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vellichor-of-the-solivagant · 6 months

Text

With Them, Who Swallowed a Star

PAIRING: Professor!Task Force 141 X F!Student!Reader WORD COUNT 5.3k CONTENT WARNING: NSFW! group sex, age gap, fingering, cunnilingus, oral sex, handjobs, facefucking/blowjobs, unprotected sex, p in v, anal sex, slight usage of nicknames, reader is a pianist/student, tf141 are professors, smut with plot SYNOPSIS: A musician is a storyteller in their own ways. You had told yours and captured the sights of men you never expected to pull when you stepped inside an academy. AUTHOR'S NOTE: I tried to be poetic. This fried my brain and I'm not going to write something like this again. That's a lie because I have a series that has 5 love interests. This one was supposed to have Graves as well since he's actually my inspiration for writing this shit, but I ended up not adding him. I might do it on Drabbles if someone asks though. And yes, I have changed my username from DontFearTheReaperAzura. Here's the Masterlist for more! Also on Archive of Our Own

Your fingers fluttered slightly as you lifted your hands to the keys, blocking out the rustling from others as they sat in the grand auditorium. Long and drawn, you began to tell a tale you had held for a long time. Notes swam in the air, old friends that played with your tresses and caressed your skin.

The story started slowly, the sound of the beginning, the beginning of the end. Longing clashed with trepidation, your fingers sang a song of despair. You swayed with the music, lost in the whims of unspoken words—of a world you owned. Quicker and quicker, the notes climbed in sync with your heart, growing joyful in hopes of masking the mournful melody surrounding you.

It filled the emptiness deep within your chest for a moment, before like the heavens shed tears upon a barren land, you showed—you poured out the lore of your world, and with heavy reluctance to leave what you created, you played the last few notes.

For a few moments, you kept your eyes closed, and when a series of claps reached your ears, only then you opened them. You were shackled back to reality just as you held back your work.

You looked at the people, who in your eyes were nothing but shadows at the beginning, now enamored, yearning for the rest. You knew they felt it, too. Pulled, as though you were the center of the system. Like the Sun, a star.

And one man stuck out more than others, gazing at you, blue eyes almost ravenous. But it didn’t last for long, just like a song in the wind, he faded among the standing crowd, drowned out in the flurry of praise.

You breathed out a sigh as you stared at the towering structure before you, now your second hell—in replacement of the ramshackle place you call home—after you had gotten a scholarship to this prestigious university after years of a couple of years of working your ass off. Students rushed past you on their way in and out of their classes, but you stood frozen.

Suddenly you felt awfully unprepared for this unfamiliar place, of socializing and strangers, and of university. Of life. What did Google say about socializing with people your age again? How about impressing a professor? Good lord.

You shrugged off your thoughts and sauntered to your class. A large lecture hall welcomed your sight and you found an empty seat at the front row. Not the perfect place for observation of the whole place, but good for listening to the professor.

The sound of expensive shoes echoed throughout the hushed room and you kept your eyes down as you took out your notebook and pen. As the quiet dragged on, you glanced at the professor and found your brows raising at his sight.

He was tall, seemed to be fit, and in his thirties. He had a few wrinkles, a beard, and brown hair, but no sign of graying.

Above all, you could remember those eyes. An endless swirl of blue. The man at the concert hall.

You put your gaze down as the professor looked down on you, your heart hammered against your ribs, sudden nervousness springing in your nerves. You wished he wouldn’t recognize you, but at the same time, you hoped he did.

Yet, the silence remained, and in curiosity, you looked back up. Your breath hitched as your eyes met his, gaze shining with something you couldn’t decipher, and a smile formed on his lips.

You forced yourself to mirror it and batted a glance at the door. You wanted to get out.

The professor introduced himself as Jonathan Price, and told the class a few things about himself, before diving straight into the first lesson of Philosophy.

Time seemed to flow fast throughout his class and you kept your fingers busy, writing down his words. He was easy to understand, bringing out intricate details in his lesson, and asked questions now and then if he was going too fast while walking around the room.

You couldn’t help but notice his slacks fit in a certain area. Then again, that thing wouldn’t give you a brain cell even if you suck it off.

The bell chimed and you gathered and stuffed your notebook and pen inside your bag, jolting up to your feet. But as you approached the exit, his canorous voice called out to you.

“Pardon me, young lady.”

You turned to face the professor, keeping a respectable distance from him, which he closed off, only standing a couple of feet from you.

“Yes, sir?” You asked in a small voice when he remained silent, his eyes studying you with disconcerting intensity, just like how he gazed at you at your performance.

Finally, after an uncomfortable silence, he asked. “What’s your name?”

You spoke of your name in a steady voice, equally confused and intimidated, you gripped on the strap of your bag. Everyone had already left, now bringing quietness to the hall.

He smiled once again, his head tilting a bit to the side. “A pretty name.” His voice sent goosebumps on your skin, making you breathe in deeply, inhaling the scent of his pleasant cologne. “Such a shame I couldn’t catch it after your performance a couple of weeks ago.”

He remembered you.

Your cheeks began to burn.

Oh, how he yearned to caress your tinted cheeks, place a kiss on them, and mutter praise against your soft skin.

“Ah, you were there, weren’t you, sir?” You offered him a smile and a pause. “I think I caught a glance of you in the front rows.”

“Correct.”

“Thank you for watching, sir,” you said, not knowing what to speak of next, and nodded at him, reaching out to the knob to leave. But he reached for the door, making you blink at his unexpected actions, caged between the door and him.

“I couldn’t take my eyes off of you,” he fessed, bodies now closer to yours that you almost touched, and you gulped. “You were magnificent.” He opened the door, a hand motioning at you. “See you on Wednesday. And I hope we see more of your performance.”

We?

You jolted awake at the loud laughter of a raucous group outside of your room and grunted at the sudden pang of pain in your head when you stood up. You glanced at the alarm clock by your bedside and muttered a crisp curse, hauling your bag. You burst out of your room, slipping past students in the hallway like a breeze, hurried apologies were called out to those poor victims she bumped into.

The morning had been long and tiring, and you decided to take a nap earlier, only to end up sleeping for a couple of hours. Now, you were about to get late for your next class, and the usual ten-minute walk turned into a five-minute run and an uncalled exercise.

You glanced from left to right in the hallway, glancing at your phone to make sure you were in the right building, and turned to the right, following the signs. You halted before a room, strangely closed even though the class was supposed to start in five minutes.

You used your phone as a mirror and patted down your hair, before turning the knob and opening the door. You walked into a softly lit room and realized the mistake you had made as you spotted a man splayed down on a couch across the room. A hand behind his head and over his stomach, and over the lower half of his face was a black mask.

Inside was a personal office, belonging to one of the professors.

You immediately turned away, about to exit the room when an angry voice echoed.

“Have you got no manners?” The man rose to sit, a scowl painted on his face.

For the nth time in your sorry life, you wanted to bury yourself alive. You dipped your head low in embarrassment. “I’m very sorry, sir. I thought this was the room my class was in. I didn’t mean to intrude.” You frantically fumbled on your phone, inputting the wrong password one time, and read your schedule.

You read the room number wrong.

Brilliant. Bloody brilliant.

The professor fixed his crooked mask. “What class were you supposed to go to?”

“Uh, a math class of Mr. Simon Riley,” you read on your phone, keeping your head low.

A hum escaped past the man’s lips, making you glance up at him. His dark blond hair slightly ruffled from his apparent nap and coat a bit crooked. He ran his hand on his hair, fixed his coat, and patted down the invisible wrinkles on the fabric.

He stood up and you inched back, surprised at his stature. A tall man with broad shoulders and arms noticeably strong, (massive honkers) and eyes like a pool of honey, swirling like molten gold under the light.

“You’re in luck, sweetheart. I’m Simon Riley. You’re in my office, our class is in the next room.” Unlike earlier, his cold voice had turned a bit softer, but the fact that he was your professor made your sweat run cold.

You nodded, inwardly wincing at your dumbass. “Again, I apologize, sir.”

He stood before you, next to the opened door. Gladly, there were no students passing by in the hallway.

“What is your name, love?” he questioned, his hands going to his pockets. His eyes narrowed at the way your head dipped, refusing to meet his gaze. Like a meek little bunny, scared of the world and what all those pretty eyes could see.

He wanted to place a finger under your chin and lift your face up to look at him.

You never knew introducing yourself could feel like an interrogation until now. You told him your name, averting your gaze down at his shoes that shifted slightly. “Nice to meet you, Sir Riley. I’m sorry it wasn’t under the best circumstances.”

He hummed once again and stepped out of the office. “Pleasure’s all mine."

You followed him out of the room and he swiftly closed the door behind you, his being a bit closer to you than comfort.

With a nod, Professor Riley led you to the classroom. Dozens of students had already occupied the room and you silently made your way to a vacant seat on the second row, placing your bag next to you.

Just like Mr. Price, the masked professor went straight to the point, briefly introducing himself to the crowd, and began his lesson. He, too, was easy to understand, repeating the equations some couldn't get well, and was kind enough to let the class take a few minutes of break, before continuing. You had also come to notice he would fix his mask every once in a short while.

And when the bell chimed, he bid his students goodbye, yet called for your name. You halted on gathering your things as he approached you. His eyes glanced at the students who last left the room before he spoke.

"Feel free to come by my office whenever you have a question or need anything. Can't have you lose your way again, do we?" He asked, a bit of amusement in his voice as he leaned close.

