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#but I’m just shy. and/or deterred by being his manager.

dont-f-with-moogles · 5 months

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The Envelope

Characters: Dazai x Reader Word count: 937 words Osamu Dazai is one of the regulars at the café where you work. Whilst conversations with him are never dull, your tireless to-and-fro often takes you away from the subject of his ever-growing tab. Instead, you are forced to sidestep his constant invitations into a ‘lover’s suicide’ and remind him that such a pursuit can be accomplished alone by any individual in possession of a good life insurance policy. If anything, the living spouse would then at least profit financially. And yet, Dazai neither seems satisfied with your responses nor deterred in his efforts to change your mind.

One day, at the end of a long shift, you were approaching the double doors, keys in hand, when Dazai slouched past the glass. Startled, you opened one door to admit him. It had been some time since he had visited the café and the lateness of the hour only added to your sense of trepidation.

“Just thought I’d stop by… I’m sure you missed me!” he called out jovially. As he perched upon one of stools which lined the counter, you set your ring of keys down noisily.

“Oh, I made do with the customers who actually pay their bills,” you snapped back at him. Your hands flexed at your sides; suddenly you wished you still had something to occupy them with. “Still, it has been a while. I saw on the news that there were arrest warrants out for the ADA…”

“It was horrible,” Dazai agreed mournfully. “Prison was the worst! My cell was tiny, the company was just dreadful and don’t even get me started on the food!”

There was always something so captivating about his performance, even if that’s all it ever was; an act. And yet, the dull, monochrome day-to-day was flooded with colour in his presence. For one so preoccupied with death, he possessed the singular ability to rouse the world around him into life. Hearing his voice after all those weeks was enough to lift your lips into a shy smile. Despite yourself, your earlier resolve was already crumbling. With an effort, you tore your eyes away from his own.

“Look Dazai, it’s closing time and I need to get home. How about I make you a coffee to go? Consider this one - and only this one - on the house. I guess it's the least I can do after everything you’ve been through.” Fumbling, you laid down a fresh filter and sprinkled in several, hasty spoonfuls of ground coffee.

“Actually…” Dazai drummed his fingertips upon the counter. “…I’m here to ask you out.”

The handle of the kettle almost slipped from your grasp.

“I know, I know!” he waved away your protests before you had even uttered them, “…but hear me out, just once more will you? I’ve been preparing for this moment you know!” To add further mystery to his words, he slid an unmarked envelope across the bar. “I even asked around for advice on what to say to you!” Dazai leaned back so luxuriously on his stool that you were certain he would fall. Quickly, he righted himself. “That being said, my cell mate was nothing short of psychotic. He insisted that I get you fired from your job and isolate you from your loved ones so then you’d have no choice but to crawl to me!”

“Wow. What a romantic.” Somehow, you managed to flatten the tremor in your voice. It was fortunate that, by now, the rich coffee decoction had dripped down into the lower basin, for you were able to occupy yourself with an open cupboard. You made a performance of retrieving a fresh takeaway cup before he could notice the warmth in your cheeks.

"So…” Turned away from him, you smiled down into the empty cup. “...you were thinking about me whilst you were in there…?”

”…of course. And, whilst I didn’t take that man’s advice… I did come prepared.“

Finally connecting his statement to the white envelope, you placed the items down and returned his attention.

"Six months’ tab paid up.” Dazai winked roguishly. “Plus tips.”

“Who did you rob?” You turned the paper over in your hands, conscious of the deepening flush upon your face.

He laughed. “Would that matter to you?”

In answer, you placed the envelope over on the other side of the counter.

“I guess in the end, it wasn’t so hard to figure out what to say.” Dazai rose, hands stowed in the pockets of his trench coat. “I just had to prove to you that I’m a man of my word…” He nodded and, taking up the coffee you had made for him, turned to leave.

As Dazai approached the doors, he spoke again. His voice was losing its theatrical quality with every word. It was as though he was breaking character; opening up to reveal some hidden quality. There was something new there; something nervous, tentative, sincere. “…I’m also doing a little better now, I think. Maybe, someday, I’ll die with a beautiful woman… but first, first we’ll live.” He gave a small sigh. And, with that, he raised the cup in a brief gesture of farewell.

“Wait-”

Dazai glanced back over his shoulder, eyebrows lifted in interest.

“Maybe… this time, I’ll let you take me somewhere…” You were untying the white bow of your apron with clumsy fingers. “There’s just one condition…”

He opened his mouth to reply but you interrupted with a raised hand.

”…I’m not heading anywhere near the riverside with you, got it?”

He laughed. Then, pushing his palm against the glass, he held the door open to the fading evening light.

Part 2 (NSFW)

#needed some Dazai fluff #now we're all the waitress #shall I write the nurse next? lmao #dazai osamu #dazai x reader #dazai x fem reader #dazai x you #bungou stray dogs #bsd #bungou stray dogs fic #bungou stray dogs fanfiction #dazai-typical suicide references #tw: sui mention

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dreamsgalore · 9 months

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Star-Crossed Chapter One (First Impact) - NSFW [Suguru Geto x Reader]

Summary: [adj] (of a person or a plan) thwarted by bad luck. not favored by the stars. ill-fated. refers to any lovers whose affection for each other is doomed to end in tragedy. experienced! suguru geto x inexperienced! reader

❥ status: completed

❥ content warnings: explicit sexual content. smut. dom/sub undertones. fem! reader. shy reader. dirty talk. inexperience. virginity mention. dry humping. teasing. kind suguru. fluff at the end. overstimulation. foreplay. light manhandling. hints of size kink. pet names. orgasm denial?

❥ note: This story takes place before the Hidden Star Plasma Vessel Arc of JJK> It's also more of an AU, taking place when all characters are 18+.

AO3 LINK | Story Directory

Suguru didn’t pay many girls much mind. That was until the day he met you. He was known to many as a playboy, never fully committing to any romantic relationship or only being invested in short sexual flings. Then you came around and turned everything on its head. It happened fast and was unexpected, but he was thankful you crossed his path.

The two of you met at a busy shopping district in Tokyo. The summer weather was beautiful and comfortable that day. The breeze was light. The Sun was out just enough to warm your skin without you breaking a sweat. Everyone in the neighborhood took the opportunity to enjoy it, as the area was more lively than usual.

Suguru had been out with Shoko and Gojo as they had a day off from their duties at Jujutsu High. The group had decided to stop inside a small alternative fashion store on the corner of a bustling intersection. That’s when he spotted you.

You were mindlessly sifting through a clothing rack, unaware of the wandering eyes searching over you. Suguru sized you up from afar, scanning from your buckled black Mary Janes to your white stockings that hugged your thick thighs gently.

You were clad in a pink, pleated skirt and a small white crop top to match. Your accessories complimented your outfit; a silver heart chain belt wrapped loosely around your hips, a small pink handbag tucked into your armpit, and sleek jewelry that sparkled in the sunlight.

Suguru wasted no time in approaching you, assuming that with your brazen sense of style, your personality would be just as bold. To his surprise, you were as shy as can be.

"O-Oh, hi there-! No, sorry, I'm not from around here…I just moved here a few months ago…"

As you spoke to him, he noticed you couldn’t keep eye contact with him for more than a few seconds. You stumbled on your words occasionally. He could tell how nervous and soft-spoken you were. When you did manage to look up at him, his heart skipped a beat or two. Oh, he was smitten with you.

The girls he usually goes for are outgoing and typically down for anything without much of a fight, but you. He could tell you were going to be a challenge. Though, this didn’t deter him. He was more excited than one would expect.

Your initial thought of Suguru was that he was kind of intimidating. He was astoundingly tall, his slender form leaned into your personal space without much care to your displeasure. Coupled with his dark features, his long, spiky locks, and his piercing, unwavering stare, he was very daunting.

You couldn’t deny that he was exceptionally handsome though. Your eyes unskillfully drift from his broad shoulders down to his tapered waist. Under his loose-fitting clothing, you could tell there was hardened muscle you assumed was from years of training. For what, you were unsure.

“Staring is rude, y’know. My eyes are up here, sweetheart.”

You jump. You’d been caught red-handed. “O-Oh, I-I’m sorry! I wasn’t thinking!”

You swiftly bow apologetically multiple times much to his surprise. Suguru was only joking but he was stunned at how much you took it to heart. Maybe this good girl image wasn’t a farce. Maybe you were just as innocent as you looked.

He chuckles, “Don’t be sorry. I was just teasing you.”

He smiles and you swear it’s contagious as you couldn’t help smiling back.

“I really am sorry.

“Why don’t you make it up to me?" He murmurs.

You raised a brow, "How so..?"

"By giving me your name and number."

A dark blush burns into your cheeks, “M-My number?”

He nods, “Yes. If you’d allow me, that is.”

While he wasn’t sure how he managed to get your approval, he didn’t take this for granted. The two of you texted each other every day since then and grew close enough to go out on dates. You came to learn how intelligent and kind Suguru was underneath that suave exterior. You got to know a side of him that rarely anyone sees, even his friends.

In addition, Suguru loved how your mind worked. He realized under that shell of yours was a bashful, hilarious personality. He was utterly enamored by your beauty, inside and out.

Eventually, your relationship got to the point where Suguru started spending time at your apartment for dinner and movie nights. He would never stay. He opted to leave right after to not make you uncomfortable. He didn’t want to overstep your boundaries or make you feel pressured into anything. He’d be upset with himself if he ever made you feel that way.

Tonight, you’d convinced him to stay a little longer than usual. The two of you were caught up in a mystery thriller that was nearly two hours long. You didn’t want him to miss it so you permitted him to stay late to finish the flick with you.

You both were resting on the couch. Your body cuddled into Suguru’s own for warmth. Your arms were wrapped snuggly around his waist, holding him close. Suguru didn’t mind this, as you were taking baby steps with intimacy.

A week ago, you revealed to him that you were quite inexperienced with dating and that you’d never gotten this close to any boyfriend before.

“Sorry if this is a personal question to ask. You don’t have to answer if you’re uncomfortable, but are you a virgin?”

Your face burned a dark red in response. That’s the only answer Suguru needed.

With a gentle smile, Suguru leaned forward to match your height and held your chin with a benign grip before pressing a soft peck to your lips, “Don’t be embarrassed, sweetheart. If you want, we can take things slow. I don’t want to rush you.”

The goosebumps forming on your skin didn’t go unnoticed by him. Your eyes met with his own, his sharp gaze made you feel small, but you managed to answer, “I-I want to try new things with you, Suguru.”

He kisses you once more and rests his forehead against your own, “We’ll take things at your pace, baby.”

This led to the situation you’re in right now, attempting to get physically close to him without hiding away. Your body was heating up just from holding him like this. You thought it was embarrassing, but Suguru found it adorable. It was sweet that you were trying your best to experiment with him.

Looking down at you, Suguru took a moment to observe your current state. You were flushed, purposefully avoiding gaze to keep yourself sane. You could feel his stare boring into the side of your face, and you were trying hard not to break away from the screen, afraid your heart wouldn’t be able to handle it.

Suguru chuckled and snaked his hands around your waist, “You’re so cute, y’know that? You trying to get my attention?”

You finally peered up at him, nodding shyly, “Yes.”

“Well, you got it. C’mere, babe.”

Suguru guides you to his lap, allowing you to straddle him as he lays back on the sofa. He spreads his legs to accommodate you, holding your waist to keep you balanced. He cranes his neck to get a glimpse of your face, taking in your dazed expression. You were frozen like a deer in headlights, unsure what to do next.

Your hands shake as you perch them on his shoulders, “S-Suguru-”

Seeing you like this riled him up. Your whole body was trembling with anticipation. Your face was absolutely priceless. His mind went straight to the thought of you under him, trembling the way you are now.

Would you look at him the same way you are now or would you hide away into the sheets? He wanted to know badly, but he would take his time with you. He wants you to be willing to give yourself to him fully.

“Don’t worry, baby. Remember, we’re taking it slow. Just tell me if you want to stop and we can stop.” He whispered before pulling you in for a deep kiss.

You froze at the sudden action but slowly relaxed into the embrace, your eyelids fluttering shut as he pulled you in painfully close. You were still getting used to making out. You were ashamed at how much of a novice you were, but Suguru didn't seem to mind.

With a quiet moan, Suguru broke the kiss for a split second to utter, “Open up.”

Breathing heavily, you apprehensively obeyed and spread your glossed lips for him, wanting to tread into dangerous territory with the sorcerer below you.

Pleased with this, Suguru carefully dipped his tongue in your mouth, messily wrestling it with your own before moving to nip at your sensitive neck. His strong arms cradled you fondly, keeping you from slipping away from his touch.

A chill ran up your spine from the contact his lips made with your flushed skin. You’d never experienced anything like this before. Your mind was blank, unable to think of anything other than Suguru. The way his hands and lips felt on you, you couldn’t help but let a pathetic whimper escape you. You were surprised that a sound like that could even come out of you.

“Fuck, you sound so pretty,” Suguru murmured against your skin, “Are you wet, baby? Fuck, I bet you are. It doesn’t take much, does it? All the things I want to do to you…are you gonna let me? Are you gonna let me fuck your little pussy one day, baby?”

“Hnn, yes…” You whimpered, a blush dusting against your cheeks as you shut your eyes tightly.

"Mm, I'll hold you to that, sweetheart. I'd make your little cunt feel so good. You'll never want to leave me."

