#who is just taking all of this ridiculousness in her stride

[keyofmgy]

wip wednesday

this is so rough of a draft it's ridiculous, but I'm currently attemtping to temporarily conquer my executive dysfunction demons enough to put some Emmrook smut out into the world. post-Memorial Gardens date with inexperienced Rook and down-horrendously-bad Emmrich. I'm gonna go throw up now

I do ask that you at least avoid putting pressure on that stiff left wrist, Emmrich had said to Rook during their dinner in the Memorial Gardens, and he was thinking about it again now, as he watched her all but limp into the Lighthouse’s dining hall. She’d gone to the Anderfels with Davrin and Harding earlier, to help clear out some of the blight surrounding Lavendel. By the look of her, the work had gone beyond merely destroying boils and tentacles. Something heavy-hitting. Hopefully nothing worse than a particularly large specimen of darkspawn. Hopefully no more than one. But he doubted it. He sincerely doubted it. “Darling,” he said in greeting, setting his teacup down on the dining table. Rook shot him a weary but warm smile – the open affection in it still new enough that the sight shot a tingle of a thrill up Emmrich’s spine – but didn’t break her stride as she headed directly for the pot-bellied stove in the far corner of the room. “Hey, Emmrich. All quiet here?” “Of course.” He kept watching her, mentally cataloguing what he saw: the slumped set of her shoulders, the stiff line of her back, the leg she was resting a disproportionate amount of weight on. Responsibility exacts a toll on the body. “Are you all right?” “Yeah.” There was the sound of metal on stoneware, and hot water being poured over tea leaves. Then Rook turned around to face him, blowing out a long sigh, carefully cradling the twin to his own teacup in her hands. “Just a little sore. We got jumped by some darkspawn – nothing we couldn’t handle, though.” She grinned. “Evka can pull some serious moves with that hammer.” Emmrich instinctively smiled back (how could he not?) though he wasn’t quite feeling it; not only was Rook definitely favoring the one leg, she was also still favoring her left wrist. Even more so than she had been at dinner, in fact. But before he could open his mouth to say anything, she was pushing away from the stove, already on the move again, though she did make a detour to briefly rest her forehead against his. Probably, she was hoping to forestall any protest he might make about her needing to take the time to slow down and rest, and damn if it didn’t work perfectly. In that moment his senses were overwhelmed by the rush prompted by even that barest of physical contact – the hint of warmth where they touched, the tickle of her hair against his skin, the knowledge that if he tilted his face upwards just so he could kiss her (and she would allow it). The almost-sour drop of sensation from his chest to his gut when he made the split-second decision to deny himself that pleasure.  We can move slowly, he’d also said to Rook, and he had meant it. No matter that she made him feel like the absolute worst example of a besotted fool, like a horribly naive schoolboy after the high of a first kiss even: eager yet terrified and clumsy but wanting more all at the same time. No, he was the older, more experienced party in this wholly unexpected relationship, and he had a responsibility to Rook to conduct himself like it. He had to set an example. She deserved nothing less than a gentleman who would respect and cherish her – and if she ever settled for less, later in her life, it would be through no failing of his. (Of course Rook would have more lovers, after him. Emmrich wasn’t so idealistic as to believe himself her one and only. That blush of first love would pass, and she would move on. Surely she would never give any serious thought to binding herself to a middle-aged professor with delusions of grandeur, not when she was still so young. But oh, how he would treasure her while it lasted.) “I know what you’re going to say,” she murmured, and he couldn’t help the small intake of breath at the tenor of her voice. “But I’ve got some letters to write and send off. They can’t wait. I’ll rest soon. I promise.”

[jannacalendar]

Rewatching I Robot... You Jane. I am intrigued by the notion of Jenny casting bones in response to Sunnydale weirdness. It begs the question of what she made of the events in the episodes she missed. The kids start acting up in class? Signs point to possession. Everyone suddenly enamoured by the new substitute professor? Bones say she's a giant bug.

[munson-blurbs]

Eddie Munson x Best Friend!Reader

Summary: The jocks decide to prank you with invitations to the Valentine's Day dance. But is it them? Or is your so-called best friend secretly messing with you?

WC: 2.1k

Warnings: hurt/comfort, bullying, best friends to lovers, fem!Reader, public make-out session (oops)

Based on an anonymous request I got. I hope I did this justice 💚

Divider credit to @saradika

Everything is pink. 

And it’s not that pink is a bad color—pink Starbursts are clearly superior to the other colors, for example. The Pink Ladies from Grease strutted with a badassery you could only wish to emulate. And the stuffed pig you won at the carnival as a kid—the one that you still keep on your bed—is pink, though you have to admit that its color has faded over the last decade. 

No, pink itself isn’t the problem. Even the abundance of it isn’t bad, from the paper hearts lining the school hallways to the streamers criss-crossing the ceilings. 

It’s that every flash of pink, particularly that Pepto-Bismol shade, reminds you of what you don’t have: an invitation to the Valentine’s Day dance. 

The events committee decided to “do things differently this year” and make the Valentine’s Day dance a couples-only event. Apparently, Hawkins High had no room for platonic love in their budget. 

Whatever money they’re saving by cutting the number of attendees seems to have gone towards invitations. Instead of buying tickets, one half of a couple fills out a slip of paper, and the committee delivers a personalized invitation to the partner’s locker. 

It’s absurdly cheesy and way over-the-top. And despite knowing how ridiculous it is, you can’t suppress the pang of excitement when you open your locker and a small, bright pink envelope falls out, face-down. 

Who would be asking you to the dance? 

There was only one person you wanted to ask you—but that would never happen. No, Eddie Munson was a lot of things: a Dungeon Master, a drug dealer, a senior year three-peat, but he was not a school dance attendee. In fact, you don’t think he’s been to a single one since you’d met him four years ago. 

You pick the envelope up tentatively, and though logic told you it wasn’t from him, your heart still sinks when you see the loopy script on the front:

To: Chrissy

Love: Jason

Why is Chrissy Cunningham’s invitation in your locker? Her locker is with the other cheerleaders’ down near the gym, a considerable distance from yours. 

“Oh my god, did you see that?”

The sound of muffled laughter catches your attention, and you look across the hall to see the President of the Events Committee, Gina Phillips, and her boyfriend, Andy Garber, smirking at you. Jason Carver stands beside them, his head thrown back in uncontrollable laughter. 

“That was so worth the five bucks,” he says to Gina, placing a crumpled bill in her hand. He strides over to you and plucks the envelope out of your grasp. Not that it takes much effort. “I’ll be taking that.”

“So sorry about the mix-up.” Gina fans a manicured hand over her heart in feigned sympathy. Andy slings a muscular arm over her shoulder as they walk away. 

You stave off the humiliation-induced tears until you find an empty bathroom stall. Pathetic. You had no date and you fell victim to a cruel prank in one fell swoop. 

Whatever—it was over and done with. Tomorrow is a new day, one where you can ignore Gina and Andy and Jason, like you’ve been doing for years. 

Except there’s another pink envelope in your locker when you open it the next day. This one is more crudely shoved in the slots, all wrinkled and creased. The paper tears when you yank it out. 

To: Nancy

Love: Jonathan 

Of course, neither Nancy Wheeler nor Jonathan Byers have anything to do with this—Jonathan just filled out the slip and expected the committee to deliver it to his girlfriend’s locker. And Nancy, though somewhat uptight, has always been nice to you. 

That’s why you stuff down your embarrassment and trek over to her locker, sheepishly explaining that her invitation accidentally got delivered to you. No need to tell her that there was nothing accidental about it. 

Nor is there anything accidental about the envelope marked To: Rebecca, Love: Patrick that sticks out of your locker after fifth period. Or the one Gina had manages to slip into your backpack while you’re changing for P.E. To: Ellen, Love: James. 

If you could carry around all of your books and avoid your locker completely, you would. 

By the end of Valentine’s Day, you’re no longer returning the invitations to their rightful owners. Any stupid pink envelope that finds its way into your life is promptly ripped to shreds and tossed in the nearest trash can, creating a heap of the saddest confetti you’ve ever seen. You’re not even looking at the names anymore—whatever arguments that causes between normally happy couples is their problem, not yours. 

You feel some of the week’s tension melt away as you walk into the drama club storage room, though it’s quickly replaced by a much different kind of tension. There’s a fluttering in your stomach when Eddie stops setting up the game to turn towards you and smile.  

“You’re early, sweetheart.” He crosses his arms over his chest and half-sits on the table. “Here to get some secrets out of me?”

“Nah. Just felt like bothering you a little extra today.”

Eddie shakes his head. “Never a bother. Especially compared to the freshmen.” 

He pauses for a beat before turning back to the game, suddenly very interested in adjusting the DM screen. 

“Found anything interesting in your locker lately?”

His question knocks the wind out of you. Eddie has been in on it? Your supposed best friend has been planting other people’s dance invitations in your locker?

It makes sense: He knows your locker combination and your class schedule. If he isn’t the one actually putting the envelopes in there, he’s at least helping Gina. 

“That was you?” You will your voice to not break, but your eyes are already glassy with tears. “Why would you do that?”

Eddie’s brows bunch together. “I…thought it might be fun?” 

“Fun?!” Is he serious? You know guys can be dense sometimes, but he must truly be an idiot to think this prank would be fun for you. “God, are you that desperate to keep the jocks buying from you that you’d do that? Because let me tell you–there isn’t a lot of variety around here as far as dealers go.”

He puts his hands out. “Whoa, hold on.” He starts towards you, but stops when he sees the anger in your expression. “That’s not why I did it.”

“Then why?”

“I don’t know! I guess I figured you’d be okay with it, but you’re clearly not, so just forget it.” 

There are only two words you can think of to sufficiently convey your feelings.

“Fuck you.”

You slam the door behind you as you leave, not caring who might hear. It’s the least humiliating thing to happen to you this week, anyway.

What hurts more than the prank itself is that Eddie actually believed that you’d find it funny. Getting your hopes up that someone asked you to the dance followed by a walk of shame to deliver the envelopes to their real recipients–yeah, what a hoot.

You only make it halfway down the hall when you hear Eddie calling out your name. 

“Leave me alone!”

But he doesn’t; the sound of his sneakers squeaking across the linoleum faster as he jogs to catch up to you. His hand grabs yours before and pulls you into an empty classroom.

“I’m sorry, okay?” He jams his hands into his pants pockets. “Look, I never would have done it if I knew it would ruin our friendship. That’s why I waited until the last minute to ask–I kept going back and forth about whether you’d freak out on me or not.”

Wait…what?

“And, yeah, I was probably gonna do a few deals at the dance. But that’s not why I asked you, I swear.” 

You nearly choke on the breath that’s lodged in your throat. “What are you talking about?”

His eyes widen when he sees the shock that’s written all over your face. “What are you talking about?” He counters, taking a step back.

“I’m talking about the horde of other people’s Valentine’s Day dance invitations that have been shoved in my locker every day for the last week.” You force yourself to look at him. “You’ve been putting them there, right?”

“What?! No. No.” He shakes his head to emphasize his point. “I would never do that. That’s…brutal, sweetheart. God, now I just wanna kick some ass–”

“So then why did you ask if I found something interesting in there?” You try to ignore his flexing hands clearly itching for a fight. The way his veins are prominent against his skin.

Eddie scrapes a top tooth over his lower lip. “I was talking about the invitation from me. To you. Obviously. Not someone else.” He cocks his head. “You didn’t get it?”

It must’ve been one of the ones you’d tossed out without looking, and you tell him so. Guilt gnaws at you–not just for inadvertently throwing away his invitation, but for assuming he would take part in such a cruel prank.

He scuffs one Reebok against the floor, shoulders untensing. “If you had read it,” he says, “what would you have said? Like…would you have wanted to go with me? Or, like, same reaction as when you thought I was the culprit?”

You can’t give him an answer–not without getting one first.

“Did you really send me an invitation to the dance? Or was that something you said out of pity after you found out about the prank?”

Eddie sighs, his hand reaching out to yours. It’s different from when he grabbed it earlier; this is all tenderness and no urgency. “I really sent you an invitation. You can ask Gina–well, maybe don’t talk to her,” he adds quickly when he notices your grimace. “But there was no pity involved.”

“Do you swear on James Hetfield’s life?”

“I swear on James Hetfield’s life.” Eddie laughs softly. His thumb brushes your cheek, his ring cold on your skin. “And every other member of Metallica, for that matter.” 

You look up at him, at those deep brown eyes that always seem to soften around you. You spent the last four years convincing yourself that it was all in your imagination, that any extended glances or long hugs are things he would do for any other girl friends.

But now, as he slips his other arm around your waist, slowly backing you against the chalkboard, there’s no doubt in your mind that everything he’s done has been purposeful. 

“So?”

“So…” Your nose bumps his, but he doesn’t lean in and close the gap.

“So…will you go with me to that ridiculous dance?” 

Oh. Right. Every thought besides kissing Eddie Munson already fled your mind, but he had technically asked his question first.

You smile against his lips. “God, yes.”

His mouth is on yours in an instant, bodies colliding haphazardly, but neither one of you mind the clumsiness. Your back is almost certainly covered in chalk dust as he pushes you into the board. His tongue slips between your lips and you let him in, arching your body slightly so it presses to his.

You could do this forever, let him touch and explore you. Here, or at the dance, or on his twin size mattress with a metal mixtape playing in the background–

“A-hem.”

The kiss ends abruptly, the two of you coming back to reality when you see Mrs. O’Donnell standing in the doorway. Her arms are crossed against her chest, one foot tapping an orthopedic loafer impatiently.

“The term ‘get a room’ does not refer to my classroom, Mr. Munson.” She heaves an exasperated sigh and points an arthritic finger between you and Eddie. “Detention. For both of you. Separate days, before you get any ideas.”

You accept defeat, shoulders slumping, but Eddie doesn’t back down so easily.

“C’mon, Mrs. O. It’s Valentine’s Day. Have a heart–oof,” he grunts, rubbing his ribs where you not-so-subtly elbowed him. “I mean, this is the girl who’s been helping me pass your class so I’m not your problem for a fourth year in a row. Can you cut us a little slack, just this once?”

Mrs. O’Donnell isn’t exactly known for cutting people slack, so you’re more than surprised when she relents. Maybe it’s because you’re the living, breathing miracle who is keeping Eddie Munson from taking her class again.

“Fine. Just…take this little soiree elsewhere.” She flits a disgusted hand in your direction, glaring over her bifocals as you and Eddie slink away.

Eddie drapes a tattooed arm over your shoulder. “Probably better off,” he murmurs in your ear. “We got a dance to get ready for, sweetheart.”

--

[demonic0angel]

Assistant Jazz au!

Someone records a lovesick Red Hood just ranting about how women who can break him in half are stupidly sexy and posts it to social media. #RelatableRedHood is trending within the week.

(It got long bc I got excited 😭)

The first video goes like this: It starts off with a woman clad in tight leather and a black helmet single-handedly fighting against a group of five men. She fought like a beast, with weapons and guns and on the occasion, her legs as she kicked a man so hard that he had puked his guts out. At one point, she had picked up one by the neck and tossed him to the wall.

The phone camera, shaky and quiet, then turned to face the infamous Red Hood's side profile. He didn't seem to notice that he was being recorded. He had his hand on his helmet-covered chin as he then said, "Do you think if I ask, she'll kill me with her thighs?"

That was when the video cut off. It was posted at 1:32 AM in the morning by an anonymous account with only one tag #RelatableRedHood.

It went stupidly viral. After that, there were more and more videos with the same tag, taken in more and more ridiculous ways to avoid the Red Hood noticing. Gothamites, particular ones from Crime Alley, were all having a great time watching their resident crime lord vigilante make a fool of himself in front of his hot assistant, who hadn't shown any reaction to the recent fame she gained as the woman who owned the legs that could make Red Hood beg for death.

The #RelatableRedHood videos always featured the same thing. Wolf would go about her business and do absolutely nothing out of the ordinary, or Wolf would complete an impossibly awesome feat with her intelligence or skills in weaponry and fighting, and Red Hood would then absolutely lose his mind afterwards.

Viewers both agreed to his thoughts and laughed themselves silly as they watched the infamous crime lord show just how head over heels in love he was with his assistant. Reaction images and memes went viral as the Red Hood simped over his assistant.

Video after video popped up and they were all clearly taken by goons within the Red Hood's gang due to sheer proximity and brilliant timing. Although videos came out somewhat rarely, probably due to Red Hood's perceptiveness, Gothamites gobbled up each one eagerly.

It all reached to a peak when a livestream link from the Official Robins account was posted at midnight.

In it, the Red Hood could be seen ranting and raving to himself in his office, smacking his helmet-covered forehead. An invisible camera captured it all. "Dammit!! Where are these videos coming from?! Who the fuck keeps making them?!"

He was presumably on call because after a moment, he answered an inaudible voice with a shout, "Like hell I do! Of course take it down! Why the hell would I want Wolf to see them?! She doesn't even know my feelings for her!"

Another pause. And then, "I'm not going to confess!! Why would she even like me anyways?!"

Viewers felt sympathetic for their favorite crime lord, but curiously, the livestream did not end as Red Hood continued to pace and mutter to himself angrily.

Their questions were answered as the door to the room opened and Red Hood hurriedly sat down in his seat, looking up at the door. The camera then captured the sight of Wolf striding into the room. She held papers in one hand and a coffee cup in the other.

Red Hood, silent and tense, clicked on a button, presumably disconnecting the call and then reached for the things she was holding. Wolf avoided his hands, placing the items on the table before she detached part of her helmet and placing it next to the papers.

Both the viewers and Red Hood were confused. More images of Red Hood's bewildered posture on the livestream appeared on the internet with #RelatableRedHood, but people were still focused on Wolf's strange actions.

The camera did not reveal any part of Wolf's face as she left the disconnected piece of metal on the side . She went around Red Hood's desk and sat on his lap confidently as the Red Hood froze like a deer in headlights. She took off his helmet without any resistance, tossed it to the floor, and then grabbed him by the lapels to kiss him senseless.

Cheers and celebrations erupted all over Gotham City as if they had suddenly won the lottery.

Unbeknownst to the Gothamites who were nothing but civilian viewers obsessing over Red Hood and Wolf's romance, Red Robin and Oracle were celebrating in the Watchtower with the rest of the Batfamily, who were all cheering loudly as they closed the livestream and then celebrated for successfully bringing together their brother and his crush.

Mission: Fairytale Ending was a success!

[thesecondhandwoman]

HEXED HEART

Ambessa x f!reader

Synopsis: Recently, Piltover has fallen weak ever since the hexcore stopped working, and the scientists who may have been able to fix it (Heimerdinger, Jayce, Viktor) had disappeared, leaving Ambessa frustrated. However, when she heard news of you, an intelligent scientist, possibly having the skills to fix it, she immediately took action. Even if it meant using a hint of sweet manipulation.