You smiled at his offer. "Thank you, sir."

Sure as shooting, you asked him where your next room was for Chemistry. By good fortune, he knew where it was and who the professor would be.

"Ah, there he is." Sir Riley abruptly came to a stop, making you halt in your tracks as well and follow the direction of his gaze, to see a man with a mohawk.

"Simon!" The man jogged towards the two of you, a grin playing on his lips in contrast to the man who never took off his mask. Another person with blue optics, but his were bluer as though someone took a piece of the briny deep and placed it in his optics.

He kept a smile as his attention swept to you. "And who's the little bird?"

You frowned a bit at the nickname, nonetheless gave him your name, and watched his eyes light up with fascination. The man began to tell the pull he felt by the notes of your music, how enamored he was by the unspoken words of your tale.

He was there, too and Sir Riley was along with them.

Your face flushed as he ranted and they both noticed, taking note of the shades painted on your skin, bashful of the sudden recognition.

"He is John Mactavish, your Chemistry professor," Sir Riley piped in, placing a hand on the other man's shoulder, before bidding his farewell at the moment, marching down to his next class.

Left all alone with Professor Mactavish, you turned to him. He grinned at you and he beckoned at you to follow him. The man was, well, talkative and wasted not a second expressing his applause of your performance and how he never expected to see you in the university.

You could only mutter small words and nod, already feeling exhausted. But it was pleasant to hear him compliment you. You could get used to it.

And you could get used to his enthusiasm for teaching. His first lesson went straight to an experiment and dragged you to his side as his assistant, instructing you to mix chemicals. Occasionally, his fingers brushed over yours as you passed vials.

Your eyes met, and sparks flew all around.

Literal spark.

And fire.

Professor Mactavish pulled you to the side, hand remaining on your arm as the chemicals were set ablaze.

With a couple of ticks of the clock, a giggle erupted from your lips and like there was a pull, his chuckles followed.

In the sea of awes, his laughter floated on the surface.

You sprinted on the hall, navigating through the winding routes of the structures, and arrived at one of the most exquisite auditoriums you had ever set eyes on. Your eyes took in the magnificent chandeliers and the divine paintings stretched across the ceiling.

The sound of a throat clearing pulled you from your stupor.

“Are you just going to stand there?” a voice called for your attention to where he stood near the stage. The man basked in the warm glow of the concert hall, skin as though molten caramel, and eyes like embers.

“Oh, forgive me, sir.” You straightened yourself up like a soldier before a superior. “I was just, well, this place is beautiful.” You couldn’t help but glance around once again.

“Isn’t it?” A soft smile crawled its way to his lips and he approached you. “I am Mr. Garrick and you are . . .” your name rolled out of his tongue like a serenade, gentle to the ears, a sight to see the way his lips moved, and he extended a hand to you.

You clasped it gently before realization dawned on you. “Pardon me, Garrick as in the Kyle Garrick?”

In a flash of a moment, something sparkled in his eyes and searched yours. “Yes, it is me.”

You nearly squealed and ran around the room in excitement. “Oh my God. Wow. I-I’m a huge fan, sir. You were such a huge inspiration to me—and, and, I wished I could have watched your performance at the concert before, but I was busy preparing for mine. Oh, that must be why Mr. Price, Mr. Riley, and Mr. MacTavish were there! You are friends!” Your words tumbled out of delight.

"Yes, well, thank you for the kind words." His hand sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck, his smile becoming wider.

You gazed at him for a few moments before you snapped out of it, your brain slapping it to your face that you just rambled in front of this gentleman. "I'm very sorry, that was unprofessional of me."

"No need for apologies. But I do want to get a feel of your play today as soon as possible." A hand landed on your back, his warmth slipping through the fabric as he led you towards the grand piano patiently waiting for you at the stage.

Your fingers itched in anticipation.

Sir Garrick gave you a comforting smile and sat on the front row seat. "Feel free to play whatever your heart desires."

What your heart desires.

With a shaky breath, once again, you began to tell a tale, the notes sounding like a human voice as it wove its sonorous song.

A ballad to tie what dream your heart made. An andante at first and increased tempo at each heartbeat.

Lightning striking and thunder howling, Kyle was consumed with the way you swayed from one note to another. He couldn't peel his eyes off you as though you had him in your grasp, a puppet for you to control. And only when the last of the music hung in the air, could he snap free of the strings.

He walked towards you and dropped to his knee, taking one of your hands in his palm. "You were truly astonishing."

"I'm telling you, she was marvelous," Kyle exclaimed, pacing around Price's office and pointing at his fellow professors. "Blimey, if only you guys were there the other day, you'd feel chills."

Simon kept a straight face as he sat on the couch, legs spread, his knees bumping with Johnny who took a seat beside him, sipping from his mug of coffee. Whilst, Jonathan inclined on his chair behind a mahogany desk, decorated with intricate carvings and souvenirs he had gathered as they traveled across continents.

"I get that you're delighted, but could you quiet down?" Price grumbled on his desk, a pang of pain shooting his head.

"No, I am not shutting up." Kyle raised a hand, shaking his head. "She recognized my name. My name.” He pointed at himself.

“Anyone would recognize your name if they’re yer fan or hater,” Johnny quipped and placed the mug down on the coffee table.

Kyle turned to him. “You don’t get it, mate. She said she’s a fan of mine. I was a huge inspiration to her—”

“Was a huge inspiration to her,” Simon echoed, leaning back against the couch. “Used to be, not anymore.”

Kyle glared and stomped towards the masked man, grabbing his collar when the other merely raised his brows in a challenge. “I swear to God, Simon, I swear to—”

“I swear to God if you three don’t shut the fuck up—” Price paused, straightening himself from his chair as Kyle shook Simon, and glared at them— “I’ll have you asinine blokes chopped into bits!”

Kyle let go of Simon, who simply fixed his crooked collar and tie, and raised a brow at the man behind the desk. He sat down on a vacant chair, his eyes not leaving Price, and asked, “Are you jealous she recognized me, Price?” he was answered with another glare, which he shrugged at. “Or not.” He definitely is.

For a few moments, they sat in silence, each lost in their train of thought. All centered on a certain lady, whom they had watched from afar, now within their grasp. They only acted as though it was their first time meeting you.

Each born to a wealthy family, presented interesting things which soon died down as they broke them down into pieces, they had grown bored. And had found that there were only a few they could put their trust in this world. Though not related by blood, they shared everything since they were younger. They knew one another strengths and weaknesses. Their faults. Their passions.

Their desires.

A knock pulled them out of their reveries.

Johnny being the closest to the door, got up and opened it. A smile was brought to his face as he found you. “Hello, bonnie. C’mon in.” He swung the door open, a hand motioning at you.

You hesitantly stepped in as you saw your professors inside the office, eyes all settled on you. You put a hand on your other arm to hold down your nervousness as the door behind you shut.

Four men who were strangely overly friendly to you. You could think of a couple of reasons. The first being a musician they had watched and the second, being their student.

A hand landed on the small of your back, guiding you further in, making your face flush. “Have a seat,” Sir MacTavish waved a hand at the sofa, where he and Simon sat.

You kept your gaze low as you obeyed him, sitting between him and your math professor, red cheeks going in a deeper shade as you met Kyle’s gaze. Embarrassed, you finally faced Price, and asked, “What is it that you called me for, Professor?”

Price put his elbows over his desk and intertwined his fingers. “We have a proposition for you . . .” Your name rolled sensually out of his tongue.

The proposition was to be their assistant. Given their overlapping schedules these days, it was hard for them to handle them. At first, you refused the offer, telling them you had a part-time job to do, along with practicing your skills in piano. But they had already thought about that and said they could pay you for your work.

A tempting proposal. Perfect for a student like you who got into this prestigious school through a scholarship.

You tapped your pen on the table and heaved a sound sigh, slouching on the chair. You were in a cafe near the school, in an attempt to change the atmosphere and help you write a report for Sir MacTavish's and Sir Price’s classes, but it didn’t seem to be helping at the moment. A pleasant music came from your earphones to block out the background noises and you closed your eyes to lull yourself.

When you opened your eyes, you jolted up your seat. “Shit!” your hands immediately flew to your potty mouth and straightened your spine at the sight of one of your professors, Simon, across the table. “Ah, uh, I’m very sorry, sir. I didn’t notice you—”

“Why do you apologize so often?” his rough voice was low and he placed a cup of tea on the table. His eyes landed on your notebook, full of notes, written clean as though it was printed.

You pursed your lips, unable to think of an answer, and ran your tongue over the soft flesh, catching Simon’s attention. “I . . .”

Simon glanced around the empty cafe, the only other person within the area was the staff over the counter, who kept her eyes on her phone. And you had perfectly picked a secluded spot. He looked back at you and reached out a hand, placing it under your chin. He lifted your face to bring your eyes to his.

Your heart raced at his actions.

“An angel as brilliant as you are should carry yourself with confidence, sweetheart.” His thumb caressed your lips. “Perhaps, we could teach you that.”

Your lips parted at his touch, warmth pooling at your stomach. You knew this was strange—wrong, and yet you didn’t want him to stop.

But he let go and leaned back, and you found yourself gripping on your thigh. “Have you thought of our proposal last week?”

You nodded, clearing your throat. “I have, sir.”

“What do you say?”

“The offer is good, and I don’t think it will clash with my schedule under normal circumstances, either.” You paused, letting him wait for your answer as you gazed into his caramel eyes. “I’ll take it, professor.”