His words were vulgar, but you felt invigorated by them, hoping he wouldn't break his promise. With all the excitement, you grind your hips down into his own, earning a hiss from the man below you. You snapped out of your stupor.

Pulling back quickly, thinking you’ve done something wrong, you panic. “I’m so sorry, Sugu. I-I didn't mean to-”

“Don’t be. It felt good. You feel good. It's cute how excited you are.” Suguru's hands creep from your waist down to your plush bottom, giving it a firm squeeze.

You gasp, a shiver running up your spine as he begins exploring areas no one's ever before.

Slowly, his hands follow the curve of your buttocks down to the edge of your velour shorts where he plays with the waistband. He stops his long fingers there, waiting for you to permit him to move forward.

"Can I touch you? Down there?"

Your ears go numb with heat. This whole encounter had you squirming. Suguru knew it. He had you right where he wanted you. His question lingered on your mind for a bit. Your heart was practically jumping out of your chest. Eagerly, you gave him an approving nod.

"Y-Yes. Be gentle."

"Always, baby."

Suguru’s fingers trod carefully, dipping below the fabric of your shorts to feel the cotton panties beneath. You weren't expecting to get this far with Geto today. If you'd had known, you would've put on something far sexier, but maybe you're overthinking it. Suguru peers up at you while he moves one hand to your front to stroke your clit. You visibly twitch at the feeling, your insides flipping at his tender touch. He smirks.

"Mm, I was right. You're soaked. I've barely touched you, hun." His tone was amused, "How does it feel?"

You quiver at his wandering fingers, "Sugu, it feels…different. It feels so, so good."

Once again, your hips passively buck against him, and he keeps moving his fingers in tandem. Fuck, you were doing something to him. His dick was becoming painfully swollen. It took everything within him not to ravish you on the sofa, but he would wait just for you. You were such a sweet, charming girl. He’d be lying if he didn’t admit your inexperience didn’t turn him on. While he wanted to taint this good girl image you presented to the world, this didn’t stop him from wanting to protect you from the world either.

To relieve himself, Suguru raises his hips from beneath you, pressing his obvious hard-on against the crotch of your damp shorts.

You sigh lovingly, your head lolling back at the feeling between your legs and your fingers digging into his broad shoulders, “Please, Sugu-”

Fuck, you were going to be the death of him.

"I want you to get off on your own, sweetheart." He removes his fingers, much to your disappointment, opting to hold your hips, "Do what you were doing earlier. Keep moving your hips. Slowly."

Unsure of yourself, your body anxiously rocks with the motion of Suguru’s grinding hips. You were feeling shy now that you were consciously dry-humping him under his watch. He ogled you like a predator would its prey, never breaking away from your body. You had his full attention.

Working with you, Suguru matches your pace with his own hips and moans. You could feel your pulsating clit rubbing up against the fabric of your shorts and Suguru's hardened member protruding from beneath his baggy sweatpants. He felt so…big. Your panties were growing uncomfortably sticky with each fleeting second. Part of you was scared of where this could lead, but another part was ready to risk everything.

“Shit, look at you. You’re so fucking sexy. I can’t wait to be inside of you.” He grumbled, speeding up his hips until you were bouncing on his dick, “You feel how hard I am? All because of you? Are you gonna take care of me, baby?”

“Yes, ‘wanna take care of you-” You mewled, your hands pressed to his firm chest, “You feel so big, Sugu.”

Suguru brushes his lips against your ear, speaking just below a whisper, “Don’t worry, baby. I’ll train your pretty pussy well until all you can take is my dick.”

You had gone silent, unsure how to respond as you felt your stomach wound into a tight knot. Unable to handle the building pressure between your legs, you throw your arms around Suguru’s neck and bury your face into his shoulder, panting against him. He could tell by your clumsy thrusts that you were getting close. He wanted to push you over the edge if you’d let him.

“You gonna cum for me, pretty girl? There’s gonna be more where that came from, y’know. Whenever and wherever you want it, baby. On my face, on my fingers, on my dick…wherever you want it.”

Your teeth sink deeper into the meat of his shoulder, making him wince at the sharp pain. You were so, so close. You were ready to risk everything and finally rip the bandage off. You wanted to give into your temptation and let your desire free flow from your body. But you couldn’t. Not yet.

Your hips slowed before coming to a complete halt, stopping your chances of reaching the ultimate high. He stops with you. The silence between the two of you was deafening. You couldn’t bring yourself to look Suguru in the eye.

What if he was upset with you for stopping? What if he thought you were a coward for not going all the way? You wanted to retreat, to hide away from him. You were distraught with yourself for not doing more.

“I-I’m sorry, Sugu. I’m sorry for stopping. I just-”

“No, no, no. Don’t be sorry, sweetheart.” He takes your face into his hands, lifting your head so he had your attention, “Remember what I said? We’ll take things at your pace. Besides, you did so well. You really got into it.”

He leans in and captures your kiss-swollen lips in his own. You melt into him, letting the butterflies in your stomach consume you. Suguru was more than happy to have been your first sexual encounter. He didn’t want to rush you into anything. He was pleased with how far you’d gotten with him today. He was excited to see how far you’d go with him. Obscene ideas of how he’d take you when the time comes cross his mind, making him shift in his seat erratically. He could only imagine how you’d look when his cock sinks into you for the very first time. He was getting hard again just thinking about it.

“Suguru?”

He snaps out of his train of thought.

“Yes?”

“C-Can you stay the night? I understand if you can’t. I just wanna hold you.”

Suguru’s heart jumps. The two of you were polar opposites. He wasn’t used to being this vulnerable with any girl he’s dated. Something about you made him let his guard down. He loved that about you. You took his mind off the idea of dealing with curses and the stresses of Jujustu High.

He could stay up and talk to you for hours about the simple things that he never took the time to think about like how his day went and if he’s eaten today. You were such an attentive and caring spirit. He adored everything about you. He never wanted to leave your side.

“Sure. I’ll stay with you tonight.” He strokes your hair, “Let’s get some rest, hm?”

NEXT CHAPTER. ->

#galorelemons #lemon #smut #suguru geto / reader #suguru geto x reader #geto suguru /reader #geto suguru x reader #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #suguru geto/reader #geto suguru/reader

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sparklz02 · 6 months

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Is He Gay? Part 2

Tags: Fluff (diabetes killer all throughout)

A/N: let’s pretend that I didn’t post in the past…idk how many months it has been oops-

Anyways college has been rough (if you know you know) and I also have wips that desperately need my attention ahaha-

part 1

“Why are we doing this again?”

Lyney chuckles softly as he leads you into a twirl, “Because you agreed to this.”

You pout as you allow him to continue with the lead. He led the dance with grace and expertise and following his steps wasn't that difficult. Right?

“Oh my, I believe that’s the 30th time you’ve stepped on me so far, correct~?” He asks slyly.

You roll your eyes at the exaggerated claim. “That was actually the 7th time.”

“Oh is that so?” He asks cooly before bringing you back close to him. “How can you be so sure that it was the 7th?”

The corner of your lips tug upwards slightly as you counter smugly, “How can you be sure it was the 30th?”

He chuckles softly and says, “Touché.”

As the slow dance continues, Lyney never removes his gaze away from your eyes which makes you flustered. You refuse to meet his adoring gaze and instead settle for staring daggers to his chest with a pout.

He notices this behavior and finds amusement. Several attempts he has done to make you look at him as he leads the dance. He found it funny how you can be so brave and upfront one moment and the next completely shy and flustered whenever he manages to make your heart skip a beat.

Lyney finally does a bold move. He shifts his left arm away from your right hand and brings it down below your waist. You finally meet his eyes after he does this and open your mouth to ask, “Lyney what are y—”

He cuts you off successfully by grabbing your right thigh, holding your waist tightly, and bringing you down for a dip. Afraid that he might drop you, you quickly hold onto his shoulders tightly.

Lyney chuckles at your reaction and speaks softly, “Do you really think I’ll let you fall?”

You smack his shoulders gently and reprimand him, “You could've given me a warning you know? What if you dropped me?”

He maintains the position for a bit longer and teases, “As if I’ll let that happen~. I’m hurt that you don’t trust me.”

“Oh I trust you Lyney.” You assure him. Moving your head towards the direction of the dancing meka you add on, “I just wasn’t expecting you to deter from what the dancing meka are doing.” You shift your gaze away from the meka and back to Lyney, “Surely you have a reason for this unnecessary move?”

He was taken aback by your question and looked away nervously. He quickly changed expressions with a beaming smile and asked, “You still never told me your reasoning as to why you believed I was gay.”

“Don’t you dare dodge my question Lyney.” You deadpanned.

He tilts his head to the side, maintaining his smile, “I have no idea what you are talking about~.”

Before you could refute his claim, he brings you back up slowly and resumes the slow dance. You sigh in defeat and only allow him to continue being the lead of this dance, opting to enjoy it rather than poking each other with questions.

After a few more minutes of slow dancing, Lyney does another bold move. He grabs your waist securely on both sides and sensing he is going to do something insane again, you hold onto his shoulders for dear life. He smiles softly at you before lifting you up in the air, twirling around before gently placing you down to the ground and resuming the dance again.

“You’re quite the romantic aren’t you~?” You ask in a playful tone.

Lyney responds with a smile, “Only for you, mon amour~.”

“Such a smooth talker indeed.”

The dance finally comes to an elegant end. Lyney offers his right arm for your left to cling onto. Scratch that, he didn’t even wait for you to accept; he clings his arm with yours and happily takes you on a stroll around the Opera Epicles.

“Sooo what's the schedule after the stroll?”

Lyney smiles brightly at your question. He declares dramatically, “The finale of this date will be at Hotel Debord of course!” He offers you a single rainbow rose with his free hand, “Don’t tell me you forgot~?”

You grabbed the rose and twirled it slowly between your fingers. “If anything I was worried you forgot.” You quip back.

“Oh dear, looks like I must repay you for the worry I’ve caused!” He says dramatically.

You raise a brow in confusion. You shake your head slowly followed with a soft sigh, “You know there’s no need? Besides this is all just friendly banter—”

He cuts you off swiftly by grabbing your chin gently, moving it to face him and tilt upwards slightly. A comfortable silence envelopes the both of you. The only present sound was the flow of water emitting from the fountain of lucine.

Lyney brings his face closer to yours very slowly, gauging your reaction closely before closing his eyes shut as he gets closer. You prepare yourself and also close your eyes shut as you wait expectantly…

Suddenly, Lyney’s hat begins to shake uncontrollably. You both open your eyes and Lyney begins to frantically hold down his hat but unfortunately…

“No, no, no! This wasn’t part of the—”

His hat flings into the air and three pigeons are freed. They flew into the air as the hat dropped with a light thud; the pigeons flew around the hat before landing beside it and looking at Lyney with curious gaze.

You watch as Lyney scratches his head in embarrassment. He walks toward the pigeons and hat and bends down to grab it. He dusts off any specs of dirt that was available and gestured for the pigeons to fly back inside.

Once the pigeons are back inside, he turns around to meet your figure and sheepishly stretches out his hat, “Tada~?”

The attempts at stifling your laughter were futile. You covered your lower face with your hands as you tried so hard to not laugh at poor Lyney for whatever flashy magic he had slotted for last.

“Did you—, did you really have another trick up your sleeve? Or in this case, hat?”

He covers his embarrassed expression with his hat and mutters something beneath his breath. Probably cursing the universe or something for the terrible luck.

As you continue to laugh at the funny predicament, Lyney walks over to you and once again grabs your chin gently, successfully silencing your laughter. You see it now, red tinted cheeks and an adorable pout. Without waiting for another teasing jab, Lyney swiftly seals your lips with his.

You did not expect him to kiss you after the first failed attempt but you kissed back nonetheless. His lips were soft and warm, pressing softly against yours with the utmost care in all of Teyvat.

Several seconds or maybe minutes? Who knows, the concept of time has been thrown out of the window but after some time, you both finally separate yourselves.

You touch your lips before turning away in embarrassment. You hear Lyney chuckle and he wraps his arm around your waist as he places his head on your shoulder. You refuse to meet his face as he tries so hard to make you look at him as he chuckles at your stubbornness.

He finally resorts to whispering something in your ear…

“Still believe that I’m gay~?”

#fem!reader #genshin impact #teyvat #fluff #romance #adventure #comedy #lyney x y/n #genshin impact lyney #lyney x reader #crack #genshin fanfic #fontaine

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andypantsx3 · 3 years

Note

Hii can I request a deleted scene for "if I could keep cool" that tells chapter 2 from Shouto's POV? I would absolutely love to c what was going through Shouto's head when he figured out that Y/N was just a cleaning lady and what was the moment that made him want to ask her out when he saw her at his house afterwards! Thank u!!

I accidentally got carried away, so this bad boy is 1.9k!! My apologies lol. I hope you like it!!

It wasn’t every day that someone told Shouto Todoroki to go fuck himself.

Particularly not quirkless civilians, and never those he’d rescued.

There was usually a lot more breathless gratitude, some bowing and scraping, and—mystifyingly—a lot of phone numbers, handkerchiefs, and very unsubtle attempts to get a hand or two around his biceps. Shouto didn’t really know what his biceps had to do with it, but he’d seen the same thing happen to Midoriya and Kirishima as well—and Bakugou once, before he’d nearly gnawed the woman’s hands off—so he assumed it was just another social cue he’d never understand.

As little as he cared for social cues, however, he was certain that there was usually a lot more thank you and a little less go fuck yourself involved in the whole rescuing process.

