#tall girlies!!!!!!

[rizsu]

observations with gojo ﾉ height differences.

short reader.

he's tall. like freakishly tall. when he comes over, his legs dangle off the bed. his hands are also huge — its size, lengthwise, being almost as long as a litre bottle. he's aware of his proportions; having lived with them all his life, it never dawned on him that he's a towering giant until he met you. you are short. when standing next to him, you only make up half his height. he thinks it's cute— waking up to you in random shorts and a white tshirt that's swallowing you in its depths.

he likes holding hands, you don't. his idea of hand holding consists of firmly caging your entire hand in his, leaving no room for your blood vessels. most times, when he's feeling funny, he'll throw things on the highest shelf just to mess with you. it's cliché, he knows, but it's funny watching you super jump to reach the top of the fridge. it's also top tier comedy seeing you tiptoe to reach at least his chest when you're taking pics together. you know what isn't funny to him? losing you in a crowd. it scares him how easily you blend in. makes him want to buy you those umbrella hats so he can spot you easily.

tall reader.

all his life he walked among others as the tall, lanky fella with an odd hair colour. this, of course, didn't stop the people from thinking he's attractive. within the group of his glazers, he found himself attracted to the woman whose legs make up a third of her body. maybe you're just wearing heels? wrong. that height is nothing short of natural and trust he's intrigued. what's a fine woman like you doing in the men's section? dumb question, he knows it's because the ladies section doesn't have your shoe size. he just needs a reason to flirt.

he's aware that the height difference isn't much. probably just a three-inches difference at most. however, it tickles something in him. without heels, you reach his chin. with heels, you're as tall as he is. he knows you sometimes think of your height as too manly for your gender. for example, there were times you immediately got sad when his shirt didn't travel down your thigh. instead, its hem sat perfectly on your hip. he didn't truly understand why you were sad — in his head he loved the way his clothes fit you. makes it way easier to sneak in his clothing in your closet. he's a simple man to amuse: once you're in his clothes where he can smell his cologne it's gameover.

[hellfire--cult]

– 𝙨𝙩𝙖𝙣𝙙𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙤𝙣 𝙩𝙞𝙥𝙩𝙤𝙚𝙨 𝙖𝙨 𝙖 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙧𝙙 𝙩𝙖𝙡𝙚𝙣𝙩 📏

Eddie Munson x Tall!F!Reader

wc: 3k

warnings: fluff, absolute fluff, high school (character +18), insecurity about height, bullying, eddie munson being the cutest fluff of hair there is.

You definitely know your height, and you are reminded of it everyday. And then you find out that a certain metalhead seems obsessed with you.

a/n: just a small thought i had the yesterday night and i just wrote it. haven't seen many tall!reader fics out there.

reblog if you enjoyed

STANDING ON TIPTOES AS A THIRD TALENT

You know. You are aware.

You are aware of how painful the stretch was when growing up.

You are aware of how many times people ask for your help to reach things for them.

You are aware of how you don’t comply with those stereotypical feminine looks. 

You are aware of how guys don’t see you as an option because their masculinity is crushed by you being a few inches taller than them.

You are aware of how tall you are.

“If only we could get you on the basketball team.” Carver stood in front of you with his hands inside of his jersey, looking up at you. You never stopped walking, why would you? He kept walking backwards as he waited for a response.

“Why Carver? Though you are right, I bet I would do a better job in winning an actual game.” You could see Andy and Chase holding back their laughter but shaking it off as Jason turned to shoot a glare at them and then back at you, finally stopping because you are just tired of him following like a puppy. You will just listen to what he has to say and he’ll leave you alone.

“A little cocky, aren’t you?”

“No, but you for sure have one.” And he was confused by your response for a second, so you moved around him and continued walking. You heard him calling out your name with a curse after the idiot figured out your insult. You rolled your eyes as you opened your locker, looking inside to find a picture of Robin and you, a smile forming on your lips, trying to remember if you had band practice today or not.

You turned your head to look at some freshmen girls talking, whispering to one another as they looked at you and kept walking. Yeah… you are aware of how tall you are.

But you don’t need these people to remind you of it everyday.

You look back into your locker and start browsing, looking for your Spanish book, only to get pushed on the back, making you slam yourself onto the lockers. Your anger fuels as you take the book out and slam shut the locker door, turning around to face whoever pushed you in such a manner.

“Who the fuck–”

And not exactly eye to eye, still having to tilt your head down slightly, very so, and there stood a mop of dark curls. The whiff of tobacco and worn denim filled your nostrils as deep brown eyes collided with yours. 

“Sh–Shit um–” You never spoke to Eddie Munson before. You shared some classes together, and you were surprised when you heard the news that he was finally graduating. You don’t really care for him graduating two years later because you yourself got held back a year. So, you two would be leaving high school hell together in a few months.

“You need anything?” You ask and the guy has yet to talk to you. You look behind him to see two of his friends snickering at one another. Oh. “Look, if this is a dare of ‘Talk with the tallest freak in Hawkins High’ thing, you already won, I talked to you.” 

