybe you got your hands on some drugs or whatever because surely you're not—

You're taking him.

You're sucking him.

He blinks owlishly at you, your lips parted and skin glistening under him, lashes fluttering as you wrap a hand around his base, and he thinks he's going to pass out. Your mouth is painfully warm, and he reaches his fingers to thread through your hair, head thrown back in bliss as he—

His alarm rings, and Curly heaves, hand over his chest as heart threatens to break past his ribcage. God, fucking hell. He needs to fix his mind before you turn around and leave him for good for even thinking about you like that.

He'd argue that you probably know from the way you raise a brow at him on occasion, but better safe than sorry.

You're knocked out on the coffee table, eyes closed as you sit across him, and Curly adjusts the strain in his pants. It'd be rude to rub one out in your bathroom, but it'd also be uncomfortable for him to just let it sit there. He taps his fingers on the table as he stares at the drool that slides past your lips, humming to himself as you mumble to yourself.

He reaches to brush the hair out of your face, and your lashes flutter awake.

"Was I drooling?"

"Yeah."

"Sorry." You mumble.

"I should be sorry." He swallows. "You too tired for this?"

"Not too tired. Just tired." You mumble, yawning as you smush your cheek against the glass and blink at Curly. "You've got blonde lashes."

"Sure do." He stares back down at you, shifting his legs again.

"Do I gotta make a joke about how you're hard or are you just restless today?" You look away, staring at the blank screen across from you.

"Restless." He mumbles. He's sure the red on his ears is giving him away.

"Well, at least the GE will be out of the way." You kick at his leg from under the table, and you click your pen twice. "Don't got all day, big boy. Still have gym later."

"Yeah." He mumbles.

He doesn't see you for a while after that.

You go and flounce around and hole up in your room afterward, and Curly busies himself with the things of the frat and preparations for the pre-finals week party. It's never a smart choice but most people are going to find a party to go to anyway, so he might as well host one. Reputation has to be upheld anyway.

He texts the groupchat and everyone gets the drinks, and Curly checks the whole house for hard drugs, raising a brow at one of the younger boys who pulls out a sheet of LSD. It's shoved in the vault for safekeeping, and Curly assures him he'll get it back after the party when everyone sobers up.

Then people are invited and the house fills right up. Curly leans against the wall, just enough alcohol in his system to be warm, but not enough to cloud judgement — at least not according to himself. He glances around at the party, nodding at people he knows, chatting idylly with people he recognizes, the music and yelling making it hard to hear. Curly learns to read lips, and he sends almost everyone off with a quick flick of his fingers.

It should be fine. It's usually fine. It's the biggest party of the year that he had the trouble of going through planning in his third year, but this year is a lot more relaxed now that he isn't struggling to count club funds. Treasurer was not a fun position if you didn't like it all that much. At least he isn't going through it again. Also, the alcohol makes it hard for him to really keep to his weight. Too much sugar. Not good for his health or—

"Grant!" You call, squeezing past a couple making out as you tug on his collar and have him bend down for you, lips brushing his jaw as you grin. "There you are. Brooding all by yourself, handsome?"

"Sweetheart." He hums, hand finding your cheek as he squeezes gently. "What brings you here?"

"Boredom. Also alcohol."

"Didn't want'a get drunk at your apartment?"

"So much more fun when there's a man around."

"And Jimmy?"

"Heard he isn't coming tonight."

"You seem to know whenever he isn't coming." Curly brushes his nose against yours, and you hum.

"Don't want to catch his eye."

"You're already catchin' everyone's by bein' here." He eyes one of his brothers that stares, the poor guy looking to the side at Curly's glance.

"I think it's cuz their precious president is all up on some girl they've never met." You whisper, pinching his cheek as he leans back up. "Hm?"

"Well, not that they haven't met you."

"People are nosy." You glance to the side, winking at one of the girls that pass.

"How much d'you drink?"

"Pregamed at home. Three shots? Horrible for my sugar intake, though." You mumble, hand resting on Curly's chest as he pulls you in by the waist.

"Makes two of us." He mumbles, hand finding your forearm as he rubs. "You stayin' the whole time?"

"When's it end?"

"1:30 we start yellin'"

"Then until y'all clean up." You hum. "Not completely drunk."

"Can tell."

That's the fun thing with you, though. Your alcohol tolerance runs the same as Curly, so he finds that it's a lot easier to know when you'll knock out in his arms. It's not the first party you've been to. You joined once back in freshman when Curly first joined, and you had met Jimmy — and immediately decided that it was not worth it. You patted Curly twice on the chest and left that night, and never came back. It was surprising that you'd show to a party in year four of all times. He's not complaining, though. Always nice to see your pretty face.

Curly keeps an eye on Jimmy's location when you're around just because he'd hate to see you actually meet the guy. Met him once years ago and decided to stay as far away as you could.

"Don't get why you can't just drop him."

"Maybe after college." He mumbles. "He's our VP."