You were fond of puzzles. You were interested in mysteries. And you were drawn to danger.

Being their assistant had more perks than you initially thought it was. You talked with them about their terms and added some of yours, and they seemed to be pretty considerate about it.

Maybe, a bit too much.

You had moved to an apartment they got you, so you wouldn’t be distracted by your roommates. When you had breaks, they would call you to their offices and give you desserts and snacks.

And more often than not, their touches lingered, turning into hugs, caressing, and pinching when in private. To close, seemingly the start of a taboo, a risk, and yet when Professor Price had you pinned between him and Professor Garrick in his office one late night when most of the people at school had gone home, you didn't want them to stop.

You wanted the heat to rush over you, like a forest fire, unwavering.

Didn't pull back when he planted his lips on you. Didn't stop the very professor you looked up to as a musician to bunch up your skirt and grind his dick against your ass. Didn't stop even when the other two entered and Sir Price had his hand rubbing against your clothed cunt. Didn't stop when Professor Riley locked the door behind him as Sir Mactavish joined in.

Johnny’s snaked a hand around your waist, a bit harsher than the ones he’d always done, but you didn’t mind it. Not when his lips were gentle against yours, patient and exploring as he led you on his lap when he sat on your couch, stealing you from Price and Garrick. He drank on your gasp as you felt another pair of lips on your nape, dusting kisses along your flesh.

Simon breathed against your shoulder, hand grasping the swell of your breast and performed maddening massage that got your nipples pebbling under the fabric of your top. You flinched when he took them by fingers, the rolls languid, and shifted on the other man’s lap as you felt a poke underneath.

Johnny groaned against you, parting the breathtaking kiss. He removed you from his lap, only to turn you against him, now facing the professor who had shed his mask. His fingers dipped under the band of your panties, into your untouched bud and your wet folds. He rubbed with a hum, spreading your filth.

“You're so wet, hen,” he commented and inserted a digit, rubbing it against your slick walls.

Your teeth sunk to your lower lip, biting back a squeal at the sudden intrusion.

Simon placed his fingers under your chin and leaned down on you, his tongue running over your lips, something he had always wanted to do before. “Don't bite your lips. That's something we're supposed to do, yeah?” He whispered on your lips and explored your mouth, savoring the echoes of your pleasure, and left to plant his marks on your collarbones. Hands gathered your shirt and lifted it, exposing your chest to his sight.

His mouth dropped to the nipple, sucking while his hand went to work on the other.

Johnny began to pump faster, making you throw your head back to his chest, moaning out in pleasure as you shot a glance at other professors.

“You are not so innocent after all, hm?” Price took your jaw and ran his thumb over your lips, before pushing it in, muffling your cries.

“No one's that innocent nowadays, Price,” Garrick remarked, watching the frown on your face and the flutter of your lashes at every jerk of Johnny's hand made and Simon’s tongue did. His tongue ran over his lips, hand cupping over his hard-on, palming himself through his pants.

You began to suck on Price’s finger, making his dick twitch in his pants—his brain wondering how good your mouth would feel around him. He pulled his hand away to work down on his belt and pants, hands pulling out his shaft. He gave it a few pumps, chuckling when he noticed the way your tongue ran over your swollen lips before a groan escaped from it as Simon planted a bite on your neck and Johnny's thumb began to work on your clit.

Price brought his tip to your mouth. “Open up, dove,” he demanded and grunted as he pushed his shaft in, breath hitching at the warm feeling of your tongue and your throat. Your face twisted a bit at the taste of his precum. He let you adjust for a couple of seconds, hand going to the back of your head before he began to thrust.

One of your hands flew to hold onto his hip as you let him use your mouth, eyes fluttering closed and focusing on breathing through your nose. Out of the blue, Johnny pulled his fingers out and Simon stepped away, eliciting a whine from you. Vibrations ran down Price’s body and he groaned.

Unbuckling of belts echoed in the air, and you were pulled away from Price, making him curse. The next thing you knew, you were staring into the eyes of the man you had admired for so long.

“Sir—”

Kyle put his thumb over your lips, cutting off your words. “Not sir. Call me Kyle.” He positioned his cock under your cunt, rubbing the tip on your entrance.

You gasped at the sensation. “Kyle . . .” Your jaw slacked as he slowly went in, hands pulling you closer to his clothed body, fingers running on your flesh, gentle just as how he played his instruments.

“Yeah, yeah, that’s it,” he groaned, hands sliding down to your ass to guide you up and down on his length.

Now, he made music out of you.

It didn’t take a few ticks of the clock until they fucked you with all they had.

Simon’s cock was buried in the confines of your mouth, fingers tangled on your tresses, watching the curls of your lashes get soaked by the tears that rolled down on your cheeks as they relentlessly pounded on you—Kyle on your pussy, Price on your ass, and Johnny on your grasps. You had never felt so full, so complete.

You feel your legs shake—the sign you have reached the pinnacle of pleasure and exhaustion when Kyle hits the spot deep in you. You whined against Simon’s cock, groaning as beg for the overdue orgasm that they had been keeping from you.

You felt a hand slide down your thigh, finding your swollen clit, before the rough pads of the fingers rubbed aguishly gentle and slow. If they weren’t your professors, you would have cursed at whoever the one was doing it. But your wish had been heard and he picked up the pace until you were crying, arching your back.

But they weren’t done.

You felt Kyle and Price become rougher at each of their thrust, Simon tugging on your hair harder, and Johnny losing his rhythm on your hands, until they all pulled back, coating your skin with their cum.

You slumped on Kyle’s chest, limbs like a stringless puppet as you ride out the aftermath of your orgasm. Your heavy lids fell close, tired from the deed, but you fought back the drowsiness, not wanting to fall asleep in the state you were in.

“You did good, love,” Kyle cooed into your ear and planted a soft kiss on your temple.

Johnny leaned down and pressed a kiss on your shoulder. “Yer amazing, bonnie. Can’t wait to have more of ya.”

A hand caressed your flushed cheek, swiping the transparent mix of tears and sweat. “Let’s bring you back to your apartment, dove,” Price said in a gentle voice.

Gentle fingers scraped your scalp, gaining a hum from you, must be Simon with how his fingers feel on your head. An unspoken apology about the way he tugged on your locks.

Like the sky glowing, your skin glittered in the ruins they drew up. A masterpiece you were, vulnerable, vincible in their sight, like walls that had fallen. And yet as though a book which held thousands of words, they still had more things to know about you.

Like every start of a relationship. How fortresses were made. Each beginning of a story.

You basked in the echoes of their praise, letting their words bring you comfort and slowly help you regain your mind and strength.

Like after a fire, new maps were drawn. A new tale was written, with them, who swallowed a star.

Taglist: @itsyellow

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rainbow-nerdss · 1 month

Text

7x04 coda

Buck watches Tommy walk away and he feels… he’s not sure, honestly.

Happy? Relieved?

His lips still tingle with the memory of it, the pressure left by Tommy’s kiss. He’s frozen on the spot, right where Tommy left him. He laughs, the quiet sound echoing through his empty apartment. He knows Tommy had to go, had to work, but Buck stands there, watching the spot where he’d just walked out, and he wishes he’d reached for him. Pulled him back in for another kiss, more than just a faint brush of lips.

He wants to wrap his arms around Tommy’s shoulders, pull him close, lick into his mouth.

Shit, the things he wants to do.

And it’s all new, it’s strange and different and wonderful, because when Tommy kissed him, he felt stubble scratch against his own, and Tommy’s fingers tilted his face up, not down, and even though Buck hadn’t quite managed to set his hand down, hovering it over Tommy’s shoulder in his surprise, he knew what he’d find there—broad shoulders, muscled back, so unlike anything Buck’s known before.

But he wanted it.

He wants it.

And Tommy may be gone, may be halfway across the city, or hell, maybe even in the air by now—Buck’s lost track of the time since he left—but there’s still time. They’re going out on Saturday, on a date.

He’s going on a date with Tommy.

Buck finally drags himself away from the kitchen island when his stomach rumbles. He stares into the fridge.

He grabs some leftovers, too much happening inside his brain to cook right now. The microwave turns, and the humming is the only sound in the apartment.

What does he do now? He can’t just sit back down and get back to work on the bills he was working on before. He can’t just… sit and watch TV.

He takes out his phone, scrolls for a while, then navigates to google. His thumb hovers over the search bar.

Buck’s never lived a sheltered life. Sure, football locker rooms, navy SEALs, and the fire academy weren’t the most openly queer spaces, but he’s worked in all kinds of bars, alongside all kinds of people. He’s had friends, co-workers, acquaintances from all walks of life.

And he’d never questioned himself. He always supported the people in his life, stood up for them when it was needed. How had he never even wondered whether he might have more in common with them than friendship?

That he’s… what? Gay? No… Bisexual?

That one feels better. He takes a breath, and the microwave beeps.

He ignores it, tapping his phone to stop the screen from going blank, then types in the search bar.

Bisexual

He clicks on the first link, and then the second, and he keeps scrolling, keeps reading until his eyes burn and his stomach is growling with hunger.

He takes out the now-lukewarm leftovers and shovels them down without really tasting any of it. Bisexual.

His phone pings. A text from Tommy.

Tommy: Busy shift, spending more time in the air than on the ground! Just checking in—still good for Saturday?

Buck bites back a smile as he replies.

Buck: At least it’s not Q! Definitely still good.

He hesitates for a moment before adding a heart emoji to his last message and hitting send. Is that too much? Too soon?