The remnants of Piltover smoldered under the weight of its own hubris. The once-bustling City of Progress was a shadow of itself, its streets quieter, its golden spires tarnished. The Hexcore had faltered, leaving the city vulnerable, its famed defenses useless.

In her laboratory perched high above the city, you worked tirelessly. The other brilliant minds—Heimerdinger, Jayce, Viktor—had all disappeared, leaving you to hold the fort. You were the last hope of Piltover, though the burden had grown suffocating. Every attempt to stabilize the Hexcore had failed. You stared at the latest iteration of your work, frustration and exhaustion gnawing at your edges.

The heavy thud of boots startled you from your thoughts. You turned to see soldiers, clad in Noxian red and black, entering your lab. At their helm was her. Ambessa Medarda, the warlord who cast a shadow wherever she walked. She was as commanding as the stories claimed—tall, statuesque, and radiating an aura of power that seemed to fill every inch of your lab.

She appraised you with sharp, calculating eyes, a faint smirk tugging at her lips.

“I’ve been watching you,” she said, her voice as smooth as silk but edged with steel. “Piltover’s lone genius. Working herself into the ground to save this broken city.”

You squared your shoulders, attempting to summon the confidence that exhaustion had stripped away. “If you’ve come to ridicule me, I assure you, I don’t have the time.”

“Oh, I didn’t come to mock you,” she said, stepping closer. Her soldiers fanned out, blocking any potential escape routes. “I came because Piltover’s failures can serve Noxus. You can serve Noxus.”

Your blood chilled. “I don’t serve anyone.”

Ambessa chuckled, low and amused. “Not yet.” She closed the distance between you in a few strides, her imposing figure towering over yours. “But you will.”

Before you could retort, she reached out, her gloved hand brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. The touch was startlingly gentle, disarming. You stiffened, but Ambessa merely tilted her head, her gaze softening, her smile turning warmer.

“You’re exhausted,” she murmured, her tone shifting to something softer, almost tender. “This city doesn’t deserve you. They’ve wrung you dry, haven’t they? And still, no thanks. No progress.”

Her words hit a nerve, and she saw it in the flicker of your expression.

“I—” you began, but her fingers against your jaw silenced you.

“You deserve better,” she said, her voice a near whisper now. Her thumb traced the line of your jaw, her touch featherlight. “A mind like yours shouldn’t be wasted on people who only know how to take. I can offer you more, darling. Resources. Freedom. Respect.”

You swallowed hard, the weight of her gaze pinning you in place. It was intoxicating, the way she looked at you—not with disdain or pity, but with something that felt dangerously like admiration.

“You just want to use me,” you said, though the words came out weaker than intended.

Ambessa smiled, a sly curve of her lips. “Of course, I do. But I’ll give you what Piltover never could. I’ll make you feel like the treasure you are.”

Her hand slid from your jaw to your neck, her thumb brushing over your pulse. You were hyper-aware of her closeness, the warmth radiating from her as she leaned in. Her lips grazed the corner of your mouth, a ghost of a kiss, before trailing along your cheek to your ear.

“Do you feel it?” she murmured, her breath warm against your skin. “The power we could wield together?”

You shivered despite yourself, torn between resistance and the allure of her promises. She was weaving a net around you, each touch, each word drawing you tighter.

Her hand slid down to your shoulder, her fingers kneading gently, soothing the tension that had built from days—no, weeks—of relentless pressure. You hated how easily she read you, how her touch seemed to draw out the ache you’d buried beneath sheer determination.

“I don’t… I can’t just abandon Piltover,” you stammered, though the conviction in your voice wavered.

Ambessa chuckled, a rich, velvety sound that sent a shiver down your spine. She pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, her expression equal parts understanding and predatory.

“Who said anything about abandoning them?” she cooed, tracing her fingers along the edge of your collarbone. “Think of it as… redirecting your efforts. Piltover has taken everything from you. Why not take something back?”

Her lips ghosted over your temple, and you felt a strange, heady mix of indignation and desire. Every instinct screamed to resist, to fight back against her intoxicating manipulation. But her words had rooted themselves in your mind, growing like thorns around your resolve.

She pressed closer, her presence overwhelming as her other hand cupped your cheek. Her thumb brushed over your skin with a tenderness that contradicted the raw power she emanated.

“I see the brilliance in you,” she murmured. “The kind of brilliance that could reshape the world. But brilliance needs the right soil to grow, and Piltover has done nothing but starve you.”

Her lips found your jawline, a soft, lingering kiss that left your heart pounding. You hated how your breath hitched, how her words sank deeper, wrapping themselves around your doubts and frustrations like a vice.

“I could give you everything,” she whispered, her voice dripping with promise. “Imagine a lab equipped with anything you could dream of. Resources, soldiers to protect you, and the freedom to create without petty councils and politics dragging you down.”

You hesitated, your mind a whirlwind. “And what would you demand in return?”

Ambessa leaned back just enough to meet your gaze, her smirk sharp but her eyes still softened with that feigned tenderness. “Only your cooperation. Your brilliance, dedicated to something greater than this dying city.” Her hand slid down your arm, fingers curling gently around your wrist. “And, of course, you—with all your fire and passion. A partner. An ally.”

Her lips found your wrist, pressing a kiss to the delicate skin there. It was such an intimate gesture that it left you reeling.

“You’re lying,” you whispered, though your voice lacked conviction.

Ambessa smiled again, her confidence unshaken. “I never lie, darling. I may manipulate, I may seduce, but I always tell the truth.” She lifted your hand to her lips, brushing another kiss over your knuckles. “You’ll see. The only chains you’ll wear with me are the ones you choose.”

You trembled, torn between the iron will you’d cultivated in solitude and the dangerous allure of her promises. Her every touch, every word, was carefully calculated, but there was a kernel of sincerity in her eyes that was impossible to ignore.

And then, her tone shifted, low and husky, her lips brushing against your ear. “Or you can stay here,” she murmured, her voice laced with a mockery so subtle it felt like silk slipping over a blade. “Alone. Frustrated. Watching this city crumble around you while you waste away in obscurity.”

The weight of her words settled over you like a storm cloud. The enormity of your failure, the futility of your work, pressed down harder than ever.

Ambessa saw the flicker of doubt in your eyes and leaned in, her lips brushing over your cheek again, her hands sliding to your waist. “Don’t think of it as surrender,” she whispered. “Think of it as liberation.”

Her lips finally found yours, soft and coaxing, her hands firm yet tender as they held you in place. For a moment, the world around you faded, leaving only the intoxicating warmth of her touch, the relentless pull of her presence.

When she finally pulled back, her smirk returned, triumphant but still laced with that maddening, feigned care.

“Take your time,” she said, stepping away as if to give you the illusion of choice. “But know this—I won’t wait forever. And neither will Piltover.”

She turned, her soldiers falling into step behind her, and the door shut with an ominous finality, leaving you alone in the silence of your lab.

Your knees buckled as you leaned against the nearest table, your mind spinning. You hated her, hated how easily she unraveled you. But you couldn’t deny the truth in her words.

And deep down, you wondered if the world Ambessa promised might be worth the price of your pride.

The silence of your lab was suffocating in the wake of her departure. You stood there, still trembling, your hand resting against the edge of your desk as if it might hold you together. You could still feel her touch, lingering like a brand on your skin, a reminder of the impossible decision she had presented.

Stay… or go?

You hadn’t realized how much you had needed an escape, how desperately you had longed for someone to see you beyond your failures. Ambessa had touched that part of you with ruthless precision. She had peeled away your pride, exposed the vulnerability that you’d spent so long burying beneath equations and inventions.

And now, you stood at the precipice of something you had once sworn to avoid.

The thought of continuing alone in Piltover, watching everything you had worked for crumble—your research, your hopes—seemed unbearable. The weight of it all crashed down on you like a ton of stone. Ambessa’s words, laced with promises of power, resources, and recognition, were beginning to sound like the only way out.

You closed your eyes, feeling your resolve slip through your fingers like sand.

Her touch had been gentle. Too gentle, and that had terrified you. She was a master at breaking down walls, and the way she had looked at you, with a mixture of admiration and something darker, had set your pulse racing. You had wanted her to touch you.

No, you needed her to touch you.

No more endless days in solitude. No more futile attempts at saving a city that didn’t care.

With a shaky breath, you made your decision.

Later that night, you stood before the door to Ambessa’s private quarters, your hands clammy, heart hammering. You’d walked here with purpose, though the journey had felt like an eternity. Every step had only brought you closer to the inevitable—an alliance forged in the heat of desperation. You knocked once, and the door opened before you could even pull your hand back.

Ambessa stood there, her expression unreadable as her eyes traveled over you.

“You’ve come.” Her voice was steady, but there was a gleam in her eyes that hinted at the satisfaction of a predator about to claim its prize.

You swallowed hard, the weight of the moment pressing down on you, but you refused to let it show. “I’m here,” you said, your voice firmer than you felt, “because I don’t want to be alone anymore.”

Ambessa stepped aside, her lips curling into a smile. “I knew you would come around.”

As you entered, the lavish, dimly lit room seemed almost too luxurious for someone like you, but there was something intoxicating about it. The rich silks, the scent of something sweet and foreign in the air—everything spoke of power and control, the very things you had been so desperate to grasp.

Ambessa closed the door behind you with a soft click, and then she turned to face you, her eyes now intense with anticipation. “Tell me, darling… what is it you truly desire?” she asked, her voice low and coaxing.

You hesitated, but only for a second. Then the truth spilled from your lips. “I want to be… seen.”

Ambessa stepped toward you, a predatory smile playing on her lips. “Oh, I see you,” she purred. “I see you more clearly than anyone ever has.” She reached out, her fingers grazing your cheek with deliberate slowness, as though savoring the moment. “And now, I’ll make sure you’re never unseen again.”

She cupped your face gently, tilting your chin upward, and her gaze softened, as though she were savoring the power of the moment. “You were always meant for something greater than this city. But you needed a catalyst… someone to help you realize your true potential.”

Her touch was almost tender, but the undercurrent of control never left. She leaned in, her lips brushing your forehead with a softness that contrasted the fire in her eyes.

“I can give you everything,” she whispered, her voice filled with honeyed persuasion.

A heat bloomed in your chest, rising to your cheeks, but it wasn’t embarrassment—it was the burning spark of surrender. Every part of you that had been torn between resistance and the seductive pull of her power now bent toward the inevitable.

You nodded, the words tumbling out in a quiet confession, “I’ll help...”

Ambessa’s lips curled into a triumphant, almost possessive smile. “Good.” She leaned in, her mouth capturing yours in a kiss that was both commanding and consuming. It was gentle at first, a slow burn that deepened with every press of her lips, every brush of her tongue. She held you with an intensity that made your knees weak, her hands roaming with practiced care, tracing your sides, your back, pulling you closer until you could feel the heat of her body against yours.

When she pulled back, breathless but satisfied, her fingers trailed down your spine, sending shivers of anticipation through you. “You belong to me now,” she said softly, her voice wrapped in a possessive sweetness. “And I’ll make sure you never regret it.”

You trembled, feeling the weight of her words settle over you, and for the first time in a long while, you realized you didn’t mind. You were hers. Completely.

In her arms, under her gaze, you were no longer the scientist who had failed. You were a tool—her tool—ready to be shaped and molded into something greater, something powerful. You had agreed, out of weakness, yes—but in that weakness, you had found something that felt like freedom.

And as Ambessa’s lips met your skin once more, tracing the delicate curve of your jaw, you wondered if this, this was what it meant to truly be seen.

[katsu28]

summer's golden haze - chapter two

pairing: lando norris x reader

summary: backyard barbecues, the local market, and an unexpected discovery that has you wondering what exactly you may have just gotten yourself into. (5k)

warnings: angst (this early on, i know i'm sorry but it's for the plot i promise <3), lando and max f bickering like an old married couple

a/n: she's here!!!! sorry it took a little longer than expected but i hope you all enjoy this chapter :) pls feel free to come chat in my asks if you want to, i'd love to hear what everyone think about it so far!

previous chapter | masterlist

“Are these guys rich or something?”

Camille voices exactly the thought running through your mind as you roll to a stop to the address Lando had texted you yesterday, gawking out at the sprawling acreage in front of you. 

You peer at the impressive villa through the windshield, taking in everything with baited breath. She’s absolutely right. 

This house has to be two, if not three times the size of the one you’re all staying at, and that’s just what you can see so far. Vines bursting with colorful flowers crawl up white stone walls, curling around trellises of even more foliage, shutters on huge windows. There’s even a massive fountain in the middle of the courtyard, pristine marble, spewing crystal clear water in streams. 

It’s a classic old money countryside villa—worth millions, you assume, not even taking in the gathering of vintage and expensive sports cars parked along the cobblestone driveway. You suddenly feel so, so small compared to the extravagance of just the exterior of the place. 

Who are these people? 

A guy with brown curls similar to Lando’s pulls open the door when you ring the bell, in the middle of yelling something at someone further inside the house, before turning his gaze on you all. His face lights up in recognition at the sight of you. “Oh, hey, you’re the girl Lando won’t shut up about! I’m Max, but I’m sure he’s told you all about me, hasn’t he?” 

So this is Max. Lando’s told you a little about him, but mainly just funny stories. You wonder if Max knows his best friend is going around telling girls he’s just met about the time Max walked into a glass sliding door. 

“A little bit, not much. It’s nice to put a face to the name though!” You say politely. 

Max sighs dramatically, shaking his head in faux disappointment. He and Lando must be close. “I’m the best part of his life, and he doesn’t think to share it! What a knob. Anyways, welcome, come on in, make yourselves at home!” 

He ushers you all inside, leading you through the house and out huge double French doors leading to the backyard. The rest of their group sits on couches gathered around a stone fire pit, drinks in hand, chatting amongst themselves until they see you all coming. Max does the introductions between your two groups, but there’s one person missing. The one person you were looking forward to seeing again is nowhere to be found. 

Max must notice how your eyes search for Lando, because he grins knowingly. “He’ll be out in a bit. Work called.” 

“Oh, what does he do?” Samira chimes in. You fight the urge to throw a stone at her, because you know what she’s doing. She’s getting information on Lando because you haven’t got the guts to do it yourself yet. 

“Has he not told you yet?” Max raises a brow, taking a sip of his drink. When you shake your head, he presses his lips together, like he’s debating whether or not to tell you himself. “Yeah, sorry, I think I’m gonna stay out of this one. He gets pissy when I meddle with his budding relationships.” 

Budding relationship. Your face flames hot at the insinuation, but Samira takes it in stride, raising a skeptical brow. 

“What, is he in the mafia or something?” 

“‘Course not, that’s ridiculous. Pretty boy like him, he’d never make it in the mafia,” Max snorts. “No, he’s…look, it’s not really my place to say. I’m sure he’ll tell you when he’s ready.” 

Lando materializes from inside at that very moment, brows furrowed. There’s a tic going off in his jaw and he looks a little pissed off about something, but as soon as he looks up and sees that there’s company, he composes himself in a split second. 

“Hey, guys!” He chirps, hand raising in a wave. He makes his way over to where you all are, plopping down in the empty spot beside you without hesitation. “Glad you could make it.” 

“Thanks for the invite,” Maren replies, ever the polite one. “And the coffee yesterday.” 

Max makes an offended noise from the back of his throat at his friend. “You bought them coffee yesterday? Where was mine? You never buy me coffee.” 

“Mate, you don’t even drink coffee!” 

“Maybe I would if you bought it for me!” 

The two boys continue to bicker with each other in the same way all evening, which leads you to believe this is just how they are with one another. It gives Lando another dimension in your mind, and you like it.

There are a handful of common interests amongst your friends and Lando’s, ones that spark conversation immediately. As the night goes on, it feels like you’ve all been friends for a while, and you’re glad. Part of you was worried things would be awkward between everyone, but thankfully that isn’t the case.

It passes the time quicker than you expect. Soon enough it’s nearing midnight and you’re close to nodding off onto Lando’s shoulder, fighting to stay awake and looped into the ongoing conversation despite the sleep threatening to overtake you.

It certainly doesn’t help that he exudes warmth from where you’ve wound up pressed against each other on the small couch. You turn your head to look at him, to take in the little details of him. The angle of his jaw, the slope of his nose. The smattering of moles across his face and neck.

One wayward curl hangs over his forehead, and you want to reach out, brush it away. You don’t think you’re quite at that stage of comfort with each other yet, but then he tears his attention away from the rest of the group and meets your gaze with what you can only describe as pure fondness dripping from his lazy grin. 

“You alright?” He says softly, shifting his body to face you a little more. 

You nod, because you’re more than alright. For the first time in a while, everything feels just the way it should be. “Are you?” 

“Hm?” Lando replies noncommittally, sipping his drink. “Fine, why?” 

“Earlier, after your phone call, you seemed…upset. I don’t mean to pry, I just wanted to see if everything was alright.” 

“Oh, that? Nah, that was nothing, just my boss. Wanted to talk work stuff, but I wasn’t feeling it, y’know?” He shrugs. It feels like there’s more to what he’s saying, but you don’t want to push too hard. You’re still familiarizing yourself with him. “You’re sweet to check on me, though.” 

“Okay. But if you, um, if you need to talk or anything, I’ve been told I’m a good listener.”

Lando traces a finger briefly over the thin strap of your dress, just over your shoulder, before dropping his chin into his palm. You already know he’s about to change the subject. Involuntarily, you shiver at his touch, and he definitely notices, because he suddenly looks a little smug.

“Pretty dress,” He hums, tilting his head. 

You weren't trying to make a good impression on Lando, but you weren't exactly not trying, if that makes sense. It doesn't really make sense to you, but you’d gone for cute but comfy with a dress you’d borrowed, hoping it says you’d made an effort, but not too much of one. 

Suddenly you can’t remember what you were just thinking about not being at a certain stage of comfort with one another. Is it weird that you're secretly pleased he liked it enough to mention it?

“It’s not mine,” You say softly. Lando lets out a noise of question. “I borrowed it from Maren.” 

“Ah. Well, you should definitely get one for yourself then. It’s a nice color on you.” 

You want to say thank you, or really just say anything at all, but the moment your gaze flicks back up to his, you’re lost in his eyes again. Everything around you blurs into the background until it feels like it’s just the two of you. You’re teetering on the edge of something, and fuck, it would be so easy to just go over. To let yourself fall and fall and fall into his waiting arms at the bottom. 

Suddenly you hear your own voice in your head.

Don’t get attached. 

Clearing your throat, you pull back from Lando as smooth as you can manage with him muddling up your brain like this. “It’s late. We should get going,” You say, a tad louder than necessary. 

“She’s right,” Camille chimes in, taking note of the slight urgency in your tone. “We’ve got a guided hike in the morning—sunrise, can you believe it?” 

Lando’s mouth dips into a tiny frown for a moment, but it disappears as quickly as it appeared. He nods understandingly. “Sure. I’ll walk you out.” 