"Would you kick him if an allegation was serious enough?"

"How serious?"

"Expulsion serious."

"I'd have to. Otherwise I'd go down with or without him."

You brush your nose against his jaw, humming quietly as your chest vibrates against his.

"Good to know."

"Don't be going getting yourself assaulted. Won't let that happen to you." He mumbles.

"Me or him, Grant?"

"Don't do that to me." He groans, watching as you bat your lashes at him. "You're both important."

"Don't go testing me, blondie." You hum.

Curly glances at his phone, sighing as he rests his forehead on yours. "Jimmy's headed our way."

"Thought he left."

"Texted an hour ago sayin' he'd be back." He mumbles. "Wan' sit in my room, sweetheart?"

"You know the rules. He's here? I'm off." You whisper, closing your eyes as his lashes brush your skin.

"See you after finals?"

"Text me before you go?"

"Of course."

You hang out with Curly in between semesters during breaks. When he's free from the frat for the most part and planning things, he finds himself in coffee shops with you to catch up on gossip of all things. You ramble about tea you hear while working for your professor, and it makes Curly see a whole new side of some of the people on campus. It's like you have eyes and ears everywhere since you're helping the professors out.

"And then she ended up taking a break." You tap the keyboard, humming. "She'll be back next year, but we'll be gone by then, so, you know."

"Because the dude knocked her up?"

"I'm surprised she chose to keep it, but I mean, if she wants it, then so be it." You press the straw to your lips, humming to yourself. "Lovely tea place. How'd you find it?"

"One of the guys' girlfriend. Told me this place has great tea." He hums. "Not overbrewed at all, huh?"

"Nice and aromatic." You kick your legs under the table. "How've you been? Survived finals?"

"Yeah. The usual."

"How dependable."

"Yeah?"

"Shame no one knows how you really are." You hum. "Quite charming, nonetheless."

"You're speaking in book again."

"Alright, Grant. Sorry I wanted to be poetic for a sec. My condolences for my use of language."

"Now you sound even worse."

You click your tongue at him. "I like you this way."

"Rude?"

"Honest." You hum. "You've always got that goody two shoes smile on your face when you're on campus. It's strange. I know you want to sink those hands into my neck and choke me out every now and then."

"In public is insane."

"Your fault for taking me here. I offered my apartment."

Curly raises a brow at you, and you hum. "Complexity builds character."

"My brothers beg to differ."

"Where's Jimmy, by the way? He's usually around during breaks."

"Decided to take a solo trip. Builds character, or something." Curly hums.

"We should do a road trip." You glance at your phone. "Go around the area. Find a national park and go camping."

"Aren't you gonna get cold?"

"We'll survive." You raise a brow at him. "We could huddle for warmth, even."

"You implying sex?"

"You pervert..." You gasp, holding a hand over your mouth. "No. I was implying cuddling, but considering that your brain went straight to the gutter, I vote no road trip."

"A day trip down south would be nice."

"We could go to the city."

"Oh, that too." You scroll on your phone. "Tomorrow?"

"How about the beach?"

You glance at Curly, and he laughs.

"Please?"

"I hate you, Grant."

"Love to see you with your tits out."

"Oh, god. Fratboys."

But the truth is that Curly knows exactly what's going on at all times. You admit he's part of the problem. You keep him around because he's fun to be around. Down to do most things. Not a horrible person — a person. Not morally good or bad. There exists no pure saint or pure sinner. Anyone who presents that way is suspicious enough to warrant questions. You keep Curly around because he's not a horrible person. Only issue is with his best friend.

He's sure you'd try to cling onto your best friend if it was all allegations and no charges too, but you can't afford the same for Jimmy. The gender difference and lack of security you felt whenever he was around was more than enough to scramble any sense of security you felt with Curly. He understands that.

He wonder if it's the lesser of two evils — friends with a liar or abuser?

You'd choose a liar, but he supposes for himself it's one foot in both.

Well, not that you're the accuser.

Curly starts the new semester without you but makes time to study with you nonetheless, humming to himself as you invite him into the apartment, scrunching your nose when he smells of a workout and kick him out to come back another time. He complies, frowning at you when you shoot him an apologetic smile, and he nods. He understands. He has a persona to keep up around your roommates, and he also has an image to upkeep for the school, or whatever.

It makes him crack a little. Seep under the mask just a little. He doesn't know where the ego comes from, but he doesn't appreciate it.

He scrubs at it in the shower, and he reminds himself that it is not who he is.

He had to work to get where he was. He doesn't get to act like he's better than people.

"Ego is really only for... people who have nothing." You mumble, stirring your drink.

"Yeah? I mean sometimes I get egotistical, but I have to remind myself that I'm not who I am." You hum. "I worked to get here. Everyone works to be who they are. If they don't... then they aren't who they are."

"Now that's something new."

"I have never had an original thought in my life." You glance at the girls that step up to the table and go quiet.