You turned, not really letting him speak as you walked forward to your Spanish class. It wasn’t the first time something like this happened to you. Guys jokingly asking you out, girls not bothering to lift their heads to look up at you, except for Robin. That girl decided to stick to your hip in fifth grade and she never let go. 

Not that you would let go of her either. She knows too much.

Shit, you still don’t remember if you had band or not. You groan loudly as you sit at the very back of the classroom, knowing that you would just cover the view for anyone else who sits behind you.

After class you head to your locker to put your Spanish book back inside, only to see a note waiting for you on the side. You grabbed it and saw that it was Robin, telling you she had something to tell you and to meet her in the woods at the back of the school. You furrowed your brows at that but shrugged, closing the locker door and heading towards the woods.

Your long legs help to get to places even faster, so in just five minutes you had leaves crunching beneath your feet. You assumed she either meant the picnic table or the fallen trunk that’s more towards the parking lot. Closest to the building though? The picnic table… but the figure sitting on the table wasn’t Robin. 

You heard him mumble as if practicing something, his mop of curls bobbing a bit as he said a few things only to then call himself ‘stupid’ and start over again. You rolled your eyes as you finally reached him, your arms over your chest.

“I knew you were crazy Munson, but not to the extent of talking to yourself.” You saw him jump up with a shriek, flailing his limbs around as he fell to the ground but quickly regaining himself as he turned to face you, wiping the leaves away. You held in the giggle, because– damn he is cute.

“Yeah well, um– I do worse than that sweetheart, trust me.” You raised your eyebrow at the nickname, feeling your cheeks heating up just slightly, but you shook your head and looked around.

“Have you seen Robin? She told me to meet her here.” And at your words, Eddie chuckled nervously while rubbing his cheek, trying to avert his gaze from you.

“Yeah um– Buckley didn’t put that note in your locker… I kinda– It was me.” You saw him put his hands behind him like a small child ready to get scolded, and to be honest, you were angry that he tricked you but–

“Why?”

“I uh– You kind of misunderstood something a few hours ago? I know I bumped into you and I didn’t really want to talk to you–” You raised your eyebrows at that in surprised offense.

“Excuse me?” He winced as he put his hand in a fist and hit his forehead a few times while shaking his head.

“Sorry, sorry– That is not what I meant! I definitely wanted to talk to you– talk to you, I mean, I wanted to talk to you for a long while, and I still do and well, we are talking now–” The boy was rambling and your confusion was growing the more he talked, so you took a few steps forward, waving your hands in front of you to get him to calm down.

“Hey, slow down Munson, jesus. You’re gonna have a stroke.” He looked up at you and nodded, taking a deep breath in and then letting out a nervous chuckle as he started pacing around with his hands in the back pockets of his jeans. “Okay, I get it, you apologized, everything’s fine.”

“No, no, um… My friends, they tried to help me talk to you but you make me kind of nervous, so.” Ah, it wasn’t the first time you heard that. 

“Yeah, my height sort of does that.” You shift in your place as you see him put a stop to his pacing, looking back at you with confused eyes.

“What?”

“Well, people tell me my height intimidates them, so… they’re nervous to talk to me. Did you need anything in particular?” You tilted your head at him and Eddie was still frowning and then started taking steps towards you, the tip of your sneakers touching with one another as his eyes looked up at yours. He was just a few inches shorter than you, you had a perfect view of his fringe.

“Well uh… You intimidate me yes… but not exactly because of your height darling.” You frowned as confusion plastered all over your features, looking at the metalhead that was still looking at you as if waiting for you to put a puzzle together in your head.

“Um… my incredible skills in Spanish intimidate you?” And Eddie smiled, and that honestly made your heart jump slightly because after all, Eddie Munson is not a bad-looking guy. He is the complete opposite of that, his own beauty to be described. Maybe it was his personality that also helped him become more charming. Either way, he was making your cheeks burn from how handsome he looked at this very moment as he stuttered with dimpled cheeks.

“No um… You intimidate me because– I think you are extremely, absolutely, and incredibly… beautiful.” 

You blinked a few times, not really sure if you heard the guy right. Did he say you’re beautiful? That you intimidate him because of… beauty and not your height? And there’s also the fact that Eddie Munson is the one saying all of this when you can hardly count the times you spoke with the guy.

“Is this… a prank Munson?” You softly ask and he just groans, shaking his head like crazy.

“No, no. I promise it’s not– I–” He took a deep breath in as he scratched the back of his head, grabbing your hands and guiding you to sit down on one of the benches. You were confused but also, you were feeling your heartbeat beating like crazy against your chest, and you waited for him to start talking but he just kept pacing.

“Eddie–”

“Okay! So, the reason why my friends were behind me today and did the whole misunderstanding thing happen, which I get it, I can see how it–”

“Munson!” You were getting a little impatient now because you could now see he was nervous, but your own nervousness was making you a little bit cranky.

“Right! Sorry! My friends were fed up with me… Um–” You noticed a twinge of blush on his cheeks as he sighed, looking up at the sky. “I am not good with this, I normally like– have a casual conversation at the hideout, and then it happens it’s just–”

“The Hideout?” You don’t know where he is going anymore but he looks down at you and shakes his head once more.