You all say your goodbyes and thank you’s, to which the boys wholeheartedly agree you should all do this again sometime before you part ways. 

Lando trails behind a bit like he’s unsure, but catches up to you quickly on the way out, shoulder bumping against yours lightly as you fall into step with each other. His hand brushes yours and lingers a little, pinkies almost intertwining. 

“Tonight was nice,” He says casually. 

“Yeah, it was,” You agree, bobbing your head. 

“Would you—I dunno, maybe want to hang out again?”

“With you guys? ‘Course we would, I’m sure the girls would love to.” You smile, casting a glance at your friends. They’ve all coincidentally already gotten into the car, but if you squint hard enough you can see them gawking at Lando and yourself through the windshield.

How very not subtle of them. 

Lando rocks on the balls of his feet almost nervously, reaching up to scratch the back of his neck. “No, I meant, like…just the two of us.” 

“You mean, like, alone?” 

“A date. I’m trying to ask you out on a date,” He blurts, nose scrunching. “And failing miserably apparently.” 

“Oh!” You feel your face burn hot, yet you couldn’t wipe the smile off your face even if you tried. You’re about to take him up on the offer, but before you can say a word, another voice pops into the conversation. 

“Yes! She says yes! Whatever you’re asking, her answer is yes!” Samira yells through the window enthusiastically, muffled through the glass but still very audible.

Neither you nor Lando can stop the laughs that escape your mouths, especially when you turn around and all three girls are shooting you excited thumbs ups. 

“Guess that’s settled then,” You giggle, turning back to face him. 

“It’s a date.” He pushes forward, catching you by surprise when he presses a soft kiss to your cheek. As cliche as it sounds, the touch of his lips against your skin, although fleeting, sends a flurry of butterflies through your stomach. “I’ll text you later to plan, yeah? Get home safe.” 

He waits for you to pull around the circular driveway, and as his waving form gets smaller and smaller in the rearview mirror, a glimmer of hope worms its way through you. 

In the back of your mind, you know you should keep it in check. This could be totally casual. A short summer fling that won’t hurt anyone no matter how it ends. But maybe, just maybe, it could turn into something more. 

-------

Your schedules don't end up giving you a free afternoon together until a few days later, though you come to realize it only makes you look forward to seeing Lando again even more. 

You're supposed to be meeting him at the local market in the center of town at half past one, but you find yourself there early, wanting to get a lay of the land before he gets there.

Evidently Lando had the same idea, because you spot him within the first few steps into the open air marketplace, squatting next to a stand with crates and buckets of bright flowers. He’s already got a bouquet clutched in his hands, but still he browses through the different bunches. 

“Flowers for Max?” You joke. 

Lando shoots to his feet so fast he nearly hits his head on the lightbulb hanging above, only managing to miss it by mere inches as he startles at the sudden voice. When he realizes it’s just you, he snorts with laughter. “He wishes! They’re for you, actually.” 

“Me?” 

“Yeah, you,” He says teasingly. You don’t even know what to say. Flowers on the first date might be normal, yet nobody’s ever done it for you before. You’re touched, but he must take your silence as something else, because his smile drops the tiniest bit. “Unless you see something you like better? I can still put these back.” 

You study the flowers he’s picked out already. A little on the smaller side, it boasts a beautiful mix of both soft and brighter colors while still being simple—it’s exactly the sort of thing you would’ve chosen if you were buying flowers for yourself. “They’re perfect.” 

He pays for the flowers and passes them over to you with the biggest smile on his face, one that grows even bigger when you tuck them carefully into the crook of your arm after giving the delicate blossoms a sniff. 

You notice the camera hanging around his neck at that moment, despite knowing close to nothing about golf, you do know a thing or two about photography. “Golfer and photographer? Impressive.” 

“Amateur at best.” 

“Oh, I’m sure you're just being modest.” 

“Not even a little bit. I just enjoy taking pictures of things I like.” 

He swings around to face you fully, bringing the camera up to his eye and pausing only a second to make sure you're in focus before snapping a photo of you. The shutter clicks twice before you have the sense to hold up a hand out in front of you, a surprised laugh spilling from your mouth. Even then he grins, takes another one before lowering the camera. "What, you don't like having your photo taken?" 

“I’m just not very photogenic!” 

Lando scoffs immediately, shooting you a pointed look. “That is such a lie.” 

“I probably just broke your fancy expensive camera,” You joke. 

“We’ll just have to wait til I get it developed and see. I think it’ll turn out wonderful.” 

“And if it doesn’t?” 

“I’ll buy you dinner. If I’m right, then…you let me buy you dinner.” 

You let out a noise of surprise. “Well, that doesn’t seem very fair, does it? You’d have to buy me dinner either way.” 

“I can think of worse things than taking a pretty girl out for a nice meal.” His words take you by surprise, but judging by the smug grin on his face, Lando takes pride in eliciting a reaction from you. “Shall we?” And just like that, he’s sauntering off down the path like he didn’t just leave you at a loss for words, pep in his step even as he turns around to shoot you a roguish smile. “You coming or what?” 

You push aside the fluttering in your chest, giving your head an amused shake before catching up with him. It’s cute that he thinks he’s funny. Even cuter that he seems rather eager to take you out on a second date before the first one has even started. 

The two of you wander through the market aimlessly, stopping here and there at various stalls to have a look around. If you had the means, you’d buy everything you see. You wind up picking up some gorgeous looking fruit and a bottle of locally pressed wine, a few small souvenirs for your family back home, but the most important thing you buy isn’t even for you. 

Lando had lingered at a stall selling handmade jewelry early on, seemingly interested in a woven bracelet of blues and whites, but didn't pick it up. Part of you wonders why, but it sparks an idea in your head. 

You tug at Lando’s arm lightly, smiling guiltily when he turns to look at you. “I think I left my phone at that fruit stand a few stalls back.” 

“You’d forget your head if it wasn’t attached to your body, you muppet,” He chides, shaking his head fondly. “C’mon, let’s find it.” 

“No, I can get it. Why don’t you find us something good for lunch? I’m starving.” 

“Are you sure?” Lando cocks his head, shoulder bumping against yours. “I don’t mind.” 

“I’ll be right back,” You promise. To sweeten the deal, you make the bold move of pressing a kiss to his cheek. He freezes under your touch, but you pass it off as him not expecting it and being taken by surprise. “Two minutes, okay? Maybe less.” 

As soon as you confirm he isn’t paying any attention to you, you slip back through the crowd, finding the same stall and buying the bracelet he’d been looking at. You tuck it safely into your pocket, quickly making your way back to Lando before he realizes you’ve been gone long and comes looking for you. 

“All good?” He asks upon noticing you reappear by his side. 

You wiggle your phone in the air. “Never better. What's for lunch?” 

Lando grins happily, reciting the spiel that the very friendly older man at the food stand gave to him when he’d decided on the delicious looking food. Sure, maybe he stumbles over his pronunciation a little bit, but you find his giggled embarrassment sweet. 

You find a semi-secluded bench a little jaunt away to enjoy your food, and you do enjoy it. You think it might be one of the best things you’ve ever had, and when you tell Lando, he looks pleasantly surprised. As you continue to savor every bite, Lando’s eyes light up with amusement, so much so that you wonder what’s suddenly got him all smiling big like this. 

“What?” You say incredulously. 

He gestures to the lower part of his face. “You’ve got a little…” 

Mortified, you mirror his actions on your own face, searching for the food you’ve somehow gotten smudged on your chin. After a few tries that have him shaking his head, you whine, “Help me, please?”, to which he obliges with a soft chuckle. He reaches out, thumb rubbing at the corner of your mouth briefly. 

This moment almost seems too intimate, but then again, so have a lot of moments between the two of you. The way he’s looking at you makes you feel like you’ve still got something on your face, but then his gaze flicks down to your lips again almost imperceptibly, and you have an inkling of what’s about to happen. 

“Did you get it?” You ask softly. You’re not sure why you break the silence, but it's definitely not because you don’t want him to kiss you. If you think about it, you’ve wanted Lando to kiss you this whole time. 

“Yeah. Yeah, I got it," He replies. His hand lingers, long fingers splaying flat under the curve of your jaw now. You surprise yourself by shifting forward slightly, as if encouraging Lando to close the gap. He leans in closer and closer still, and your eyes fall shut on their own accord, heartbeat hammering against your rib cage. 

You nearly melt the moment his lips touch yours, held up only by the firm grasp of his hand cupping your face. It’s a little awkward with the food in between the two of you blocking you from pushing closer to him, but you make it work, reaching over it to wrap your fingers around Lando’s forearm. You feel like you need it to ground yourself, because holy shit, you’re kissing him. 

Well, more like he’s kissing you, because you’re definitely not the one leading the way. Lando kisses like he knows exactly what he’s doing, and judging by how you feel weak in the knees when you’re not even standing, he does know exactly what he’s doing. 

You’re falling, falling, falling, getting lost in him, until— 

“Wait, hang on,” He breathes, pulling away. Your eyes flutter open in an almost dazed sort of way, focusing on him in hopes of finding him in the same state, but all you’re met with is…guilt? Sadness? Shame? Maybe a mixture of everything, you’re not sure. All you know is that it has your heart plummeting in your chest. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.” 

Everything hits you at once, and suddenly you’re crashing back down to reality. Lando thinks kissing you was a mistake. You were so sure he liked you back, sure enough to go on a date with him, and now here you are with egg on your face, feeling unbelievably stupid. Hurt. 

“I’m gonna—I have to go,” You mumble, scrambling to your feet. You don’t even have an excuse prepared, you just need to get out of here, get away from Lando before you spontaneously combust from the sheer embarrassment. 

His hand encircles your wrist before you can make it even a step away. 

“No, no, don’t! Please, just let me…let me explain. I promise things will all make sense in a second, if you’ll just hear me out,” He says pleadingly. Despite your better judgment, you sit back down, expression guarded. Lando blows out a deep breath, pinching the bridge of his nose briefly. “Look, I like you. I really like you, and I wish things were as simple as that, but there’s things I’ve not told you. Things that, if you knew, you might not want to be with me.” 

You squeeze your eyes shut as hard as you can, burying your burning face into your hands with a muffled groan. “Oh my god, you are in the mafia, aren’t you?” 

“The—what?” Lando blurts, sounding wildly confused. “No, I’m not, I’m not in the mafia. Are you mad? I’m a Formula 1 driver!” 

You crack one eye open, then the other. “Formula 1.” You repeat, disbelieving. “Like, the racing thing?”  

He nods enthusiastically, tells you everything—how his childhood dream turned into a career, how he gets to travel all around the world doing what he loves. The fame, the lifestyle, the opportunities he’s worked so hard for, all while sounding entirely humble and grateful for everything and everyone who’ve gotten him to where he is today. 

It’s impressive, to say the least. The fact that he’s still fairly young and has already accomplished more than what some people have in a whole lifetime. Then he gets to how the chaos that doing what he does at the level he does it at wreaks havoc on other parts of his life, and you feel a wave of sympathy roll over you. 

The tradeoff for all that success is not getting to have a normal life in almost every aspect, and given the downward set of his brow as he tells you about it, this isn’t the first time he’s had this conversation with someone. 

“It makes being in a relationship…difficult, is the best way I can describe it. I’m never in one place more than a week most times, and the whole time zones thing makes it harder too. And after these two weeks are up, I’m already off to somewhere else, jumping right back into the second half of the season and hitting the ground running.” 

Realization hits you like a truck at this point, and you have to fight the urge to laugh out loud. Of course Lando is who he is. Of course you had to form a connection with someone with a life as complicated and as far away from your own as possible, someone who couldn’t be in a normal relationship even if he wanted to. 

“I wish it were different, but I just—I wanted you to know what you might be getting into if we…” He trails off, but you know what he means. If we want to get involved with each other. If we want to be together. 

“So like, long distance, but infinitely harder.” You’re doing your best to put a light spin on the massive amount of new information you’ve just acquired, but you’re barely managing to process it all, let alone even think about what it would be like to date someone as well known as Lando. 

“Yeah, something like that,” He says softly, shoulders creeping up towards his ears. “It’s—well, it’s a lot of baggage for anyone to have to deal with. Lots of eyes and ears, pretty public. Not really your cup of tea, I’ve noticed.” 

He’s right. You’ve never been one to enjoy being the center of attention, preferring to fly under the radar. Blend into the background. And you hate to say it, but knowing all of what he’s just told you changes things. You don’t think you can handle being thrust into the public eye, and it makes you feel like the most selfish person in the world to walk away from him just because of who he happens to be. 

Your life would be forever altered, your sense of privacy and security gone, and that isn’t something you want to compromise. You’re comfortable being nobody significant. With Lando, that would change, no matter how many measures you take to make sure it doesn’t. 

As much as you’ve come to like him—and you really like him—it’s just not something you can see yourself being fully okay with. 

“I’m so sorry, Lando,” You say quietly. He just smiles sadly, like he already knew it was coming, and you can't help but think about how many relationships—platonic or romantic—that he's lost out on because of his status. The thought alone makes you feel even worse. “I like you too, but I can’t—I don’t think I can be what you want me to be. It’s not me, it’s not the way I can live my life.” 

“Don’t be sorry. You haven’t got a reason to be,” He murmurs, thumb rubbing across your knuckles comfortingly. “Knew it was too good to be true, didn’t I?” 

“I’m sorry,” You say again, hoping that Lando knows you truly mean it. “I wish it were different, but—”

Lando shakes his head, interrupting before you can grasp for any other ways to apologize. He squeezes your hand reassuringly again. “Hey. It’s alright, I promise. I’d never ask anyone to do something they aren’t comfortable with. Especially not you.” 

Even when he’s sad, he’s still so thoughtful. It would take a different kind of awful monster not to want to be with him. Apparently that monster is you. 

You wish you were someone else, someone who could take huge changes in stride and never miss a step, but you’re not. Someone who knows what they want and goes for it—who knows who they want and doesn’t let anything get in their way. 

Unfortunately, you’re not that kind of person. 

“What do we do now?” 

Lando drops your hand to run his fingers through his curls, down to the back of his neck sheepishly. “Dunno about you, but I’ve—d’you think there’s any chance we can still be friends? I really do enjoy spending time with you lot, we all do.” 

“Friends would be nice,” You say softly. It feels strange to agree with him so wholeheartedly. 

Maybe it’ll be awkward between the two of you, maybe you won’t even be able to sit next to each other with what’s happened today, but you can’t bring yourself to care all that much. The only thought running through your mind is that you don’t want to lose Lando, even as just a friend. 

You’ve gotten attached. 

The bracelet you’d bought Lando burns a hole through your pocket. It would be weird to give it to him now, after you’d just turned him down, but you can’t exactly just return it either. You don’t really want to. 

Maybe it won’t go to him, but you’re sure you’ll find something to do with it someday.

The girls are waiting in the living room when you finally make your way home, gathered on the sofa with identical innocent smiles like you hadn’t seen them with their heads poked through the curtains. Samira bounces off the cushions with what you can only describe as a gleeful cackle to grab your flowers, showing them off to the other two like a game show host before grabbing your hand and dragging you into the center of their blanket pile. 

You know they're expecting good news and you wish you could give it to them, but you can’t. 

“So??? How’d it go?” 

“He got her flowers, obviously it went well!” 

“Okay, spill, now,” Camille presses, easing the bouquet out of Samira’s hands and setting it on the coffee table. “What’s he like, what’d you do—” 

“When’s your second date?” chimes in Maren excitedly. The other two nod their vigorous agreement. 

“Lando’s amazing,” You sigh, letting yourself fall back against the plush pillows. “He’s super sweet and really funny, we walked around and looked at all the vendors, and then we had lunch and talked for ages, and…there won’t be a second date.”

“What? That’s impossible, you guys were like, made for each other!” 

You sigh, rub at a flower petal that’s fallen away from the bouquet. “It’s complicated. I don’t—I’m not ready to get into all of it again this soon, but long story short, our lives are just too different. Being with him would mean compromising things I’m just not ready to lose right now.” 

If any of them wants to push for a better explanation, and you know they do, they refrain from doing so. They know you’ll tell them when you’re ready. 

But even Samira can tell you’re not quite as okay as you insist you are, and she’s been rooting for you extra hard. She leans her head onto your shoulder, squeezes your hand reassuringly. “You did what was best for you, and that’s all that matters.” 

“We agreed to still be friends, so we can still hang out with the guys and stuff like that, but—I mean, yeah, it just didn’t work out.” You don’t think you sound very convincing at all, but it’s the bed you've made, you’ve got to lay in it. “I just don’t really want to talk about it right now, but it's fine. I'm fine.” 

It has to be. You have to be. You’ve made sure of it.

follow @katsu-library to be notified when i post a new chapter :)

[senascoop]

☁︎ . , JUST SO YOU KNOW , Y.JW !

PAIRING: boyfriend ! jungwon × girlfriend ! afab reader. SYNOPSIS: when you can't help but want everyone else to know that he's yours. GENRE: jealous girlfriend trope, drabble. WARNING(S): hickey (mentioned), jealous reader, not proofread. WORD COUNT: 587. [ARCHIVE]

Jungwon sits stiffly in his chair, trying to maintain a polite smile while the female idol leans a little too close for comfort. Her hand casually brushes his arm, and he shifts slightly, hoping to create some distance. His discomfort is evident in the way his fingers twitch nervously at his sides. The crew around them laughs, some whispering that the two of them look "so cute together."

“You two should date, honestly,” one of the stylists says with a playful nudge, completely unaware of how uncomfortable Jungwon feels.

The female idol, catching on, giggles and leans in closer, batting her eyelashes. “Should we?” she asks, her voice dripping with feigned innocence. She knows about you, but she’s choosing to ignore it. Her hand lingers on Jungwon’s shoulder, her fingers playing with the fabric of his jacket, as if testing his boundaries.

Jungwon’s jaw tightens, but he forces a polite smile, swallowing down his frustration. “I’m already datin—” he starts, trying to assert his relationship, but before he can finish, the door to the room swings open.

You step in, your smile so sweet it could melt ice, but the fire in your eyes tells a different story. Without missing a beat, you stride over to Jungwon, effortlessly slipping your arm through his, your body pressing gently against his side. The tension in the room shifts immediately, and Jungwon’s entire posture relaxes at the sight of you.

“Oh? What were you saying?” you ask, your voice dripping with playful curiosity, eyes locking onto the stylist who had just suggested the ridiculous idea. You look so serene, like you hadn’t heard a word of what was said, but Jungwon knows better. Beneath your calm exterior is a storm.

The room falls silent. The stylists and crew exchange awkward glances, the female idol's face paling slightly as you shoot her a glance—sharp, protective.

“Ah... nothing... uh, are you Jungwon’s…” The stylist trails off, unsure of how to proceed under your intense gaze.

You turn to Jungwon, urging him with a tilt of your head to clear things up once and for all. His throat goes dry for a second, but then he nods, stepping up. “Yes,” he says, voice firm but slightly nervous under your watchful eye. “We're dating.”