Tommy sends back a grin and thumbs up, and Buck lets himself giggle—just a little one, shut up— as he pictures Tommy’s grin, the way his whole face lights up with it. God, he’s cute.

Tommy: You better not use that Q word btw! Whole lapd knows about what happened last time someone on ur shift said that

Buck: Unfair! Was NOT my fault

Tommy: I’m sure… Gtg. call coming in

Buck: Be safe!

How is this the first time Buck’s noticed a guy like that? How has he never seen it before? Most of the articles he’s read are about people who always knew who they were, or figured it out once they understood what bisexuality was.

For lack of anything else to do, or another message from Tommy to reply to, Buck heads upstairs and changes for bed, not really sure what else to do, just going through the motions. When he lies down, he stares up at the ceiling.

Is this the first time he’s felt something like this for a guy? He forces himself to think back, looking at his life in a whole new light, his friendships, the times he’s felt that same tightness, the need to be seen by someone who wasn’t a family member or a woman.

He thinks of Carter, a kid he played football with, the star of the team, how Buck used to showboat every time they were on the field together, used to play that little bit dirtier against, used to maybe glance at a little more than usual in the changing rooms.

He thinks of Leo, one of the guys he met working at the dude ranch, the one who just seemed to have a way with the horses, who took Buck under his wing on his first day, helped his clueless ass not pull too hard on the reins. Buck thinks about Leo’s hand guiding his, or resting on his thigh, showing him how to balance in the saddle. Buck wanted to do well at the job, wanted more than anything for Leo to look at him, a spark in his eye, and say “Hey, good job, Buckley!”

He thinks of that firefighter in Texas, TK, who Buck had clicked with just about right away. Buck wanted to be friends with him, wanted to keep him around, but he’d shut down Buck’s offer to take him for a drink if he was ever in LA by letting him know he already has a serious boyfriend.

Huh.

Maybe Buck had been asking him on a date. Maybe this has always been there, under the surface, just waiting to be prodded open.

And, hell, he realizes with a start. He might actually have a type. Strong, cool under pressure, unnervingly good at their job, able to get under his skin without really trying.

No wonder Tommy worked his way under Buck’s skin so quickly like that.

Buck finally remembers Tommy’s parting words as he walked out the door. “For god’s sake, please call Eddie. Now would be a great time—he’s on pain pills.”

He needs to call Eddie. Needs to apologize—Tommy aside, he’s been a dick this week. He hurt Eddie, actually hurt him, all because he let his… jealousy? Crush? Get in the way of his friendship.

That’s not the way they do things.

It’s late, past eleven. If he knows Eddie, he knows he’ll be awake. Pain meds, plus worry about what’s going on.

He sits back up in bed and dials Eddie’s number. While it rings, he thinks about what to say. “Sorry” is obvious. But when Eddie asks him why? When he leaves a silence, full of understanding and concern, Buck knows he’s never been able to withstand one of those silences.

“Buck?” Eddie picks up the phone, and Buck’s suddenly choked up, at a loss for words.

“Hey, Eddie,” he manages.

Eddie says nothing.

“I’m sorry,” Buck adds. “For not calling sooner. And for—for hurting you.”

“Buck. You didn’t mean to.”

“I—Eddie, I don’t know.”

“What?”

“I just… I didn’t think, I just… went for it, and I think a part of me knew as I was doing it that I was wrong, but I couldn’t stop myself.”

“So you… meant for this to happen?”

Buck shuts his eyes, shuffles so he can sit against his headboard. “I… Eddie, I never wanted you to… I didn’t want to injure you, I just wanted… Something.”

It’s not an explanation, not even close to it, but it’s all he can give right now. Sure, he could tell him everything. I’m bisexual and I wanted Tommy to pay attention to me, not you, but you didn’t deserve to be caught in the crossfire like that.

He wants to tell Eddie the whole truth, but not now, not like this, not as some sort of excuse and definitely not over the phone.

Eddie laughs over the phone, and it doesn’t feel mean, but it’s not comforting, either. “You wanted attention,” he fills in.

Buck exhales. “Yeah. Don’t worry, Maddie’s already called me out for acting like a teenage girl.”

Eddie laughs again, but it feels more genuine this time. “Remind me to thank her,” he says. “So, you’re back to normal now? Honestly, I was starting to have flashbacks to my first day.”

Buck… does not think about that day. He doesn’t acknowledge any similarities in his behavior that day and how he’s acted for the past week, because that… that’s not something he needs, right now.

Instead, he just sighs, and says he’s sorry again, and asks if he can make up for it. “Well,” Eddie says, and Buck hears him grunt, like he’s shifting positions. “If you’re free Saturday, I’m taking Marisol out to apologize for spending so much time with Tommy this week, if you could watch Chris? Say, around eight?”

And Buck’s about to say yes, but he stops himself. “I’m so sorry, I have… plans, on Saturday. Raincheck?”

Eddie sighs. “Damn, okay. Guess I’m groveling to Pepa again. You should come over, though. Earlier in the day, I mean. If, uh… you can. Chris misses you.”

Buck’s heart breaks a little. It’s what Tommy was saying, after all, and he can’t believe he’s been dumb enough to let anything get in the way of what he has with Chris, and with Eddie.

“Sounds great, Eddie. I can come by in the morning, maybe we could go to the aquarium, or something?”

Relief washes over him when Eddie agrees. He’s got this. He’s going to be okay.

When he hangs up, he only feels a slight pang of guilt for lying by omission and not telling Eddie about his actual plans for Saturday night.

He doesn’t feel guilty enough to not send a text to Tommy, though.

Buck: Talked to eddie btw Cleared the air

He’s just about to drift off when he gets a reply

Tommy: Great! Glad you worked things out

Buck doesn’t reply, just smiles into his pillow and lets sleep take him.

#911 spoilers #bucktommy #evan buckley #tommy kinard #7x04 coda #bi buck fic #my fic

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autisticlancemcclain · 5 months

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Keith presses the heels of his palms to his eyes and exhales deeply. He lets all the air trickle out of his lungs until his chest feels concave, until spots dance behind his closed eyelids, until his lips start to go numb. Then he lets go and lets the air get sucked back into him like a vacuum.

“One more try,” he whispers to himself, conscious of Lance sleeping — finally — beside him. “One, and then we move on.”

He swipes the touchpad on his computer to wake it back up, dragging the blinking curser over the rarely-used blue ‘10’ under the Google logo. The page loads, and loads, and loads, and finally spits out the next few results.

Most of them he’s already seen before. Dozens of times. BARGAIN BALLET TICKET SUBSCRIPTION, reads one link, CLICK HERE FOR 20% OFF YOUR FIRST MONTH. Another reads, Rush Ticket Prices — Buy Now!

He’s been there. Clicked that. Priced it out. Looked at the worst possible, next-to-the-washrooms, garbage seats. Nothing. Not a single ticket within their limited budget — or even close to it.

Completely out of the realm of possibility even if they hadn’t agreed on a price limit for their Christmas gifts.

He keeps scrolling down a few pages that all advertise the same thing — a disgustingly costly subscription here, bargain-but-not-really tickets there, more scammy resell ads than one would believe possible. Even, notably, a still-active link from 1997 that Keith peruses for clicks and does not actually count towards his one-more-try limit. (It even tries to accept his Paypal, which is crazy and means that someone updated the site to accept modern payment for a show that is no longer running. Keith is so amused by the pure audacity that he has to fight the urge to buy one. Wild thing, ADHD.)

Just as he’s about to give up and buy his boyfriend yet another plant this year, a link catches his attention. It’s the very last result on page 13, with no description, no punctuation, hell, hardly even a sentence of text. Nutcracker ticket sales, it reads, for a website called ‘FeuillesBrillantAcademie.org’.

Keith shrugs. Might as well. Not like anything else has been promising.

He clicks the link and immediately wishes he hadn’t. The ugliest website he’s ever seen literally assaults his eyes — a bright blue and a neon purple, clashing in the worst possible way. It takes at least four solid seconds for his eyes to unblur enough to recognise the screen in front of him as having words rather than a solid wall of Bright And Bad. Even then, he has to squint, glasses practically touching his eyeballs.

Feuilles Brillant Academy is pleased to present the final performance of the hard-working dancers this season, is what he can finally make out. The show begins at 7 p.m. on December 23rd, tickets for $20 per person. In-person payment not accepted. Please pay via e-transfer using the link below. Call out administrative office if there are any difficulties.

Keith stares at the page for as long as his eyes can handle, then he looks up at the ceiling. (Where, he may add, he can still see the screen perfectly, because the damn thing has been burnt onto his retinae. He will never mock Matt for his web design degree again. Well, probably.)

This seems…too good to be true.

It’s outrageously cheap, for one. Keith has been looking for literal days and the cheapest he’s managed to find is $50 per person, for bad rush tickets. $20 is bonkers. For two, this is a perfect time, and nearby, as well. And there are still tickets left. Somehow.

Something is amiss.

Keith’s first thought is that it’s a prank page. But the page is buried so deeply — page thirteen of Google. The hidden archives, basically. If this is someone’s prank, it’s garbage. His second thought is that the link is a virus, which, while possible, is still kind of unlikely for the same reasons. Why on Earth would someone post something nefarious so obscurely? It doesn’t make sense. This might be one of those rare times when something isn’t too good to be true, it’s just good.

Then again. Keith just got his laptop back from the last time he fucked around and well and truly Found Out.

Time to get a second opinion.