Curly deals with them. He knows you can hold your ground, but they're not people you know, so they're not people you should have to deal with. He prefers to keep you away from them, even if they come knocking to the table the two of you have in the coffee shop. He's seen her at a party or two. Probably a second year looking to date a hot fratboy so she can say she dated one in college. Nothing Curly hasn't seen.

"Why are you here with her again? Curly, I really did expect you to be better at choosing... study dates." She eyes you, and Curly watches you smile.

Inhale, exhale, stare.

"If you wanted a date you could have just asked." You offer, voice light with mirth as she blinks at you.

"You! I'm not some cheap whore, you know?!"

"Didn't say that." You hum. "Unless you'd like to sit with us? Don't see a bookbag, though."

"In my car!"

"Want' come study with us? You can pull a chair—"

"Speaking of chairs. This one's uncomfortable. You mind if we switch spots?" Curly offers you a way out, and you hum.

"Where'd you have in mind?"

"I'm kind of hungry, so I vote the diner."

"Wanna camp there?"

"Too late to camp."

"Fair." You mumble. "We can figure it out when we get on your car."

"Come on." He offers you a hand, and while you raise a brow, you still take it, letting him squeeze your hands gently as he ushers you off.

"If that reaches Jimmy's ears I'm shooting him point blank."

"It won't. Jimmy wouldn't touch what's mine. He's not stupid."

"Sure feels like he is sometimes." You mumble. "What's yours? Am I yours, Grant?"

He squeezes your hand. "Are you not?"

"Oh, I wouldn't go there if I were you."

"And why not?"

"Cuz you're not getting anywhere close to me with that shitty best friend of yours."

Curly finds that maybe you really are just dangling him on a string. Swing him close on some days, swing him out on others. You cancel a study date for girls night with your housemate and Curly tells you to send photos (you never do). But it's fine because when you do finally meet up it's close enough to Valentine's that the coffee shops have all of the heart decorations up and Curly's got his hand over yours and he's asking you if you'd like to be his date to the party on Valentine's.

"I don't know, Curly." You mumble.

"Please? You mentioned your roommate would like to experience a full-fledged frat party at least once, so it'd be nice to bring her to our biggest one."

"I'd have to chaperone her."

"I'll keep an eye out for her." He mumbles, tapping the back of your hand.

"Will you?"

Curly does not.

The party rolls around and he keeps everything organized, searching everyone, and patting Jimmy down, going as far as raising a brow at his hat and swiping it off to shake a little. He lets Jimmy go with two pats to the back and then tosses everything into the safe, humming. He loses track of some things as people roll in, and he welcomes your housemate. He gets distracted with you, though, your lips brushing his under the lights as you tilt your head and ask him what's going on in his pretty head.

"Just you, sweetheart."

"Just me?"

"Just you." He sighs, resting his forehead on yours as you hum. "Does it always take a party to get you so vulnerable like this?"

"Maybe it's 'cause I'm your date tonight."

"Or maybe you're just irresistable in the awful frathouse lighting." He whispers, thumb finding your bottom lip as you part them for him. "Yeah?"

"Mhm." You hum. "You gon' kiss me, Grant?"

"God, sweetheart." He mumbles, lips brushing yours as you lean in, and he swears he's gonna get his fill of you until—

"Prez! Couple stumbled into a room."

"God, fucking hell." He groans, straightening up as he looks to the side. "Couldn't have picked a worse time."

"Sorry 'bout the cockblocking." The guy glances at Curly make his way up the stairs, and you shake your head.

You wonder where Anya's wandered off to.

Curly kicks the couple out, and he glances at Jimmy's locked door.

He knocks twice.

He thinks he hears a muffled cry when he knocks, but the music downstairs makes it hard to tell.

He knocks a third time.

It's silent.

A fourth.

Nothing.

Then, he heads downstairs.

Maybe you're still here— if you haven't stumbled off while half drunk, that is.

Curly never fully got the story from you afterward. You had stumbled home and found your housemate missing, calling Curly to check the house, and Curly had found your housemate in one of the spare bedrooms in the house, knocking and entering, letting you know where she was.

"You alright?"

Your housemate, closes her eyes, holding her head as he grumbles.

"My head feels like it's splitting open. I don't remember anything..." She mumbles.

"You alright?"

"Fine. Just sore all over." She mumbles.

"Want me to walk you back?"

Your housemate squints at Curly, and then checks her phone.

Curly assumes she dials you.

"Hey... yeah, just sore. Everything hurts. Is that supposed to happen? Curly's offering to walk me home. Should he— alright. Yeah. Yeah. I'll let him know. See you in a bit."

Curly tilts his head, and your housemate nods.

"Mind driving me instead? My legs really hurt."

"Of course. You need me to help you?"

"Should be... alright." She mumbles.

You thank Curly for taking her home, brows furrowed, giving him a pointed look that he seems to understand.

"I'm sorry for leaving you alone." You mumble, holding her forearms as you lead her in. "Thank you for driving her here, Grant."

"Anytime. You two stay safe."