You hum in approval, but your eyes glitter mischievously. “Oh, really? You didn’t tell them about this?” You feign innocence as your finger softly grazes the side of his neck, pulling down the collar just enough to reveal the faint purplish mark you’d left there earlier that day.

Jungwon’s cheeks flush a deep shade of pink, and he lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. His eyes dart between you and the now-silent crew, utterly embarrassed but also relieved to have you there. The rest of the room goes wide-eyed, a mix of shock and sudden realization flooding their expressions.

The female idol visibly stiffens, retracting her hand from Jungwon’s shoulder, now clearly outmatched. She clears her throat and forces a smile, taking a step back. “Oh… I see,” she mutters under her breath, trying to play it off coolly, but the damage is done.

You smirk slightly, giving her one last glance before turning back to Jungwon. Your hand squeezes his arm a bit tighter, possessive but loving. Jungwon finally breaks into a small, relieved smile, the tension from before melting away as he looks at you with gratitude.

Leaning closer to him, you murmur teasingly, “Next time, don’t make me have to do this, okay?”

© senascoop | tumblr

[nerdygirlramblings]

totally not at all inspired by a real life snowboarding injury, I present poly!141 x injured!reader

cw: hurt/comfort, accents attempted

You're sat in the hospital bed doing your best not to cry. You hold the tears at bay not because you're fine. Not because you're proud. Not because of the shock running through your system. No, you try hard not to cry because you don't know how your boyfriends will react if you're in tears when they show up.

The spill was the most ridiculous accident, comical in its cartoonish nature: ice on the steps. You were rushing to catch The Tube, desperate not to be late. You knew if any of your men were home, they would have chided your footwear. The pink heels were absolutely impractical, but they matched your pearl grey dress so perfectly. On a normal day, you would have worn something sensible and simply brought the cute shoes to wear around the office.

But today was not a normal day. Today was your anniversary, and you had lovely dinner plans with your men scheduled. You wouldn't be able to come home after work, so you needed to look perfect all day.

You were almost home free when the last step ruined everything. Your foot slid, your bag fell, and you put your hands out to stop your forward momentum. So many bad ideas all in a row.

You felt something pop, heard a snap, and knew immediately you were very injured. Pain radiated all the way up your arm, leaving fire in its wake. Signals weren't making their way from your brain to your hand; it flapped, unresponsive, in your lap.

Thankfully your neighbor, Mrs. Gillen, was on the curb, and while she couldn't help you when you fell, she called 999 for you. She asked if your men were upstairs, and when you shook your head, she called John. You knew she had everyone's number, but as she'd learned, a call to John usually got everyone.

As they loaded you into the ambulance, you heard Mrs. Gillen ask an EMT where they were taking you, only to relay that information into her mobile.

So now you wait in A&E, arm in a sling, hooked up to an IV of fluids and pain meds, to see just how bad things are. You hear your men before you see them, John's voice low, demanding information on you. You don't hear a response, but John's growled response means he didn't get what he wanted.

Next you hear Johnny, frantically shouting your name as A&E techs try to shush him for the benefit of other patients and their families. A nurse comes in, unease in his eyes, and says there are several people asking for you. He tells you they have a code they can call if you're not safe, if the people looking for you need to be directed elsewhere or handled by the authorities.

You roll your eyes and assure the nurse it's okay. You pass him your phone, open to a picture of the five of you on holiday in Majorca last summer. "They're mine," you tell him ruefully. "Best let them back if it isn't against protocol, otherwise you'll be dealing with a big ruckus."

He eyes you hesitantly, despite the evidence on your phone. "Really," you say. "We're together. They'll be harmless if they can see me."

He steps into the hall and you watch him talk with a doctor and a man in a security uniform. They all come in and you have to explain your unconventional relationship, all the while listening to Johnny's shouts grow more panicked and Simon's rumble join John's. The only one you don't hear is Kyle, but you sure it's because he's restraining Johnny, who would be running through the halls pulling open doors if he could.

Finally the nurse, doctor, and security guard leave. Within moments the door bangs open so hard it strains the hinges. The hall light is blocked by a mass in the door, breathing heavily.

"Hi, Simon," you say sheepishly. He steps into the room, strides eating up the distance to where you are. You watch his aborted attempt to hug you. You raise your uninjured arm and he quickly shuffles into the space, pressing his face to your hair and breathing deeply.

"Oh, darling," you hear John sigh, "what happened?"

You feel your face heat and won't meet his eye. His gaze tracks from your injury down your dress to your legs. And those pink heels. You see the realization hit. "Please tell me you did not leave the flat in those shoes." His voice is muffled by the hand he's dragged over his face.

"I wanted to look perfect for tonight," you reply. "And now I've ruined it all," you sniffle.

"Och, hen," comes Johnny's voice. "Ye didnae ruin anything," he coos, coming over, elbowing Simon out of the way to press kisses to your hair and cheek. "We were so worried when Mrs. Gillen called. We jus' wan' ye safe. Yer already perfect." He kisses you again and again.

"Ya mind if we wait with ya, love?" Kyle asks, sitting in the chair next to the bed.

You were nervous about being in A&E alone, scared of what damage you did to yourself. "I wouldn't want you anywhere else," you tell him.

They boys take up various positions around the room, Simon looming behind you, eyes crossed, watching the door; John in the chair near the door, looking at your chart; and Johnny on the bed with you, your uninjured hand in his.

When the attending finally comes in, she pulls up short at how full the room now is. She looks at your men, then at you, and says, "Do you want this medical information shared, or shall we ask everyone to wait outside?"

Suddenly the room feels smaller, the air stuffier. You know it isn't harder to breathe, but your men are expansive, and the idea they might not be welcome as the doctor tells you the extent of your injuries is too much.

"No, doctor," you say, trying to head off a confrontation. "They're with me. And it's best they hear whatever this is from you." You look at John and add, "I'm sure they'll have questions."

The doctor holds your eye for a long moment, and you see the moment she decides to trust you. She comes to the end of the bed and holds her tablet out, waiting for John and Kyle to come around and join Simon behind you.

She brings up the first scan of your forearm and you see it before she says anything, the glaring black line across the solid white bones. Combined fracture of the radius and ulna. She brings up a second scan of your shoulder where the injury is less obvious. There's no bone break, but the doctor points out where you tore the ligaments in your glenohumeral joint.

The more she talks the more the words blend together. You hear surgery. Physical therapy. Weeks of recovery. John's voice joins the doctor's. Then Simon's.

You tune them out, worrying about what this means for your job, for taking care of the house when your men are on deployment, for the burden this puts on the others.

You feel a warm weight on your thigh and glance down to see Johnny's hand, thumb rubbing soothingly back and forth. The sharp line of his jaw digs into your uninjured shoulder enough to get your attention. You turn your head to glance at him. He leans forward, breath warm against your cheek as he whispers, "Stop thinkin' so hard. Takin' care a ye isnae hardship. Hell, it's gunna mean ye cannae tell us tae stop."

You frown and whisper back, "I'm not supposed to be a burden," mouth twisted into a frown.

He scoffs. "Ah dare ye tae tell LT or the Cap'n yer a burden."

A throat clears, and you look away from Johnny. The doctor looks resolute; John's eyes are full of pity. They both seem to wait for your reaction, but to what? You were spiraling until Johnny drew you back to them, but what had John and the doctor said to make them look at you like that?

Your eyes dart between them, mouth opening and closing in your best imitation of a fish until the doctor saves you further embarrassment. "We can't do anything more today. The bones in your arm can't be set until the swelling goes down, so we can only put you in a temporary splint until a real cast goes on in about a week. And I don't want to schedule the surgery until the bone is in a cast, and preferably not until it's healed, but I need more imaging on the ligament to determine how quickly it needs surgery. I'm going to have to send you home with pain medication only. You're going to need quite a bit of help for a while."

At first, the most you manage is a small, "Oh." You clear your throat and try again. "Thank you, doctor. Er, when should I schedule the imaging for? And how should I do that? Oh, and where do I go for the actual cast?"

The doctor sighs and looks at John first before the others. "I gave your, er, friend all the contact information for the orthopedist and imaging specialists. He said they'd make sure you have your appointments set. I also gave him your script for pain medication to help you manage these first few days."

You thank the doctor again as your boys escort you home. You hold the tears at bay on the drive home, waiting quietly in the car when Kyle takes your prescription into the chemist. You make it up the stairs in Simon's arms, cradled against his chest like a fragile bird. It isn't until you're back in your flat that the tears come.

A torrent of pain snakes down your arm, stealing the breath from your lungs when you try to shrug your jacket off. Simon is only a step behind you, and he lunges forward, hands under you as you crumple, sobbing, to the floor.

A pair of warm, calloused hands gently cup your face. You can't see through the tears, but you smell sunshine when Kyle shushes you, telling you they're there.

"I don't want to be a burden," you cry between sobs. Your lungs are beginning to burn, everything throbbing in time to the ache in your arm. "Now I've messed everything up!"

You're picked up, gently, from the front hall. The smell of gunmetal tells you it's Simon. His soft steps thud along the floor. There're too many steps for you to be heading for the den, you think. The realization strikes that you must be going to the bedroom. The arms holding you deposit you in front of them on the bed.

Your hair is maneuvered over your uninjured shoulder and you hear the rasp of the zipper as it slowly descends. Simon carefully manipulates your good arm out of its sleeve while Johnny kneels to take your cute shoes off. Then Kyle and Simon work together to carefully, cautiously shift and support your arm to get your other sleeve off. You have a momentary flash - I'm glad A&E didn't cut my dress - before it's overwhelmed by the agony of getting your other sleeve down.

By the time the top of your dress has been slipped off, you're practically panting, teeth clenched tight to prevent the scream from clawing its way up your throat. The boys get you the rest of the way undressed and into your pajamas.

You look around and notice John isn't in the room. You look behind you to Simon, the one most likely to give you a straight answer, but when you ask about John, he pretends not to know him at all!

John walks in a moment later with some flowers you recognize from the vase in the kitchen. "I know you're disappointed, dove. We all are, but not because we think we're missing out if you're not there." John gets down onto one knee. "This isn't what we talked about. This isn't where we wan'ed to do it." He pulls a ring box out. "Was gonna do this at dinner, but I think you need ta remember, dove, you're our world."

You blink back more tears as Simon's voice vibrates your ribcage. His voice rumbles, " Wan' ya to be ours fully."

You look at Kyle and see the giant grin splitting his face.

You don't have to look to see Johnny's sitting, energy practically vibrating off him in waves, waiting as patiently as a kid on Christmas morning.

Your eyes land on John again, still kneeling. Silly man, putting himself through hurt for you. "Marry us, dove?"

Despite the unfounded hopelessness seeping into your bones. Despite the self-pity drowning you under waves of all you haven't done yet. Despite the agony rippling through your arm to the rest of you. Despite all that, you're answering before he fully finishes his question.

"Yes!"

[luveline]

Derek and shy!reader maybe? Meeting the team for the first time and none of them are expecting Derek's partner to be standing half-hidden behind him, shyly waving at them instead of saying anything

thank you for ur request! fem!reader

"So what's the deal?" Emily asks Penelope, licking the stem of her paper umbrella dry before dropping it onto a napkin. "He's suddenly going steady?" 

"Can you call five months sudden?" Rossi asks. 

Hotch nudges him. 

"What?" Rossi asks. "Can you? Five months is a long time." 

"And that's why you had to send Christmas cards to three different divorce lawyers this year," Emily says. 

Emily has a penchant for saying the occasional brazen comment, but JJ confiscates her friend's margarita anyways, before the booze loosens her lips and she says something worse. It's a small jet. 

"It's not like Morgan," Spencer agrees, standing at Rossi's other side, looking less out of place than usual. 

"It's totally like him," Penelope says.

Hotch's smile is hard to read, which is a spectacle considering current company. "I agree." 

"Here he is now," Penelope says excitedly, clapping her hands in front of her chest. 

Derek strides into the bar and past its patrons without a care in the world. He looks happy, content, and the team doesn't need to see you to know you're with him. He smiles at his phone at work exactly as he smiles now, with his arm stretched backwards to tether you along. 

You come into view as the crowd thins. You're not what anyone's expecting, certainly not plain but nor are you dressed up. Emily, in her tipsiness, declares that you look adorable, and receives a reproachful look from Hotch in reward. 

"Hey Derek!" JJ calls as soon as he's near enough. 

"Hey, guys. Mama, you remember what we talked about?" Derek asks Penelope. 

She nods sagely. "Restraint. I'm restraining myself. Oh my god you're so cute, I'm Penelope! I'm so happy to meet you." 

"Hi," you say. 

No less than five pairs of eyes fall to your hand as you twist your fingers into Derek's sleeve. He doesn't bat an eye, taking a half step in front of you, a picture of casualness as he introduces you to each of them in turn. 

"It's nice to meet you," Hotch says, seemingly speaking for the whole group. 

You raise your hand and give a stilted wave. Your eyes look sad and stressed at once, but you don't sound either, softly saying, "You too." 

Derek wraps a muscled arm behind your neck, grinning while he meets Penelope's eyes. "What are we drinking tonight?"

Your eyebrows pinch up at the starts. You smile at them all despite your obvious nervousness, and it's enough for each of them to reach the same conclusion simultaneously. You're shy, but you're good. A broad sweep yet easy to make. It's obvious how much you care for Derek if you'd been willing to meet them like this when you clearly don't feel comfortable.

Luckily for you, Penelope is excellent as making people feel welcome. "We're drinking Y/N's choice. What do you like? Sugar shots? Mojitos?" 

Your lips part, unprepared for a direct question so soon. 

Derek turns his head to yours, giving you what Emily deems the most ridiculous puppy dog eyed smile anyone has ever given, and what Rossi knows is a ring waiting to happen. He should know. 

"Let's go figure it out. Another round, from me?" he offers. 

He's quick to steer you away, but not too quick to miss Rossi's, "Something strong if you want us old timers to stay!" 

They wait for you to be safely out of earshot before they condense, bad gossips and worse actors off the job. "Who would've thought?" Emily asks. 

"She's not what I was expecting," JJ says. 

"Are we that intimidating?" Rossi asks, raising his eyebrows. The answer being yes, of course, though none of them are aware of just how scary they can be. You'd felt like you were standing in front of a pack of wolves. 

"She seemed nice," Spencer says. Trust him to say something sweet. Trust the rest of Derek's friends to agree, the group nodding and humming at various pitches.

"She seemed silent," Emily jokes. 

Penelope crosses her fingers and closes her eyes, earrings swinging against the blond tresses of her curled hair as she drops her head. "God, my muffin deserves nice. Please let this work out, she looks so sweet. I just wanna pinch her cheeks." 

"It's gonna work out," Hotch says surely. 

If Derek could hear him, he'd agree on the spot, but he's too busy praising you halfway across the room for such a stellar introduction. 

[1d1195]

Green Skies, Pink Grass

~2.6k words

From me: Going with another one shot for Monday. This very much jumps into the middle of a storyline that I'll never write but just wanted to post something small in between Most updates.

Warnings: jealousy, enemies(?) to lovers

Summary: It is very obvious Harry gets enjoyment out of irritating her. But not when she can't take it anymore.

“Excuse me,” she approached like she owned the table. She slid right between Harry and the girl that was talking to him. She stood at the corner of the square table made for four. But there were only two, Harry and the girl that had every right to be sitting at one of the right angles so they could be closer together.

For nearly the entire night, she watched another girl touch Harry’s arm and flirt with her eyes as they spoke. All while he leaned close and whispered God knows what. Who knew what secrets he was telling her. The stuff that she dreamed of knowing and not just figuring out from her friends or him taunting her. “I didn’t catch your name.”

“Rebecca,” she stated and looked around her intruding body so she could peek at Harry. This was ridiculous. She was talking to him and there was no reason for her to have intruded like that and get in between Harry and him. Everyone knew they didn’t like each other. Of all the people that could have taken his attention from her it couldn’t have been the girl that wanted to wring his neck.

Her backside was directly in front of Harry’s vision. He paid nearly no mind to the intrusion—almost like he expected it. In fact, he took the moment to sip his drink because while he wasn’t proud of it, he was extremely grateful for the reaction it caused from her. All night he felt her stare from across the restaurant. Her gaze bored into him. It was painful how long it took to come to this in his opinion. Now he couldn’t wait to see what she was going to do next. She didn’t even flinch as she approached; her sure-footed steps had her heels clicking across the floor with a power that made Harry’s body warm over. The confidence she had was so sexy. The only thing that could have made the current interaction better than having her perfect ass right in front of his face, would have been being able to see her pretty, angry face as she glared at the girl he was chatting with. “Can I help you?” Becca asked.

Harry smirked, grateful neither one of them could see him because he was very much looking forward to this.

“Yeah, umm…” she swallowed that swagger and confidence suddenly wavering.

Harry wasn’t hers. Not by a long shot. They argued about almost everything there was to argue about. They had opposite movie tastes. He never took her suggestion for making dinner recipes better. His driving directions to get somewhere the fastest were always different than hers. She swore he would argue the sky was green if given half the chance. They weren’t that close, but Niall was her favorite coworker and quite possibly her best friend. But that meant she had to spend an infinite amount of time with his best friend, Harry.

She could have taken all his misgivings in stride, honestly. Tt wouldn’t have been that bad nor hard to have. She liked a bit of a challenge in her life. If Harry hadn’t looked down on her the first time that they met, they might not have been on this frustrating path of annoying one another.

It was no secret that Harry was one of the most gorgeous men she had ever met. His handshake was warm and firm but that was as far as his warmth went—at least when it came to her. She wasn’t oblivious to the way his voice sounded when he talked about his mum, sister, or niece. He donated to a ton of charities and was constantly helping his friends.

It was just her.

He was cold and standoffish the day they met. It hurt. Mainly because Niall told her that she would love him, and she was excited to make a new friend. How often did someone in their late twenties make new friends?

But after their introduction and awkward silences while Niall tried to get them chatting about their similarities instead of their differences, she overheard him whispering to Niall in the kitchen while they got plates and drinks for the pizza they ordered. Only catching some of the words that included dislike, irritating, and know-it-all. She prided herself on being kind, never making anyone feel inferior, but Harry made it seem like a fault and didn’t see her that way at all.

Harry wondered where she was possibly going to go with her irritation at Becca. Only moments before the evening began, she wanted to strangle him. He could see it in her eyes and knew she truly thought about wrapping her hands around his throat because he made some comment about her not getting fucked properly in front of Niall. He smiled impishly at her as the rage filled her eyes. It made her eye twitch in that cute way of hers. The way that made him want to keep pissing her off so it would continue twitching. Part of him wanted to reach out and touch just next to her eye and hope that it would make her crazier but also so he could ease that tension all the same.