But then, he’d also never told off a civilian for having been kidnapped before.

A civilian who, he’d come to realize almost immediately afterward, hadn’t deserved it.

When he’d asked his mother her advice over the phone, she’d told him the best thing to do was to be honest and try to start fresh. “White flowers mean forgiveness—tulips new beginnings,” she’d advised him.

So Shouto had ducked into the nearest florist and brought back an apology in hopes that you would accept it.

He might have known, however, that you’d manage to turn even a simple apology completely on its head.

The clatter of cleaning supplies in his kitchen on Thursday afternoon told Shouto you’d let yourself in for your usual shift. He followed the sound, only for it to halt at his approach, the kitchen seemingly empty as he drew nearer.

He stopped short, fighting down a surprised swell of amusement when he realized you’d ducked down, hiding yourself behind his counters as if anyone, especially a pro hero, might be fooled by that.

“I know you’re there,” he said, keeping his tone even.

He heard a muttered swear word, and then you were rising slowly to your feet, wearing a sheepish expression, and clutching a bottle of windex like a weapon.

You looked just as you had the day of your rescue, though obviously a little less harrowed by a kidnapping. You were dressed casually in jeans and a simple shirt, no indicator that you were an employee of a cleaning service—Shouto felt at least a little justified in his mistake from last week.

You were clearly a college student, the backpack dumped at his kitchen island was evidence of that much, overflowing with textbooks and notes as it was, and you looked just slightly disheveled, like you might have come straight from class.

It was part of some nebulous, unassuming appeal to you, now that he had occasion to notice. He’d remembered your features twisted up in disdain, but they were open in surprise now, your eyes wide, fixed on him. His own eyes were drawn to the scrunch of your nose, a little curl of embarrassment that he suddenly found himself unable to tear his gaze away from.

“I, uh, thought you weren’t supposed to be here,” you admitted to him with a visible cringe.

Shouto almost laughed. He didn’t know much about you, but it was clear to him now that you weren’t anything like a crazy fan. You looked like you’d rather be anywhere but here at the moment. In fact, you looked rather like you might bolt any second.

A strange feeling shifted in his chest, and Shouto cut right to the chase.

“I owe you an apology,” he said simply.

You startled so violently that you dropped the windex. “W-what?”

Shouto sighed, admitting, “My manager schedules the cleaning days. I didn’t realize that you were—that is to say, I thought you were a fan who had broken in and managed to get kidnapped while you were at it.”

You gaped, another confused little expression that Shouto found himself fixating on with an intensity that surprised him. The weird feeling in his chest shifted, burning a little hotter.

He wondered absently what other expressions he could get you to make.

“Oh, I, um...nope. Not a fan,” you said, and the feeling grew more insistent.

He paused over the phrasing—not a fan.

It had never bothered him before, when someone was a bigger fan of a classmate than they were of him, or weren’t really a hero fan at all. Shouto honestly did not quite understand why hero work was so tied up in fandom in the first place, and only attended fan events because his manager’s temper was not a thing to be trifled with.

He wanted to be a hero who put people at ease, but ease was the last thing he felt with people clamoring all over him. Fighting villains was infinitely more preferable.

So why did your admission that you weren’t a fan of his niggle at his brain, like a particularly insistent parasite?

Who were you a fan of, if not him?

“...Well, glad that’s cleared up now. I’ll just, uh, go then,” you said, grabbing an armful of the cleaning supplies and shoving it back under the sink hastily.

Shouto had moved before he knew what he was doing, getting himself in between you and the door out to the hallway.

“Wait,” he said, feeling uncomfortable. “I want to make up for what I said to you. You...didn’t deserve that, especially not right after you’d been kidnapped by a villain.”

He watched you eye the space between his hip and the counter, like you were considering making a break for it. As he watched your face, he felt some strange hope that you might try it, a certainty he would catch you.

...Why did he want to catch you?

You waved a hand. “It’s fine. You saved me, we can call it even.”

Shouto’s mouth turned down minutely. He’d behaved badly, but surely you’d credit him better manners than that. “It’s my fault you were taken in the first place. I’d like to apologize properly.”

Your face did something weird, then, another distracting little curl of the nose. “You don’t actually have to go fuck yourself,” you blurted.

Shouto stared at you, caught off guard.

“Uh, I mean. You saved my life,” you babbled suddenly. “And yeah what you said to me was super rude, but what I said to you was also super rude. So, um, I’m sorry too. And I really would just like to call it even and forget about it because it’s super embarrassing for both of us and I could literally die thinking about it.”

You stopped suddenly, looking self-conscious like you’d realized you’d been rambling. Shouto almost wished you hadn’t.

“I hadn’t really planned on it,” he said quickly.

“Hadn’t planned on what?”

“Fucking myself,” he clarified. You choked on a shocked laugh, and he let a small smile tug at his mouth—there.

Finally.

Finally you looked a little more comfortable with him.

Shouto tried hard not to look too pleased with himself.

“Oh, well that’s good, then," you said. Then you puffed up a little, adding, "That’s probably a job for your actual secret lover.”

Good lord. “Not you, too.”

You threw him a smile, and Shouto’s heartbeat tripped over itself. “But I have evidence. I saw that homemade soup in your fridge once with the love note attached.”

It took him a moment to focus on what you were saying, but Shouto recalled the soup in question. It had been quite good, even if Bakugou had spent almost a half an hour ranting about what a weak ass little bitch he was for catching a cold. It had almost been worth it, the soup was that delicious. “Ah yes. That secret lover.”

“Cute pet name, too,” you said.

Shouto let out a low laugh, recalling the note. “You fucking fuck, was it?”

You laughed too, tension easing from your shoulders. Shouto’s eyes hungrily traced even that small movement.

A dawning sense of what was happening finally settled over him as he pronounced, “As it happens, however, I did already plan more of an apology.”

You looked up at him, your brow furrowing. “You planned...more of an apology?”

He gestured to a tall vase of white tulips on the kitchen counter. Your eyes went a little rounder as you observed them. You looked like you weren’t sure if they were for you, as if there were another previously kidnapped cleaning girl lurking about, who might be in need of an apology.

What a fascinating thing you were.

“I’ve been told that they mean forgiveness and new beginnings. I had hoped that we might...start over,” Shouto explained. He couldn’t help but feel self-conscious.

“I didn’t bring you any flowers,” you blurted.

He covered up a surprised laugh with a cough, the feeling in his stomach burning hotter. “I hadn’t expected them.”

He watched you turn back thoughtfully to the bouquet, certain now.

Over the phone, his mother had also said white flowers carried connotations of honor and purity. Two notions, Shouto realized with a growing sense of curiosity, that may be entirely inapplicable to his feelings about you.

He didn’t know much about you, but he knew for certain that he’d like to know more. And as he watched you reach out to pluck at a petal, wearing a shy little smile, he thought that yes, honor and purity had very little to do with his intentions at the moment.

You thanked him for the flowers, and Shouto made it clear to you that he hadn’t meant what he’d said about you being unwelcome here. He wanted—no, desired your return now.

“That’s good to hear, thank you,” you said. Then your smile went a little mischievous. “As you can see, though, it didn’t really deter me.”

Shouto let himself smirk. “If I hadn’t seen the cleaning supplies already on the counter, I would be concerned that you’d come back for revenge.”

“There’s still time,” you joked. “Maybe I was going to play the long game and fill all the bottles with Sprite.”

The mulish statement surprised him into another laugh. “I hope the flowers are enough of a deterrent.”

You looked over the flowers again, then smiled up at him. His eyes caught on your mouth.

“The bribe has been accepted. Your countertops are safe from me.” You paused, then added, “For now.”

The hot feeling was everywhere now, simmering just underneath Shouto’s skin. He left himself lean towards you, relishing in the way your breath caught in a tiny hitch. “Be warned that I will do whatever it takes to ensure the safety of my countertops.”

You complained that he hardly used them, but complied nevertheless. Then you bullied him out of the kitchen, that tiny little scrunch back on your nose.

Shouto let you have your way, making his way over to the couch and settling on it with a book he had absolutely no intention of reading. Instead, as he watched you clean, he considered things.

He had always been straightforward about his goals. Once he’d chosen heroism as his dream, he’d let nothing stand in his way, working diligently all through UA, shooting nonstop through the ranks before breaking into the top five this year, one of the youngest to have ever done it.

He was deliberate about what he wanted. He worked hard for what he wanted.

And as he wandered back towards the kitchen, questions ready in his mouth, he knew what else he wanted.

He wanted to know more about you.

He wanted to spend more time with you.

He wanted…

Well, he rather thought he wanted you.

I was going to edit this but every time I went to touch it, I made it worse. I hope you liked it anyway!

Garbage Fest masterlist & schedule.

#garbage fest 2021 #garbage fest questions

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jawllines · 4 years

Text

He’s too far in thought, he realizes, when Ellie comes and waves her hand in his face, “Are you okay?” She asks quietly, eyes wide as saucers, “Maisey said you look like her aunt when she zones out and she’s depressed.”

Harry huffs out a laugh, one that expels the air from his lungs as he nods, “Yes, Ellie, I’m okay. What’ve you painted, hm? Can I see it?” She grins, her cheeks pudgy and rosy as she runs back to her seat and picks up the canvas she’d been working on. It’s a sun and a moon, both with rather cryptic looking faces on them, and Harry had never so perfectly had to manage his poker face, “Whoa!”

“I think that might just be the coolest thing I’ve seen in my entire life,” Y/N appears behind him, Oliver more or less clung to her pant leg as she’s reaching over his body to set a box of juice down on the oak table for him to disperse among his campers, while holding her hand out for the canvas, “May I see it, Miss. Ellie Bellie?”

Ellie smiles shyly at her — she always got so shy around Y/N, but never in the way where you would think she’s nervous. No, she gets shy the way you might when meeting an older sibling’s friend and wanting to desperately try to impress them. Harry knew as much, considering he would attempt to perform for each and every single one of his sister’s friends growing up (and each time, Gemma would make a few colorful threats to deter him). No matter how quiet Ellie gets with her though, she’s always the first to ask if they got to play with Y/N that day.

Harry still doesn’t like the other camp counsellors but Y/N’s an exception

part 1

(tw: mentions of suicide)

ii.

Psst.

Harry was typically a heavy sleeper. When he was younger his mum used to joke that he could sleep through an earthquake-induced tsunami if someone allowed him to. An alarm would have to be pretty loud to stir him from his slumber, and unless he was on edge, a mere call of his name would not drag him from whatever dreamland he’d submerged himself within.

Psst.

There had only been two things before that could notably wake him. His mum, who was the sweetest person on this planet yet managed to be the cruelest being on earth when he needed to be up for something, and his childhood cat Molly, who sits on his chest and makes it hard to breathe (which, from what he’s learned, encourages his brain to panic and wake him up so he could fix it). Other than that, he was blissfully unaware of the world for hours at a time.

Yet, there was something stirring him now. A low sound that puzzles him as he toes the line between consciousness and his dreams, aware of the blankets that cover him but still dancing on a stage with his limbs thrashing wildly and people shouting his name.

Psst.

Was it an insect? Maybe he was performing outside then -- a crowd of thousands in an outdoor field to see him for... .what was it that he did again?

Psst.

Oh, he’s dreaming, isn’t he? How deep in his dream is he? He thinks this is the first time he’s ever been asleep and realized that he was asleep...he could probably conjure something up, right? Manifest something that he’s always wanted, try his hand in lucid dreaming. If only he could focus apart from the insect zipping past his eardrum.

Harry, please wake up, we’re being haunted -- or murdered, or something.

Harry’s eyelids flutter like swallowtail wings, his gaze blurry and unfocused as he comes to. He’s confused, piecing together the puzzle that always presents to him when he’s just woken up and has to readjust to the world around him. The whole process of it took nothing more than 10 seconds, maybe 15 if he’s really out of it, but that’s only because thoughts run through his mind at a hundred miles a minute.

What time is it? The room around him his pitch-black apart from a very small amount of light illuminating beneath the curtain covering the window he’s beneath, so it couldn’t be morning. Potentially early morning, but he would say that would be 3-4 AM. Did he need to be up? He didn’t think so, actually, because there’s no alarm buzzing him awake and as far as he’s concerned, he hadn’t signed up for any early morning shifts at the bookstore as of late. The last time he went in at 5 to open up shop while the owner was on vacation and Harry was more or less ran down by a mother raccoon when he’d stumbled upon her babies after getting out of his car -- Harry had been reluctant to go before sunrise since.

Where was he? He knows he’s not at home, that’s for sure. The sheets smell like him but not him enough to be at his own place -- and the bedding isn’t as soft either. He knows he hasn’t passed out at someone’s house because he only does that if the person is close enough to him that he would recognize their scent, or if he was too drunk to get home, but that was usually accompanied by a wicked headache and a sour stomach. No, where he was smelled like wood and generic fabric softener. There was an air conditioning unit that rattled and rumbled from where it was fixed to the wall, he felt a tension in his neck that he only experienced at one place and, yeah, he was at the camp.

He was at camp, in a cabin with Y/N, who slept with the lamp on because she hated the dark, was the owner of the voice that had woken him up in the inky black room.

“Hm?” He hums, brows pinching as he lets his eyes shut again, only to open them a few seconds later, “Wha’s wrong? Why is your light off?”