You nod.

And then you go MIA.

You stop responding to his texts and calls, distance that he had tried closing in on back between the two of you seemingly gone overnight. You tell him weekends are off limits again, and you offer limited explanations for why. Maybe you're just busy. Or, you've finally become fed up with the fact that Curly can't really pick and choose and drop people that he should really drop. Either way, he doesn't really judge you for it.

He can kind of see it.

Yet, life moves on, and he busies himself with his own things.

Maybe time can heal this.

But he texts you updates — parties hosted by the frat, and you tell him you'll show to the next one.

He asks even if Jimmy's there — you tell him especially if Jimmy's there.

He doesn't really want to know why exactly you've gotten a specific change of mind, but he doesn't pry further. It's really not his place. Besides, he should be happy that you're agreeing to to his best friend of all things.

You show up different, though. Low cut dress and makeup done — Curly doubts he's ever seen you put so much effort into meeting up with him.

"New hair?" Curly pinches at the wig on your head, tilting his head and raising a brow.

"I'll talk to you in a bit, Grant." You hum, patting his chest twice and disappearing into the crowd. "Be good, now."

Curly nods, letting you wander off as he continues to greet guests at the door.

Most people don't cause too many problems. You learn to figure your way through the crowd, quiet sauntering as you spot Jimmy, smearing your lipstick as you tug your dress a little lower, reaching to trace your fingers down Jimmy's arms, distracting him immediately from the girl he was previously talking to.

You glance at the back door before batting your lashes at Jimmy.

"And who might you be, doll?"

"Just wanted your number." You hum, mustering a smile as he raises a brow.

"It's usually the other way around. Haven't heard the rumors?"

"Maybe I'm just into a good fuck, not a good man." You tap his bicep gently, and he hands you his phone.

"Do me a favor, would you? Save your number as doll in my contacts so I remember. Password's six sixes."

"Oh, of course." You hum, clicking on his phone as he goes back to chatting with the other girl, and you scroll through his photos. You send a handful to yourself, deleting the chat history, and check your phone for the photos. Close enough.

"You figure it out, doll? Or did you accidentally lose the page?"

"Seems like I did..." You mumble. "Sorry, not super good with electronics. Such a clutz move of me, huh?"

"I'll help ya, doll." He wraps a hand around your waist, chin resting on your shoulder as his hand brushes your lower stomach, free hand clicking through the apps on his phone. "There y'a go."

"Thank you." You jut out your bottom lip, clicking in a random phone number, Jimmy's hand sliding higher and higher until they practically grope at your tits, and you pause for a second.

Alright. Seems drunk enough.

And then all you see is red.

Jimmy's dragged by his hair as you throw him out the back door into the empty parking spot, your knuckles cracking with each punch as he fights back, the tip of your heel digging into his thigh as his screams catch the attention of the rest of the party. You don't know how many punches you've reached but it's five whole minutes where everyone is stuck watching in horror as you practically crush his jaw under your fist and Jimmy is stuck there crying. He's too drunk to know who you are, and you don't care if this gets you jailed, you're taking the chance.

The satisfying crunch of his jaw under your fists and the blooms of red on his face only feed into the satisfaction, and you wonder if he'll ever think of this when he drugs the next poor girl to approach him thinking that he's not as bad as the rumors make him out to be, and it gives you this sick sense of satisfaction. You can ice your knuckles and wear gloves because it's still cold enough for it. Jimmy can't hide from his classes forever, and it definitely helps that you've got a wonderfully glued wig on that you could just burn when you get home and no one would fucking know that you were laughing while beating the frat's vice president to the ground.

Your knuckles are bloody when you're halfway through, and there's a fight outside the party that Curly has to rip through the crowd to get to.

He's surprised to find that it's you, and he pulls you off of Jimmy before stepping to ask you what happened, and you pant, fistfuls of Jimmy's hair weaved through your fingers as your chest heaves, and there is so much red in your eyes that Curly wonders if you're seeing anything at all, and he runs his hands down your bare arms as you breathe.

Jimmy stays on the ground.

"Hey, what happened?"

"Asshole grabbed a fistful of my tits."

Jimmy scoffs from the ground. "You're the one who—"

You curse him out as your heel reaches to crush his balls, and Curly holds your thigh to stop you.

"Hey!"

You look up at Curly, eye twitching as you breathe, taking two steps back and glaring at Jimmy.

"Sweetheart." Curly tries, and you look up at him, eyes vile as you scoff.

"Watch your mouth, Grant." You point a finger at his chest, humming with your head tilted. "Don't you go thinking you're any better because you don't do it. You're still doing nothing about it."

And you're off, knuckles bloody and hair between your fingers.

You don't receive disciplinary action because half of the party was too plastered to remember who was fighting who. Besides, Jimmy didn't even remember who was punching him.

You don't look Curly in the eye for a week, and Curly wonders really if it was at all worth it. First week of spring of all days. He understands the party is for the sake of the brothers, but he really'd rather not be stuck cleaning up after Jimmy when they were barely into the semester. And a matter of assaulting you of all things.