But it was clear she was lost here. There was no follow through for this moment and seeing Miss Prim & Proper discombobulated was one of Harry’s favorite kinds of sights. But even still, she didn’t deserve to be this lost. It wasn’t her fault the little envious monster took hold of her without a way out of the situation.

“Hey love,” he hummed quietly, pressed a hand on her lower back. She stepped away like he shocked her—or stabbed her. Her eyes were wild as she glanced at Harry briefly. He smiled, his lips straining a little too much to keep him from smiling mischievously—just like before they entered the restaurant. That little quirk that made her eye start to twitch just the same as well.

 That stupid dimple, that knowing look. She wanted to strangle him again.

He knew what she was feeling all too well. Fortunately, it hadn’t happened tonight, but he knew the irksome feeling that heated his stomach and chest when anyone bought her a drink or complimented her smile while he was in earshot.

It was a beautiful smile, but it made him sick to hear other people say it to her and not him.

“Do you have something to say or what? I was talking to Harry.”

Perhaps the alcohol she had ingested was cause for the bravery that resulted in her walking across the restaurant and planning to tell the girl off. But what was she supposed to say? Harry wasn’t hers. There was nothing she could say that would deter Rebecca from spending time with him. Nothing to stop Harry from spending time with Rebecca.

It seemed Harry noticed she was floundering but for once he didn’t make fun of her nor antagonize her further. Instead, without warning, there was a warm hand on the small of her back. “Kitten,” he hummed. His voice was low, directly in her ear, and full of caution. “Let’s go,” he pressed his fingers into her back in effort to get her away from the table. “Sorry, Becca, I gotta go,” he grabbed his drink, tossing the remaining sip back and settling it back on the table.

She said nothing, glaring at her feet with heated cheeks. While the woman who had taken Harry’s attention but wasn’t going to keep it smiled bitterly. “You’re really going to leave? Just because she interrupted?” Harry ignored her, rolled his eyes but not even the girl he had his hands on could see it.

Harry’s lack of response made her burn with anger more and she wished she knew why she went over to interrupt them. Harry was behind her, his body so close to hers she thought a piece of paper couldn’t fit between them. “Wow can’t even fight back—”

She started to move back for Rebecca, but Harry yanked her closer to him. Not even a molecule of air could have fit between them, before she could even take a full step. His arm was wrapped around the front of her stomach, his lips went directly to her earlobe. “M’here, kitten. She’s not worth y’time,” he assured her. “Walk,” he ordered quietly. Normally, she would fight back and tell him not to order her around. But the alcohol in her system simultaneously subdued her anger toward Harry and amplified it toward everyone else. So she walked.

She could hear the way Rebecca laughed calling her pathetic loudly to anyone that walked by. Harry snaked his arm around her waist and pulled her tightly each time he heard one of Rebecca’s taunts and the following pull of her muscles to turn around to continue her chat with her.

Once they were out of the restaurant, he continued to usher her up the road away from the offensive restaurant. There was a cool chill in the air that hadn’t been there when they entered the venue. Confident she wouldn’t make a break for it and return to give Becca a piece of her mind, Harry released her briefly.

In an instant, he pulled his jacket off and draped it over her shoulders before wrapping his arm around her waist again. He gave her a warm squeeze then walked beside her; his other hand stuffed in his pocket. They didn't speak as they walked. After a block and a half, she bit the inside of her lip. "I'm sorry," she whispered.

Harry hadn't ever heard an apology directed at him from her mouth. "Am I dead?" He murmured.

She sighed. "I don't know what came over me," she admitted.

Harry knew. He knew because he knew exactly how she was feeling. "Yeah," he nodded.

More silence followed and they just kept walking. The shoes she was wearing weren’t really conducive to a city walk but she was willing to have a blister on each toe and her heel if it meant Harry’s warm arm and a jacket that smelled like him was going to be wrapped around her. “Did you like her?” She asked.

Harry smirked. “She was fine.”

She swallowed. “I’m sorry,” she repeated.

“Kitten,” he chuckled. “She was fine, but I’d’ve much preferred you sitting next t’me all night.”

“But you don’t like me.”

Harry snorted. “Honestly, right now, I don’t. Think I could throw y’into traffic for such a remark. What are y’talking ‘bout, love? M’obsessed with you,” he rolled his eyes.

“Obsessed?”

“Obsessed.”

Her heart fluttered. She stopped walking. Mainly because her feet hurt, but also because she was floored that he admitted such a thing. After all the time she spent wondering why he taunted her and made her want to strangle him. Her voice shook as she asked her next question. Because it was mean spirited of him. “Is this a trick? Like that time Niall was setting me up on a date and you convinced me I got the date wrong, and I sat at the coffee shop for hours before—”

Harry chuckled at the memory. Proud of his handy work and grateful she didn’t go on a date with that prick (who was actually a really nice guy that probably deserved her more than Harry did). “No, s’not a trick.”

She was staring at him like he had ten heads and honestly there was nothing better than seeing her little eye twitch. “You like me?” She asked.

“Very much, kitten,” he nodded and stuffed both hands in his pockets while she processed this.

“Can we sit? These shoes are killing me,” she frowned. Harry followed her to the bench out in front of a closed café. He reached for her feet and unclipped the strap from one ankle then the other.

“You really like me?” She asked again while Harry untied his dress shoes. Harry had this thing about always wearing two pairs of socks. It alleviated blisters, of his own dress shoes and there had been countless times Gemma hated her own high heels after a long night at a family wedding. He slid off the top pair and put them on her feet without fanfare.

“I really like you,” he assured her.

“But you...” She frowned, her stomach aching at the kindness he was showing her. Finally. The nice thing about the cute little sock thing he was doing? She had never seen him do it for anyone else. This was a treat for her as far as she knew. He retied his shoes and settled her feet back to the sidewalk. He held her shoes beside him on the bench.

“I what?” His smile was adorable, mischievous as always, dimple appearing cutely in his left cheek, but it didn’t make her eye twitch and even though he missed it, he liked her soft expression, analyzing him more.

“You said I was a know-it-all. And... irritating.”

“You are irritating,” she glared at him so cutely, he wanted to take a picture of her and make it his phone background and print it on a poster to hang on the ceiling above his bed. “When did I call y’irritating?”

“When you met me. You said you disliked me."

He tilted his head. “Do y’mean at Niall’s?” She nodded. He was clearly processing that and tried to think back. She was finally quiet, while he thought. Didn't try to further their discussion because part of her thought she would turn it into an argument just by accident. “Is that why y’always keep me a foot away from you? Why y’never let me get a word in? Why y’argue with everything I say? Swear y’would tell me the grass is pink jus’ t’argue,” She didn’t dare dignify that with a response. Or that she felt the same way. Harry tugged her legs back up and shifted her so she draped across his lap. His arm around her back while her bum warmed his thigh. He brought his hand slowly up her leg, over the socks he had put on her that looked ridiculous with her dress. His fingers skimmed over her knee and up her thigh while his eyelids hooded his gaze as he followed the path of his hand. He tickled her skin, his fingers circling her wrist in her own lap before he brought it to his shoulder. Then he brought his fingers to her face, cupped her cheek in his palm. “I’m going t’kiss y’now,” he murmured. “Because m’not going t’explain how ridiculous y’are for thinking the first time I met you I called you irritating, or that I disliked you...or thought you were a know-it-all.”

She blushed. “Oh...” she swallowed feeling woozy Harry's face was so close to hers. He smelled so good. He looked so good.

“Don’t y’think it was much more likely I called Niall an irritating know-it-all that I would fall so hard for you and I disliked how right he was?” She remained silent, dropped her gaze again, until Harry tilted her chin up once more. “You are irritating,” he murmured his mouth a breath away from hers. He could feel the warmth of her lips pulling an invisible string to his. Like he had already touched them without touching them. “But I love when y’irritate me,” he assured her and closed that final breath between their lips.

The sky could be green. The grass could be pink. Harry was done arguing with her about it.

--

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[p0orbaby]

can u do r and lessi being in the gym together and less won’t stop teasing and annoying reader

i switched this around because it fit what i was going for better. hope you don’t mind !

-

The gym is air-conditioned within an inch of its life, but Alessia is still sweating. Proper athlete sweating, the kind where her cheeks are flushed and her hair’s falling out of its ponytail in damp little wisps. She’s in a matching navy-blue set that makes her look like she’s about to film an Adidas advert, and you’re doing absolutely nothing to help.

You’re sitting cross-legged on a yoga mat in the corner, sipping from a water bottle you don’t need because you’re not the one working out. You’re on holiday, after all. Alessia’s the lunatic who insisted she needed “just an hour” in the gym, despite the private beach literally shimmering outside.

“What exactly are you training for?” you ask, watching as she bends forward into some sort of stretch that’s objectively impressive but mostly just funny.

“Pre-season,” she says through gritted teeth, reaching for her toes. “Fitness doesn’t take a holiday”

“Oh, that’s inspiring.” You take another sip of water, just to make a point. “Maybe Adidas should use that. Fitness doesn’t take a holiday, but your girlfriend will”

“Don’t you have something better to do?” she asks, glaring at you from under her sweaty fringe.

“Not really. This is pretty entertaining”

She ignores you and moves to the weights section, picking up two dumbbells that look unnecessarily heavy. You watch as she starts a set of bicep curls, her form perfect, of course, because she’s Alessia Russo and nothing she does is ever less than perfect.

“Nice guns,” you say, resting your chin in your hand. “Bet you could carry all the shopping in one trip”

“Do you want me to throw this at you?” she asks, but there’s a flicker of a smile at the corner of her mouth.

“You wouldn’t. You’d miss me too much when I’m unconscious”

She rolls her eyes and moves to the resistance bands. She hooks one around her foot, stretches it, and starts some sort of kickback movement that you can’t take seriously because it looks absurd.

“Are you trying to win a world title or auditioning for the Rockettes?”

That one gets a laugh, though she tries to cover it with a cough.

“Seriously, Less, you’re on holiday,” you continue, leaning back on your hands. “Why are you torturing yourself in here when we could be doing literally anything else?”

“Because I don’t want to lose momentum,” she says, switching legs.

You tilt your head. “Is that what you call it? I call it masochism”

“Shut up”

“You know, I’m proud of you, babe. Really. But if you fall over in those squats, I’m recording it”

She pauses mid-rep to glare at you, and you grin innocently.

When she finally finishes her workout, she’s glistening like a Greek statue come to life. She tosses the resistance band onto a bench and strides over to you, towering above where you’re still sitting like a particularly lazy house cat.

“You done?” you ask sweetly, looking up at her.

“Yep,” she says, and without warning, she reaches down, grabs your hands, and hauls you to your feet in one swift motion.

“Alessia!” you yelp, stumbling into her chest.

She smirks, wrapping an arm around your waist. “Thought you could use a break , seeing as you’ve been sitting there running your mouth for the last hour.”

“I am pretty tired,” you quip, though your heart is pounding slightly from the sudden closeness. “Do you know how much effort it takes to keep up with you?”

She laughs, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead. “Come on, lazy. Let’s hit the beach”

“Finally,” you say, though you secretly think she looks ridiculously good in that gym kit and you might not mind her dragging you back here tomorrow.

[imamotherfuckingstar-lord]

imagine bucky being drunk

warning: kinda spicy at the end

"He's doing it again."

Sam nudged you in the ribs, tearing your eyes away from Carol; who had been giving you the latest details on her life. The two of you frowned but then Carol smirked, nodding to your boyfriend across the small dive bar she had taken everyone to. Bucky was standing next to Steve and he was pretend punching him in the face. Steve was laughing whilst blocking his friend's air punches.

"I love drunk Barnes," Carol sighed contently and you agreed.

"He's so cute when he's drunk."

"Sure, real cute when the tab is over a grand because it takes a whole brewery to get him tipsy."

Ignoring Sam, you promised Carol you'd return to hear the rest of her story and she smirked, holding up her beer. "We have all night."

Stepping away from the table, you smiled at the bickering going on behind you as to who was going to pay for the tab. Leaving Wilson and Danvers to settle that argument, you walked over to the oldest men in the bar. Bucky's eyes moved to you and he grinned like a little puppy, pushing Steve aside to stumble over to you.

"God, you're so cute," he hollered, pretending to grab a piece of you to eat. He consumed air you and you laughed, grabbing his hand before he could take another bite.

Bucky quickly engulfed you into a hug, squeezing so tight you had to holler for him to release you. "I love a good strangling, but let's keep that for the bedroom, babe."

Steve groaned. "Come on, man."

You smirked, allowing Bucky to pull your back against his chest. He wrapped both arms around your waist and rested his head on your shoulders. "Sounds like Stevie boy needs a little fun."

"That's what it sounds like," you echoed Bucky's sentiments and Steve rolled his eyes when you suggested Carol up as a potential booty call. "What? She's fucking hot. Smart. Funny."

"Captain America, Captain Marvel..." Bucky slurred out a burp and the two of you busted into laughter - giggling like children. Steve instantly turned red and that just made the laughter louder until Carol called out to see what was so funny.

"Don't say a word," Steve grumbled under his breath, pulling at his shirt. "...stay here."

Bucky and you watched as Steve made his way to the booth, sliding next to Carol, who smiled at him. Sam looked over to you and Bucky held a hazy finger to his lips - the veteran understood and quickly excused himself from the booth. He didn't bother walking over to Bucky and you, because everyone knew the two of you were ridiculous together, sober or drunk. Most people couldn't stand being in a room with the two of you for more than a few minutes; hands all over each other or worse, jokes and laughter that seemed endless.

Turning to face your boyfriend, you squished his cheeks and he practically beamed. He was totally drunk and you were totally in love. He kissed you on the lips, at first gently but then his grip tightened at your waist and you buckled against his body.

"....so cute I could eat."

"What's stopping you? The bathroom is unisex..."

Bucky practically welp, gathering you up in his arms in a haste. Having a former super solider as a boyfriend had its perks - his stamina was endless, his physique would make a grown man cry, but his strength? That man could lift hundreds of pounds, so no matter your weight - this motherfucker made you feel light as a feather. And boy, you could get him stiff as a board.

"I just know you're thinking nasty shit," he groaned, moving you towards the bathroom.

"I am but pure of heart, James."

Bucky smiled contently, kicking the bathroom open. It was as good as a bar restroom could get. He placed you gently on the sink and made sure the door was locked. Two strides, that's all it took for him to get on his knees and pulling your panties down from under your skirt. His eyes rolled back for a moment as he took in the sight, but then he glanced up at you with a devilish smile as he firmly spread your legs.

"I love you," he whispered right before diving in-between your thighs.

Rendered speechless, all you could do was grip his hair and lean back into the sink mirror; the lowlights flickering as Bucky reminded you how much you loved drunk him. When all his inhibitions disappeared and he got to enjoy the little things in life - which included going to bars with your closest friends, running the highest of tabs, trying to hook up friends, and most importantly, going down on your girlfriend in a dingy bathroom.

[yuechihua]

a strange case of bangboos.

summary: Harumasa brings exact Bangboo replicas of you and your Section Six coworkers to the office. For some reason, his Bangboo won't leave you alone.

notes: 3.7k words, author's notes, spoilers and references for Section Six special episode, fluff

There are a few things you’ve come to expect from your coworker, Asaba Harumasa: falling asleep at his desk during the middle of the day, sneaking requests for time off work alongside his pile of overdue reports, and walking into the office several hours late with a ridiculous excuse.

So when Harumasa strolls into the office for once, on time, with a light step and casual wave, it’s enough to make you look up from your flood of paperwork with a confused glance as he throws you a wink.

“Good morning, everyone,” he says cheerily, hand on his hips, stopping just short of entering the office. “I have a surprise for you all!” 

Soukaku and Miyabi, who have been diligently working (read: eating snacks and playing tic tac toe on official bureaucratic documents), are the first to run over. Yanagi remains at her desk, and the two of you exchange wary looks. 

“They’re so cute!” Soukaku says with childish delight, crouching down to mess with something half-hidden behind Harumasa and the open office doors. 

“How lifelike,” Miyabi muses, arms folded.

It’s at this point that you and Yanagi can’t resist striding over to see what Harumasa’s surprise entails. You’re greeted by the sight of several Bangboos crowding behind him. They appear to be custom-made: one in blue, one in black, one in white, and one in your favorite color—they’re the exact same as the Bangboo forms you and your colleagues had taken during a virtual reality attack from a hacker group. 

Soukaku is patting her Bangboo, her eyes bright as the Bangboo (Soukaboo, you decide it should be called) makes happy noises. Miyabi and her Bangboo (Miyaboo would be a good name for it) simply stare at each other without blinking, though after a moment, Miyabi nods, as if coming to some sort of internal decision.

“Bangboo?” Yanagi murmurs. “But why?”

“You can interact with them, you know,” Harumasa interjects.

“Interact with them?” you ask. 

At the sound of your voice, your Bangboo tilts its head at you. It appears to be sizing you up in the same way you’re observing it, with the same measured detachment. It’s a little eerie how similar it is to you, your mannerisms captured in a robot. 

Harumasa’s Bangboo (Asaboo, you dub it in your head) takes a few steps towards your Bangboo and tries to nuzzle it, only for your Bangboo to swiftly sidestep its advances, turning its body away in a clear sign of rejection. Asaboo lets out a sad little sigh, synthetic ears drooping, before it immediately perks up when its gaze alights on you.

“Ehn-nah!” Asaboo says, its mechanical voice sounding like the cheerful jingle of a bell.

Its body is chubby and white, smooth and sleek like the shell of a fat egg, and it preens under your newfound attention. Asaboo spins in a circle, revealing a little red target and arrow on its butt, and it takes all your self control not to throw your arms around it. 

There’s one thing you can’t deny: these Bangboo are absolutely adorable.

“It’s so much cuter than Harumasa,” you say out loud, arms crossed, as Asaboo beeps a little “eh-nah” in agreement, shuffling closer to you as it does.

“I agree,” Yanagi says. “Perhaps we could consider replacing Harumasa with this Bangboo. I imagine reports would come in a much more timely manner if we did.” 

“You know I can hear you, right?” Harumasa says, a faux wounded expression on his face.

“I know,” you say dryly. “But what’s the point of bringing them over? Don’t these look like the time we were turned–”

“It’s a change of pace,” Harumasa interrupts. “I figured we needed our own mascots, don’t you think? Think of the merchandising we can do. And they would brighten up the office.” 

“Yeah?” you say, unconvinced. “Since when did you care about that?”

“Well…” he continues, “There was also a deal at the shop I went to where if you bought one, you could get one free. Why wouldn’t I take advantage of such a good deal?”

Miyabi is watching Harumasa with a contemplative expression, her ear twitching slightly at his words. Before you can ask her what she’s thinking about, Asaboo suddenly tugs at your leg.

You glance down, and its chubby arms are wrapped around your calf, its little face peering up at you with its wide eyes.

“Eh-nah?” it asks, in the cutest, most innocent voice imaginable. 