“I don’t know,” her voice is still just a bit over a whisper, and Harry wonders why she doesn’t just speak up now that she knows he’s awake, “I woke up a little bit ago and thought maybe there was a storm that knocked the power out or something, but I checked the weather and it’s been clear skies all night. I think our power line was cut which is like -- straight out of a horror film.”

Harry sighs, a bit of him regretting the number of horror movies they’ve been watching once they finally got to watch Midsommar (in three days, they’d sifted through six different movies -- two movies a night and each one managed to horrify Y/N more than the last). He begins to press himself from the bed, his eyes adjusting to the dark around them, making out slivers of shadows, “I’ll go check --”

“No! Are you crazy?” He hears her bed frameshift with her as she moves, “That’s just asking for a maniac to come for us. Plus I keep hearing noises and I can’t tell if it’s like...like little raccoon feet or a one-armed hook man.”

“Alright, then go back to bed.” Harry begins to lower back down to the mattress but a sharp whine leaves her throat, “It’s dark when you close your eyes.” It’s silent for a moment, but then Harry feels a bead of guilt dribble through his body. He sighs, reaching up and wiping his hand down his face, “What do you want to do, yeah? If you don’t want me to go out there. Do you want to stay up?”

She’s quiet, Harry is straying further and further from the state he would’ve been in to fall right back into his dreams but he tries to wipe away the irritation the best he could. What he reminds himself is that four days prior, Y/N had trekked out in the forest toward a lake despite her unremitting distaste for the woods in the dark and slapped Jack clean across the face because he was being rude to him. And he was going to ignore her? Fall asleep while she’s frightened? Harry could be a prick, but he wasn’t the bleeding antichrist.

“I...um, well, I don’t want us to stay up, no, we’ll be so cranky tomorrow,” she shuffles in the sheets, “I dunno’, I’m sorry, you can go back to bed, I’ll be okay.”

Harry isn’t sure what to do but in his half-awake state, the next few words that leave his mouth seem like just the temporary fix necessary for them to get the last few hours of sleep that they can, “Do you want me to read you a story or summat?”

She giggles quietly, “No, it’s okay, really, go back to sleep, okay?”

What Harry could have said was I can’t now, knowing that you’re awake and scared, but instead he utters a simple, “No.” He sits back up, patting blindly for his phone in his sheets, slipping his fingers around it, and tapping it awake. His screen blinds him with its brightness, so he lowers it before finding the flashlight. It lights up the floor at his feet and subsequently at its edges, he can make out Y/N’s shadowy figure. She’s sat up, curled in her blanket, wrapped around her head, and giving her a pseudo-nun appearance. She waves at him lamely and he struggles not to roll his eyes, “Maniac be damned, I’m gonna go out there and look for the breaker. Maybe the arseholes broke their vow of integrity.”

He wouldn’t be surprised if Jack or one of the others came around and switched the breaker off, just to be inconvenient for the morning. They’d left them alone for four days sure, but Harry figures that it’s not so much four days of silent reflection and questioning why they feel the need to be such pricks to him, and more so four days for their anger to fester and brew. If not for the fact that Y/N slapped him then made him find laundry detergent and commanded the others to go get his clothes, then for the way she acted like nothing had happened the day prior. Jack’s cheek was still a stingy, red splotch, Oliver and Brandon were straight-faced looking irritated, and Y/N -- well, Y/N had never been more content with her day. She was having a blast with her kids playing bean bag toss, they did their little dance when one of them got it in the hole of the board, and when they were all getting drinks, Y/N offered to grab Harry his. He watched as she went to the cooler around the same time Jack did, they both reached for the last Dr. Pepper, and Y/N plucked it up and handed it to him before grabbing both her, Harry, and Mitch’s lemonades.

He thinks it’s the sincerity that she holds, that would aggravate him had he been in their shoes. Y/N was completely unbothered by the night prior and Harry could tell, just like when he doesn’t reciprocate their maleficent tendencies towards them -- it was digging under their skin.

(She makes Harry laugh when she comes back with their lemonades, handing him one and uttering, “I let the prick have the last Dr. Pepper, and I’m regretting it.”)

And while he’s hoping that they haven’t turned their target to her out of spite, he wouldn’t change what had happened for the world. It had made the two of them that much closer, and in the following day’s Harry had poked and prodded Y/N’s brain a bit more. Especially after what he’d seen on her page, he was intrigued by her. Intrigued by how she saw life, why she came at things the way she did, what built her up to be the person that she was in these very moments that he’s speaking to her. Harry hasn’t asked her about her old college roommate and he doesn’t plan on it either -- he doesn’t feel like he could, or he should.

Harry has lost people before and he thinks the worst thing someone could do was to bring it up unprompted. He knows that it’s probably always on her mind but even then, maybe it isn’t at the forefront of it. Maybe she’s just trying to have a good few weeks, separate herself from the real world for a while, and he would be cruel to dig up something that she may not be ready to just up and chat about. No matter how curious he is about the whole situation, and no matter how much he wonders if she treats him the way she does because of what happened. If the topic was brought up by her he would openly and freely discuss it as long as she was comfortable, but he wouldn’t give her the third degree.

So he minds his business and focuses on trying to get to know her better instead.

He can’t say that it doesn’t change how he treats her a bit though. Harry is much. . .gentler, than he had been. He tries to be less critical of her unwavering optimism and seeks to understand where it was coming from instead. If he’s in the right mood he’ll attempt to match it, which makes for a good day with their groups, who he finds -- despite the small age gap -- have begun to kindle very close friendships. Mrs. Graham had even commented on it one of the days after they had a riveting game of balloon tennis.

“You two make a good team -- putting all these other counselors to shame. And to think you were pouty about having to share a cabin.”

It was true, they did make a good team. Harry thinks that them sparking a friendship had made the whole experience much more enjoyable for everyone involved.

All of this together gives insight into why Harry is willing to stuff on his shoes at 3 AM and go out in the dark, muggy night to check and potentially fix a breaker. And no matter the number of times he assures her she does not have to come out there with him, she keeps hold of her ‘no man left behind’ mentality, pulls on a pair of flip flops, and pads out after him.

Had they been in any other cabin, finding the breaker would have been much easier. They’re typically on the backside in the upper right corner, surrounded by a little cage with a lock similar to that of an animal crate. The struggle with their cabin was that the backside was basically in the woods, so he had to dodge low hanging branches and tangles of ivy to get even remotely near it. He hands Y/N his phone and she shines the light over the metal box, her hand steady despite how she looks back and forth and all around them like she’s making sure there are no red eyes glowing at them. The world around them is silent apart from the chirp and groan of insects, the scutter of an animal somewhere in the far distance makes Y/N huff a weary sigh but otherwise, nothing comes out to attack them. Harry restarts the breaker, they go back inside, and the lamp on its dimmest setting is switched on how they had fallen asleep with it.

They both breath out in relief, Y/N dives back into her bed and Harry flops down atop of his covers, giving himself a second to feel the cool air from the conditioner fan over him.

“Theoretically,” Y/N begins as Harry lets his eyes fall shut, “If there were some creature in the forest --”

“There’s no creature in the forest.”

“I know, but theoretically --” She continues again, but Harry is quick to cut her off once more.

“I wouldn’t let anything happen to you,” he tells her, “Go to sleep.”

Once more, Y/N falls silent, but a quiet, “Thank you,” was the only thing to leave her mouth.

. . .

A summer thunderstorm wasn’t abnormal during camp, which is why the recreation center and the art building are beneficial. It keeps everyone preoccupied and entertained with well-insulated walls to mute whatever carnage is taking place outside, which makes for less frightened children and an easier time for everyone involved. Harry liked being active and running around with his campers, sure, but he also really enjoyed a nice, calm, relaxing day trying his hand at DIY projects and abstract paintings. Plus it gave him the chance to wear the camp hoodie that he had spent a pretty penny purchasing, which was made of the softest fabric he’s ever felt and was far more comfortable than the t-shirts that they normally wear.

Y/N had also bought the hoodie, Harry saw as she stepped out in it after her shower this morning, and she seemed to be drowning in it but in the best way. The fabric pools off of her, but she looks cozy, and well-rested despite them waking in the middle of the night. He thinks she looks pretty cute, but he kept the thought to himself and instead asked her if she wanted his extra granola bar for breakfast.

They alternate throughout the day, between the rec center and art building, and on the schedule, it appears that most the day he would be with Y/N’s group (which he prefers) and a few times he’s even with Mitch as well, which is nice. Mitch doesn’t grow to like many people, but he liked Y/N well enough -- he thought she was oddly entertaining (or so he’s told, Harry) and good for a chat. The only times he and Y/N were not with each other were when the activities were age-specific, but even then, it wasn’t like anyone was in a different room. They were all just at different stations within a big room in the art building and the recreation center was more or less free for all.

Harry wondered when he started basing whether or not a day was going to be good by whether or not he and Y/N were able to be around each other, but he decided not to think about it too much. Lately, he’d been a little more on edge with whether they were together, simply because of Jack and the others. He didn’t want them fucking with her, and even though she’d proven that she was more than capable of taking care of herself, he still worried, especially knowing he would be the cause of it.

Y/N doesn’t seem the least bit distressed about it, or as far as she was letting on -- she’d not expressed any thoughts or concerns that they would be spiteful towards her. Hell, the only thing she had told him the night after was that she hoped she didn’t make things worse for him. For him. Why was she so willing to defend him? What did she get out of being so kind?

“I especially like how multidimensional it is — purple and pink stars? Beautiful, I love those two colors together,” she places her hand on Oliver’s head, and it’s then that Harry notices he’s holding something, “Harry, Oliver here wanted you to see the flower he drew because I told him how much you like lilies.” As bashful as he always is, he holds out the paper toward Harry. It was cute — a singular, yellow lily and he could tell that Y/N helped him draw it, but the paint and crayon marks all over the page suggested she left the color duties up to him.

“Oh my goodness,” Harry gasps, looking at the painting, flipping it to Oliver and pointing at it, “You did this?” Oliver nodded excitedly, “It’s gorgeous.”

“I think our groups are the best artists,” Y/N motions to her table, only a meter away from them all working diligently on their projects, “Charlotte is over there doing an artistic interpretation of the both of us, we are not allowed to see it until she’s finished. Mikey is doing his own rendition of Disney world, I see Maisey is creating a beautiful tree -- Noah is that a cowboy you’re drawing?”

Noah barely looks up from his paper, very carefully dragging the tip of the marker in a circle, “Yes.”

“And Noah is drawing a cowboy! Modern-day Van Gogh’s, all of them.” Harry smiles as Y/N drags a stool up beside him, positioning it in a way so that she could watch both her kids and speak with him, “I heard they’re having one of them party things tonight, I didn’t know if you wanted to go or not.”

“Hm, I dunno,” his brows knit together as he lightly scratches a mosquito bite on the inside of his forearm, “Do you feel comfortable with going after what happened last time?”

She suckles her bottom lip into her mouth, gnawing on it as she nods her head, “Mhm,” she looks around them for a second, making sure that none of the kids are paying attention to them before she lowers her voice, “Mitch said that you used to go to all of them last year, and would like -- have a good time. I hope that I’m not ruining that for you.”

“How would you be ruining it for me?” It’s true, Harry hasn’t gone to any of the parties that they’ve been doing since the very first one he’d escorted Y/N away from. Not for any other reason apart from he was just spending time and hanging out with Y/N, or he’d be too knackered to even think about leaving the nice, cool setting of their cabin to be in the muggy heat with drunk college students. He had much more fun not attending, and other nights Mitch would come around and chill with them too. . .he had all he needed then. Didn’t need the booze for a good time.

“I don’t know, I just didn’t know if you weren’t going ‘cos of what happened the first time and you felt like you couldn’t leave me out or. . or something like that.”

Harry shook his head, “No,” he answers, “We can go tonight if you would like, but it’s unnecessary for me. I’m good either way.”

Although Y/N appears unconvinced, they have little time to go further into the topic because Charlotte is running up to them, a big grin on her face, “I finished!”

“Well give it here,” Harry holds out his hand, waving her over, “Let’s see it.”

On the paper are stick figure versions of he and Y/N, with big grins and 12 other little stick figures surrounding them. Above Harry’s stick figure, there’s a pink arrow and a very five-year-old esque writing of HUSBAD (Harry presumes it’s supposed to be husband), and above Y/N’s in the same fashion, she’s written WYFE. It’s then Harry realizes that Y/N’s figure has a veil on and Harry’s has a bowtie, “This is for you twos wedding! So thens when they take pictures you can has this one.” Charlotte chirps brightly and Y/N and Harry both cast each other a disbelieving glance.

“Whoaaaaa,” Y/N is the first to break their silence, a smile pulling at her lips, “This is really good Charlotte! I didn’t know Harry and I were getting married, though.”

Charlotte nods quickly, still grinning at them, her bottom canine missing as she gleams, “Me n’ Mikey thinks you should!”

Y/N turns toward him, nodding toward Charlotte, “Well, the god’s have spoken. Where’s my ring?”

Harry coughs on a laugh as he hands the paper back to Charlotte, “This is really good, Bug. Why don’t you and Oliver go help Josie finish her coloring pages, hm?”

The both of them head the short way back to their table, hiking up on the small stools and Harry makes sure they’re all settled before he turned back to face Y/N, who was biting down on a grin, “Don’t start --” he began but she’s already started, shaking her head.

“Listen, it’s okay to be in love with me, but you should really try to tone it down. . .the kids are starting to notice.”