Despite the disgustingly late hour, the phone picks up on the second ring.

“Hey, stinky,” says Pidge. Keith can hear the smile in her voice as clearly as the explosions and gunfire of Call of Duty in the background.

“Asshole.”

“Turd for brains.”

“Skidmark.”

“Rotting splatter of parking lot vomit at three in the afternoon in Arizona during high summer.”

“…Pidge, that’s disgusting.”

She snickers. “I win.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Keith freezes as Lance stirs next to him, curling his arm around Keith’s bent leg and muttering something in Spanish too fast for him to understand. Keith smiles, tucking a stray curl back under his fluffy frog-eye hairband, lingering over the scar on his temple from a skateboarding accident when they were fifteen. “I need your help.”

“Well, obviously. You’re calling me at three thirty four in the morning. Usually you’re in bed by nine because secretly you look up to Adam and emulate his habits.”

Keith flushes. “I don’t remember ordering a psych analysis, fucker.”

“Consider it a bonus! Tell Auntie Pidge about your troubles.” He can practically see the face she makes immediately after, and snorts. “Ignore that. My mouth is not attached to my brain. Carry on.”

“I need you to check out a link,” Keith says, choosing to be merciful. “It’s pretty buried and obscure, but honestly I think it’s fine —”

“Yeah, last time you thought a link was fine you fucked your shit up so bad I had to download another virus to cancel it out. I’ve never had to do that before. You fucked your laptop up so bad I’d actually never seen that kind of damage before, Kogane. And I do this for a living.”

Keith pouts. “No, you commit cyber crimes for a living.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. I’m an angel and have never gotten so much as a speeding ticket. I am a law abiding citizen. Send over the link.”

Switching his phone to rest between his ear and shoulder, Keith does. “I need to know if the link does what it says it does.”

Pidge hums. He can hear the ding of her laptop as his e-mail goes through, and then the sounds of her clicking as she inspects the website, running it through her various programs that Keith cannot fathom for the life of him.

“What did you say you were looking for, again?”

Keith closes his eyes and tips his head back, letting it thunk gently on the thin wall under the big window, in the corner of the apartment where they’ve shoved their bed. He lets his eyes go blurry, lets the stars they stuck on the ceiling before they did anything else turn into bright green dots. They’re real constellations. The two of them spent hours on them; Lance on Keith’s shoulders, tripping and shouting and laughing.

“I need tickets,” Keith says quietly. He turns his gaze slowly to Lance, who is sleeping soundly again, who has bags under his eyes, whose hands twitch every few seconds, who frowns deeply. “And we can’t — these are the only ones I could find. That I can even pretend to afford. I need it to be —” He swallows. “I need you to tell me they’re real.”

Pidge is quiet for a moment. The only sound is her breathing, her nail tapping slowly on the edge of her screen.

“The link is exactly what it says it is.”

Keith sits up. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, man.”

Keith bites back a cheer so he doesn’t wake Lance up. Hell yeah! This is perfect! Exactly what they needed! Just — a little bit of luck. A little bit.

“Thank you, Pidge,” he gushes, hurrying to punch in his information. “Seriously.”

Pidge huffs fondly. “Okay, dweebus. Gross. Go be all affectionate somewhere else.” She pauses. “Take a picture when you tell him.”

Keith smiles. “I will.”

———

It takes every inch of Keith’s willpower to keep his mouth shut for a whole three weeks.

“I Know you are hiding something, Kogane,” Lance says while walking home from classes, while curling up into him as they watch TV, while cooking, while showering. “I see it in your face.”

“It’s nearly Christmas, you dweebus,” Keith says every time, and every time he softens it with an exaggerated kiss to Lance’s cheek, one to make him laugh despite himself and shove Keith’s face away. “Of course I’m hiding something.”

But it’s eating at them both. Lance’s blatant curiously makes it that much harder for Keith to keep things hidden, to stash the tickets between the pages of his corniest romance novel that Lance won’t touch with a ten foot pole. To wait, and wait, and wait, as they set up the three-foot high discounted Christmas tree and Lance changes their sheets to the flannel ones his mother gave them.

But the days pass. Finals come and go and so does the time. And finally, finally, it comes time to crawl onto the creaky mattress, knees on either side of Lance, nose kisses down his neck, and murmur, “We’ve got plans today.”

Lance groans. “No we do not.”

Keith smiles widely. He knows Lance can feel it, because he scowls harder, trying to hide his own fondness even as he melts into Keith’s affections.

“Yes, we do. I know. I planned them.”

“Well, then, un-plan them,” Lance grouches. He turns over so he’s facing Keith, now, trying hard to glare up at him, but late afternoon sunlight bleeds into his dark brown eyes and makes them shine golden, and they are as warm and bright as the rest of him, and his hands slide up Keith’s chest, over his shoulders, brushing through his hair, to rest on his cheeks. “Come nap with me.”

Keith turns his head to press a kiss to Lance’s palm, keeping his mouth there. Lance rolls his eyes, and can no longer hide his smile. “Later. I made plans. Dress up, I’m gonna pick us up some food for the way. We’ll leave in forty minutes.”

“Ugh.”

“I don’t know who you think you’re fooling, baby. I can see you eyeing the closet.”

“Shut up and get me a burrito.” He soothes the bite of his words by pulling Keith’s face closer to his, pressing their lips together softly. “Please.”

“Whatever you want.”

God, he’s whipped, and Lance knows it, because he grins, pleased, and pulls Keith even closer, kisses him stronger. It takes Keith a good five minutes to muster up the willpower to pull away, and Lance knows it, smirking.

He finally manages to yank himself away, stumbling backwards towards the kitchenette of their studio. Lance pouts at him.

“Menace,” Keith says sternly, deliberately turning away as he pulls on his boots and coat. He ignores his boyfriend’s grumbling and finally makes it out the door, hustling to their favourite bodega and hoping it isn’t too crowded.

Thirty-seven minutes later, burritos secured, Keith is shoving his frozen fingers around the door handle to jimmy it open. The bodega was indeed crowded and they are indeed late. The show starts in an hour. From what Keith remembers from Lance’s recitals — and he has been to many — people who are late are people who miss the show. The ballet does not fuck around with tardiness and disruptions; if you’re late, that’s tough shit for you. Plan better.

“You’re going to eat shit,” Lance says, amused, the fourth time Keith power walks right over black ice and nearly actually dies. “Slow down, babe.”

Keith does not.

“Can’t,” he huffs, keeping a half-eye on the pavement. A tourist walks into him, shoving him into Lance, who takes the opportunity to slide his hand into Keith’s back pocket and wink at him when his cheeks colour.

“Why can’t we slow down? Where are we going?”

“It’s like you don’t know what surprise means.”

“I do know. I also know that if I annoy anyone long enough they’ll snap so I’ll shut up.”

“Nah. I like it when you talk.”

He’d meant it as somewhat of a comeback, as a jab back to Lance’s teasing. But suddenly Lance stops, spine going rigid, something like shock flirting across his face for half a millisecond before he blinks it away and moves again. It happens so fast that Keith would almost be convinced he’d imagined it, except Lance’s cheeks are crimson.

Keith smiles. “Lance.”

“Shut up.”

“Babydoll.”

“Shut up.”

“I’m barely sayin’ anything, baby.”

“You are so fuckin — gay, you know that? God. Who fuckin — who says shit like that? Who on this Earth?”

Keith laughs, bending down to kiss right below Lance’s ear, to feel his flushed skin warm to frozen tip of his nose.

“You are so easily flattered.”

“Easily flatter this dick. How about that. Fuckin. Jerk.”

He lets Lance grouch at him, pleased and embarrassed about it, as he pulls them along the overcrowded streets. He checks his watch. Fifteen minutes ‘til the show starts, thirteen minutes ‘til they get there. Hopefully.

“Are we almost there? It’s cold and these shoes are pinchy.”

“I told you to wear comfortable shoes!”

“You told me to dress up! I can do one of those things, Akira!”

At the seven minute mark Keith starts running. Lance, surprisingly, doesn’t complain — a grin pulls at his sharp features, actually, and he wraps their hands together and runs faster, despite not knowing where they’re going. Every time they bump into someone in a suit he laughs. He laughs harder when they curse at him. Keith has to fight to keep his head in the game, to keep running, to not stop where he’s standing and watch Lance laugh for hours and hours and hours. It’s been too long.

He nearly pulls Lance’s arm out of his socket when he stops then abruptly, shouting “Here! Here! We’re here!” and pulling him inside a well-kept brownstone.

“Where’s…here?” Lance wonders, taking in the well-salted walkway and pretty red-and-green decorations all over the aged brick.

Keith doesn’t answer. “Close your eyes.”

Lance narrows his eyes. Keith makes his expression as wide and pleading as possible, and in seconds Lance caves, much to Keith’s satisfaction.

“You’re a pain in my neck.”

Keith kisses him quickly and chastely. “Thank you.”

“Yeah, yeah. Don’t let me walk into anything.”

Satisfied that Lance won’t peek, Keith shuffles them over to the box office, holding out their tickets. The stewardess smiles at him, scanning them, eyes twinkling at Keith wordless plea for her to keep the secret, and gestures towards a grand set of doors.

“Up the stairs, to your left, seat and row on your ticket,” she murmurs. “Enjoy the show.”

Keith nods his thanks and rushes them off.

“This sounds very fancy,” Lance observes as their shoes click on the — literally marble, how the hell were these tickets $20 — floors. “Dangerously so.”