“Nevermind. Like I was saying… my friends were fed up with me just– talking about you, all the time.” Okay, what? The shock must have been evident on your face because Eddie rounded the table, sitting on the bench in front of you now, putting his hands on the table, and rubbing his fingers together. “Say something? I am a nervous wreck over here, sweets.” 

Something? What can you possibly say? You were never in this position at all. You aren’t the kind of person to get confessions like they do in movies. You don’t even know what to say, or do, your inexperience showing off in big amounts as you, yourself, start to become flustered. 

“Um– I… I don’t– Why? Or what exactly do you say about me?” And he grabs a chunk of his hair in order to hide his face as he sways a little from side to side.

“Well… apart from how beautiful you look everyday… Everytime you put Jason or one of those guys in their place I just– I just boast about you… So I guess that when I heard the insult you threw at Jason today, I may have fangirled a bit and Gareth got fed up…” He winced a bit at the explanation but you felt your whole chest melt away at his words.

Your fingertips were sweaty, as you looked at him, and… fuck he turned from a guy to a man in just one instant. He was one year older than you and the fact he is stuttering so much despite his age in order to talk to you… was endearing. Cupid definitely passed by and shot an arrow through your chest just now.

“Um… can I ask um… why did you never talk to me? I mean… I think we talked like– what, six times in total?” You gave him a nervous giggle and he straightened up and cleared his throat as he looked at you.

“Didn’t you hear the part where… you intimidate me, sweetheart?” You frown at his words so he sighs and continues. “I don’t normally approach people with– my feelings. But um… we are graduating, and since we don’t talk I don’t know what your plans are later on, and– I just know that if I miss this chance I’m going to regret it my whole life.”

You couldn’t help but giggle at him, and it helped a small smile form on his own lips as he looked at you.

“Your whole life? That’s a bit drastic, isn’t it?” You smiled at him, biting onto your bottom lip now, feeling your belly turning slowly and nervously. He licked his lips and played with one of his rings as he talked to you.

“Not at all drastic, you are a catch, and I should be held back another year if I don’t shoot my shot with you right now.” 

And he sounded so certain. So honest. There was not a single ounce of joke in his tone or playfulness. There was obvious flirtiness and endearment. But you still had to ask, because you don’t want to dive into something that he might not have thought of before.

“Um… You know I am a little bit taller than you… right Eds?” You ask and he tilts his head, a smirk forming on his lips as his cheeks tint red.

“You know, I am extremely good at standing on my tiptoes, it’s like my third talent.” You couldn’t help but laugh at his joke, yet you knew you were completely flushed by it. He cleared his throat and you looked back up at him. “So?”

“So?” You tilted your head as he leaned forward on the table, towards you, resting on his forearms and elbows.

“Do I get to shoot my shot here?” 

Yeah… cupid definitely shot an arrow through your chest just now.

“Seriously, if you ditch me one more time–” 

“I didn’t ditch you Robs, you decided to not come with us.” You were putting your books back into your locker as Robin leaned against the other lockers while looking at you.

“Well yeah! I don’t want to third wheel!” You roll your eyes at your best friend, catching a wild mop of curls walking through the crowd in the hallway. You smile widely as Eddie approaches you, his arms coming to wrap around your waist.

“Hey beautiful.” You giggle at how energetic he is today and you raise your hands to cradle his face and lean down, tilting his head a bit to place a kiss on his lips.

“Hi Eds.” He smiles and you feel him growing taller, coming almost eye-to-eye level with you, almost, and receiving another soft kiss on the lips before he returns to his original height.

“Tiptoes growing stronger each day.” He smiles at you only for him to be shoved into you and before you can hit the lockers, the hand on your lower back pulls you into him, while the other slams into the lockers, forbidding you from colliding against them.

“HEY!” Robin yelled and you looked up to see Jason laughing behind Eddie with a horrified look on his face.

“Oops, sorry. Didn’t see you there Munson.” Your eye twitched as you looked at him, only to then tilt your head.

“You know Jason, if you want a threesome that badly you just have to ask. No need to act so interesting and shit.” At your words, he stops laughing, anger plastered on his features now as he stares at you while Eddie turns around.

“Excuse me?” You rolled your eyes at him and pointed at Eddie.

“You messed with him, you messed with me, and now you want to butt into our relationship. Sorry though, we don’t do poly.” You smile at him as you look at him, up and down and scrunch up your nose. “Not that you’re even our type.”

People that were walking by snickered at your words and Jason only squinted at you and looked at Eddie who was holding a snort in, his hand covering his mouth.

“Freaks do belong together.” And you roll your eyes at that and wave Jason away.

“And assholes son of bitches do too, that’s the reason Chrissy dumped you. Scram.” You could see Jason taking a step towards you and Eddie’s playful mood immediately soured, stepping in front of you with a menacing smile towards the Jock.

“Wouldn’t do that if I were you.” Jason scoffed at Eddie’s threat and shook his head.

“What you gonna do, curse me?” Eddie gave him a fake smile and leaned close so that he could hear, his smile falling.