Harry scoffs before he proceeds to tease her,, “How d’ya know they aren’t basing it off your actions, huh? Giving me love eyes every couple minutes like nobody would see.”

Y/N mocks offense to his words and he tries to keep up the facade, but his sheer delight for getting in a teasing match with her overcomes him and he can’t help his smile. Harry loved teasing people -- loved making them flustered or reducing them to a bashful mess by his words alone. Y/N, however, was much less into flustered gazes and sheepish tendencies, and more so ready and willing to give him it right back. He’d met his match -- if he teases her she’s teasing right back (if she hadn’t started it in the first place), and both of them found mutual pleasure in it.

“You can’t use my love eyes against me, I can’t help but give them to everyone I’ve ever met” she tells him, feigning sincerity before an additional anecdote, “You know my college roomie always told me they’d get me in trouble one day, and she had never been more right, ‘cos they did once at a party. She wouldn’t shut up about it weeks after it’d happened.”

Harry feels his body tense just a bit at the mention of her, and he tries not to let it show on his face that he’s surprised how she so casually brought her up, “Yeah? What’s the story?”

“The little ears around us suggest that I tell that story later,” she checks her watch, before looking back up at him, “Oi, we’ve got five minutes until we’re in the rec center. You get to pick what we all do since I picked the last rotation.”

. . .

This time when they’re on their way to the party, Harry lets Y/N walk in front of him as he directs where she was to go. Opposed to when they had first made this journey together, Harry feels far more protective of her than he originally had. Plus, he’d seen how clumsy she could be and after the earlier storm, the softened dirt and broken off tree branches from the billows of wind made for a much harder terrain to navigate, so he felt more comfortable being able to reach out to catch her if need be.

Harry was wary of going to the party tonight but Y/N had been borderline insistent that they attend, “Mitch says he misses you at these things and Niall told me he could only stand Shaun theorizing about the universe and us not being the only life form so many times before he snaps. I say we’re needed.” Harry never minded free drinks, and a potential fuck at the end of the night, so he wasn’t all too worried that he would be having a good time. He just hoped that the others would allow Y/N to have a good time. And he knows he’s being paranoid, because they hadn’t necessarily targeted her for anything prior to or after the lake incident, but he still worries. . .he can’t help but worry.

But he wouldn’t hover. Once they got to the clearing, he helped Y/N get her drink and she sought off after Niall while Harry went over to Mitch, the two of them promising to meet up again in a little bit. He didn’t hover, but he did watch semi-closely, eyeballing Jack and the others, making sure they were staying away from her. Apart from a few less than friendly looks thrown in his direction though, they seemed to be keeping to themselves which Harry was ultimately very thankful for.

The night goes by as these nights usually do -- he and Mitch drank, had a laugh, gabbed about music for a while, some of the drama going on around the camp (Y/N had an ear for gossip and eyes that could make anyone tell her anything, so Harry’s had a door to all the melodramatic events happening throughout the counsellors). It was a bit weird when Stacey -- one of the counsellors he’d only ever briefly spoken to -- had come up to them, and a little weirder when she borderline propositioned him for something more than a chat in the woods, but Harry politely declined. Told her that he was pretty exhausted after a long day and was probably just going to have a few more beers and retreat back to his cabin.

He passes it off as a fluke. . .maybe he’d been making eyes at her and hadn’t realized it. But then Mia makes her way toward him and Mitch, and this time Harry’s brows furrow when she starts chatting him up. This one he entertains for a little while before eventually ebbs away from the conversation, because he and Mia had a fling once, but Jack convinced her and the free world that he was a prick, so she called it off. He didn’t necessarily understand why she would want to start that up again, or what “little birdie” put a bug in her ear that he still thought about her (as she said one did).

It was after Cara had finally left after coming around to chat with him, that Mitch began to chuckle lowly at his side, shaking his head slowly, “Jesus Christ,” he tilts the nozzle of his beer against his mouth, and when he pulls it away, his lips are shiny from the liquid, “She really is working hard.”

“Huh?” Harry feels desperate for an explanation as to why three times he felt as if he were being propositioned for a romp in the woods when he was not actively pursuing one. He had a feeling that it was the others trying to get him alone so they could enact some sort of piss poor attempt at fucking with him without Y/N spotting and tearing them a new one over it, “Are you in on something that I’m not, ‘cos m’feeling pretty fucking lost here, man.”

Mitch nods his head, and Harry follows his gaze to Y/N, who is speaking with her brows dipped inward to Cara, “A few days ago she’d been asking me and Niall what you were like last year, and we told her just the same, jus’ a lot more ‘fornication’ is how Niall put it,” he smirks softly with a shake of his head, “And she seemed all concerned, asking us if we thought she was holdin’ you back or something. Personally, I told her if you wanted to sleep with someone you would have whether she were around or not but she didn’t seem very convinced.” A snort leaves him as he motions towards her again, still as amused by her ideas as he had been when she’d first explained them, “Guess she’s trying to set you up.”

“Oh fuck me,” he exhales so forcefully, it whips the delicate plumes of smoke from Mitch’s cigarette into a misshapen huff. Why was she so concerned with it? Harry hadn’t once expressed any avidity in needing to spend time with someone in that manner -- he could go without sex for three weeks. . .did she not think he could? Was he exuding nymphomaniac tendencies? He surely hadn’t thought he was -- a few quick handies in his nightly showers typically tide him over just nicely for a bit of a dry spell. And what was her business that he hadn’t slept with anyone since they’ve gotten here? Why was she speaking about him with the others what she could as easily ask him? What she had as easily spoken with him about, albeit leaving out a pretty large portion of it.

For the first time since they had begun getting along, Harry was irritated with her. He’d never been one to brood, however. He liked things to be up front and honest as soon as possible if the situation allowed for it, to stop his mind from taking an idea and running away with it. He held little interest in playing mind games with people.

Which is why he hands Mitch the rest of his drink, fixes his heavy cardigan around his shoulder, and sets off in her direction. He dodges many bodies, avoids an empty cup on the ground beside what he could only presume to be a sticky puddle of liquor, and narrowly makes it past a playful fight between Oliver and Brandon who were wrestling one another. Y/N doesn’t realize that he’s making his way to her until he’s just a meter or so away, when Niall catches a glimpse of him and attempts to be inconspicuous in the way he pinches her side. She gasps from the way his nails had accidentally bit into her skin, flinching from the pain before her gaze had settled on him, “Harry!” She cheered but his face doesn’t soften as it usually does when they see one another, which alerts her to his disapproving gaze, “Oh, what’s wrong?”

“Can I speak with you for a moment?” He inquires, motioning out past the trees. Enough trust had been built into the foundation of their friendship for her to not question him. Instead, she passes her drink off to Niall and follows Harry into the woods -- he wouldn’t go so far that they wouldn’t be able to see one another from beneath the curtain of leaves shielding away the moon, but just far enough that nobody would be eavesdropping. In any other situation he might wait to bring this up until they’ve made it back to the cabin, but Y/N’s intentions had been clear that the person he was taking home tonight wasn't supposed to be her.

She pauses with him at a particularly thick tree trunk, and places the arch of her foot against one of the jagged roots that carved its way through the earth, “Is everything okay?” She balances herself with a hand against the bark, wincing when it jabs into her skin, “I was keeping an eye on Jack n’ them I thought so they wouldn’t try messing with you, but did they say something?”

That does melt him some, Harry was strong enough to admit that. Just as he had been concerned with her wellbeing, she was just as much concerned for him, and he appreciated that. And while it does threaten to soften him down to his core, he still had questions that needed answers, and he wouldn’t let up until she responded to them.

“Why are you sending girls over to me?”

Her brows raise, but less in shock of learning the information, and more so with wonder how he’d found out she was the one sending them their way. The surprise dissolves into embarrassment quickly, her shoulders slump and she casts her gaze deeper into the forest, “Dammit,” she doesn’t hide her disappointment from being caught, or even feign confusion to try and pass the blame off coincidence that every girl who had come up to him had subsequently talked to her prior, “I was hoping you would be less observant.”

“Y/N.” He says her name sternly, and her shoulders drop dramatically further as she steps down from the tree root.

“Listen, in my defense I just felt awful!” She admits, waving her hand toward the party, “Jack had tried telling me a few times about how you just fuck people and leave them, blah, blah, blah, right? And I wasn’t paying any attention to him, but it made me curious to what you were like last year, so I asked Mitch and Niall. You came to these things all the time and you had fun -- then I come ‘round, ruin the first one, and you’ve been hanging out with me since. I just. . . I wanted you to be able to have fun and not feel like you have to worry about me, y’know?”

A ‘v’ sits between Harry’s brows, “What is it your business what I’m doing, hm?” He fixes his cardigan from where it slumps off his shoulder once more, “If I wanted to sleep with someone then I would. Do you think I can’t set something up myself?”

“No, of course not, I just thought --”

“You didn’t think,” he cuts her off, and Y/N’s arms curl over herself instinctively when a cold brush of air rolls past them, “You should have just came to speak with me about it, I could have told you that I didn’t need anything like that, and that would have been that. Don’t go behind my back trying to orchestrate things for me, okay?”

He wanted to say it -- he needed to say it, because Harry wasn’t some sex driven lecher that everyone at this camp tried to make him out as. He thought Y/N had known that too, but he guesses he was wrong.

But he wasn’t expecting her to look so fucking defeated by it. A guilt weighs on his being when she nods, tipping her head down, “Okay, yes, I won’t anymore. I’m sorry,” her fingers dig into her bicep, as she breathes out, a shiver rattles through her that she tries to be inconspicuous about it, “I wasn’t thinking -- I wasn’t thinking how it would look.”

Harry sighs, peeling his cardigan off of his arms, revealing his bare arms to the chill but he ignores it in favor of holding it out to her, “Put this on,” he wiggles it some, “I know you’re cold.” She takes it from him carefully, looking up, brows raised slightly as if to ask if he’s sure, “Go ahead.”

“I really am sorry,” she tells him, pulling the patchwork cardigan over her arms, it hangs off of her, and Harry swallowed thickly. She’s. . .cute -- Harry had always been able to admit that. Her face is sweet, her eyes exudes nothing but understanding, kindness, and such a soft glow that Harry couldn’t quite explain. He finds that those eyes give him great comfort and warmth, because now when they’re tinged with the contrition she feels and Harry feels cold.

“I know,” he murmurs, he holds out his hand for her, and very carefully Y/N slides her hand into his own, “Do you want to go get pudding?”

A small smile pulls at her mouth.

“Yes please.”

. . .

Niall lets them use the key after a few dozen promises to be careful with it. They trek the familiar way, mindless chatter fills the air around them until they get to the cafeteria and their voices quiet in case the security guard is looping around. Y/N reveals her hand from the shield of his cardigan sleeve, Harry watches as the fabric pools around her arm, toward her elbow, and produces the key (that Niall only trusted her with). They creeped into the kitchen, pulled open the large refrigerator door, and the pudding sat in rows on the bottom shelf.

They both choose vanilla this time, having tired themselves out on chocolate, and they sit at the spot they had last time, across from one another. He can tell, despite his peace offering, that Y/N still feels upset about what had happened earlier and it sullies his mood. She’s still chatting but not with as much heart as she typically has, and Harry couldn’t stand it. He just wanted her to giggle as she teases him again, without feeling like she’s tip toeing on eggshells around him.

“Hey,” Harry starts, dragging her attention towards him where it had previously been scooping the sides of her pudding container, “Would you stop being so. . .tense? Is this about earlier?”

Y/N clears her throat, opening her mouth and furrowing her brows like she was about to deny it, but she relents, shoulders dropping, “A little. I still feel bad about everything,” she shakes her head, dragging the edge of the spoon around the plastic, “About everything, not just that you aren’t able to sleep with someone. I came in late, ruined you having your own cabin, woke you up with my alarm, made you get out of bed ‘cos I’m afraid of the dark and -- I just feel like this massive burden. I feel like this massive burden on everyone.”

Harry is alarmed by this sudden confession, but his body ultimately rejects the notion that she could ever be a bother, “How are you a burden to anyone?” He inquires, shaking his head, “You’re such a ball of light that just swarms through rooms. The thought of you being a burden is akin to the thought of Satan being a saint. . .it doesn’t sound right.” Harry sets his pudding down, though he keeps his hands fixed around the cup and the spoon, “Don’t know what gave you that idea, but the last thing you are is a burden. Who gave you the impression that you were?”

She wipes tiredly at her eyes, “Nobody in particular, it's just,” she shakes her head, “Even now, I wanted to make your night good, and then I fucked it, and now you’re here with me instead of having fun at the party. I just feel silly.”

“Don’t.” Harry tells her simply, “I like to spend time with you, and I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want to be.”

The tension in her shoulder releases, “Thank you for this, I’m sorry m’just saying the same thing again and again. Back at home it feels like everyone is just. . .so hyper aware of me -- they’re always being so careful, or overly concerned and I always wonder if it feels like a heavy weight on their shoulders, like I’m forcing a piggyback ride.” She shrugs her own, reaching for the second pudding cup, “It’s just shit, so I overthink everything all the time to try not to be a burden, but I keep making it worse. Or at least that’s how it feels.”

Harry tilts his head to the side some. He’s not usually someone who pries and probes people for information, but he’s never been more curious about Y/N than in this moment. When he thinks of Y/N at home, he thinks of sunshine pooling in the hallways through casement windows, her spinning around the kitchen in a dainty floral dress that billows around her as she stirs homemade jam. Harry imagines her amongst woodland creatures who coax her to the forest with songs, escorting her there as she gambols freely.