He apologizes on Jimmy's behalf after class, and you blink at Curly.

"If you know he's doing all these things, why do you keep him in his position?"

"I've just know him for so long..."

"That's not an excuse, Grant." You spit.

It's dark out.

Curly knows it's not an excuse. He knows that he shouldn't be excusing Jimmy's behavior, and especially not when his best friend had just grabbed you by the tits at a party while drunk out of his mind. Drunk or not, he shouldn't be doing that anyway. But Curly doesn't want to acknowledge it. Acknowleding that Jimmy was a horrible person would be like admitting that Curly doesn't have good taste in friends, and he'd really rather not be—

"I'm sorry for what he did at the party, but it really wasn't—"

"Oh, don't worry. Only one of the punches was for grabbing me by the tits." You open your phone, texting someone. "The other punches were for something else."

"What... what are people accusing him for now?"

"Nothing much. Just the usual. With evidence this time, though."

Curly raises a brow at you, unimpressed as you raise a brow back.

"What kind of evidence?"

"Roommate got pregnant, evidence."

"And you think it's Jimmy because?"

"Tracks with the frat party we were at."

"You just think it's Jimmy because you hate him."

"My emotions have nothing to do with how shitty of a person he is."

"He's not the type to take it that far—"

"Is that all that matters to you, Curly? Is your best friend more important than the law?"

"And what evidence do you have?"

"My friend's word of mouth? The person that she was last seen with being him taking her upstairs to his room? Curly—"

"Not, Curly." He mumbles.

"You don't deserve to be called Grant if you're not gonna be a good person, Curly."

The name sounds like poison spread on your lips as you scoff.

"Are you going to defend Jimmy with your life?"

"It's just that you hate him so much, so it's easy to just assume that it's him. I know him—"

"Sure, yeah, and I know my roommate. She's not the type to lie."

"Yeah, but Jimmy isn't the type to take things that far."

"Is that so?"

"I know so."

"Alright. Alright, Curly. I should go to another party and get raped by Jimmy and then we can prove it, right?"

"He's not going to touch you. I won't let him."

"So you'll let him touch other women?"

"He doesn't do that."

"You think so?"

"Sweetheart."

"Don't sweetheart me. There's nothing sweet about how shitty of a person your friend is."

"Are you sure it's not just because you hate him?"

"It's not." You swallow, gritting your teeth as your brows furrow and you take a deep breath. "I stay away from Jimmy, not hate him. I didn't hate him until he raped my roommate at the party."

"What evidence do you even have that it's him?"

"DNA? Blood tests? Timeline? Video footage?"

"It could all be made up. Why are you trying to ruin his li—"

You slap him.

The slap echoes into the night, and you breathe, chest heaving as your brows furrow impossibly more, annoyance visible as you groan. It's like Curly refuses to get the point. Curly knows you're being honest. You wouldn't slander Jimmy if you didn't have any evidence, but his mind is stuck on the feeling of your hand making contact with his cheek so harshly, and he wonders if he's really doing anything at all by just watching it all go down. Jimmy's awful but he couldn't have been able to drug your roommate. He pat him down — no. Jimmy had chosen a hat for the occasion with a compartment he had show Curly once. It absolutely could be Jimmy, but that would mean Curly made a mistake and—

Curly holds his cheek, blinking slowly as he looks at you, and you're frantically tapping on your phone, the muffled clicks of your finger against the screen the only thing until you're holding the phone to his face with a series of photos that he can only assume were taken by Jimmy.

It's morbid.

Curly feels sick to the stomach at the sight of your housemate crying into her hands and trying to hide her face, the unmistakable sound of Jimmy's voice behind the camera, and something twists uncomfortably in Curly's stomach.

"Do something." You speak, voice steady and eerily calm as Curly stares at the photos you've somehow managed to acquire on your phone, hand still on his cheek. Suddenly, the sting no longer stings and all that's left is a ringing in his ears. "You're the president, Curly. Do something before I get both of you expelled and ruin his life."

"He couldn't have—"

"His DNA was found in her. I don't know what else you want me to prove to you." You let out a laugh, looking to the side, bitterness instantly visible on your face. "Paternity test came back with an exact DNA match of the hair I yanked from his hair the other night at the party while he got his grimy hands all over my tits now Grant fucking Curly tell me if you're going to do something about that shitty best friend of yours unless you want me to end both of your university careers right now!"

"Why..." Curly mumbles, shoulders sinking as he glances at you. "are you telling me this?"

"The head of the fraternity is responsible for all of the members of its chapter. If I submit all of this evidence against Jimmy while he's in the frat, the fact that she had gotten raped at a frat-hosted party will spread and you'll get expelled for mismanagement of your frat. I know I send you mixed signals and refuse to be seen in public with you because of your shitty best friend you do nothing about, but I do care about you, Curly." You pause. "If I release all of this information while he's still in the frat, you'll have no way out, especially as the president. If you expel him first, then you'll still somehow make your way out with only your reputation taken a hit. People might even blame Jimmy for keeping it all from you."