You can’t stop yourself from reaching down and patting the top of its head. It wiggles at your touch, reaching up its little hands, as if trying to feel the spot where you just pat it to capture your warmth. 

“It’s so cute,” you say fondly. 

At your words, Asaboo jumps up and down in excitement. 

“And it’s oddly attached to you,” Yanagi remarks. “Asaba, what does the AI data for these Bangboos look like?”

For the first time this morning, Harumasa looks abashed, but that doesn’t stop him from responding, “Well, these Bangboos are modeled closely on our personalities.”

“Harumasa, is there something you want to say to me?” you tease. “I don’t recall you being as desperate for my attention as this Bangboo.”

“I think this is very telling, Asaba,” Yanagi says, crossing her arms. 

“What on earth are you two talking about?” Harumasa says, widening his eyes, neatly sidestepping your questions and avoiding your gaze. “Telling in what way? Deputy Chief, don’t tell me you’re feeling left out. Should I order one for you, too?”

“No,” Yanagi says wearily, “That won’t be necessary. I’d rather you save your money for something useful.”

“This is useful, though! It’s excellent for team morale! Don’t you think they’re cute, Soukaku?”

“Hm…” Soukaku looks down at Soukaboo, who does a little hop. “They’re cute! I like them.”

“Don’t drag Soukaku into this!” Yanagi says. 

“I think my Bangboo will make an excellent training partner. I haven’t had a chance to spar with myself yet,” Miyabi interjects in a thoughtful voice. Miyaboo nods its head in agreement.

“Chief, not you, too!”

“I think it’s harmless, Yanagi,” you say. “It’s one of Harumasa’s better ideas.” As you speak, Asaboo tugs on your leg again, looking up at you with a pitiful expression. “Oh, are you feeling left out?”

You reach down and run your gentle fingers along Asaboo’s head, rubbing alongside its ears. It has a smooth, rubbery texture, but if you press down harder, you can feel the vibration and stabilized heat of its whirring machinery beneath its exterior.

Harumasa watches you with a conflicted expression. “Why aren’t you this nice to me?”

“You’re not as cute as Asaboo,” you say resolutely, and Asaboo lets out a little “eh-nah” of agreement. 

Harumasa purses his lips. His eyes narrow at Asaboo, and it’s the exact same expression he has  right before he lets loose an arrow aimed for an Ethereal’s core. “I’m starting to regret this purchase.”

“You’re the one who brought them over. Asaboo hasn’t done anything wrong,” you say. 

“But you’re taking its side!” Harumasa protests. “Against me, your loyal partner! Our bond is forged through countless adversities in the Hollows, against the worst Ethereals New Eridu has ever seen! And you’re choosing a Bangboo over me!”

“Our relationship is strictly business. This is different,” you say, fingers dancing over the top of Asaboo’s ears as it lets out a content sigh. 

“Harumasa’s been replaced,” Miyabi murmurs.

“He’s been replaced,” Yanagi agrees. “Harumasamasa has been replaced!” Soukaku says cheerfully.

“There’s no need to rub it in…” Harumasa glances at your Bangboo, which is peacefully sitting on the floor in a patch of sunlight, staring out one of the windows, oblivious to the chaos around it. He crouches, and holds out his hand, as if to pat its head. “Hey there.” Your Bangboo immediately jumps up and scampers away without looking at Harumasa, resuming its vigil farther away.

“Rejected, even by a Bangboo,” Yanagi murmurs. “Asaba, I’m starting to feel bad for you.”

“Tsukishiro, if you say that, that’s just going to make me feel worse, you know?” Harumasa says ruthfully. “But it’s fine. We can just let them run around a little longer.”

The newest members of Section Six settle into the office with relative ease. The Bangboo are given free range around the office, though you notice that Soukaboo likes to sit near anyone with visible snacks, and Miyaboo is found in increasingly odder positions: on top of the door, hidden in a bookshelf, or tucked under a desk. 

Your Bangboo, on the other hand, is perfectly content to help deliver paperwork or coffee around the office, though it’s not immune from Miyaboo and Soukaboo pulling it into sudden games. Asaboo has no similar luck with your Bangboo, which seems to ignore Asaboo’s attempts to get close. There’s a hint of dissatisfaction in your Bangboo’s expression, though you can’t tell where it’s coming from. 

So Asaboo ends up waddling after you, settling right next to the side of your desk. Whenever you get up to grab a cup of coffee, discuss confidential information with other officers, or simply to stretch, Asaboo immediately jumps up to follow.

“Not interested in playing with the other Bangboo anymore?” you say. The other Bangboo are hopping around in the distance, bouncing a ball Soukaku pulled out from her desk back and forth.

“Eh-nah!” it says, puffing out its chest.

“Well, I’m happy to hang out with you, too.” You pat its head once more, and it gives a wiggle of delight.

“I’m also happy to hang out with you,” Harumasa adds. His desk is right next to yours, so it’s easy for him to see everything that’s going on. You glance at him, with his chair pushed back from his desk, feet propped up on the table, ankles crossed.

“Sure, but you’re not voluntarily spending time with me. We work together,” you respond dryly. You don’t miss how his mouth tugs into a pout, looking for all the world like a displeased cat which has been denied its favorite meal. 

Around lunchtime, when you pick up your packed lunch to head to the break room, Asaboo jumps up and down in the air, holding out its hands.

“Oh? Do you want to carry this for me?” you say, holding the package aloft.

It nods enthusiastically, ears flopping, and you gently place your lunchbox into its hands. Asaboo clutches the bundle to its chest like its most precious treasure, though it’s nothing more than some plastic containers set in a carrying case, with a handle that pops out that Asaboo loops its hand through.

“I could carry that for you,” Harumasa adds. His head is down on his desk, gazing at you through the fringe of his dark eyelashes. They’re unfairly long and pretty.

“Are you sure?” you say, raising your eyebrow. “I thought you said you weren’t capable of lifting anything heavier than a single sheet of paper.” 

“Well, I’m feeling a burst of strength today, so–” Harumasa raises himself from his desk and reaches out towards your lunchbox, but Asaboo leaps back before his hand can even graze it. 

“Eh-eh-nah!” it says defiantly. 

“Oh, you little–”

“Don’t bully Asaboo,” you scold, moving to stand in front of it. “Come on, Harumasa. It’s just a cute little Bangboo.” 

“It just made a face at me,” he says indignantly, throwing his hands up helplessly.

“Well, like you said, the data for its personality is based on you.”

With that, you and Asaboo head towards the break room, Asaboo wobbling behind you cheerfully the entire time. The break room itself is surprisingly spacious, with floor to ceiling windows, tasteful plants tucked in corners, and clusters of tables and cushy chairs scattered about. Various gleaming, stainless state of the art kitchen appliances are huddled in the corner. It’s one of the nicer break rooms you’ve seen, and you have HSO budget to thank for that.

Asaboo quickly runs to a table near one of the windows, and hops up to place your lunchbox on the table. It’s a quiet spot, away from the other officers, and the sunlight pleasantly warms the area.

“Did you choose this place on purpose? You’re so thoughtful,” you coo, and Asaboo ducks its head, raising its hands to cover its face in embarrassment. Really, when it reacts like that, it’s hard to imagine Asaboo derives its personality from Harumasa. It’s not as if Harumasa isn’t thoughtful; in fact, you have a feeling the presence of the Bangboo is his roundabout way to make everyone happy, somehow. 

But Harumasa, clinging to your leg, or following you everywhere? It’s hard to imagine. Is that how he really wants to act around you, or is it simply that Asaboo has its own individual quirks, separate from the influence of Harumasa’s personality data? Despite Yanagi’s earlier comment about how “telling” Asaboo’s reactions are, your own teasing, and Harumasa’s reticent response, it’s not a clear marker for Harumasa’s own feelings. 

You’re not sure you want to use Asaboo to measure Harumasa’s feelings, either. That brings up its own complications, especially regarding your own emotions towards Harumasa. It would be a lie to say that Asaboo being Harumasa’s Bangoo doesn’t make you extra sweet to it. Well, that and the mischievous desire in you to see Harumasa pout. After all, it’s payback for all the teasing you’ve endured from him since the two of you joined Section Six.

You enjoy a quiet lunch with Asaboo, though once you’re both back at the office and you’re settled at your desk, Asaboo lets out a little “eh-nah” when it sees Soukaku holding up a picture to her Bangboo, a crayon drawing of her and Soukaboo in a field of flowers, holding hands. It immediately leaps up and heads out the door. You don’t have time to wonder at its behavior, though, not when you have a mountain of tasks that’s piled up since you were away at lunch.

“Your loyal companion left. Want me to take its place?” Harumasa offers.

“Get back to work, Harumasa.”

Ten minutes later, you’re interrupted from your workflow by the patter of mechanical feet and something tugging at your leg.

You look down to see Asaboo, covered in mud and grass stains, a trail of dirty footprints behind it, and a proud expression on its face as it clutches a flower in its hand. In contrast to Asaboo’s appearance, the flower is pristine, with soft, pure yellow petals.

“Eh-nah!” Asaboo says. It holds the flower in your direction.

“Oh, Asaboo, where did you get this? Is this for me?” you ask. You gingerly take the flower from its hand, and Asaboo looks proudly at you.

“Eh-nah. Ehn-nah-nah!” It jumps up and down for emphasis. 

“I’ll cherish it forever,” you promise, and carefully place the flower on your desk. You’ll ask Soukaku to help you press it later so you can preserve it. Was that why Asaboo had been looking at Soukaku’s drawing? Because it was thinking of you?

“If you want flowers, I can give you some, too, without ripping up the building’s lawn,” Harumasa says. He looks at you sleepily, with that familiar pout curling around his mouth.

“Then why haven’t you?” you tease him. “Besides, think about it. If Asaboo gives me a flower, isn’t it essentially the same as if you gave me the flower yourself?”

“It’s completely different,” he protests. “It’s not like I knew you wanted flowers. And Asaboo isn’t me. If anything, it’s…” He brings a hand to his tie, which already hangs loose from his collar, and unconsciously slides the knot lower. 

“It’s what?” 

“The Bangoo weren’t meant to do any of this,” he says. 

“I thought you said these Bangboo were bought on a whim,” you say.

“I did. That’s not exactly wrong, but…” Harumasa hops up on your desk, perching on a spot free from papers or office supplies. He crosses his legs, and you swing your office chair in his direction. “Sometimes, if you have a bitter memory, you can overwrite it by facing it over and over until you get used to it and it’s no longer so painful, right? Like exposure therapy.”

You’re quiet for a moment. Asaboo, at some point, has slowly run off to find the other Bangboo. They circle each other and jump around, an innocent dance of happiness, though Asaboo is watching your Bangboo more intensely than anything else in the room.

“Are you talking about the time we were turned into Bangboo?” you venture. It’s a memory whose threat has faded with time, becoming less of a menace and more of a funny office story to relay to coworkers. Dangerous situations and odd circumstances come part and parcel with your job.

Still, you can remember the sensation of being a Bangboo with startling clarity: the virtual buildings of Lumina Square inflating in size around you, wobbling on legs you weren’t used to, unable to wield a weapon. When you lifted your hands, a shock would jolt through you to see metal and not limbs and fingers. It’s a feeling of helpless you aren’t eager to return to.

“I was the first to turn into a Bangboo,” Harumasa says ruthfully. “And I couldn’t do anything. I had to watch everyone fight, knowing every second we wasted was a second closer to death. I had to watch you put your life at risk to keep me safe, and I couldn’t do anything at all. Everyone here is strong, but…” He taps his fingers on your desk. “You all pretend to be fine when you’re really not.”

How long has this been on his mind? It must have been what Miyabi noticed right away, from the very moment Harumasa started showing off the Bangboo. You slowly cover his hand with one of your own, entangling your fingers together. The heavy fabric of his gloves brush against your bare fingers, but you can still feel the bump of his knuckles, the curve of the back of his hand.

No one else in the office can see the two of you right now, the front of your desk with your computer and stack of books and folders acting as a barrier from the rest of the world.

“Harumasa.” You dip a finger under his glove, to feel the tender, warm, uncertain flesh underneath and trace designs on the back of his hand. His breath hitches. “You don’t need to take on everything yourself. You also like to pretend you’re fine when you’re not; you can rely on us a little more.”

“So the Bangboo weren’t a good idea, huh?” The joke comes out light-hearted and weak.

“No, they’re very cute,” you say. “I really like them, even if you don’t. But if you want to overwrite bitter memories, I think we should all do it together.”

A heated intensity steals across Harumasa’s face, his attention on you as unwavering and steady as a shaft of blazing summer light. “Together? Do you promise that?”

He bends his head a little closer, and you tilt your head upwards in response. Whatever it is he offers, you’ll accept.

However, before either of you can make another move, there’s a great crash, metal slamming on cold tile, and you instantly rise from your seat to seek out the source of the noise. In the middle of the offic, you see Asaboo collapsed on the floor, sprawled over like a fallen egg on its side.

“Oh no,” you murmur. But before you can rush over, something astonishing happens. Your Bangboo, which previously has ignored Asaboo, immediately leaps to Asaboo’s side, patting its head with its hands.

“Ehn-nah,” your Bangboo says worriedly.

“Eh-ne-ne,” Asaboo says back in a faint tone.

Your Bangboo cradles Asaboo’s hand in its own as it helps Asaboo stand. Asaboo leans on your Bangboo, though you can’t help but feel Asaboo’s steps are a little too energetic as your Bangboo guides it out of the door, their hands entangled together the whole time, probably to find a charging port or a mechanic. 

“Huh? I thought their Bangboo didn’t like Asaboo!” Soukaku says. She jumps up from her chair. Miyabi and Yanagi are clustered around Soukaku’s desk, ostensibly discussing some business that’s been interrupted by the Bangboo drama. “It didn’t want to play with Asaboo before!”

“I wonder if their Bangboo was just shy towards Asaboo,” Yanagi theorizes. “Or it’s possible it was jealous, too, of Asaboo clinging to someone else.”

“It’s most likely both,” Miyabi says. “I believe it’s always cared for Asaboo, and Harumasa by extension, but would loathe to let everyone know the extent of its feelings.”

Your face heats up as everyone’s gazes swing towards you, like bright stage lights revealing you to an audience you didn’t realize was there. You don’t even want to look at Harumasa, still perched on your desk, because you can already imagine the smug, overly pleased expression on his face. 

“I think we should talk about something else,” you suggest hastily. “Don’t you think Asaboo’s behavior was a little strange?”

“As Asaboo’s owner and foremost expert,” Harumasa says, one hand cupped around his chin, “I think it’s obvious Asaboo was faking its sudden bout of dizziness in order to get the attention of your Bangboo.”

“Why does that sound exactly like something you would pull off?” you say. “Like owner, like Bangboo.”

“Speaking of… I feel a little faint… I think… I need to lean on you…” Harumasa, with no attempt to hide his theatrics, begins to lean strategically in your direction, face landing on your shoulder, slumping his entire body so his weight falls on you.

“Asaba Harumasa, can you at least pretend to hide your intentions?”

“Can’t hear you… Still dizzy… We need to hold hands or I’ll fall…” 

Harumasa reaches for your hand with surprising speed, but you tuck it behind your back so he can’t hold it. He takes the opportunity to wrap his arms around you instead, and it takes all your willpower not to shove him off and onto the floor. 

You can still feel the gaze of your other coworkers upon you, and hear the whisper of their conversation, though they aren’t making any effort to hide their comments.

“They’re embarrassed,” Miyabi says quietly.

“They’re very embarrassed,” Yanagi says.

“Super embarrassed!” Soukaku chirps. You close your eyes, face still hot. From now on, you’re not going to underestimate Harumasa’s or Asaboo’s capacity for cunning. As cute as the Bangboo are, maybe they are more trouble than they’re worth.

[leviathanspain]

money, power, and all your glory

coriolanus snow x reader, sejanus plinth x reader

synopsis: coriolanus snow knew that you would be his cash cow, only issue was, the budding romance between you and his best friend.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“coryo.” you couldn’t believe your eyes. he stood handsome and proud, wearing a shirt that had once been his fathers. no longer a boy, he filled it out as a man. coryo smiled brightly, always keen to your tones, “might i say you look dashing? perhaps too dashing?” just as you said it, sejanus strode up, “more dashing than i?” he pretended as if he were hurt, feigning a broken heart as he sat in his chair.

you blushed at sejanus, smiling as he sat down, “no. never.” you breathed, giving coryo one last look before heading back to your seat.

coriolanus thought your schoolgirl crush on his best friend was ridiculous. it was getting worse with each passing day, your admiration for the boy, and how he acted, was practically all you talked about, irritated him more and more.

coryo sat down beside sejanus, a devious smile on his face. he looked back at you once before he settled in, “wow.” he exhaled, and sejanus looked at him, “what?” the confusion on his face was clear, but there was also something he wasn’t telling him.

“you and y/n.” coriolanus didn’t divulge into the details, instead leaving it up to sejanus.

sejanus shrugged, “she’s gorgeous, what about it?” he said it so casually that coriolanus almost fell over.

he paused, thinking how he would proceed, “yeah, she is, isn’t she?” he looked over at sejanus, “my grandma’am loves her.” coryo’s lie slipped out so easily. it surprised even himself, and he gave a proud look to sejanus, who expressed his surprise.

“oh. i didn’t know you and y/n were….” sejanus faltered as coryo smiled coyly, never would’ve thought that coryo would even have interest in any of the girls here, he was always on and on about the plinth prize.

“also..” sejanus knew he would have to tell his friend before it was announced, “there’s no more prize.” he whispered.

you could see their figures talking and whispering from your seat. you were in the farthest row, because your father ‘didn’t like the look of those boys’ even though they were both filthy rich.

your mind filtered out most of highbottom’s speech. you couldn’t take him seriously with all the little vials you’ve seen him pound down before each class. until he revealed that there was to be a rule change.

you were to mentor a tribute, akin to fattening a pig for the slaughter.

you gulped thickly, feeling nauseated as he started assigning your classmates to their tributes.

“y/n!” highbottom called you to attention and you looked up, “district three. you get the girl.” he lazily spoke, pointing to the overhead screens, showcasing your tribute.

you stayed emotionless as the reality of what was happening, sunk in. you hadn’t even realized that sejanus was assigned to a former classmate from two.

“sej!” you called his name as you were all released. you could see his and coryo’s figures striding out of the academy, “sejanus.” you called his full name as he finally stopped.

“hey.” he didn’t seem too happy, why would anyone if they were assigned to mentor someone who used to be their equal.

“i’m so sorry about marcus.” you couldn’t help but grab his arm, comforting him.

sejanus shrugged, “it was my father’s doing.” he was clearly upset, he hated the games enough to begin with, now he was majorly involved?

coriolanus didn’t let the hand on his go unnoticed. he cleared his throat and you let go of sejanus, awkwardly stepping back. coryo could see that you forgot he was there, “coryo. i see you got that enchanting songbird?” he nodded in response to your question, “yes i did.”

sejanus looked at you and coryo, “i better leave you two alone. i’ll see you around, y/n.” he stuffed his hands into his pockets as he walked away from where you stood with coriolanus.