He could not imagine her going home and feeling like a burden. Hell, he would have thought that she considered everyone else a burden -- that maybe it was draining to be the absolute light of everyone’s life. Yet here she stood, seeming worn, and broken.

“If you don’t mind me asking, why is everyone hyper aware of you at home? You don’t have to answer if you’re uncomfortable.” He says it delicately -- he means it. . .if she didn’t want to share this with him, then he wouldn’t force her, but he wants to open up the possibility. He wants her to know that he’s an open ear if she so chose to utilize him.

“Um,” her gaze does shift downward -- she suddenly appears so small, “Are you sure?”

Harry nods.

“I just -- it's not that I don’t like bringing it up, I just don’t want you to treat me any differently than you would knowing it, yeah? I think that’s what I hate the most.” She notes, “So do you promise that you won’t -- you won’t start tiptoeing around me?”

“You’ve got my word.” Harry vows, but he has a feeling he knows what she is to say.

The sleeve of his cardigan covers her hand as she brushes the hair from her face, “In freshman year of UNI, my roommate was Mrs. Graham’s daughter, Penelope.” She straightens out in her seat, “We didn’t like each other much at first but we had grown very close -- um, once she threw away my fruit snacks and so I dunked her toothbrush in the toilet, but I felt guilty and went out to buy her a new toothbrush,” a laugh leaves her at the memory, as she rolls her eyes at herself, “That was what we had going for a while, but a late night heart to heart kind of made us closer. She told me things that. . .she’d been through a lot that nobody should have to go through, you know? She was bullied a lot growing up—in high school it was bad, people used to always gang up on her over stupid shit.” Harry hums, encouraging her to continue, and she stirs the pudding around mindlessly, “And we were just close after that. We had a flat together sophomore year and most of junior year, she’s my best friend,” she swallows thickly, “I didn’t realize how sad she was. . .I didn’t realize what she was still holding onto, and she -- we went home for Christmas break, and she never came back.”

Harry feels his stomach sour as her eyes bead with unshed tears, “Oh, Y/N,”

“It’s alright. I’m okay, I’m fine as I can be -- I’ve -- I’m mourning and I miss her, but I’m trying to be strong. Most days I am, but everyone at home just expects me to be this fragile thing, y’know? The days I’m happy, and chatty, they think I’m faking it. And some days I do, yeah, but. . .it’s just disheartening when everyone pretends to know what’s going on in my head.” She plants the pudding directly in the center, leaving it there and retreating her hands to her lap, “Mrs. Graham told me she felt the same. That’s why I came in last minute -- I’ve got all my volunteer hours settled and everything but she said it might be nice to get away.” A slow, easy sigh leaves her lips as she blinks the tears away, not one drop trickled down her cheek, “It is nice, but I still worry that I’m a strain on people around me, even if not for the reason I am at home. And I’m sorry to like, info dump all this on you,” she laughs a little in spite of herself, “You can’t ask me things, unless you want an hour long explanation.”

Harry reaches out his hand for her, for the second time that night, and once again she slowly slips their fingers together, “Thank you for sharing that with me, I know it must have been hard,” he squeezes her hand, “But I understand you a bit more now. I’ll keep my promise, I won’t treat you any differently, but before that --” she blinks at him, waiting, “I think you might just be one of the kindest, strongest, most caring people that I have ever meant. I know you would never do anything to intentionally hurt me or add stress onto my life, so you don’t have to worry about that. You don’t have to try with me. We can just exist together, yeah? We’ll exist without burdens and without worry.”

The look in her eyes, was one that Harry had never seen before. One that makes him melt in her touch.

“I would like that.”

. . .

“I can’t swim.”

Harry was crouched down to Maisey’s height, fixing purple mermaid floaties around her arms. The day was not unusually muggy, but there was an additional itch to jump belly first into the cool watered lake. He had woken with a revitalized need to pry a star from the morning sky as it shifted from an inky purple to an early, dusky morning blue -- and give it to Y/N. He had decided after their conversation last night -- after they’d gone to bed and Y/N fell asleep cuddled in his cardigan -- he had an overwhelming, and an all encompassing want to hold her.

Which made it hard to part ways this morning, but he managed. And maybe he played out an image in his head where he pressed a kiss to Y/N’s cheek before they went to wake their respective cabins, or maybe he didn’t (but if he did that’s his own problem). He is quick to convince himself it was because she’d shared a piece of herself with him that he doesn’t think she lets many people see, and Harry always develops a bit of a platonic crush on his friends at some point or another. He questioned whether or not he was in love with Mitch for a solid four days once. . .sometimes he just let his heart get carried away.

He had been enmeshed in these thoughts as he got his campers ready for their time in the lake. At first glance, a ton of children in the lake seemed like a horrible, and faulty idea, but they took precautions so that everyone was safe. Every child wore floaties and/or life jackets no matter how proficient their swimming abilities. There was netting about ten meters out so that the children and counsellors couldn’t float out toward the middle, and they worked it so that only three children could be in per counsellor at a time, so that they could keep an eye on everyone. Harry wasn’t so nervous because he was a strong swimmer, and his kids were a little older, but he could tell Y/N had been a little jittery about it. It’s why Harry told her that while she was out in the lake with her little ones to let him know, he would come out with her to bring her some additional comfort that even the floaties could not provide.

Harry had been pretty sure all of his kids were excited to go to the lake and he was grateful for that, until he looked up to see the nervous, large blue eyes of Jackson, downcast after he had spoken the words. The unprompted admittance confused him as he turned to face him, “That’s okay, buddy, we’ve got floaties for that.”

Jackson did not seem convinced, shaking his head fiercely, “No, I -- I can’t swim.”

“J.J. is afraid of the water,” Noah exposes the truth just as easy as he takes a sip from his juice box, equipped with his own blue arm floaties, “He didn’t want to say though ‘cos --”

“Noah!” Jackson cuts him off, betrayal laced within his features.

“--’cos he didn’t want to seem like a wimp, but he almost drowned when he was little.”

Jackson looked as if he could cry, and Harry shook his head quickly, “Hey, hey, hey, c’mere buddy,” he motions him over, and he comes easily, stepping before Harry who had not bothered to leave his already crouched position, “Explain to me what’s going on, yeah?”

He shifts his weight from foot to foot, a frown prevalent on his mouth, even as he speaks, “When I was little little, my big brother pushed me into the pool and I went under the water and my mom had to come in and get me because I can’t swim good.”

Harry pulls his lips back, reaching out to squeeze Jackson’s shoulder, “I’m sorry to hear that buddy. I won’t force you to get in the water if you don’t want to, but I do want to tell you that if you feel more comfortable, we could try a life jacket instead of the floaties? It’ll keep you more buoyant -- more bouncy in the water.”

“Aren’t those for little kids?” Jackson inquires, brows pinched, but Harry shakes his head and points toward Y/N, never more glad in that moment that she had the age group she did, along with her views on not making them do, wear, or say anything that she wouldn’t herself. She’s got the life jacket swung around her arm as she clips Oliver into his own.

“Y/N’s going to wear one too, and she’s not a little kid. I’ll wear one as well if you’d like.” He promised him. Albeit looking reserved, Jackson nods softly with his hands in little fists, worrying his lip between his teeth. The poor thing, Harry thinks -- he used to be afraid of water too. Nobody wants to conquer that fear suddenly, let alone with a group of people that may or may not poke fun because they’re kids and kids are jerks sometimes.

Harry finds him a life jacket -- a cute one with a shark on it, that he helps him clip on, and fits it to his body with the straps. Next, he needed to find one for himself, but he wasn’t entirely sure where they kept the counsellor life jackets, so he called for Y/N where she’d been a few meters away and she popped her head up from where she was like a meerkat. Her eyes softened when she realized who had called her, and a gentle smile pulled at her mouth, “Hey hubby,” she greets him, much to the delight of Charlotte, who claps giddily, “What d’ya need?”

“A life jacket, please. Where’d you get yours?” Harry tries to be decent -- tries desperately to keep his eyes to himself, but he finds that this is surprisingly difficult when Y/N is in her swimsuit. It wasn’t obscene in any sense of the word -- in the pamphlet they get when they sign up, it is very clear that speedos and bikinis were not appropriate, and therefore not allowed. If a child couldn’t wear it, then you shouldn’t bring it -- was the apothegm that they chose to live by in reference to dress code.

This, however, doesn’t mean that Y/N’s swimsuit didn’t suit her well. It was fitted in a way that wasn’t too tight, yet wasn’t too loose -- like it might have just been made with her in mind. A simple one piece of nylon and lycra colored a powder blue, that barely showed off that much more of what she wears to bed, and yet his mind still flutters elsewhere. To unwise places, that he drags himself from before clearing his throat and forcing himself to look around the lake so it appeared his eyes were just scanning everything.

“You’re in luck,” Y/N jogged the short way from where they stood, back to where her kids were all gathered, playing happily in the sand. Beneath what Harry had assumed was just a cluster of towels, another life jacket was hidden beneath the fabric. She hands it toward him with a triumphant grin, “This was the last one. I grabbed it for you in case you just wanted to float rather than keep your legs kicking -- you had a big lunch, didn’t want you to get a cramp.”

Harry hates how his heart balloons in his chest. There was no reason to be a melt because she had thought of him -- that she had him in mind, so she snatched the last life jacket, and hid it beneath towels so nobody else could have it. No reason to feel all mushy from the way that she unfolds it for him, a silent prompt that she’s going to help him pull it on. And there was certainly, absolutely no good reason for how stupidly affectionate he feels when she strokes her finger along the heart tattoo on his forearm mindlessly, before murmuring, “You make me wanna get covered in them. Maybe I’ll just go and get all of yours.” She looks down at the ground, “Maybe not the toe, my feet are ticklish -- think I would kick the artist.”

He recruits Y/N for the process of easing Jackson into the water -- Noah and Elinor are floating and bobbing about happily at their sides, while Charlotte and Mikey playfully kick and float close to their older counterparts (if not practically on top of them). There was a chill bite to the water when they had first stepped in, but as they walked out further and sunk a bit deeper, the cold eases up. The cool air soothes them from the sharp bite of the scorching sun, Jackson holds his hand so tightly Harry thinks his fingers may go numb, and he figures Y/N is feeling the same way, if her soft, “Loosen your grip up a bit, Sweetheart, you’re gonna take off my hand.”

Eventually, Jackson relaxes. He finally understands that the life jacket will keep him afloat and holding onto Y/N and Harry wasn’t a necessity. Once the idea of this settles in his brain, he is more willing to let go and enjoy himself. It feels wonderful to see that he’s having fun, and even better when he sees the smile on Y/N’s face from this small victory. Last year, he hadn’t felt this parental over the children last summer, but something had changed. . .something that made him feel like he was a bit of a parent.

It has to be Y/N. There was something about her that just oozes mother figure for these kids, even if she wasn’t intending to do so. She kissed the bandages over their wounds to take away the hurt, she praised the ground they walked on, picked them up if they asked, danced with them, encouraged them, treated every single child as if they were her own. Harry believes she’ll be a beautiful mother one day, if that’s what she’d like, and whoever the father or mother was she had chosen to spend her life with, they were unbelievably lucky. He just hoped they would understand that.

Y/N floats into his line of sight, “Are you okay? Ellie said you look like Maisey’s aunt again, whatever that means.”

Harry snorts, before nodding, “Yeah, I’m fine. A bit tired.”

An understanding gleam overtakes her, “Y’know, I did think you seemed a bit snoozy,” she reaches out for him, squeezing his shoulder softly, “D’ya want to have a sneaky nap? I could watch the kids.”

“But I like having you both,” Jackson whined, shaking his head quickly, finding their hands once more, reassuring that his grip was tight as ever, “Please stay.”

“Yeah,” Noah splashes over to them, sliding his arms around Harry’s neck, wetting his hair with the water clinging to his life jacket, “You two are fun together! We always have so much fun -- Brittany said her counsellor always yells at them when they ask her to play with them.”

Elinor was quick to add, “And Ro’s counsellor falls asleep during art days! He doesn’t even help them stay in the lines, and they’re little like Oli, and Charlotte.”

Y/N’s bottom lip juts out in the prettiest little pout -- Harry finds himself wanting to pluck it with the pad of his thumb, “That’s silly, isn’t it? I have so much fun with you guys, I couldn’t imagine not playing. Right Harry?”

Nodding his assent, he reaches up, settling his hands around Noah’s arms and bring him along with him as he kicks them closer to Y/N and the other three, “It is silly. Some people just aren’t as fun as Y/N and I, Bug, it’s proven fact. They did the scientific method and everything.”

Oliver gleefully pushes himself up on Y/N’s shoulders, flopping back into the water and bobbing, “I love yous!” He chirped brightly, “Yous guys are my favorites! I love yous.”

The sight is adorable, especially as Y/N wriggles around and holds her arms out so they could hug, which Oliver happily accepts, “I love yous too, button.”

They have fun -- for hours, as they switch out which kids are in the water, spend time on the beach with all of them, making sandcastles, burying one another, chatting and playing. It was very freeing; Harry could easily tell that he and the others were having far more fun than any of the other groups were -- Mitch and Niall had gravitated their groups closer to them when Y/N and the kids began to pour sand over the top of him. Even Cassidy came around with her kids after they had heard them all giggling and laughing and wanted to know what was going on. Harry was having fun, and maybe he was just mushy, but he credited it to the joy Y/N was exuding. It was hard not to be in a good mood when he was around her.