“I’ve been playing good all year Carver so that I could graduate, and honestly, I would throw that opportunity away for her. Don’t fucking test me.” And you could see Jason deliberating the words Eddie spoke. He took a step back and gave you one last look before huffing and walking away.

“Holy shit, never seen Carver back away that easily in my life.” Robin smiled and you were biting your lip as your heart thumped in your chest like crazy. Eddie turned around with a huge dimpled smile and then you could see the playful glint in his eyes.

“Have I ever told you how much it turns me on how you call those assholes out?” And Robin groaned in disgust and quickly rushed away. You laughed at him, as he came closer to you again, letting you wrap your arms around his shoulders.

“Yeah, you did.” You bit your lip as you looked down at him, feeling your heart beat loudly for your boyfriend who was looking at you as if hung the stars in the sky. “What you said…”

“Meant every word.”

“I was going to say that it turned me on but–” You were taken by surprise when he immediately nibbled your neck which he had easy access to, and a giggle escaped your lips.

“Don’t tempt me sweetheart.”

end

[ipostmysimpingstuffanonymously]

[autisticlancemcclain]

Keith is acting suspicious.

Lance is sure of it. Beyond his usual shiftiness, his awkwardness, his tendency towards privacy. Lance knows his boyfriend, and he knows him well, and as such he knows enough to realise that his boyfriend is acting fuckin’ dubious.

Lance is going to snoop. (Yeah, yeah, ethical schmethical. Snooping fosters distrust in relationships and makes things tense blah blah blah. Lance recognises that. He also grew up with fucking Hunk Garrett and His Entire Family, so he also recognises that snooping is simply the best way to gather information. Fair’s fair.)

He waits until his boyfriend’s snores start to kick up, making the bedroom sound like an illegal motorized lawnmower race, and then carefully starts scooching out of his arms.

It takes a while — Keith likes to hold him. (Lance has to take a moment to calm himself down after the thought, lest he start to giggle giddily to himself, reminded that Keith loves him so much that at his most unguarded, his first instinct is to crush Lance in his arms. It’s exhilarating.) But slowly and steadily he manages to slide out of the arms around his waist, filling the newly hollow space with a pillow, and tumbles to the floor. He takes a moment, crossing his legs and sitting next to the bed, to look up at Keith, at the ratty mess of his bedhead and wide open snoring mouth and the tank top skewed across his torso, the hickeys Lance left all across his chest and collarbones peeking out.

“You are such a shit,” he whispers fondly. “I love you so bad it makes me want to, like, bite you or something. You make me weird.”

He watches Keith’s chest rise and fall until his legs fall asleep, wherein he flops onto the hardwood, wiggling his legs through the pins and needles and screeching silently into his arm (worst feeling in the WORLD) until his legs no longer feel like they’re on fire, and then he inches himself towards the right corner of the room like an inchworm.

(It’s three in the morning. No one is awake to judge him to give him shit or laugh at him or anything. He can do what he likes.)

He pulls himself up to his knees when he finally makes it to the corner, loosening his shoulders in preparation. The room is dark, so it’ll be a challenge, but this is not the first time he’s done this. Hell, it isn’t even the fiftieth. He’s a nosy person. He could do this in his sleep, probably, so in the dark is no problem.

As slowly as he can manage, to make sure it’s silent, he pries off the metal grate covering of the air vent, setting it down gently beside him. Laying down on his stomach again to get a better angle, he reaches down into the wide tube, following the curve of the cool metal, arm buried up to his shoulder, until he’s reached as far as he physically can. He carefully starts brushing his hands along the air vent, searching, feeling. It shouldn’t be too far down since his arms are way longer than Keith’s (Lance enjoys calling him T-Rex, which Keith hates and literally everyone else who knows them loves. It’s great).

Finally, his fingers brush on something small, compact, sturdy, and soft. He wraps his fist around it and slowly drags it out of the vent, keeping it in his fist as he crawls out of the bedroom and down the hall, somersaulting into the kitchen. He heads over to the fridge, figuring that if he uses the fridge light and Keith walks in, he can just pretend he’s getting a snack or something, shoving the thing he found into his pants. Keith’ll be too out of it to question it, anyway.

Laughing quietly and evilly to himself as he pulls open the fridge door, he brings his closed fist up to the light, examining the treasure he found. It takes a moment for his eyes to adjust to the light, to take in what’s in front of him.

He gasps sharply when he processes, and the treasure slips out of his hands, clattering loudly to the floor.

He freezes immediately, listening for the telltale signs of his boyfriend snorting awake, noticing Lance’s side of the bed is empty, then the sound of his footsteps as he comes to look for him.

But, fortunately, there’s nothing. The only thing Lance hears are Keith’s continued snores.

Rapidly, Lance scoops up the box and brings it back to the light. It’s unmistakable — there’s only one thing that houses in a small hinged velvet box. It explains the shiftiness over the last few weeks, too, the nervousness that Keith has been disgusting as mysterious intrigue.

Keith is going to propose. Keith is going to propose!