Keith shrugs. “Perhaps.”

“…Not to be. A bummer. But please tell me you remembered our budget, Keith.”

“I did, Lance. I swear.”

Lance relaxes into him, and Keith realises for the first time how tense he was. He winces to himself. He probably could have made things a tad less stressful and still kept the surprise. He’ll remember that for next year.

“Okay, good. I trust you.”

They barely make it to their seats in time. Keith’s butt barely makes contact with the cushioned chair before the lights dim and the orchestra starts tuning, the rest of the audience lapsing into almost immediate silence.

Lance inhales sharply. “Keith…?”

“Open your eyes, sweetheart.”

Lance does, and they’re wide, and his mouth drops open, slightly, and for a moment he just stares, frozen, at the stage and the lights and the set, the familiar set, as the dim light casts shadows onto his face. The orchestra’s tuning note reaches its satisfying peak, harmonizing as one sound, and Keith’s full attention is on the lines of Lance’s face, the set of his jaw, the curves of his cheekbones.

“Merry Christmas,” he says quietly.

Before he can say anything else, before Lance can say anything else, the familiar sound of pointe shoes tapping delicately across the stage steals Keith’s attention. He turns his eyes to the stage, watching the dancers strut on the stage, and — stops.

He leans forward, squinting.

What?

Keith is…very familiar with the Nutcracker. He’s grown up alongside Lance’s family since he was eight years old. He’s been to more recitals than he can count. He’s been dragged to more performances than he can ever remember. Lance has lived and breathed and loved ballet his whole damn life, for the entire time Keith has known him, and that love bled well outside of the studio, has lasted even after he aged out of the program last year. Keith knows how the Nutcracker begins, and nothing about the program said this one was supposed to be any different.

Half of the dancers walking onstage are significantly shorter than they should be.

Now he knows damn well that there are kids in the Nutcracker. The main character is a kid. That’s the whole deal.

But there is not one adult on that stage right now. Hell, not even a teenager.

Keith looks down at the ticket — Feuilles Brillant Academy. He looks back at the stage. He looks at the other audience members — lots and lots of people with camcorders. And other small children.

Keith sinks into his chair, head in his hands.

His dumb ass bough a ticket to a children’s ballet recital.

Lord above.

“Lance, I am so sorry,” he whispers, “I was so caught up in the ticket being in budget I didn’t bother actually, like, looking deeper into things, this is totally — Lance?”

Keith leans forward in alarm, hands immediately falling on Lance’s knee, on his back. His shoulders shake and his hands are pressed to his eyes.

“Shit, babe, I’m sorry,” Keith says desperately, embarrassment replaced with panic. Everything feels like it’s crashing down around him, as dramatic as that is. He’d been so excited for this. Now it’s a whole mess. “I didn’t mean to — fuck things up, shit, we can leave.”

Lance shakes his head. Blindly, he reaches over the grasps Keith’s hand, holding tightly. His own hand is damp from his tears.

“No, no, it’s — perfect,” he whispers, voice hoarse. “I —”

His chin trembles, and more tears spill over his cheeks. As the music swells along to the climax of the first dance, Lance lifts the armrest separating their seats, half crawling over Keith until his head is tucked in the crook of Keith’s neck, arms folded between their chests, hands clutching at the fabric of his sweater. His voice is wet with tears and soaked in an emotion Keith can’t quite name, an almost — relief.

“It’s been so long. I didn’t want to — I thought I wouldn’t be able to do this again. I wouldn’t let myself think about it.”

Keith lets a huge, relieved exhale, sagging forward. He wraps himself more comfortably around Lance’s frame, squeezing him back, pressing a lingering kiss to his temple.

Growing up has been…hard. For the both of them.

They’d been told by everyone who knew them that they were being stupid and reckless. Keith has been promised that they won’t last more than two years by almost every grownup he’s ever known. Even his own brother had sighed his trepidation when Keith told him, stubborn and bold-faced, that he was moving in with Lance, that they were going to start their lives together the second they pulled off their caps and gowns, that they were ready for the next step. That they were eighteen and ready to face the world.

“Sacrifices,” Shiro had warned, “are going to be half your life now. It’s not that I think you can’t, Keith. I just. There’s a reason people don’t move in with their highschool sweetheart they summer after they graduate. Katy Perry wrote a whole song about it. It’s a banger.”

Keith hates it when his brother is right, and this time he was right about so many things in consecutive order. Living on your own is hard. Learning to live with someone else is harder. Doing it in a city far away from home, while balancing school and work and rent and groceries, is the hardest.

“I miss dance,” Lance croaks, and Keith closes his eyes and breathes deeply and holds Lance tighter.

He knows Lance misses dance. He knows that he hasn’t so much as listened to a ballet since they moved to New York, unless it’s in the dead of night, and he thinks Keith is asleep, and he puts in his headphones and moves their furniture as silently as he can to the edges of their tiny ass studio apartment and laces up his falling-to-pieces pointe shoes and dances like the very act of it is tearing him apart, and cries the whole time. And then stashes his shoes in the bottom of his gym bag and crawls back into bed and pretends again in the morning that he left his pointes back in Arizona. And Keith looks away and lets him because school is already twenty thousand a year and in no shape or form can they afford that and money to rent a studio.

But Keith can give him this. For a little bit, maybe, even if it’s little kids with handmade costumes pirouetting across a stage.

“I know, bluebell.”

Lance exhales, shaky, breath ghosting across Keith’s collarbones, and finally turns back towards the stage, keeping tucked under Keith’s chin. The kids dancing as the Snow Queen’s ladies-in-waiting are — three years old, maybe. At most four. They keep twirling right into each other like clumsy little bumblebees. It’s maybe the cutest thing Keith has ever seen in his entire life, and what’s better is the tiny smile that graces Lance’s face, despite the tears, growing bigger every time one of them wobbles back up to their feet and prances on, oblivious.

They watch the rest of the play in silence, Lance hands entwining with his sometime around the Dance of the Sugarplum Fairy and holding fast. They stand and clap as loudly as the gathered parents, louder even, at curtain call, as each kid jumps and twirls across the stage to thrown roses and cheering. It’s adorable.

They’re among the first to walk out, because the majority of the crowd surges towards backstage to collect their kid, so the walk is blessedly unrushed. They take their time, observing the pictures of grinning ballerinas that line the walls and numerous awards on endless shelves. Keith is filled with a deep and strong longing, a strange feeling of coming home — years of waiting on plastic chairs for Lance to finish solo practice when they were thirteen, fourteen, fifteen. Of taking his boots off at the door and quietly sneaking in the back of the studio, ducking away from other dancers’ boring stares, to watch Lance shine under the studio lights, reflected a thousand times by mirrored walls. Of the smell of lemon cleaner and polished hardwood floors and satin.

He notices a poster on the wall, among dozens of drawings and pictures of intricate sets, and freezes.

“Lance,” he says, tilting his head, “look.”

At the end of a hallway, right next to a door, is a hand-painted banner, reading: WE’LL MISS YOU, MISS RAULA! HAPPY RETIREMENT!

He squeezes Lance’s hand. “I bet they’re looking for a replacement.”

Lance stares at the poster for a long time. “You think?”

“I think it wouldn’t hurt to shoot them an e-mail.”

Smiling, Lance stops them in the hallway, puts his hands on Keith’s shoulders, stands on his tiptoes, and kisses him, long and sweet and loving.

“I’m already in a pretty tight spot now,” he murmurs, still standing so close to Keith and smelling so sweet that he has trouble focusing on his words, “‘cause this is already kind of the best Christmas gift ever. If that ends up being true I’m never topping you again.”

Keith laughs, suddenly, not expecting the turn, and Lance grins, pulling Keith down to him and kissing him again. It’s less of a kiss and more of a press of smiles, a clack of teeth, a shared laugh.

“I love you, Lance. Merry Christmas. I will be the Gift Giving King forever.”

“Shut up, goober.” He lifts Keith’s arm, tucking himself under it as they walk back out into the snowy December night. “I love you too.”

———

based on this post (third slide)

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learnwithcadl123 · 3 months

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Google Ads Academy In Zirakpur

#Google Ads Academy

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acidburnsthings · 9 days

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STAR-SPANGELED BANNER//FA14\\ part one

pairing: fernando alonso x soldier/military!reader

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faceclaim: Olivia Cooke; various pinterest girls

2012

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y/nusername tell her i sad hi y/bff/username ugh

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fernandoalo_official

liked by kimimatiasraikonen, lewishamilton and 978,451 others

fernandoalo_official Thank you, Austin!

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2013

y/username🔐

liked by y/bff/username, y/bro/user and 4,798 others

y/username back in Austin, this time off-duty!

y/bro/user when will you take me with you!!??

y/bff/username and me??!! y/username not anytime soon, either of you

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2014

y/username🔐

liked by y/bro/user, y/bff/username and 7,841 others

y/username you crazy son of a bitch, you did it! So proud of you, lil bro, both N and I! Congratulations on graduation from the academy!

y/bro/user thanks, you two! tell my future BIL to come over for some drinks

y/username see you tonight then!! y/bro/user just him y/username we're a package deal, you'll see us both

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2015

y/username🔐

liked by y/bff/username, fernandoalo_official and 2,475 others

y/username he loves his dad almost as much as I love them both! happy 2 years baby! let's hope the only one intruding on our privacy is Bjorn!!

fernandoalo_official love you , hermosa!

y/username love you too, nando!! y/bff/username yall cute, but if you ignore my texts again, i'll leak your relationship!!!! congrats btw!!<3 y/bro/user @/y/bff/username try it, i dare you... CONGRATS SIS!! and nando... y/username i will cherish this moment of you protecting me forever y/bro/user now don't push it

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2018

fernandoalo_official

liked by kimimatiasraikonen, y/username and 978,451 others

fernandoalo_official Gracias 💙❤💛

comments have been limited

y/username🔐

liked by y/bff/username, fernandoalo_official and 2,775 others

y/username time to write a new chapter 💚

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TAGS

@yllomhej @walldemons @shelbyteller

if anybody else wants to be tagged, send me a DM or an ask!