By the time the sun sat a little lower in the sky, casting the shadows of trees over the sand and cooling them to the point of chilling. The kids washed their feet and hands beneath the rush of water from a yard hydrant, wrapped up in towels, and headed toward the dining hall for their dinner. There was a taco bar today, and Harry found that Y/N and he had a mutual love of tacos as a whole. She showed him how she adds feta crumbles, even let him have a bite of hers to see if he would like it so he could decide whether or not to put it on his own (it was delicious, she was right).

Once dinner was finished, everyone was exhausted. They all gathered around the campfire, one of the counsellors strummed a song on his guitar, they all had s'mores and then they dispersed. Not even the rush of sugar from the chocolate and marshmallow gave any of the children an umph in their step; they were all so sluggish and slow, dragging their feet through the dirt on their way to their cabins. Harry’s group barely kept their eyes open as they stalked to the showers, washing off the lake water and sand that had been clinging to their bodies. After they brushed their teeth, they all but face planted in their beds and snores soon filled the quiet air of the cabin. They only made him realize how exhausted he was from the day spent baking in the sun, floating and kicking in the water.

He trudges back to his cabin, where he finds Y/N had already showered off. She was face down in her pillow, her back slowly rising and falling with each gentle breath she took. She hadn’t covered in her blankets -- no, instead she used his cardigan as a makeshift cover over her body, and Harry thinks it might just be the cutest thing he’s ever seen. The patchwork swallows a good portion of her body, the sleeve flopped limply by her head. . .he could imagine her crawling into bed. Could imagine her putting her knee up first, dragging the cardigan that had been lying limply over the post with her and just letting it drape over her body. She probably wasn’t thinking she would fall asleep. . .probably thought she would just lay there for a minute before gathering the strength to get beneath her covers.

It’s adorable -- Harry hates how adorable he finds it, actually. If he could crawl in beside her he would, but instead he ambles to the bathroom, starts up the shower, and climbs in.

The water his hot -- boiling drops pelt his skin, washing away the grime and sweat that felt as if it’d been caked onto his skin. It felt good; to cleanse and scrub himself free of the lake, massage shampoo into his scalp, soften his curls with the conditioner, and just allow himself to revel in the feeling. Showers feel wonderful - a renewal that he deemed necessary by the end of the day. And when he gets the temperature just right, it soothes the aches and soreness in his bones, turning his muscles to softened jello. By the time he slipped out of the shower, he was practically boneless and thought he’d be lucky if he made it to his bed before dropping to the floor and falling asleep.

He expects Y/N to still be asleep when he leaves the bathroom, but he’s surprised to find her sat up in her bed, his cardigan pooled around her body and a deep frown on her face.

“Oh!” He’s started some -- he really thought she was out for the night, “Good morning, sleepyhead.”

“It’s morning?” Her face further turns to that of distress and Harry bites down hard on a chuckle.

“No,” he responds, “It’s not morning. Only about 10PM, so you’ve got plenty of time to rest still.” She looks around groggily, rubbing at her cheek with one hand while she fisted his cardigan in the other, pulling it closer around her body, “Why don’t you get beneath the covers, Babe?” He asks her, and she’s quiet for a little while. The only inkling Harry receives that she even heard him was how she tries to shuffle and wriggle the covers down with her still stretched out on the bed, stuffing her legs into the blankets first, then sliding the rest of the way smoothly. All the while she clings to the cardigan, holding it tightly, resting her cheek on it. Harry doesn’t know if Y/N’s just far more affectionate than he had even thought prior, or if she was just half awake and doing things she wouldn’t do if she was fully conscious. Vaguely does he remember her saying something about typically cuddling with a teddy at night -- how she stuffs her face against it because it always smells like her fabric softener.

He wonders if that’s why she snuggles with it -- he wonders if she likes the smell of him, so she buries her nose in the fabric and breathes it in as she rests.

Harry hates this. He hates how inconceivably soft he’s been feeling, but he can’t help it. Y/N had found him worthy enough to poke inside her brain -- she opened up to him in a way she expressed she’d not been opening up to many people about. It made him feel closer to her.

But he told her he wouldn’t treat her any differently after finding out. And if he suddenly started expressing more affection, he fears she would think he was only doing it because of what she told him. He just wants to be. . .he just wants to be gentle with her. Doesn’t want her to ever think that she’s a burden to him, because the anecdote had made him question and second guess how he’d been treating her their entire time here. Of course, he was never intentionally cruel, but some of the situations he thinks about the two of them in, and how he responded, makes him cringe.

He switches off the overhead light, her dimmed bedside lamp and muscle memory guide him to his bed. Harry climbs in, shivers as he adjusts to the warmth beneath his covers, and breathes a soft sigh of relief to have finished with the day.

“Harry?” Y/N’s voice startles his eyes open, which he’d not been aware he’d closed.

“Hm?” He hums -- he had thought she’d fallen back asleep already.

“You’re okay?”

A soft smile plays at his mouth -- she asks him every night before bed, he’s noticed.

“Yes, I’m okay. Are you okay?”

She nods, “You did really good today,” her voice is muffled from her cheek mushed against his cardigan, “The kids had a lot of fun, they were telling me. I had a lot of fun too.”

“Yeah? Me too,” he reaches to thumb the hairs of his eyebrow down, “And thank you. You always do really well with the kids.”

She’s quiet for a minute, and once more, Harry thinks she must have fallen asleep, but the shift of the mattress tells him she’s changing position and Harry notices once more that his eyes have closed, “I’m glad you’re my roomie.”

Harry utters the words, that two weeks ago he thinks he would have spit at.

“Yeah, I’m glad you’re my roomie too.”

. . .

Harry was drunk.

Typically, he didn’t allow himself to get very drunk at these little parties. He trusted the others so little, he had no doubt in his mind that any moment he was slightly impaired in some way they would take it upon themselves to prey on his weakness. This means he only ever gets mildly tipsy -- drinks enough to feel good but caps himself when he thinks he might start stumbling.

But he just didn’t cap himself today. Not for any reason in particular -- their day hadn’t been difficult. They helped their kids through a mildly strenuous obstacle course throughout the morning, cooled down with them drinking juice boxes and eating popsicles and by 2PM they were inside doing little DIY projects. Harry burned his finger with some hot glue, but otherwise it was a pretty easy smooth kind of day that they didn’t get often. He and Y/N hadn’t gotten to spend much time together, which he wouldn’t admit loudly was a disappointment, but he and his kids had all agreed that they missed her.

(And when they had seen her and her group walking into the art room, the lot of them had erupted in cheers, Noah, Eli, Maisey being the loudest of them.)

They had a pasta dinner that was surprisingly filling, they told “spooky” campfire stories and ate s’mores, he got his kids ready for bed and he went off to the cabin. He and Y/N were going to one of the parties tonight, not because they had such spectacular luck with a good time before, but because they were coming up on some of their last nights here at camp. It was a bittersweet feeling -- Harry remembered being more than ready to flee last year, counting down each day, each hour dragging on longer than the last. This time, it felt like it was coming too quick. He would miss the kids, he would miss the busy days some. . .and sure, he was happy to go home and take a shower that stays hot longer than five minutes and rest on his soft, cozy bed, but he would miss not having Y/N right across from him.

That was what he was having the most trouble coming to terms with, he thinks. The idea of them not having to spend every moment of every day with one another after doing it for three weeks almost sounds wrong. It's the same feeling he gets when he knew he and Mitch wouldn’t have such easy access to one another once they went back home. Being at this camp sort of felt like being stuck in a time loop where the outside world doesn’t exist, so it’s very easy to forget that they all have lives outside of here. They all go to class, go to work, go home, study, eat and sleep.

He and Y/N live relatively close to one another -- only about a ten minute drive up the street with only one turn and it's into her apartment building -- but he wonders if they’ll utilize it. He wonders if their friendship is tied to this camp and if that’s where it will remain, or if she even wants to be friendly with him after. Harry hadn’t considered that maybe she was only putting up with him because they had to live together and she didn’t want it to be miserable. Had he questioned if he was even enjoyable to be around? How does he ask her that without sounding entirely too desperate or needy?

So partially, he drinks to ease some of the worry in his mind. Harry doesn’t think he would “break down” or something like it if they weren’t able to continue being friends -- like a forgotten summer love that he might think about throughout the fall, and message her to see how she was doing -- but he certainly wouldn’t be delighted if that’s how it ended up. Harry thinks there’s so much more to Y/N that he would like to see, and know, and hear. Three weeks isn’t enough time, Harry decided, but in the same breath he wondered if she had thought it was more than enough.

Harry knows she cares for him, at least a little bit. He knows that he cares for her and her wellbeing; he was fond of her. From what he knew of who she was fundamentally, down to her core, Harry knew she was selfless and kind -- it was hard to find people like that, who were that, without it being cakey or clouded by something else. She was transparent in who she was and her feelings regarding most things, and Harry valued her honesty.

And she was just so damn fun. Every moment with her he spent, the air filled with laughter; she brought a slice of sun in her pocket wherever she went and Harry was consistently being warmed beneath it.

The fact of the matter is, Harry doesn’t know how he could meet someone like Y/N, and get used to the idea of her not being in his life after three weeks. If he could refuse it he would, but what was he going to do? Kidnap her and take her home with him?

He’s sat on the tree root, opposed to standing beside it like he usually is, with his back pressed against the bark of the tree and he ignores the jagged, uneven trunk against his skin. Mitch was beside him, leaning lower than he was with his jacket bundled up and stuffed behind his head, his legs kicked out as far as they would go and because of this, his foot rested against Niall’s lap. Niall was pleasantly gone himself, a bit louder than normal but also zoning out every so often.

He was a good guy, Niall -- he had good opinions, and he chatted him and Mitch up about guitars often (he was typically the camp’s go to for an acoustic guy if they ever wanted campfire songs). Harry thinks they could probably be really good friends, if not for the fact that Niall was so barefaced in his crush on Y/N.

It was obvious, Harry thought. He’d thought it was obvious from the first moment he spent a prolonged period of time with both he and Y/N -- his cheeks got rosy when she touched him, he stuttered over his gratitude if she complimented him, and if she went out of her way to do something (like when she’d stuffed her hand into a thorn-bush for his guitar pick that had flung from his fingers, and subsequently got all scratched up), he would look at her how someone might stargaze.

Harry doesn’t know why he doesn’t just ask her out, if he likes her so much. It almost irritates him how skittish Niall seems to get at the prospect of it; to run away from those warm, nice feelings that she provides is silly. It reminds him entirely too much of himself and he loathes it.

Tonight had been no different, only Y/N was dancing back and forth between them and a few other counsellors (Harry only recognized one of them , who was called Rosie and had been in his first year maths). Harry watched her most of the night, in the least obnoxious and creepy way he could, just because. . .well, she was nice to look at. He liked how her body animated as she spoke, or how she nodded her head as someone was speaking to her -- it was an encouraging nod, and her eyes locked onto theirs like they might be telling her where the fountain of youth might be located, or the secrets to the universe.

She was cozy today -- it was cooler out than most of the nights that they had experienced, with a chill breeze that had even stirred goosebumps on Harry’s arms (and he was all but swaddled in his hoodie). Y/N had a light fitted sweater that she sometimes slept in -- not heavy enough to shield her from the icy terrain that winter would provide, but enough to fight past the harsh summer night breeze that threatened to help a storm roll in within the next few hours. Loosely, he let the images of her cuddled close to him invade his brain. What it might feel like, how the knit would brush against his skin, if she would hide her face in his neck or spider around him as the big spoon and burrow against his hair. Y/N struck him as someone who liked to do more of the cuddling than being cuddled herself.

He would miss her when they had to leave. Harry worried who would just exist with her, like they had been doing. He worried about her going back to a place where she felt like a burden -- he would be around, wouldn’t he? If she allowed him to, he could be there for her, but he doesn’t want to seem pushy. By all definitions, they had really just met -- Harry had known Y/N for approximately 17 days, but it felt like so much longer. He wonders if he had known her in a past life, or if it was the fact that they spent almost every day all day with one another for at least 15 of those 17 day -- he finally understands how everyone in the Love Island villa always goes on about how a day in the outside world feels like a week where they are.

It’s not like he’s professing his love to her, for fuck sake. He just likes her -- whether it be platonic or not, Harry thinks Y/N is just delightful.

“Your little girlfriend’s not with you?”

Harry had forgotten how Jack’s voice sounded how grating nails against iron pipes might make someone feel, mostly because they hadn’t spoken in quite a while. After Y/N had slapped him, he had kept to himself, resorting more to disgruntled glares and probably pissy comments he was murmuring to his mates about him. If someone asked Harry, he would say that him and his friends were afraid of Y/N -- she posed a good threat to them. Sure, they hadn’t understood the extent of her words that night (like how and why she knew Miss. Graham), but they were enough to rattle them. No matter being in university, or within the range of 20-23 years old, nobody wanted to be scolded by a woman in her 40s, nor did they want to be kicked out of a camp counsellor position, or to have their volunteer hours revoked.

So they had left him alone, which Harry thinks may have been such a strain for them he would be surprised if they hadn’t popped a blood vessel. Even if they wanted to, he was always with Y/N -- they never really had the chance, and if they did, they didn’t really take it.

Which is why he is both surprised and incredibly annoyed with Jack’s sudden appearance.