Smiling so widely his face hurts, Lance flicks open the box, bringing his face closer to carefully inspect the ring inside.

It’s difficult to see in the dull blue light of the fridge, but Lance starts to cry when he sees it, because he recognises this ring. This is Keith’s dad’s ring; old, heavy gold, classic princess cut diamond, simple and polished and elegant. This is the ring Keith often wears around his neck, although he rarely has as of late, for now obvious reasons. This is the ring Keith has carried with him for almost two decades. This is, without a doubt, Keith’s most prized Earthly possession, and his intent is to gift it to Lance, as a promise of his love and trust and faithfulness.

Lance has to sit down so he doesn’t pass out. He grabs a dishtowel on the way to the floor, pressing it to his face to muffle his absolutely wailing sobs, the most ugly crying he’s literally ever done in his life.

He’s so glad he snooped. If he had this reaction when Keith finally summoned the balls to ask him, his engagement photos would be so embarrassing.

He paused mid-sniffle.

Actually.

A little embarrassed of himself, he slides up his phone, holding the ring box up to his tear-swollen and smiling face to snap a picture. He looks like a mess, but it’s important to him to have a physical memory of the moment he first learned Keith planned to marry him. He’s sure he’ll cry more over it the next time he’s feeling sappy and emotional.

He doesn’t realise how long he sits, fridge wide open, back to the cabinet doors of the kitchen island, staring in awe at the ring, until his watch starts to beep.

“Fuck,” he curses, scrambling to his feet. It’s six o’clock. Keith’ll be up in fifteen minutes to go on his morning run, Lance has literally been mooning over his ring for two and a half hours.

He runs back to the bedroom, barely remembering at the last second time muffle his footsteps, shoving the ring back into the vent and pressing the grate back onto the hole. Keith stirs slightly at the noise, so Lance abandons any thought of whether or not the ring box is positioned back exactly where he found it and fuckin’ dives for the bed, reburying himself in his boyfriend’s arms and hoping he can pass it off as just having shifted around in his sleep or something. Apparently he squirms and kicks a lot (which is a lie that Keith perpetuates to take attention away from the severity of his snores), so it should be fine. Probably.

“Wh—L’nce?” Keith mumbles, stirring from behind him. He inhales deeply, arms pulling away from Lance’s and stretching out above him. Lance’s heart pounds. He forces himself to stay relaxed, to avoid squeezing his eyes shut. He prays that Keith doesn’t notice how sweaty he is.

Keith leans over to press a lingering kiss to his neck, then chuckles. Lance can feel the imprint of his smile on his skin, and tamping down his own reflexive smile is literally the hardest thing he has ever had to do in his entire life.

“You’re warm as hell,” Keith murmurs, dragging his lips down his neck, across his shoulders. His hand comes to rest in his hip, curling into the hollow there. “Betcha you were squrimin’ around in y’re sleep last night, ya worm. Betcha I’ve got bruises on my shins.” His shoulders, pressed against Lance’s back, shake with his laughter, because he is a shithead who is so lucky that Lance loves him. He presses one final kiss to Lance’s skin and then rolls out of bed. Lance listens carefully as he gets dressed in his jogging clothes and runs a brush through his hair. He falls half asleep listening to the familiar sounds, rousing slightly again when Keith ducks back in to kiss Lance’s head one last time before heading out.

Lance smiles as he falls asleep for real, after the sound of the front door opening and closing.

He’s gonna clown that dumbass so goddamn badly.

———

Lance has a love-hate relationship with pranks. On one hand, the one and only time he was sent into an asthma attack so bad he had to go to the hospital was after he and Hunk wrapped every single thing in Veronica’s room with aluminum foil while she was away on a trip, and upon seeing her reaction laughed so hard his lungs basically collapsed. He still can’t think of that without laughing. On the other hand, he’s had more than enough cruel pranks shoved his way, and never in his life wants anyone to feel humiliated because of something he did.

He can’t not prank Keith, though. He’s literally beat Keith to his own proposal. A prank is in order.

Usually, he’d call Hunk for something like that. They’ve been partners in crimes for most of their lives, after all. Pidge too, honestly. He knows they’d both get a kick out of this whole situation as well.

But…even if those dunderheads were capable of keeping their mouths shut, which they’re not, Lance kind of wants to…well, he wants to keep his proposal to himself. He likes being in on it. He likes being to only one in on it, actually. Honestly, the only thing he wants to do is brag to Keith that he knows, which defeats the whole purpose.

He straightens abruptly. A smirk spreads across his face.

He has an idea.

———

The first step is recon. He needs access to the ring, regularly and long-term, but all will be for naught if Keith realises it’s missing. He needs to know if Keith stashed the ring when he decided to propose and avoided thinking about it, or if he checks on it frequently and stresses himself out about when he’s finally going to go through with it. Both are very Keith options. In fact Lance wouldn’t be surprised if he somehow managed both at the same time, as impossible as that seems.