“how odd that sejanus said ‘leave you two alone’,” you had been reliving the interaction in your mind, only now saying it out loud. it caught coryo’s attention, who had been rambling on and on about what he would do about his tribute.

“why would he say that, coryo?” you stopped dead in your tracks, “i mean, we’re just friends.” you didn’t ever see coriolanus as anything but your friend. yes, he was handsome and often too good-looking for his own good, but he wasn’t the one you wanted.

coriolanus looked down at you, shrugging coolly, “maybe he sees something we don’t.” he could almost beam at how good of an excuse he had made up.

your eyebrows furrowed, “oh.” there was disappointment evident in your voice, disappointment that sejanus didn’t even think twice about you. he just assumed you and coryo had something going on.

“could he be wrong?” coryo looked at you again, searching for a crack in your expression, a way for him to get in. a union with you would benefit him in more ways than one.

you sighed, perhaps this was how it was supposed to go. sejanus didn’t like you, he never would.

you looked at coriolanus, eyes catching on his handsome face and the way his curls fell over his eyes. you grabbed his hand, pulling him in close, “the cook always makes extra. stay for dinner?” you were just a few feet away from your apartment, coriolanus had never seen the inside of it, but he imagined it just as lavish as your entire family appeared to be.

coryo nodded, ignoring the throbbing rumbles of his empty stomach as you sealed your fate.

you rose up to kiss him, and coryo met you halfway, kissing you roughly that you were pushed into the brick of the building. you pulled away for a breath, and realized that sejanus had been onto something.

coryo couldn’t help but feel satisfied that his plan had worked. sejanus did have an affection for you, years of it. but he didn’t want you to ever know, and hid it better than you did, even letting you go for his best friend.

“mother, father, this is-“

“snow.” your father had cut you off, leaning back in his seat as he stared at coryo, “what is he doing here?” he looked at you and you pursed your lips, “he’s my boyfriend, father. his name is coriolanus.” your father didn’t like the snows much, he thought crassus to be a myriad of insults.

coriolanus smiled, “i am told to be nothing like him.” he had this charming way about him, that a single sentence like that was enough to calm your father.

it had gotten late. coriolanus had been polite and indulged your father in all of his questions and random stories, but you knew he had to go home sometime.

you walked him out to the hall, “goodbye coryo.” you kissed his cheek, and coryo bent down to kiss you on your lips, biting them gently as he pulled back, “i’ll see you tomorrow, y/n.” he always picked you up from your apartment as friends. it was weird to think that the next time he did it, it would be as your boyfriend.

“i’ve never..” you faltered, “done this before, coryo.” you made a point to be clear with him. your feelings for him weren’t as strong as you felt they should be, it was very much just tossed together. you hoped that in time, your love for him would grow.

coriolanus nodded, “i understand. i’ll be gentle.” he commented with a smirk as he kissed your forehead, “goodnight.”

you wished you could say you were happy. it had been just a few days since the beginning of your relationship with coryo, and the beginning of your mentorship.

coryo had gone to great lengths to promote his tribute, the songbird as everyone had been calling her. he had even sacrificed his lunch for the girl, which you had found to be ‘very noble’ as sejanus did the same.

you brought your food as well, going with them to visit your own tribute.

the girl had been quiet. you were nice, offering it to her as you talked to her a little bit. she had made a point that she wouldn’t survive, as if she knew it to be the truth. you had nothing to say to that, instead filling the silence with more food.

sejanus strode up to you as coryo and his songbird were featured on camera. you looked at them, noticing how close the girl was to your boyfriend but ignored it.

“sej.” you stood up from your spot with your tribute and smiled at him, “i haven’t seen you in days.” you commented, “i missed you.”

sejanus laughed, “yeah, well.” he looked over at coryo, “couldn’t have missed me that much now that you’re with coryo.” he knew.

of course he knew, he was coriolanus’ best friend. they told each other everything, at least almost everything.

you shrugged, “doesn’t mean i still don’t miss you.” you had only started spending more time with coriolanus because sejanus had been too caught up in rebelling against his father, but before, sejanus had been your only friend.

“yeah.” sejanus didn’t know what to say. he had tried to avoid you, knowing you were his best friend’s girlfriend, he had to ignore the feelings that came around when you did.

coriolanus called your name, and you sighed, watching as he strode over to you both, “y/n, sejanus. should we head back?” he looked at you expectantly and you smiled, nodding as you slipped an arm around his waist, “yes.”

sejanus watched as you two walked ahead of him, swallowing thickly. he shouldn’t feel jealously at the two of you, he had no right. coryo was the one who had got to you first, and you chose him.

“y/n.” you turned your head just as the arena started crumbling. “get down!” someone shouted at you, and you ran, rolling on the floor as more pieces of concrete and metal fell onto the ground. you couldn’t see anything with the dust, you looked around for your tribute, but you couldn’t see her.

and you couldn’t see coryo, who had been with his tribute, not too far from you.

“coryo!” you shouted, and you heard his cries, “help me!” he shouted. you tried to stand up, feet wobbling over the uneven ground. the dust was settling as only a few pieces crumbling off now. you saw a tribute zip past coryo and his tribute, muttering something to the girl before running off.

you stared in confusion, collapsing before you even reached coriolanus.

you awoke with a start.

you could feel an ache in your body, unsure where but it was there, nonetheless. you blinked, lips crusted as you looked around the room. in a bed, next to you, was coriolanus, who laid unconscious. his back was wrapped, injured from the arena as well.

you stood up, limping over to his bed. you examined the wrappings, looking over at his face, you brushed a curl back with your hand. you found yourself worried when you had heard him crying out for help, someone had did the heroic effort of saving his life, and someone did the same for you.

you kissed his cheek, heading back to your own bed as he laid quiet.

you didn’t know who had saved you. coryo had woken up, and when he did, you had been introduced to his cousin, tigris.

she was incredibly sweet, a gem to coryo’s life. you and her had chatted for a bit as coryo and sejanus watched the tributes interview.

from your knowledge, your tribute had been crushed under pieces of the arena, and you were no longer a mentor. you could’ve been just like your tribute, crushed under some rubble, but sejanus had been the one to save you.

he played it off, and continued his conversation with coryo, but you could tell by the look in his eyes that it meant much more.

you got discharged before coryo. he had injuries to his back that required another day of observation. you had mild injuries in comparison.

“sej.” you saw him exiting coryo’s room, the one where you had been in as well, “i’ve been discharged, do you mind walking me home?”

sejanus hesitated to nod, before speaking, “the driver can just drop you off.” he walked, and you followed after him.

“i wanted to,” you paused as the driver opened the door for you, sejanus right behind you. you scooted all the way in, and sejanus remained with a good amount of space between you, “thank you, for saving my life.”

sejanus shrugged, “of course. i-“ he didn’t say anything, “you’re welcome.” he elected to say.

you scooted closer to him, “sej, i know that i haven’t really been able to see you as often anymore, but i still care about you.” he was your only friend for many years, you wanted him to know that you didn’t forget about him.

“it’s okay, y/n. you and coryo…i understand.” he sounded off, and you looked at him, “do you?”

sejanus couldn’t lie to you. if he did, there were always telltale signs that he was lying. he knew you’d be able to tell, and he was nervously clutching onto the seat’s fabric.

you watched his expression change and your breath hitched, “sej…” you faltered, “why did you never tell me?”

he liked you. as you liked him.

“i was going to tell you the other day, after highbottom’s announcement, i was going to buy you dinner, and introduce you to my father…” he trailed off, shaking his head of those thoughts, “but coryo mentioned his grand-ma’am and how she loved you- and i knew.”

you looked at him, confused as ever, “i’ve never met coriolanus’ grandmother.” you swallowed thickly, “are you sure that’s what he said? why would he say that?”

sejanus shrugged, “no clue. but that’s what he said, and that’s when i assumed you were together.”

the driver stopped suddenly and you realized it was in front of your apartment. you looked over at sejanus, and sighed, “thank you, for saving my life and for the ride. i-“ you shook your head, “i wish things had ended up differently.”

sejanus nodded, leaning in close to you, “i do too.”

there was a moment of silence before you kissed him.

there was a difference in the way his lips felt against yours. he was gentle, sweet, loving. as if that kiss had been everything he had been waiting for.

you pulled away, the guilt of having kissed another man crept in, and you opened the door without saying anything, running inside as the car sped off.

you ran to your bedroom, sobbing as guilt washed over you.

you had tried to get over sejanus plinth, tried to fall in love with coryo, but you wanted sejanus, now more than ever, especially with knowing the truth.

coriolanus stopped by your apartment on the day of his discharge.

in his hand, he had a small rose, just as your parents greeted him.

“coryo!” you exclaimed with surprise as he stood in your drawing room, “how are you feeling? are you alright?” your hand reached out for his and you pulled him towards you, throwing a look to your parents. they quietly excused themselves and you and coryo stood alone by the doorway.

“this is for you.” he presented it to you, and you smelled it, breathing the rose scent as he looked at you.

“i’m alright. i just wanted to see my girl.” he brushed a lock of hair from your face, and leaned in to kiss you.

you kissed him, matching his intensity as he gripped your hip. you pulled away for a moment, grabbing his hand as you led him to your bedroom.

you slammed the door shut and coryo threw his bag onto your bed, grabbing you as you rushed in to kiss him again.

you didn’t know what was coming over you, why you had this intense urge to want to rip his clothes off, even if he was barely discharged from the hospital.

he groaned slightly and you realized that perhaps he was still in pain.

you pulled away, panting. “we should stop.” you breathed, looking at coryo and the lipstick that was smudged over his mouth. he shook his head, “no..i want you.” he whispered.

you shook your head, “we can’t. you’re still healing, coryo.” you sat down on the bed, “maybe after you win. a big reward for a big win.” you teased, and coriolanus smiled, “you think?”

he sat on the bed beside you, “i do.” you spoke, staring deep into his blue eyes. “that tribute, how are you going to do it?” you whispered.

coryo shrugged, “however i may have to.” as he finished speaking, he hadn’t realized that you had been trembling the entire time, shaking like a leaf. as if you were hiding something.

[lazywriters-blog]

A PINCH OF HATE

AVENTURINE x FEMALE!READER + DR. RATIO

Summary: Just Aventurine being a little brat and poking fun at Ratio- trying to make him jealous and showing off, and trying his best to spite Dr. Ratio. After all, the doctor might have feelings for his darling as well. [This is a little silly lol but I tried.]

Warning: Possessiveness, angst? Jealousy. Overall a lot of touching from Aventurine, he's lowkey obsessed.

"Perhaps you should learn from your companion a bit of self-restraint, gambler."

"Whatever do you mean doctor, I'm plenty patient." Aventurine ever the smug, slippery little guy grins and purs out a retort, she was hoping his grip on her waist would loosen and drift away but that hasn't happened yet and it's making her uneasy.

"Oh! Do you find her fascinating perhaps? Taken a liking to my darling, now that won't do." he giggled to himself, and if she hadn't been forced to stay with him for an entire week, she wouldn't have noticed his slight change in tone.

"Don't be ridiculous, I find her qualities to be much more preferable than yours."

"Sheesh, it almost sounds like you're after my darling here, doctor." Dr. Ratio ignored the blonde and turned his attention to her, asking, "Why do you stick around with idiots? You should have better places to be than here."

"Umm... I-" Aventurine pulled her close to his body and pouted, "I suppose we are idiots in love, doctor."

She couldn't tell him what happened for her to end up miserably hopeless beside Aventurine, or if she could even get a chance.

'Do you like him or do you not?' She was cornered one afternoon. During that time she began regretting stepping out of her office, Aventurine was just outside waiting for her and she didn't know what he had in mind. 'where's this coming from?' she tried to pry in-between them some space, nervously smiling and looking to her right but he kept nearing her with a smug smile.

'Come on, we are friends... Right? Don't friends share their secrets?' she hadn't considered him a close friend, though she did enjoy his company.

'I mean he considers me to be much inferior to him... Probably, I'm likely too dumb to be with a genius.'

'Ah~ I didn't mention who 'he' was.'

She playfully pushed him back and shyly looked down, 'You and your stupid mind games.'

'Let's make a bet.' He grinned, and she groaned. Though she did win some of his bets, it remained difficult. 'Not this one again.' she took a step back.

'Come on don't be like that~ it will be fun.' She sighed and he took it as his cue to carry on. He took long strides towards her and smiled wide.

'Go on a date with me or...' he leaned into her ear, breathing out the last of his wager, 'stop liking him.'

He was testing her, making good use of her feelings and manifesting everything in his favor, though she wasn't surprised. Aventurine was always one step ahead and she was an idiot.

She likely didn't stand a chance against him. Whatever he had planned for them both, she doubted he would consider her livelihood. Aventurine can be selfish with the things he wants, she's realized that.

Aventurine took his time rubbing salt into Dr. Ratio's unseen wound, slyly smirking and giving her a quick kiss on her lip and clearly, it left her bewildered.

Was that her first lip-to-lip contact?

"Ugh-" Dr. Ratio released a disgusted noise and clutched his book closer to his chest, "take your lovey-dovey display somewhere else." Aventurine let out a haughty laugh and grinned, "Shouldn't you be saying how wonderful of a couple we are? Are you jealous of me Doctor?"

"With you being a shameless gambler and her a decent lady, I don't find anything much appealing."

Aventurine faked a sad sigh and looked at her, "Don't mind him, he's being salty he hasn't acquired a beautiful maiden like yourself." he kissed her cheek and she was tempted to say she didn't mind him, at all but decided to remain silent. "Let's go select some of the rings I've prepared for you!" he leaned back a little and gently stirred her around to the exit with his hand still holding onto her hip.

"What? Surely you aren't thinking of involving her in your cunning schemes and putting her in grave danger. Or perhaps you've lost your mind." That made Aventurine stop and she took a peek at his face, he wasn't showing any emotion but she could sense some spitefulness.

Eventually, Aventurine turned his face and grinned back at Dr. Ratio, "You shouldn't care about what belongs to me, doctor."

She didn't get to see what expression Ratio had wore as Aventurine was quick on his feet and quickly dragged her along with him. She let him sit beside her during the ride back to his place, and though she had meant to keep her lips sealed and tucked tight, curiosity had begun to gnaw away her peace.

So she asked, "Does he like me too?" if it were anybody else, anybody like Dr. Ratio she would be given a scowl and a complicated response of yes and no, but this was Aventurine and he would have known something she didn't beforehand.

His hand gently touched her knee, and he gave her his signature smile, "Oh, it seems like the doctor isn't very good at being subtle, but I digress, as a potential partner doctor would be horrible and it would be a nightmare for both parties. So it shouldn't matter whether he liked you or not."

"Right." She didn't know how to respond and it wasn't like she was hoping for the doctor to return her feelings or share her sentiment.

Aventurine turned towards her and smiled, "Moving on, I think we should wear a matching pair of attire tomorrow, so let's go shopping!"

She nodded, she couldn't lie she was enjoying the attention Aventurine was showering her with.

[rhiannonsknife]

— BUT I’M A CHEERLEADER (part 2)

— summary: your first date with nat takes an unexpected turn.

— warnings: fluff. lots of period typical & internalized homophobia. angst. hurt/no comfort (yet). fem!reader. also i don’t know shit about bowling or soccer.

the next evening, you show up at the bowling alley ten minutes early, too giddy to keep pacing back and forth in your room.

the place is exactly what you expected: slightly dim, neon lights flickering over rows of well-worn lanes, the faint smell of fried food hanging in the air. it’s loud and feels worlds away from your usual hangouts, not at all what you thought nat would suggest and busier than you expected for a weeknight.

nat arrives right on time, striding in with her hands stuffed in the pockets of her jacket. she scans the room for a second before her gaze lands on you. immediately, her lips twitch into a smirk, and she saunters over to where you’re standing.

“didn’t think you’d actually show,” she says by way of greeting and stops in front of you.

you roll your eyes, trying not to let her see just how much you’ve been looking forward to this. “i’m not the flaky one, remember?”

nat huffs a laugh, the corners of her mouth lifting ever so slightly. “fair point. ready to get your ass kicked?”

“oh, please,” you scoff. “you already admitted you’re terrible at this!”

“yeah, but so are you. let’s go!” she says, grabbing your wrist and pulling you toward the counter to rent shoes.

as it turns out, nat wasn’t lying: she is terrible at bowling. her first two frames are instant gutter balls, and her third also veers off almost immediately, careening into the gutter with a dramatic thunk. she straightens up, staring after it for a moment, then turns to you with a deadpan expression.

“your turn!”

you burst out laughing from where you’d been watching her. “that’s it?“

“what?” nat shrugs. “think you’re gonna be any better?”

“wow,” you tease as you walk past her and grab your ball. “so much hope in me!”

she leans against the scorer’s table, crossing her arms as she watches you line up your shot. “show me how it’s done, hotshot!”

you’re determined not to make too much of a fool of yourself, though the bar is already ridiculously low after nat’s poor attempts. you square your shoulders, take a deep breath, and let the ball roll. for a brief, shining moment, you think you’ve nailed it. until it teeters off course and tumbles into the gutter about halfway down the lane.

behind you, nat laughs so hard you’re worried she might actually fall over. “nice job,” she says. “real pro move there!”

“oh, shut up,” you mutter, but you’re grinning too, the sting of failure softened by how ridiculous the whole scene feels.

you take another ball from the rack, determined to redeem yourself. this time, you actually take your time lining up the shot, glancing back at nat, who’s lounging against the table with an amused grin.

“focus, champ,” she teases. “no pressure!”

“uh huh,” you shoot back, shaking your head. you roll the ball, watching it glide smoothly down the lane. for a moment, it looks like it’s going to hit dead center before it veers to the side, taking out an astounding amount of three pins.

nat bursts into laughter, and you groan dramatically. “are you serious?”

“hey, three’s better than none,” she says, clapping slowly. “progress!”

“wow, thanks for the support,” you say, returning to the table and plopping into the chair beside her.

“anytime,” nat replies, still chuckling. she’s next to grab a ball and saunters up to the lane. her casual confidence is almost convincing…until she bowls another gutter ball.

by the fifth frame, you’ve given up on trying to win and are instead competing to see who can make the worst shot. nat perfects a move where she lazily tosses the ball underhand, watching it crawl its way to the pins at an impressively slow pace. it knocks over exactly one pin, and she doubles over laughing.

you’re holding up a hand as tears of laughter blur your vision. “they’re going to kick us out for disrespecting the sport or something!”

halfway through the game, you’re sitting side by side at the table, splitting a basket of fries nat insisted on getting. even with the chaos around you, the occasional strike followed by whoops of celebration, your attention keeps drifting back to her.

nat catches your not so subtle staring and raises an eyebrow. she dips a fry into the remains of ketchup and asks: “what?”

you quickly shake your head, feeling your cheeks heat. “nothing. just…you’re really bad at this,”

she smirks, popping a fry into her mouth. “yeah, well, you’re not much better!”

you laugh, nudging her with your shoulder. “fair enough!”

there’s a pause, comfortable and easy, before she speaks again. “you know, i kind of like this.”

you glance at nat sideways, surprised. “bowling?”