Curly looks into your eyes and then at the picture on your phone, and he closes his eyes.

"Give me a week. Will you take nothing less than removal from the frat?"

"Nothing less. I refuse to let him continue to stay in the frat. You are responsible for them all. You only escape scathed if you remove him from the frat."

"Will—" He swallows. "I'll save that question for after I deal with this. I'm glad this is early enough in the semester, god. What about his contracts?"

"Do you think he deserves it after raping my best friend?" You bite. "What if it had been me? Would you have been able to look at me the same after his hands had been all over me and he assaulted me? That his dick had been balls deep in me while I cried for him to let go?"

"But it wasn't—"

"It shouldn't make a difference who it was. A rape is a rape, and if you don't do anything, then I suppose we're better off as strangers, Curly."

You don't text Curly back at all.

You move from your seat next to him in class, and while he knows you most likely won't talk to him until the vote to remove Jimmy from the frat goes through, but it's a painful handful of weeks without you. It hurts him to call the other board members and tell them of the situation, evidence presented as he presents even the DNA match, and it becomes apparent that no one is going out unscathed of this situation of the frat. A lighter blow is better than a total blow, they seem to agree. Then Jimmy is contacted about the situation — Curly knows him better than anyone, so the board had to know before Jimmy, and when Jimmy's calling upon their friendship of the entirety of college, Curly shakes his head and tells him that it didn't matter if they had been friends for so long. It was either they both go down or just Jimmy on his own, and it was apparent that Curly didn't want to, but had to.

Then Curly finds out just how ugly Jimmy can get, thrashing and yelling as the other members of the board hold him back after he punched Curly, and Curly just wonders how he had stayed blind for so long.

He kind of deserved the slap from you both.

"You think just because you're hot as hell and you've got some chick slung around your arm that it erases that you were nothing before me? You wouldn't be here without me!" Jimmy yells, and Curly's shoulders sink as he stares at Jimmy. "You were nothing."

Shut down. Shut down. The same way you do. Let his shoulders sink, inhale, exhale, stare into the void.

"Jimmy. Maybe you introduced me to the frat, but I am the president because of my own efforts." Curly steps up to Jimmy, and he wonders for that brief moment that perhaps this is the kind of control that he could only have in his position. Jimmy looks incredibly small like this. And suddenly, Curly seems to kind of understand how terrifying it must have been for both you and your housemate. Jimmy looks powerless for once. "You are no longer welcome here. I'll give you a week to find somewhere to settle, but you are no longer welcome here. Rape or assault of any kind is not welcome nor swept under the rug in our frat. Get out."

"You—"

"You are no longer in power. Get out."

It'll hit the local news tomorrow, and once the local news is hit, you'll submit everything to the chancellor and then Jimmy will be done for.

Curly doesn't want to think if it's the right thing or not. It is the right thing to do, but he had thrown away one of his friends as a result. Jimmy had been important regardless of what Curly thought, but he had also been a horrible person, so the choice was coming sooner or later.

It takes two days for news of Jimmy's history of both assault and sexual assault to emerge, and it takes less than a full week for Jimmy to be expelled. First expulsion in near two decades at the university, and Curly's hand shakes when he texts you. He had done it. You had done it. It was done. He had done... the right thing.

You call him instead.

"You alright?"

Curly stares at the news on his laptop, and he swallows.

"Not really."

"You want me to come over?"

"Will you?"

"He's gone." You hum. "Or you can come over. Everyone went home for the weekend."

"Is... she alright?"

"Much better. Thank you, Grant."

There's a considerable silence on the line before Curly is speaking up, voice quietest you've ever heard it. "Do you think I did the right thing?"

"I think you did the bravest thing that no frat president has the balls to." You hum. "You did great, Grant."

He rests his face in his hand, going quiet as he breathes, chest shaking. It was scary. Despite how dependable everyone considered him, Curly had never once considered himself to be dependable all that much. There is still a nagging fear that carried over from high school — the concern for his body and him from the doctor quiet in the back of his mind. Dependable. His facade had worked, but it hurt to have to actually speak up on it.

"I'm. That was." He breathes. "Can I be honest?"

"Always, Grant."

"I never want to have to do that again." His voice shakes, and he holds his forehead.

"You did great. You were very brave, Grant. You want anything to drink?"

"Can you bring me a..." He pauses.

"Two beers. I need a drink after all of that process too." You mumble. "God, those meetings were draining."

"We.. did it."

"Thank heavens we did."

You head over with two beers, bottles clinking as he holds out his car keys, streetlights flickering as he hums.

"Wan' sit on the truck?"

"That'd be nice." You flick the bottlecap off, handing him one beer as you bite off the other.

"Your poor teeth."

"It'll live." You hum, pressing the bottle to your lips as he exhales, sitting back in the truck bed.