To get around the issue, Lance goes Spy Barbie. He waits until Keith goes out for his weekly coffee date with Shiro and Adam and then digs through his makeup kit, setting aside what he needs and sitting next to the air vent grate. He spends a good amount of time polishing the metal, making sure it’s as fresh and untouched as it was when it was first put in its package, and then he uses a wide end brush to apply a thin layer of highlighter to the white metal. He takes great care to ensure that no colour is visible, only a slight sheen if one were to look closely. And Keith doesn’t have any reason to look closely, and since Lance knows the universe loves him, he won’t.

The next step is waiting. Lance acts completely normally when Keith gets home, if a little giddy. Keith most certainly notices Lance’s giggles and affection and the way he can’t seem to keep his hands to himself, but he doesn’t seem to mind or question it. Lance does sometimes get like this, after all.

He scored a hot as hell boyfriend. He’s allowed to be a little awed sometimes. He doesn’t feel weird about it.

He does, however, mellow out in the next few days. Keith takes him to a car show, which is fucking wicked, and somehow manages to get himself and Lance behind the wheels of two 200 horsepower Mustangs for them to race, which is so exhilarating that Lance doesn’t have words for it. He just yells and jumps around about it a lot. He doesn’t actually manage to find words for a couple hours after he totally smokes Keith’s ass, but whatever. It’s cool. Keith tried his best and everything, Lance is sure.

A week later, when Keith is out on his coffee date again, Lance gets to work. He cuts a large square of parchment paper and covers it with clear packing tape, careful not to touch the sticky side, overlapping strips so they make one giant tape sheet.

Once the parchment sheet is covered, he peels off the tape, and as planned it comes off in one large sheet, slightly bigger than the air vent grate. Again careful to steer clear of the sticky part, he places the tape sheet sticky side down onto the grate, pressing down hard and rubbing to smooth it out completely flat. Once he’s sure it’s totally stuck down, he picks at one corner until it’s loose, then slowly and meticulously peels the whole sheet back. He holds the tape, now showcasing the concealer-print of the grate, up to the light, examining it with the utmost scrutiny.

Not one single fingerprint in sight. Keith has not touched the grate at all, hasn’t dug into his secret hiding spot. He is taking the refusing to think about it route, then.

Lance smirks. He reaches down and scoops up the ring, placing the grate back where it belongs and skipping out to the living room, humming jovially to himself.

Excellent.

———

The first picture Lance snaps, while biting his lip so hard to keep back his laughter it bleeds, is once again in the dead of night, two weeks after Lance first discovered the ring. Keith is sprawled out on his back this time, arms and legs askew, sheets tangled somewhere around his legs. Lance shifts so they’re both facing the same direction, then holds up his phone camera, trying to figure out how to artfully position himself for utmost devastation upon discovery. He decides eventually on a classic.

He heads over to the dresser to pick out his cutest pajamas, settling on the red spaghetti strap top with lace and short-shorts, debating on accessorizing and deciding at the last minute not to bother except for lip gloss, which is always appropriate. He climbs into bed next to Keith, gently laying his head on his chest and maneuvering one arm to wrap around Lance’s hips. The other he leaves flopped on top of the pillows. He leaves Keith’s mouth wide open because it’s funny, and goes the extra mile to mess up Keith’s hair worse than it already is, because that’s funnier. Finally he flicks open the ring case with his left hand and holds it to his face, grinning widely, and uses his right to snap a picture of the two of them. Once he’s satisfied with it, he untangles himself from the bed again, puts the ring away, presses a sticky lip gloss kiss to Keith’s cheek for funsies, and crawls back into bed for real. His sleep is sound as a baby’s.

———

The next photo doesn’t actually happen for another month. Lance fears overdoing it, and also kind of fears getting caught with the ring, so he leaves it in its hiding spot until the opportunity for another cheeky photo presents itself.

The opportunity in question arrives when Keith announces that he has arranged to drive down to the secluded beach that Lance took him too early in their relationship to spend the day. At first Lance thinks he’s proposing for real, and to check he waits until Keith has the car all packed up and ready to go and then pretends to run inside to go to the washroom. Instead he ducks into their room and tears into the air vent, grasping around until his fingers close around the box.

He scoffs to himself. Wimp.

He quickly shoves the box into his fanny pack (fanny packs are COOL and CONVENIENT and Lance will not hear a word of controversy on the subject, they are absolutely nothing like Keith’s dweeb utility belt) and sprints back to the car. When Keith asks him why he’s smirking, Lance manages to convince him that he’s just excited for the beach.

Lance should have been an actor, honestly.

He mostly forgets about the ring while they’re there. He has enough sense to keep it in the car instead of on the beach so it doesn’t get stolen, unlikely as it is, and just enjoys the day with his boyfriend. He convinces Keith to go jet skiing with him and cackles to himself as he purposely sends Keith flying off the back of it. He screeches at the top of his lungs later when Keith scoops him up from his nap and literally chucks him into the ice cold water. The two of them make really garbage sculptures of their friends in the sand to amuse themselves. They gather ugly seashells and send pictures to their friends asking them if they’ve been turned into mollusks, since there is a resemblance. The whole day was a blast. Lance firmly slots it in his top ten days of all time.