“no,” she says, rolling her eyes. “this. you. not being so…cheerleader-y!”

you stomach flips again, but you keep your voice light. “and here i thought you loved my pom-poms!”

nat grins, shaking her head as she hops up to her feet. “come on! i still have to finish this!”

“oh, please,” you say, leaning forward to steal a fry of your own. “we’re both disasters. let’s just call it a tie and save ourselves the embarrassment!”

nat’s grin widens as she shakes her head. “no way! i’m committed now. this game isn’t over until one of us manages a strike!”

“a strike?” you repeat, raising an eyebrow. “we’ll be here all night!”

“good,” nat says. “i’ve got nowhere else to be!”

unsurprisingly, neither of you manages a strike. by the time you finally give up, the scoreboard is a tragic display of gutter balls and spare attempts. still, your sides ache from laughing too hard at nat’s increasingly dramatic reactions to her missed shots.

“well,” you say, slipping your bowling shoes off at the rental counter, “i think it’s safe to say we’re not getting scouted for the pro leagues anytime soon!”

nat tosses her own shoes onto the counter with a loud thud, shrugging. “hey, speak for yourself! i’ve got potential!”

you shake your head, grinning. “maybe next time we stick to something less physical?”

the words are out before you have time to consider their implications. judging by nat’s attitude before, you wonder if she’s even up for something like a ‘next time’ or if she’s counting down the seconds until she can get out of here.

the way she’s smiling -unlike anything you’ve ever seen in school- does seem like she’s having at least as much fun as you though. and instead of turning you down, she’s nudging you with her elbow. “what about the arcade? i think i’ve got enough energy left to kick your ass at air hockey too!”

“you’re awfully confident for someone who couldn’t break 60 in bowling,” you tease, following her toward the neon glow of the arcade that’s tucked into a different part of the building.

nat just glances back over her shoulder, grinning. “you’ll see!”

the arcade is alive with sound and light and you wander through the rows of machines shoulder to shoulder, eventually stopping at a basketball free-throw game.

“alright,” nat says, cracking her knuckles. “let’s see what you’ve got, cheerleader!”

“oh, please. you’re the one on a soccer team,” you reply, gesturing at the hoop. “shouldn’t hand-eye coordination also be your kind of thing?”

“soccer,” she deadpans. “not basketball. but i guess we’ll find out!”

nat does manage a solid lead at first, sinking several shots in a row while you struggle to keep up. when her aim falters, and you take your chance to catch up, scoring three baskets back-to-back just before the timer runs out.

“okay, okay,” she says, raising her hands in surrender as the scoreboard flashes your victory. “maybe i’ll stick to soccer!”

“what was that about destroying me?”

nat rolls her eyes, grabbing the tickets that spit out from the machine. “beginner’s luck. don’t get used to it!”

you’re still laughing when you pass a pair of shooting games tucked into the corner of the room next. she instantly slows, her attention caught by the pixelated zombies on the screen.

“oh, we have to play this,” nat declares, stepping toward it. “let’s see who’s got better shooting aim!”

she’s already grabbing one of the plastic guns and hands the other to you. “come on! i’ll even give you a head start!”

you hesitantly take it from her, your fingers fumbling to hold it correctly. the machine comes to life as nat inserts a few quarters. the game starts with an obnoxiously loud intro and an animated announcer yelling about a zombie apocalypse while dramatic music plays in the background.

“okay, ready?” nat asks, aiming her gun.

“i think so,” you say, mimicking her stance.

she takes the first few shots like a pro, hitting targets with surprising accuracy. the same can’t be said for you: your first shot misses so badly that she actually pauses to laugh, nearly getting hit herself in the process.

“you’re supposed to aim at the zombies, you know?”she teases.

“i am aiming at the zombies!” you reply, adjusting your grip on the gun.

nat glances at you, then laughs. “what are you doing? you’re holding it like it’s a water pistol!”

you huff. “well, excuse me for not being an expert at fake guns!”

nat shakes her head, grinning. “here, let me show you!”

before you can argue, she steps behind you, her arms brushing yours as she adjusts your grip. nat’s hands settle over yours, guiding you to hold the gun steady. “like this,” she says softly, her voice so close to your ear that it sends a shiver down your spine.

you nod, thought your brain feels absolutely scrambled. you’re hyperaware of just how close she is, the warmth of her hands over yours, the faint smell of her cologne.

“see?” she continues, her voice low and her breath warm against the back of your neck. if nat is aware of the affect that she has on you, she won’t let it show. “now you can actually aim!”

“yeah,” you manage. you’re not sure you’re even looking at the screen anymore.

her fingers linger for a second too long before she steps back. you exhale, trying to shake off the heat rising to your face, and focus on the game instead.

it continues, and though you start hitting a few more targets, nat still dominates the scoreboard all throughout the game. by the final round, both of you are frantically firing at the screen, shouting instructions at each other and laughing whenever one of you misses.

the neon lights of the arcade reflect off nat’s face as she occasionally grins at you between firing shots. for this moment, it feels like the world has narrowed down to just the two of you. it feels like the kind of moment you’d envisioned yourself having time and time again, not once thinking somebody like you would ever live this kind of reality. now here you are, with nat scatorccio out of all people.

then, just as the next wave of pixelated zombies is about to appear on screen, you catch sight of someone out of the corner of your eye: a figure standing near the claw machine. familiar. too familiar.

your stomach instantly twists at the sight. it’s her. she’s leaning casually against the side of the machine, her arms crossed as she watches you. even surrounded by a group of friends, some of which you recognize from cheer practice, her eyes are on you and nat.

panic rushes through you suddenly, and you feel the familiar urge to get out of her eyesight as fast as possible.

“hey, uhm, give me a second,” you mumble, setting the plastic gun down.

nat straightens, her smile fading into concern. “you okay?”

“yeah,” you say quickly, forcing a smile and an unconvincing thumbs up. “just…bathroom. be right back!”

you weave through the crowd, your heartbeat thundering in your ears and drowning out the noise of the arcade around you. the bathroom door swings open with a soft creak, and you step inside, bracing your hands against the sink.

the harsh fluorescent lights make everything feel too bright, too sharp. you grip the edge, your knuckles turning white.

she saw you. she saw you laughing with nat, leaning close, acting like you didn’t care about the looks, the whispers she used to care about back when you were sneaking around. she won’t just let that slide.

when the door swings open behind you, you don’t need to turn around to know it’s her who steps inside.

“didn’t think i’d see you here,”

your meet her eyes in the mirror, your reflection pale and tense. “what do you want?”

she steps inside, letting the door shut behind her. “relax. i’m just saying hi!”

you turn to face her fully, crossing your arms in front of you like a shield. “hi. now leave.”

she ignores the demand, only steps closer instead. “i didn’t know you were into arcade games,” she says, raising a brow. “or that you were hanging out with yellowjackets…?”

your nails press crescent moon shapes into the palm of your hand as you attempt to stand your ground. it’s always been hard with her, when she’s so used to getting whatever she pleases.

“it’s just funny. i thought you didn’t even like soccer?” she tilts her head. “so what’s this then? some new hobby?”

your throat feels dry as you try and find your voice. “it’s not- nat and i are just hanging out!”

“right” she says, dragging the word out.

“what do you want?”

she shrugs, stepping further into the bathroom. “just curious. you’ve been avoiding me, and now here you are, cozying up to scatorccio of all people!”

you flinch at her tone, the condescension in the way she says nat’s name. “it’s none of your business!”

“oh, but it is,” she says, her voice sharpening as she hisses: “do you have any idea how that looks? you’re not exactly subtle, you know? half the arcade probably thinks you two are…” she trails off.

you stomach churns. you doubt she’ll ever change: apparently, even being associated with somebody who might be queer is too much for her to handle. “so what if they do?”

her eyes narrow. “so what? are you serious right now?”

you feel your hands curl into fists at your sides. “what are you trying to say?”

“all i’m saying is that you’re playing with fire,” she snaps, her voice rising. “people talk. and if you’re not careful, you’re going to ruin everything for yourself!”

your breath catches. “ruin what? there’s nothing to ruin!”

“oh please!” she takes another step closer. “you think people are just going to be okay with it? you think you’re going to waltz around with your little soccer girlfriend and not have it blow up in your face?”

you swallow hard. “nat’s not my girlfriend!”

“that’s not the point,” she says, her tone growing harsher. “the point is you’re going to make things harder for yourself! and for what? for her?”

you feel your eyes sting. you hate that she can still get to you like this. “why do you even care? you made it clear you didn’t want this!”

“because i didn’t want to ruin my life,” she says, her voice rising. “do you know what people would say if they knew? if they knew about us? about you?”

“you act like i’m the problem,” you manage to scoff. “like i’m ruining everything. you’re the one who’s scared. you’re the one who can’t deal with who you are!”

“i know things about you!” she snaps then. “things i could say. people i could tell!”

your breath hitches all over again, the weight of her words -of the threat- pressing down on you like a physical force.

before you can respond, the door swings open again, and nat steps inside. her eyes immediately lock onto yours, and then dart to your ex, her jaw tightening. she might not know who she is yet, but you’re sure nat can put two and two together.

“what’s going on here?”

“nothing,” your ex says quickly, straightening up. “we were just…talking!”

nat doesn’t look convinced. she steps closer, positioning herself between you and her. “didn’t sound like just talking!”

“jesus, relax natalie,” she rolls her eyes. “this has nothing to do with you!”

“it has if you’re upsetting her,” nat says.

your ex falters, her confidence wavering under nat’s steady gaze. she looks at you one last time, scoffing, her expression a mix of anger and something almost like regret. but then she turns on her heel, brushing past nat as she storms out of the bathroom.

“hey,” nat immediately says. “are you okay?”

you nod, but the tears spill over anyway. “i’m fine,” you mumble, quickly wiping at your face.

nat steps closer, her presence steadying in a way you never knew before. “you don’t have to be,” she assures.

“she’s just…” you trail off, struggling to find the words. “she’s like that because of her own stuff. it’s not about me. not really”

nat nods, “i get it, but it still sucks!”

you let out a weak laugh, the tension in your chest loosening just a little. “yeah. it does,”

she hesitates, then reaches out, her hand brushing your shoulder. the touch is brief at first but grounding, and when you don’t turn away, nat dares to pull you into somewhat of a half embrace, unsure but no less comforting.

“come on,” nat mumbles after a moment. “let’s get you out of here, yeah? i’m not letting you have another breakdown in a bathroom over her on my watch, cheerleader!”

the next morning feels like stepping into an entirely different world altogether: the fight in the bathroom with your ex is a long forgotten, thanks to nat’s attempt to cheer you up, and your heart is still buzzing from your time with her.

she’d driven you home after the arcade, and though nothing happened, not a kiss, not even holding hands, you’d caught yourself smiling like an absolute idiot in the passenger seat, replaying the way she’d looked at you all night.

now, even the seemingly endless monotony of class seems oddly tolerable: you actually find yourself sitting through lectures without doodling in your notebook or counting the minutes until lunch. when you spot nat across the hallway between classes or across the room in your one shared history lesson, the sight of her messy hair or a flash of her smile is enough to send a flutter through your chest.

the good mood follows you right up until you step into the gym for cheer practice after school.

something feels off the second you walk in. the usual buzz of chatter and laughter feels stilted, replaced with something tense. any talk is cut off as soon as your sneakers squeak against the polished floor. a quick glance around confirms a suspicion that’s already creeping up on you: people are watching.

and not just glancing, staring.

your tighten your grip on your gym bag, a knot forming in your stomach. your steps falter as you approach the lockers and the murmur of voices picks up again behind you.

“…makes sense, though, doesn’t it?”

“i mean, it’s gross, right?”

“does coach even know?”

you drop your bag by the lockers and start stretching near the mats. the whispers don’t stop. if anything, they grow louder, their words becoming clearer until there’s no pretending you don’t hear them anymore. when you glance toward the group huddled near the bleachers, you see the pointed looks, the smirks, and the unmistakable glare from your ex:

she’s standing at the center of the group, arms crossed, a clearly self-satisfied smirk plastered across her face.

finally, you stand, brushing off your hands, and take a step toward them. “what’s going on?”

the chatter stops abruptly, as if none of them were expecting you to call it out. for a moment, nobody answers, but then she steps forward.

“oh, nothing,” she says, looking around. “we were just talking about how interesting it must’ve been for you, being on a team full of girls. you know…since you’re into that sort of thing?”

it feels like the floor drops out from underneath your feet.

it’s a low blow, even for her, but that doesn’t stop the group of girls that surround you from giggling quietly.

“i don’t know what you’re talking about,” you say quickly, but your voice wavers, betraying you. “what’s your problem?”

“no problem here. just thought it was interesting, you know? seeing you out last night. you and natalie scatorccio?”

the gym falls silent. you feel every pair of eyes in the room turns to you.

“we weren’t doing anything,” you manage despite their stares. “we were just hanging out!”

“hanging out?” your ex repeats, feigning surprise. “that’s what you call it? looked a lot more…cozy than that to me!”

laughter ripples through the group, and heat floods your face.

“oh my god,” one of the other girls chimes in, her voice filled with poorly concealed disgust. “are you actually serious? you were on a date with her?”

“it wasn’t a date!” you protest, your voice rising in panic. as much as you would’ve liked for it to be, neither of you labeled it that.

another girl snorts. “right, because scatorccio is totally the type to hang out with a cheerleader just for fun! come on, we’ve all seen her. she’s like…you know?” she makes a vague gesture. there’s no need for her to elaborate for the whole room to understand what she saying.

“like what?” you snap.

“like you,” your ex cuts in smoothly. “two of a kind, right? birds of a feather! must be nice, not having to hide anymore!”

someone snickers behind her. “we’re just friends,” you say, sharper now.

“sure you are, that’s why you were basically all over each other!”

the group bursts into more laughter around you.

“would you just shut up?” you snap at last.

“oh, she’s mad now,” one of the other girls says, her voice a mock sing-song.

your ex steps closer, dropping the act entirely now that you’re chest to chest. “what’s the matter? afraid people might find out who you really are?” she glances around at the others, then back at you. “you know, it’s kind of pathetic. sneaking around like that. nobody’s buying it, anyway!”

“don’t-” your voice cracks.

“don’t what?” she says. “don’t call you out? don’t let everyone know they’ve been sharing a locker room with a lesbian?”

the words hang in the air, sharp and cruel, and hit you like a slap. for a moment, all you can do is stand there, frozen, as the group watches you, some wide-eyed, others smirking.

it’s not just about nat, or you. it’s about your place in their world: your status as part of the team, part of the cheer squad. the one thing you’ve always tried to fit into, always tried to be, no matter how uncomfortable it made you. it is now that you’re realizing that maybe you don’t belong in their world. that maybe you never did.

grabbing your bag, you shove past her and storm toward the door, your heart pounding so hard it feels like it might burst. the door slams shut behind you, muffling the sound of their laughter.

you won’t go back to the gym and give them that satisfaction.

instead, you walk down the halls, past the locker rooms, and head out the back doors. the air outside is cold, but does nothing to numb the ache in your chest. it’s the kind that suddenly feels like it’s been there all along, maybe longer than you realized, even. a crack forming. one piece of your life falling away at a time: cheerleading had always been your thing. your family’s thing, your friends’ thing. you’d been in it so long, it is hard to imagine life without it.

but then there’s still nat.

you’re not sure why your thoughts drift to her now, but you do know one thing for sure: with nat, over these past weeks, you could breathe. the world didn’t feel so small. she made you feel like you again, like someone who could be something other than just a cheerleader, just a girl pretending.

it isn’t until you’ve wandered to the edge of campus that you realize where your feet have taken you: the soccer field stretches out ahead, bright under the last bits of aternoon sun. from where you’re standing, you can see the yellowjackets mid-practice. you hesitate at the edge of the field, heart pounding as your eyes scan the group for her.

they’ve always been a tight group and there’s always been something about them that you’ve admired: the way they’ve got each other’s backs, no questions asked. you can’t help but feel like maybe that’s the one thing you’ve never been able to do for yourself.

nat is easy to spot, even from a distance. she’s wearing shorts and a faded soccer jersey, her hair tied back in a messy ponytail. you freeze, watching as she jogs across the field with an effortless ease before passing the ball to taissa, who maneuvers it past a defender before sending it toward van. van, who catches it, calls out something teasing in return, her voice carrying across the field, and the whole team bursts into laughter.

even from a distance, they’re so at ease with one another.

and then there’s you.

the girl who just got shut out by her own teammates. you stand there, rooted to the spot, watching nat and the others as a painful realization starts to settle in your chest.

clearly, she belongs here.

you don’t.

you think back to the way the yellowjackets rallied around each other at that party, how they’d teased nat when they saw you in her jacket the next day, never with an ounce of cruelty. they’d just laughed and called her out, like it was no big deal. no judgment whatsoever.

out there on the pitch, they don’t look at her the way your squad looked at you today. they don’t treat her like she’s a problem that needs to be fixed. who are you to mess with that?

your chest tightens as the thought takes root: you’ve just lost your place on the cheer squad because you couldn’t keep your feelings buried where they belonged. and now, after one night of just hanging out with nat, everything feels even more precarious.

and it’s not only about you anymore, either. if you let yourself get closer to nat, if people start to notice, if they connect the dots, what happens then? does the judgment simply spill over onto her? onto the team she so clearly loves?

you can’t do that to her, not when she’s so happy here. not when she’s already lost so much, like she told you the night of that party. you can’t be the one to take anything else away from her.

nat jogs toward the sidelines now, wiping sweat from her brow as she laughs at something shauna says not far behind. you catch the faint sound of her voice, low and raspy, and it sends an ache through your chest that already feels too big to name.

you think about walking up to her, about calling her name and letting her see the raw hurt on your face. maybe she’d understand. maybe she’d care. but as you watch her sling an arm around lottie from afar, grinning ear to ear, you hesitate.

what if she doesn’t? what if you’re just another burden she doesn’t need? another thing weighing her down?

before you can second-guess yourself, you turn on your heel, your eyes stinging as you walk away from the field, the sound of laughter fading into the distance behind you.

it’s better this way, you tell yourself. ehe’s happy, and she deserves to stay that way. you’ll figure out the rest on your own, even if it means facing it all alone.

— a/n: i know it’s not wednesday yet, but a) i just got the sweetest ask ever, which motivated me to sit my ass down and finish this, and b) i have a rhiannon lewis fic for tomorrow that’s been sitting in my drafts since november! so, instead of posting two in one day, enjoy this one today! 😭😭