I have also made a Google form to fill out if you want to be added!

#fernando alonso #fernando alonso fanfic #fernando alonso x reader #fernando alonso x you #aston martin #soldier!reader #formula 1 #f1 #f1 fanfic #formula one #f1 x reader #social media #social media au

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zapreportsblog · 10 months

Text

The Secret Revealed

➥ summary: Mash didn’t think anyone would find out his secret, too bad someone did

➥ a/n: someone once asked me to disclose where I’ve gotten all of my art from for my stories, as well as tag the artists. Sadly, all the pictures I use for my stories, or even the gifs I use come from either Google or Pinterest. Also, I just finished watching this anime so hopefully I got something correct . I appreciate the unwavering support you all have shown me so thank you for reading :)

➥ mashle magic and muscles / mash burnedead x reader

On the outskirts of the majestic city of Evervale, nestled amidst the lush greenery, stood the prestigious Magic Academy, a school renowned for honing the magical abilities of young witches and wizards. Among its students was a young man named Mash Burnedead, who, despite coming from a long line of powerful sorcerers, found himself burdened with a dark secret.

•••

On a bright morning, the school's training grounds were buzzing with students fervently practicing their magical arts. Mash was amidst the crowd, his brow furrowed in concentration as he attempted to conjure a simple levitation spell. But no matter how hard he tried, the faintest glimmer of magic eluded him, leaving him frustrated and disheartened.

As he practiced, a mysterious figure caught his eye. A girl with captivating eyes and a determined expression was making her way toward him. Mash recognized her as (Y/N), a fellow student he had often seen around the campus.

Feeling a knot forming in his stomach, Mash couldn't help but wonder what she wanted. He had always been a reserved and introverted young man, preferring to keep to himself and avoid unnecessary attention. The prospect of being confronted by someone, especially about his secret, sent his heart racing.

Approaching him, (Y/N) stopped a few paces away, her gaze locked onto his eyes, making him feel exposed and vulnerable. He tried to smile, but it came out more like a nervous twitch.

"You," she said, her voice carrying an unusual mix of curiosity and confidence, "I know your secret."

Mash felt the world around him momentarily freeze. His secret was something he had kept hidden from even his closest friends and family. Panic gripped his heart, and his mind raced through possible scenarios.

"W-What secret?" Mash stammered, his voice barely audible.

The girl's lips curved into a knowing smile, adding to Mash's anxiety. "Don't play innocent with me. I know you have no magic," she said, her tone unwavering.

His secret was out. It felt like the ground beneath him had disappeared, leaving him adrift in a sea of uncertainty. How had she found out? Was she going to expose him to the entire school, ridiculing him for his inability to wield magic?

Feeling cornered, Mash tried to think of a way out. "I-I can explain," he stammered, his mind searching for the right words. "It's not what you think. I just... haven't unlocked my powers yet."

(Y/N) raised an eyebrow, seemingly unimpressed by his explanation. "Really?" she retorted, her voice laced with skepticism. "You've been at this school for years, and you still haven't unlocked your magic? Come on, it's time to be honest with yourself."

Mash's shoulders slumped, defeated. The weight of his secret was crushing, and he felt a mix of shame and vulnerability. He had always felt like an outcast, trying desperately to fit in with the magical talents that surrounded him.

Before he could muster the courage to ask her what she intended to do with this newfound knowledge, (Y/N) surprised him with her response. "But I won't tell anyone," she said, her expression softening. "Your secret is safe with me."

Her words were like a lifeline, pulling him from the depths of his despair. Mash was taken aback by her unexpected kindness. He had prepared for the worst, but her understanding and assurance gave him a glimmer of hope.

"Why would you keep my secret?" he asked, unable to hide his astonishment.

(Y/N) gave him a small smile, her eyes full of empathy. "Because I believe that people should be defined by their character, not just their magical abilities. I see more in you than the absence of magic. Let's keep this between us, alright?"

Gratitude flooded Mash's heart, and he nodded earnestly. "Thank you," he whispered, overwhelmed by her generosity.

As she turned to leave, (Y/N) looked back at him one last time, her eyes filled with a newfound respect. "You're welcome," she replied. "But remember, secrets have a way of shaping us. It's up to you to embrace who you are, magic or not."

With those parting words, she walked away, leaving Mash to ponder the unexpected encounter. Little did he know that this chance meeting with (Y/N) would change the course of his life forever, leading him on a journey of self-discovery, acceptance, and the realization that true strength came from within, magic or no magic.

#x reader #mash burnedead #mash x reader #mash imagine #mash imagines #mash burnedead x reader #mash burnedead x y/n #mash burnedead imagine #mash burnedead imagines #mash burnedead x you #mashle magic and muscles #mashle magic and muscles imagine #mashle magic and muscles imagines #mashle magic and muscles x reader #one shot #x reader one shot #x reader oneshot

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coryosmin · 3 months

Note

imma need a Sej version of the positions and giving/ receiving thing if you have time…

xoxo- 🦢

heehee okay. so added university sej because in my heart he’s still alive oKAY

nsfw | mdni

academy sej - position: missionary, giving or receiving head: giving

peacekeeper sej - position: rocking horse (had to google the name lol), giving or receiving head: giving

university sej - position: the butterfly, giving or receiving head: both

#🦢 anon #🦢#minsasks #the hunger games #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #thg #thg tbosas #tbosas #sejanus plinth #sejanus plinth x reader #sejanus plinth imagine #sejanus plinth smut

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potatomountain · 4 months

Text

"Case: It's You" Spoiler 2

Another spoiler/snippet but for chapter 2 of the series.

pairing:detective ateez ot8 x detective reader

word count: 678

network: @pirateeznet

masterlist

Truce or not you didn't expect things to be easy, even if they said the work would be.

You started off the day with unboxing your things: setting up your desk organizers, the cute pieces you used to bring some joy, but mostly pictures. One of getting your detective badge, one with you and your father who was a former detective himself, and one with-

Staring down at the photograph, your chest was tight; it was the first Christmas party with your last unit, all nine of you in chaotic Christmas cheer. Your eyes lingered on Chan a moment longer before you set the photograph back in the box. He wasn't your Captain anymore, your superior nor your friend; not after he recommended you get transferred.

Eventually you could stand to look at the picture again, it wasn't just Chan in it after all: it was your whole unit, who you adored. It was just raw right now, that's what you told yourself. You did set up the picture of you and Hyunjin at Disney, as well as one with you and Minho with the cat you had gotten him as a graduation gift from the academy.

The rest of your items were just office supplies you liked to use for organization and more. Easy enough setup that you were staring at the items unsure what to do now. You still needed a chair, having ordered one yesterday to be here some time today. Seonghwa had said he'd supply the phone, but there was none in sight. You didn't think he would go back on his word so soon, so wrote off it's absence for now.

Luckily you had brought your laptop, and while you no longer had access to your old unit, you should have some here.

That was much more limited than you thought, cursing under your breath as you attempted to access files- even the files of the detectives here were classified, which raised some questions. You were a part of this unit, you should be able to see who you are working with.

In theory that was the case, but you had to resort to a good ol’ Google search of the names you knew.

Vice-Captain of the crime syndicate unit, Detective Park Seonghwa- all that came up was his name and a lot of articles about his parents who ran Park Pharmaceuticals. So a rich kid who went into law enforcement as opposed to business like the rest of his family? Interesting.

Detective Song Mingi- a few articles of a brief mention of him as a first responder, all in successful chases. So he was a good driver? Erratic maybe. You couldn’t find anything else on him, not from Google at least, unless the dating profile for tinder that came up was his but you hoped not.

Detective Jeong Yunho- an article of a Jeong Yunho receiving an award for saving a kids’ life, but there was much more on his parents. In particular his father, a former detective who was shot and killed in a standoff with a well known, and still running, crime syndicate family. Well, he made sense.

Next was Kang Yeosang, however nothing popped up in the search engine. You tried again, adding keywords to help the search and yet still nothing. No police articles. No name on graduation lists. You started a deeper search, attempting to look at any mention of this unit in general but once more you came up empty handed. He was a ghost, and the unit itself was one to the public eye.

Definitely fishy. Even with their work, there should be some mention of this unit somewhere. You could remember media outlets covering the older unit before- so why was this one practically nonexistent?

You were getting frustrated with the lack of results, instead moving on to the final detective whose name you could remember: Choi Jongho. As soon as you put the name into the search engine however, your laptop was forced shut, a figure looming over you and holding it closed.

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yuriisclumsy · 15 days

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Description: Snaps from my Google Doc "Thoughts and Ideas." It's a diary with some thoughts that come from my mind when they are being intrusive–AKA thoughts I have at 1 AM. Separate from other works, unless It's for a series. Putting this just to clarify misunderstandings.

April Fools In Teyvat

╰ Description: How do the Academy students of the Devine City take April Fool's Day.