"You alright?"

"Hm?"

"You were... that night." He mumbles.

"You can say it, Curly. I got groped. It's not that deep." You raise a brow at him.

"Yeah." He furrows his brows. "Was it really necessary?"

"You were technically half-right to accuse me that I hated Jimmy so I was convicting him of raping my roommate, but it was really a moment where the opportunity come on its own. Besides, much better to stay cleaner as a frat. As clean as you can get, anyway." You raise a brow at the bottle in hand.

"First expulsion in over a decade..." Curly groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. "He was my best friend."

"Also an asshat."

"Yes. but —"

"No buts. He should've kept it in his pants." You raise a brow at him. "He punched you, for fuck's sake."

"Yeah. He... he was a shitty person. I do mourn the loss of a friend, though. Not necessarily him, but, you know."

"Yeah, that's fair." You lean back, glancing up at the sky.

No star in sight. Too polluted.

"Do we just keep moving?"

"Just keep moving." You kick your legs over his, and he sighs, exhaling gently as he presses his palm on your calf, squeezing.

"Join our party tomorrow?"

"Might as well sleep over in your room, then—" You pause. "No, the bathrooms are nasty."

"I'm in the master."

"Oh, in that case..." You mumble, letting Curly run his hand up your calf, hum on his lips as he leans back. "You got spare clothes?"

"Oh, sweetheart. You don't even need to ask."

Curly wonders if you're only being so sweet now that Jimmy's gone. Maybe in a way it was your plan to ruin that man's life. Not that you'd do all that over a man. He wonders if you'd ever ruin his life like that. He might thank you for it — not that you will. You've done more than you could imagine and he's learned more off of you than he could admit. It'd be embarrassing to tell you, maybe. He might just have to get drunk enough for it.

Though, the sight of you drunk is a lot funnier.

You settle on his lap, closing your eyes with a hard seltzer in hand, tilting your head as you stare at the rest of the party.

Curly hardly knows where to put his hands, blinking slowly and quietly as you settle your head on his collar, blinking up at him, lashes fluttering over a shirt that's far too tight for his life but his brothers insisted on him wearing, and he wonders if any of whatever was going on was even working. You don't seem to notice when he's wearing clothes to show off his body, preferring to tilt your head and meet his eyes instead.

"You alright?" He looks down at you, and you hum.

"Mhm. Pregamed before the party." You trace circles on his chest, letting your lashes flutter over his chest. "Always smells awful in here."

"Always does. It's why I didn't like inviting you."

"Liar. I've gone to so many this year." You throw a glance at the rest of the party, and Curly hums. "Sure you like it better when you've got me dangling off of your arm, though."

"Yeah, but it's not like you're mine or anything. Could be..."

"So I'm a common whore?"

"I didn't say that."

"You seem to think that I'm playing you, still." You crane your neck to wave at another member of the frat, and Curly swallows slowly. Your hand moves lower and lower until your fingers are brushing his lower stomach, and Curly sucks in a breath out of instinct, earning a gentle frown on your lips. "Stop sucking."

"It's gotten soft."

"It's called a dad bod." You brush your fingers over his lower stomach, and he exhales as you hum happily. "I like you however you are."

"You like me?"

"You never quite seem to believe me when I tell you." You crane your neck upward, brushing noses with Curly as he hums.

"I can never really tell."

"I know. All your frat knows." You laugh, voice airy as he hums quietly.

"I doubt you'll remember this in the morning."

"Then you'll just have to remind me." You hum quietly, palm sliding under his shirt as you brush over his stretch marks.

"You don't mind them?"

"We match... just tell me you love me in the morning." You close your eyes, and Curly finds a hand on your waist as he continues to watch the rest of the party.

Curly thinks you might actually like him.

Despite it all, Curly does like you. He doubts the world "like" would even encapsulate just how enraputred he is with you. Pretty, pretty girl. He thinks — chin resting on your head and sun peeking past the blinds in your bed. He gets why you like your bed a lot more. It's much cozier than his, and your back pressed to his chest only serves to have him groan when you shift.

He doesn't quite remember how he ended up in your bed, only that he's got his head buried in your back as you stretch your arms over your head.

"g'mornin'."

"Mornin' to you too, Grant." You grumble, getting up to rest on your elbow as you turn around.

"Aren't you a sight in the morning." He mumbles into your skin, and you yawn.

"You know what isn't?"

"Me?"

"Your breath." You push him off of you, Curly's laugh rumbling in his chest as you sigh, opening your phone. "You want brunch?"

"How could I ever say no to you, sweet'eart?"

"Oh, god. Man so sleepy he reverts to his old accent."

"You love me."

"Debatable." You run your hand through his hair, watching as he rests his chin on your chest. "What'you looking at me like that for?"

"Thinkin' 'bout how you're so pretty." He mumbles, closing his eyes as you scratch at his scalp. "Brunch?"

"I'll call in."

"No, let me." He reaches behind him for the phone, humming. "Same place as usual?"