When they go for a long walk to watch the sunset, Lance snaps a picture with the ring and a very teasing grin the second Keith has his back turned. He will bring up how this was a perfect moment to propose, and he will pat Keith’s head condescendingly about it. He can’t wait.

———

The third photo is another dead-of-night-situation. Lance knows it’s repetitive, but it’s easy and it’s funny and Lance can’t resist.

To change things up a bit, he decides not to be in the photo, and also to see just how much he can get away with.

Keith is on his side, this time, one hand tucked under the pillow, one hand held loose and open on top of it. He’s been tired, lately, and when Lance says he fell asleep the second his head hit the pillow, he is not exaggerating. In fact Lance is reasonably certain he passed out in the way down. He is KOed. He’s unconscious. He is absolutely dogged out.

The timing is perfect.

Carefully, aware of the consequences should Lance make a mistake, he removes the ring from its box. He realizes abruptly that it’s the first time he’s ever done that, despite his ridiculous quest, and he finds that he can’t quite let go of the ring just yet. The metal feels cool and smooth on his finger tips; worn, even. It’s shinier than it used to be, which means Keith has probably had it professionally retouched. Resized too, probably, although Lance can’t quite bring himself to check. The diamond catches the minimal light in the room and refracts into rainbows that fall softly on Keith’s lax face, highlighting his sharp jawline, his softly squished cheek, his relaxed brow. He looks so dorky when he sleeps, completely free of the furrow of concentration that usually resides in between his eyebrows, his resting frown. His mouth is always wide open when he’s out, and the echoing of his snores is so comically loud and ridiculous but absolutely something that Lance can’t live without. He has them recorded, actually, for the rare nights they’re not home together, on the rare night Lance has to sleep alone.

Smiling softly to himself, Lance places the ring in Keith’s open palm. He rests his hand on top of Keith’s for a moment, just because he can, just to relish in the scratch of Keith’s callouses on his skin, before pulling back and steadying his phone to snap a picture. He catches it right as Keith inhales heavily, right as his nose scrunches up.

It’s goofy as hell. It’s perfect.

———

The fourth picture is the riskiest, Lance thinks. He’s taken to carrying the ring around with him everywhere, almost as if he is the one planning to propose, just in case he has a moment when Keith’s back is turned. (There really aren’t that many. Keith faces him a lot. He likes to hold Lance hand and kiss his face, neither of which you can do from behind. Lance fucking loves his boyfriend so much.)

They’re at a Thing. Lance’s parents are celebrating their fortieth anniversary, and obviously Lance is bringing Keith, and since Keith is his mother’s favourite he is encouraged to bring his family as well, which means Shiro and Adam are coming, and if Hunk and Pidge weren’t invited then someone would cry and nothing would be right in the world, and of course Veronica is bringing Allura, and Coran comes because Lance’s dad thinks he’s the funniest man to walk the Earth. And of course all Lance’s relatives are there.

The point is that it’s a full house. A couple full houses, actually, since their neighbours are also involved. It’s a lot of people in one place.

As is protocol in crowded places, Keith is essentially glued to Lance’s side. Lance is quite happy with this arrangement, because he gets to show his boyfriend off like the hot piece of ass he is, especially to his rude ass great aunties and uncles who always had something to say about Lance and his single-ness when he was still rocking braces. So.

One thing about Keith, though, is that everyone who meets him is doomed to fall in love with him forever and ever, or so Lance has noticed. His niece and nephew are no exception, and immediately upon catching sight of their uncle — Keith, that is, Lance may as well be dead meat when Tio Keith is available, which, rude — they descend upon him not unlike a vulture may descend upon a recently deceased armadillo. Or whatever. Lance didn’t grow up in the desert, he doesn’t know what happens there.

Occupied as he is, one child hanging off each arm, Keith cannot keep his vice grip on Lance’s hand. Occupied as he is, two children talking at him in a mix of Spanish and English so rapid that Lance himself cannot keep up, which is saying something because his nickname for many years was and aptly so Motormouth, Keith cannot have his full attention on Lance. In fact, even, his back is delightfully turned.

Lance doesn’t hesitate. He flicks open the ring box and snaps a picture. His grin is nothing short of gleeful and he is entirely unapologetic.

When he turns back around, ring box stuffed back into his pocket, he realizes Nadia is staring at him with wide eyes.

“You, shush,” Lance says, and then switches to Spanish so Keith, who is still learning, will miss it, “or I’ll choose a random child to be my flower girl. I swear.”

She glares at him. “This is why Tio Keith is my favourite,” she mutters, because she is a snot who acts as if Lance does not and has not for her whole life taken her on all sorts of cool awesome amazing trips and bought her cool awesome amazing presents. Who was it who bought them recorders when they were seven to terrorize Luis with? Lance. Who was it to take them to a live rocket taking off the summer they turned nine? Lance.

“You’re a brat,” he informs her.

She sticks her tongue out at him, snickering. “Side genes.”

Lance unfortunately has nothing to say to that and also refuses to be roasted by an eleven year old, so he yanks Keith away as penance and takes him to a corner somewhere to make out. He feels very smug about it.

———

The fifth time doesn’t happen.