—April 26, 2024—

Thought… This has to do with a post I received from one of my mutual friends on tumblr. She did a COMIC for The Divine City, and I was like, “GASP, Girl whatever you created was GENIUS LEVEL CREATIVITY, BECAUSE LIKE, I could NEVER.”

Anyway… I was thinking of how every year, for April 1st, the students in the Elite Academies would just…go into war with each other to see who’s the best. Not to mention that they are really competitive–even those Academies that are all about studying and serious, would compete. No one likes to lose.

So now imagine this: The week before April 1st, no one is seen in the campuses–even if they had class, they would simply skip. And the whole reason as to why, is because of pranks that they have ready for April Fool’s Day. Priorities. Once April 1st hits its first minute, it is prank time. The students waste no time in pranking each other; It’s prank or be pranked.

The best part is that the biggest pranks are those between the Academies. THOSE are really thought after. There cannot be a single error in the calculations, or they’ll burn whoever messed it up. The stakes are too high to make mistakes–their pride is on the line.

Whichever academy comes up with the best prank wins! Only imaginarily though, because the teachers will reprimand those they catch in the act. So better be careful! You don’t want to get caught in the claws of one of the professors and get put in detention for a week!

I feel the one who would enjoy this day the most is Valmar. This man literally invented April Fools in Teyvat.

𝚃𝚊𝚐𝚜: @udretlnea, @taurus-caeli, @dontlookatmepreetyplease, @lesbianabomination. Re-blog or Comment if you want to get added into the Tag section for The Divine City drabble. Back to The Mind

Back to Master-List

#genshin sagau #reader input #reader insert #sagau #The Divine City #genshin isekai #genshin impact sagau

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p5x-theories · 4 months

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P5X Plot Summary

(updated 1/25/24)

Once again, since there’s no official translation, I’m leaning on what happens visually, along with the pieces of context I can understand from the Japanese voice acting (in scenes that have it), and taking into consideration the rough translations I’ve seen floating around/from Google Translate.

Contrary to this blog’s name, this post is going to have as little speculation as possible, and stick to confirmed facts.

Disclaimer: Though the third beta added new cutscenes in, there are still some that are explained only with placeholder text. Because of this, there’s some context that’s still limited, and that’ll be reflected here too.

The third beta goes partway through the second Palace- up to just past the fourth teammate’s awakening, only two scenes further than the second beta.

The third beta starts out somewhere extremely familiar: the exact same place P5 and P5R start, Joker's escape from Sae's casino Palace after the Phantom Thieves have fought her Shadow.

You can see a video of the beginning here, though I'll summarize what's shown in the video below:

Just before gameplay begins, Joker briefly glitches into the P5X protagonist, before glitching back into Joker. Joker then begins to escape and encounters a shadow which the player has to defeat, just like in P5/P5R. However, after defeating the shadow, someone else attacks Joker, who looks just like the P5X protagonist except with a white mask. Joker and the protagonist fight, but the protagonist wins, and smiles at Joker before firing his gun. In a bedroom, we then see the protagonist shoot awake as if from a nightmare, to the sound of an alarm on his phone going off.

The protagonist then heads to school. We see a train station, then an owl seeming to realize something, and flying off.

It then transitions to a shot of Kokatsu Academy, the protagonist sitting in his homeroom class, with a form about what he wants to do after high school. He taps his pencil on the blank form, and looks out the window. His teacher, Kumi Katayama, instructs the students to fill it out with their names (and then the player is prompted to name the protagonist).

After writing his name, the protagonist feels sleepy, and drifts off. He then wakes up in the Velvet Room for the first time.

Igor welcomes the protagonist to the Velvet Room, and introduces him to himself and Merope. He’s only there briefly before he’s woken up by the girl sitting in front of him in class.

Katayama comes over and reprimands them, then collects the forms.

After getting out of class, the protagonist steps out into the hallway, but Katayama calls him over to talk about his empty form, and asks if he knows what he wants for the future. She seems troubled that he doesn’t seem to know.

After, he runs into some girls gossiping and blocking the stairs. They mention something about "Magatsukami" and a “phantom”. The protagonist has the option (presented like a dialogue option) to try to ask them to move out of the way, I believe? But if the player chooses yes, it’s like something stops him from doing it anyway.

Another student comes over to interrupt them, and says something to them that makes them bow in apology to both her and the protagonist before running off, calling her “Tanemura-senpai”. She tells them not to run in the hallway.

Tanemura comments that students are acting more "selfishly" these days, and also mentions Wonder could've just communicated with them himself, before leaving.

As the protagonist goes to exit the school, he walks by the owl, who’s landed atop the shoe lockers. It mutters something to itself, but is gone when the protagonist looks in its direction.

As the protagonist steps through the front gate of the school, a woman in a red dress walks by quickly.

The owl follows the protagonist to the train station. As he walks there, some more students gossip about “phantoms”.

At the station, he sees a woman trip (or otherwise fall), and the player’s prompted with the option to help her (again like a dialogue choice), but something vague once again seems to stop him if the player does choose to help. The train leaves.

And then, the woman in the red dress from slightly earlier reappears, now on the roof of a building across from the train station, and throws herself off of it. The protagonist is the only one in the station to really react to this, and that convinces the owl that the protagonist is the one he's looking for.

The next part is a series of cutscenes close together. You can watch it in gameplay (24:54 - 37:07) since it works better visually, but I’ll summarize it, too:

At the station, the protagonist boards a train, noticing the girl from class also sitting on this train, and spots a strange app on his phone. He tries to delete it, but it comes back. The owl sits across from him, and says something about fate or destiny. It’s cut off by screams, as a person on a bike rides into the train car. The person rushes the protagonist, causing him to accidentally tap and open the strange app. When he opens his eyes, he’s in Mementos, and the strange owl is there too. He introduces himself as Ruferu. He says he can show the protagonist the exit, but as they head there they’re ambushed by shadows, leading to the protagonist awakening to his Persona, Janosik.

Ruferu teaches the protagonist the basics of combat, but then they run into one last big shadow right by the escalators.

Ruferu reveals his own Persona, Rob Roy, and they take the shadow down together.

They pass by a strange woman on their way out of Mementos, but after Ruferu determines she’s not a threat, they don’t bother to stop to talk to her.

When he leaves, the protagonist is shocked to find himself in Shibuya, with his clothes back to normal and ruferu back to being a "normal" owl.

He and Ruferu part ways, with the protagonist heading home. He doesn’t notice the blonde girl who sits in front of him in class standing nearby, who is puzzled to see him here in Shibuya.

When he goes to sleep, he wakes up in the Velvet Room again, and Merope and Igor tell him about “ruin”. He’s woken up by Ruferu pecking at his head.

Ruferu refers to the protagonist as his “business partner”, and says they’ll talk more during the protagonist’s lunch break at school later. Ruferu’s Confidant is established. As the protagonist leaves for school, his mom texts him; something about how she and the protagonist’s dad are traveling in another country.

(The protagonist’s outfit is changeable by the player from this point on, so in scenes outside of school and Mementos, it may not always be consistent in my screenshots, haha.)

When he leaves the house, he runs into a woman who introduces herself as Kayo Tomiyama. She apparently knew him when he was younger and comments that he’s grown up into a handsome man, in that tone of a family friend or relative being surprised at how big you’ve gotten since they last saw you. She also talks about how her “Darling”, likely her husband, went to Kokatsu as well.

After she leaves and the protagonist continues on to school, he runs into Merope in Shibuya, staring at one of the Rise posters. It gives her an idea, and she opens a Velvet Room door next to it and heads through, seeming to have barely noticed the protagonist in the first place.

As the protagonist waits for his train, a man stepping off the train bumps into him, then smiles kind of smugly and waves it off when the protagonist looks at him.

The protagonist gets on the train and leaves, but the camera continues to follow the man for a bit. He spots a woman in the station, and something seems to overcome him. He follows after her.

On the train with the protagonist, there are some Kokatsu girls gossiping about a hot guy, which the protagonist figures out is about another student on the train, whom the girls refer to as “Ikenami-kun” from Kiga High School.

When the train arrives, another Kokatsu girl bumps into him on her way out, and the protagonist catches her before she falls back.

She apologizes and hurries off the train, but the protagonist notices she dropped her bus pass.

He finds her in the station, and returns it to her, which she thanks him for profusely. After she runs off again, Wonder seems to take note of the fact that he was actually able to help her (presumably, as opposed to the choices the game wouldn't let the player make earlier).

The protagonist then heads on to school, and the view briefly cuts back to the man from earlier for another short cutscene.

He forces his way through the crowd to reach the woman he's following, and slams into her, knocking her to the ground. She looks up at him and, clearly scared, runs off.

The man smirks to himself, then moves on.

Returning to the protagonist, we see him in Katayama's class. At the start of their lunch break, the blonde girl catches his attention, and says she was surprised yesterday, bringing up the incident with person on the bike on the train.

The protagonist doesn’t really answer, so she speculates that the bike person was a “phantom”, and talks about a website called “Magatsushin” where videos of troublemaking people are uploaded. The owner of the site, "Magatsukami" (possibly translatable as "Calamity God", and/or a pun on "calamity" along with the real last name "Tsugami"), calls these people phantoms. Then, she turns serious, and says that she saw the protagonist disappear from the train yesterday and then reappear in Shibuya, clearly wanting an explanation.

That's 30 images (the limit for one post), so I'll reblog with the continuation!

#persona #p5x #persona 5 the phantom x

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