"Yeah."

"Go on, then. Get ready while I make our reservation."

You press a quick hum to his forehead, getting out of bed ot get ready.

Curly likes this a lot better.

He finds that it's much better to get closer to you, and it almost feels like a reward for the years he had toiled away in college. Something sweet as nectar on his tongue when you give him a quick kiss between tasks, his shoulders sunk and relaxed as he watches you get ready for dates, humming when you complain about how he's a little unshaven. He'll do it for you. He always will. He'll let you rub at his chin when he finishes shaving, humming happily to himself when you press a quick kisso to his jaw.

Warm and cozy. He likes you quite a bit.

Quite a bit is an understatement, he thinks.

You look pretty at all angles, but he finds that some sick part of him finds contentment and satisfaction when you're under him — bare to the eye and touch.

He never lasts long with you looking like this, lashes fluttering as he rasps at the sound your pretty pussy makes for him as he slides in, breath heavy as he stills, your nails digging into his shoulders as you match your panting with his.

"God, dammit, Grant, move." You sing for him, and Curly groans in response.

"Sound beautiful singin' like that, angel."

"Don't you want me to sing for you more? Your name like a prayer on mine lips?"

"Don't tempt me." He holds your hips in place when you try to shift, brows furrowed as he exhales. "Gon' just flood that pussy if you move this quick."

"Never fucked a woman before?"

"You'd be surprised at how little I pulled up until college." He pinches at your waist, bucking his hips into yours as you squirm, stars in your eyes as your nails reach for his wrists, finding something to ground yourself as he gradually speeds up. "Loved playing dumb and watching girls give up. No one likes a dense man."

"I seem t— ah." Your lashes flutter, head thrown back as Curly practically drills into you, holding your head in his arms as your quiet pants register in his ear, causing him to twitch inside of you.

"You don't like men who play dumb, sweetheart. You're the one who," He rolls his hips, earning a particular whine from your lips, and his head spins. "you're the one who plays dumb. Stringing me along for so long. Have to thank you, though. Glad you fixed me."

"Fixed? Fixed ya how?" You pull at his hair, and he groans.

"Oh, sweetheart. You don't even know."

"Really?" You tempt, tongue darting out to wet your bottom lip, craning your neck to avoid Curly's as he lets his teeth graze your pulse point.

"Gon' bite you. Puncture wounds in your neck and leave red that clings for days." He rumbles, exhaling into your neck as your nails dig into his back. "Felt you clench right up. Would you be into that? Marked with my teeth despite your distaste of association with me just months ago?"

"It wasn't distaste of— you—" You heave, curling into his chest and voice shaking. "You know w-why."

"He's gone now, and I get you all to myself." He mumbles. "Get to bring you over... and fuck you dumb on this cock in my room."

"Hate you." You gasp, lashes fluttering as he groans.

"No y' don't."

"Hate that fuckboy talk you keep," You yank at his hair, forcing his head back as you tilt your head. "spitting out. You're not my sweet boy, now are you?"

"Not when I'm buried balls deep in you." He forces out, thumb finding your clit as you jolt. "There she is..."

You let him fuck you through your orgasm, nails dug into his shoulders as you leave marks, his quiet moaning rippling against your skin as you throw your head back and feel him pulse inside of you.

Curly thinks he's reached some kind of ascension. Raptured in the moment, head spinning deliriously at the feeling of you practically milking him for all he has. This is what he's been waiting for, he supposes. You're singing his name like a prayer, eyes rolled so far back he's worried they'll get stuck like his ma used to tell him, but, oh, heavens be dammed. If this is how he goes then so be it.

The bliss will bleed and his skin will burn, but he doesn't really mind it.

"You're wonderful, sweetheart." He mumbles, forehead pressed to yours in the afterglow, and you'll call him a sap and sigh.

"You think I'm a sap?"

"I know you are." You mumble, thumbs finding his cheek as he closes his eyes, basking in your touch. "I like it."

"Well, I like you."

"Sap."

"Your sap."

Curly finds that maybe its a little twisted that he had to toss his friend for you, but really, who is he to complain when you're so pliable under his hands? You prefer him to be pliable as well. It helps the two of you communicate and work better.

"You think I can keep the stubble after we graduate?"

"Mm, don't want burns when you eat me out." You hum.

"You gon' make me give that up to keep my beard?"

"You'd just have to step up your aftercare."

"I can do that."

"Maybe focus on your job after graduation first."

Curly closes his eyes, humming into your bare shoulder. "Won't y' come with me?"

"We'll see."

"I'll make sure it's a yes." He mumbles.

"We'll see when we get there."

He'll make sure it's a yes when he gets there.

But, until then, he supposes he'll just have to stay dangled on your finger like a pretty little accessory.

#☾.fics #mouthwashing #reader insert #curly x reader #mouthwashing curly x reader #mouthwashing x reader #ending my year with this piece and if things go right we're staring the new year with something HORRIFIC for us all

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