The fifth time is a clusterfuck.

The fifth time, it’s night again, and Lance honestly doesn’t even plan on taking another picture. He’s just next to the vent, lying on his belly, legs kicking in the air as he inspects the ring for the billionth time. He’s so excited. He can’t wait to wear this on his finger. He can’t wait for Keith to put it there. He’s can’t wait to be Keith’s husband, is the crux of it all. It’s like groundhog day except with literal euphoria. Lance is the luckiest man literally alive, and Keith hasn’t even hinted towards a plan to pop the question yet.

“You are the nosiest motherfucker in the planet, you shithead.”

Lance yelps, startling so bad he almost brains himself on the floor and nearly drops the ring. He manages to catch himself with the grace of God and also probably luck, or neither of those things, but either way Lance heart nearly pounds out of his chest.

“You scared me, you butthead!”

Keith chuckles. His voice is low and raspy from sleep, vowels still rounded from the accent that only comes out when he’s mad or drunk or tired. Lance’s belly swoops. Keith grabs Lance’s ankle and tugs, dragging him over to him, pulling him upright when he’s close enough. Lance goes into him fully, curling up into him, head tucked under his chin. Keith’s hands come to rest on top of his, sliding the ring box from him.

“How long have you known, you snoop?”

“Six months,” Lance answers. “In my defense, you were acting suspicious as all hell.”

Keith kisses his head. “Fair.”

“I need to know everything about everything or I’ll die. You know this.”

Keith snorts. He takes Lance’s left hand and smooths it flat, spreading out his fingers. “Yeah. Ruined my plans, though.”

“Oh, please. You and I both know there were no plans involved. You walked by a shop advertising ring retouching and walked in before you even thought about it.”

Keith says nothing. Lance grins and presses on.

“I bet you cried the whole time, too.”

“Shut up. I’m gonna keep the ring.”

Lance kisses him on the chest, the closest place he can reach, through his sleep shirt. “No, you’re not.”

“Mhm.” Keith plucks the ring out of the box with one hand, setting it on the ground beside them and grabbing Lance’s hand with his other. “You’re right. I’m not.”

He doesn’t move for a while, except to stroke his thumb over the palm of Lance’s hand, over and over again. Lance likes the feeling. He’s always likes the feeling of Keith’s hands in him.

“I know this isn’t a fancy dinner or sunset on the beach or with your whole family present,” he murmurs. “But I’m tired of waiting, if you don’t mind me jumping the gun.”

Lance smiles widely. A tear leaks out of his eye, dripping down his face and onto Keith’s hand.

“I don’t.”

“Good.” Keith holds the ring just above Lance’s finger, poised, ready to slide it on but waiting for permission. “Lance Sanchez, will you marry me?”

“Keith Gyeong, I would want nothing more.”

Unhesitant at last, Keith slides his father’s ring onto Lance’s finger, centring it so the diamond shines brightly in the middle. It fits perfectly.

The tears stream down Lance’s face, and he can’t for the life of him pretend that they’re not, not that he’d bother. He buries his face in his fiancé’s neck and feels Keith’s own tears soaking his hair.

“I took a bunch of sneaky pictures of me holding the ring in front of you,” Lance admits.

Keith laughs. “Of course you did.”

“I carried the ring around for months.”

“Checks out.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too, Lance.”

“I can’t wait to marry you.”

Keith hums, tilting his head up and kissing him properly, entwining their hands so they can both feel the ring press against skin. “No more waiting for you, sweetheart.”

———

based on this post

[jaarijani]

POV: the kitty waves at you

[catgirlexplosion]

obsessed with them they are t4t. to me.

[thebramblewood]

TWENTIES Requested by @moonwoodhollow and @leian-22 Starring Helena Zhao and Ulrike Faust

After hours, the most beautiful flapper in the city talks a straight-laced speakeasy proprietor into joining her for a clandestine dance (and maybe a little something more).

[empty-flat-n-lonely-bys]

If you thought Swifties were unbearable before, I'm so sorry cause they are superbowl champions now. No one's gonna shut up about it

[lucky-clover-gazette]

i honestly love the fact that i have just been following two people very invested in dnf for like a year, either bc of a misclick or other mutual fandom, because i have so little knowledge about what is and is not real with those two. i have never played or watched a mindcraft in my life, however i can acknowledge insane homoeroticism when i see it, and those two are either ridiculously committed to a bit or ridiculously committed to each other, and to the like fifteen people who still seem to care post-face reveal (which i always thought was awful by the way, like people were dicks about it) it doesn’t really matter

[royreads]

I know in the game Gale and Astarion are about the same height (5'11"/179cm) but in your HEART your SOUL what height is Gale really?

[wodania]

i did a thing

[stargirl-09]

When he’s tall:

[purpleexplosive]

So basically what episode 12 is gonna be like:

[overallsonfrogs]

Important update on my best friend/future housemate reading AFTG for the first time:

They thought Andrew was tall

[she-wu]

small girl — lee youngji ft. d.o.

[prettypinkprincessy]

manifesting 🙏 💝

(via degeneratebeautyqueen on vsco)