“Piss off.” Harry responds, nursing his beer bottle closer to him.

“You’re always so ill-tempered,” Jack leans up against the tree, “Just wanted to have a chat. Like why Cassidy suddenly wants to break things off after chatting with you and Y/N. Got any ideas?”

Harry’s brows dipped in confusion, “What? What are you on about?”

“Don’t act like you don’t fucking know,” Jack rolls his eyes, “Cassidy and I are doing just fucking fine for six months, but we come here, she starts chatting with you and now all the sudden she’s ready to break up. What the fuck did you say, hm?” He nudged Harry’s side with his foot, “Fucking Y/N wasn’t enough, you had to fuck Cassidy too?” He kicked him this time, harder than before.

Harry, who did not take too kindly to being kicked, rolled his eyes and pushed himself to a stand, “Dunno why you’re so fucking insecure that you think me being around has anything to do with Cassidy finally seeing what a prick you are, but this needs to stop,” he handed his bottle to Mitch who took it wordlessly, “I’m not fucking Cassidy, I’ve never fucked Cassidy, so if you could just grow the fuck up and recognize that maybe she broke up with you, because you’re awful to be around, that would be great.”

Jack, which Harry had expected, took more of a physical approach, giving a shove to Harry’s shoulders, and Harry’s back slams against the tree behind him, “Fuck you,” he spit, “You all holier than thou ‘cos you’re dipping your dick in Miss. Rainbow Bright? What do you know about me, hm? You’re just a dumb fuck who has to be here because you’re a no good druggy fuck with anger issues. How does it feel knowing you’ll amount to nothing after UNI?”

There isn’t a lot that could get under Harry’s skin. A lot of people could say a lot of shit that he brushes off and lets go, but there are two things that he really just can’t. One of them is when people try to speak poorly of his mum, and the other, was when someone pretends to know his situation when they don’t have a fucking clue. Who was this trust fund bastard to tell him he was a druggy fuck? That he would amount to nothing after UNI? Harry worked two jobs to set himself through school and keep himself fed, with a roof over his head, just so that he could live the life he wanted to after university.

Maybe it was silly to punch him, but it felt good to. Harry reared back his fist and it collided with his jaw, making Jack stumble backward, his hand flying to his face, “You fucking --” he swung in return, only he catches Harry’s shoulder because Harry moved out of the way in anticipation. Niall narrowly dodged being caught in the crossfire as he rolled out of the way.

The fight didn’t get too far, however, because when Jack was gearing up to swing again, Y/N appeared and easily wormed her way in between them, “Are you serious right now?” Her brows were furrowed -- she looked legitimately pissed off, and, well. . .it made Harry take a step back at least, “Thought we had a chat about this, hm? You were going to leave him the fuck alone -- no, look at me, not him,” she grabbed at his collar, giving a sharp tug when his angry gaze had flittered back toward Harry, “I’m not an angry person, Jack, I don’t like being mean, or cruel like you seem to be so fond of, but I can and will be if I need to and I promise you that. Don’t you ever speak to someone like that again, yeah? What you were saying was just awful.” She lets go of his collar, taking a step back and sighing in a sharp huff, “I can’t speak for Cassidy, but if I had to guess she probably cut things off because you’re a jealous bastard who questions every interaction with another person and try this alpha male persona to scare other people away. It must be exhausting.”

Jack shook his head, “We were fine --”

“You thought you were fine. Things aren’t always what they look like, alright? The sooner you understand that, the easier your life will be.” She nods toward the center of the clearing they were in, “Go get some ice from the cooler, and go the hell back to your cabin. You’re not a fun drunk.”

Albeit reluctantly, Jack follows her orders and slinks his way to the cooler. The others around them had grown quiet as they had watched the confrontation unfold, but they soon all lost interest once they realized nothing more would happen. Y/N turned to face Harry, the anger on her face immediately dissolving, as she shakes her head, “What a dick. I’m so sorry he spoke to you like that,” she takes ahold of his wrist, the hand that he had punched Jack with, running her thumbs over his reddened knuckles, “I told him -- after the lake, I told him that he needed to leave you alone or I’d do something about it. Dunno what I was gonna do, but I was going to do something -- I will --”

“Hey, hey,” he cuts her off, “It’s okay -- it’s okay, come on, let’s. . .let’s go to the cabin, yeah? Should we go back to the cabin?”

Y/N looks at him like he was batty, “No shit we’re going back to the cabin! I’ve got to give you like a full medical look over. He slammed you into the tree, and honestly, you bruise like a peach.”

They make the trek back to the cabin, relatively quiet, Harry still attempting to process what had happened and what Y/N had said. Had she really spoken to Jack after the fact and threatened him if he messed with Harry again? The softest, probably sweetest person he knows, had taken Jack off to the side and told him if he didn’t leave Harry alone she was going to do something about it. Not only that, she grabbed him by his collar and told him off in front of everyone. It made his heart race, the thought of it, and his cock twitches in his pants at the moment on repeat in his mind.

Once they get back to the cabin, Y/N has him take his hoodie off with her in the bathroom so she could visualize his back and shoulder. Jack may be short-tempered and smaller than Harry, but his punches still packed a great deal, so a nice, reddening bruise was forming quickly around his shoulder. On his back there were scrapes from the tree bark, Y/N tells him, and a ton of little bruises that had begun to form as well. She makes him stay still as she retrieves the first aid kit from their medicine cabinet.

“Y/N,” he started, and she hummed to encourage him to continue, “When did you speak with Jack privately?”

She clears her throat, plopping the first aid kit down on the sink counter and unclipping it open, “The morning after the lake,” she answers without hesitation, “I wasn’t trying to like, fight your battles or anything, but I needed him to know I wasn’t bluffing when I told them I would rat them out, and worse if the situation allowed it. I hate bullies,” she pulls out a small tube of bacitracin, tutting her tongue as she squeezes it out on the tip of her finger, “And I hate how they treat you. I’m sorry if I overstepped.”

“You didn’t at all,” Harry remarks softly, jolting when her fingers very carefully graze over one of the tender areas on his back, “Thank you, actually, for sticking up for me again.”

“You don’t have to thank me. I think I’m pretty scrappy when I need to be,” she giggles to herself, “Like, if need be, I would take on the Queen for you. Might be an uneven match though, she’s pushing 100.”

Harry spins around to face her though, “Y/N, I mean it,” he tells her seriously, their gazes locking, “Thank you for everything. For dealing with my attitude, for sticking up for me, for helping with the kids, for making this experience bearable, for being such a positive light,” he sighs, “You’re amazing, you deserve amazing things.”

Y/N looks taken by his words -- he wonders if she’s as lost in his eyes as he is in hers. Her mouth falls open gently, like she may be searching for what to say back to him but can’t come up with anything. He worries that he’d said too much -- that he freaked her out or something. He wasn’t trying to, he was just so grateful for her, he didn’t know what to do. Didn’t know how to express it.

He is about to apologize for being too forward, when Y/N pushes the short distance and connects their lips together.

Harry’s confused for a moment as his brain registers what’s happening, but when he feels that she might pull away, his body finally seems to wake up. His hands find her face, cradling her jaw in his hands as he reaffirms the kiss and lets the butterflies in his body take over in hoards. He’d given thought to kissing Y/N, sure, but he’d never thought it would happen. Not only that, he’d never thought it would feel this nice. She tastes like the pineapple wine coolers she’d been sipping on that night, her lips still a bit sticky from the residue of the alcohol on her soft lips.

She’s gentle in how she kisses, like Harry would have guessed -- careful too, and cautious with how her lips parted from him only to fix back together. A pool of heat had formed in Harry’s lower belly and rose to his chest, stirring his heart in flutters when her tongue slid into his mouth and met her own. Harry hadn’t realized just how badly he wanted to kiss her until their tongues are sliding against one another, and his hands are slipping down from her jaw, caressing the delicate skin of her throat, skating down her chest to her hips. He squeezes her sides and pulls her closer to him, feeling the knit of her top rub against his bare torso. It was as soft as he’d imagined it’d be.

Had she been wanting to kiss him for as long as he wanted to kiss her? Normally, Harry could tell how badly someone wanted to kiss him by the act alone, but with Y/N he was so caught up he couldn’t focus. She was calm and soft, but the longer they kissed, the more ardent she became. It was the tiny moan that had left from her mouth into his own, that made him lightheaded. He had to pull away to breathe but his forehead pressed against hers as he breathed in, “Harry?” Her voice is low, she says his name like a secret, “Was that okay?”

His response is to press their lips back together, but this time only for a moment, before he withdraws. Harry loops his fingers around her wrist and brings her with him back into the main room, flopping onto her bed since it was the closest and urging her to climb into his lap. She straddles him, and just as soon as she’s within reach, he slides his fingers at the nape of her neck and pulls her back to his mouth.

It was good -- it felt so fucking good, Harry couldn’t begin to describe it. He held her close, and tried as he might to stave off his cock from ruining the moment, the longer they kissed the harder he got. How she was positioned at first made it so she couldn’t really feel him, but when she tried to get closer to him, she scooted her hips forward and rubbed up right against him. A gasp leaves her as she parts from him, looking down, having lifted her hips, “I’m sorry,” she apologizes and Harry gives a startled laugh.

“I’ve got a stiffy, and you’re apologizing?” He chuckles with a shake of his head, “I’m sorry, Sweetheart. I’ve got a pretty girl in my lap kissing me, s’kind of hard not to get hard. We can stop if you want.”

“I don’t want to stop,” she answers with no delay nor doubt, as she lowers back down, resting her front on his prick and with this she gives an experimental roll of her hips. Harry hisses in a breath as she does it again, her own little moan slipping from her mouth. She was only in a thin little pair of shorts, and Harry had chosen sweatpants for the night, so there was little fabric truly separating them. Harry was thankful for it as she continued to roll her hips against him, sponging kisses from his mouth, down his jawline, to the curve of his throat. She fixed her lips there, lulling her tongue over the skin before she started suckling at him and Harry’s hands danced along her back, stroking up and down it, feeling her, holding her closer. Each roll of her hips made him harder, and he was desperate to know if she was wet. If he pushed his fingers into her shorts, would they come back slick from her arousal? Would she watch him as he slid them into his mouth to taste her? Would she let him split her thighs and lick straight from the source.

His mind was overcome with filth, smutty images entangle once innocent thoughts as she brought the blood to the surface of his skin. When one of his hands left where it had latched onto her hip and slowly maneuvered around to her front, she paused, but left her face dipped in his throat, “Are you wet for me?” He asks her quietly and she nods through a little shiver, “Yeah? Bet you soaked through your little panties,” he murmurs as he slides his fingers past the elastic bands of her shorts and underwear, but left his fingers just past them, “Answer me.”

“Yes,” her voice trembles, she swallows thickly and the muscles in her abdomen contract beneath his fingers.

Harry hums low, slipping his fingers down further and he dips between her slick folds, “Oh, Sweetheart,” he presses a chaste kiss to the side of her head, “Is this your first time getting wet for me?” She shakes her head, “Hm, really? So you’re like this often? Do you take care of it?”

“I -- yeah,” she stutters over a moan as the pads of his fingers roll over her swollen clit slowly, feeling it flick beneath them, “At night, sometimes I will in the shower if I can’t. . .if I can’t wait anymore.”

He feigns a gasp, “Oh my goodness,” he speeds up the slow lull of his fingers, “Your showers are always so fast, doll, you’re really that quick to cum?”

Harry may not be able to see her face, but he can hear the pout clear in her voice, “It usually isn’t that fast! Just with you, it is -- when I think of you, it’s always quick.”

He thought it would be impossible for his cock to be harder than it already was, but her words make pre-cum bubble at the tip, and when he dips his fingers back into her slick little hole, he gets even harder. Gliding his fingers from her panties, he draws them up to his mouth and presses them past his lips as he’d wanted to. Y/N has withdrawn from his throat, watching him do it with glassy eyes, her hands resting on his shoulders, digging her fingers into grape sized dents at the muscle. Her mouth falls open as he sucks her juices away, his eyes fluttering and a groan torn from his throat.

“Get on the bed,” he instructed and Y/N followed without question, crawling from his lap and lying her head on her pillow as Harry stood, and repositioned himself. He takes a hold of shorts and drags them down her legs, wriggling them off her ankle and tossing them elsewhere. His lips finds her ankle first, before he’s peppering and sponging kisses down her leg, the parts that he had tended to throw over his shoulder. When he gets to her thighs, he makes the kisses slower, softer -- he suckles and nips at the supple skin until he’s right before her center, only to switch to her other thigh and push kisses up and down the length of it.

Y/N’s whole body trembles with each shaky breath she gives. She’d spoken no words until he was positioned right in front of her core, looping his fingers in the waistband of the little cotton pair she had on, pulling them up toward her hips so the fabric stretched out over her. He could see her pussy beneath it, made out the outline of her swollen lips and engorged clit -- it made his mouth water.

“You don’t have to, if you don’t want,” she tells him, and his gaze is pulled back up to her -- she looks apprehensive.

“What?”

She shrugs, “I know some guys don’t really like to so --”

“Do you want me to eat your pussy?” Harry asks her bluntly, and he revels in the way her eyes widen, and how bashful her face turns as she looks away, “It’s a yes or no question, honey, if you don’t want me to, I can come back up and kiss you while I make you feel good with my fingers. If you do want me to, I’m g’na pull those panties to the side and make you cum on my tongue -- either I’m good with.”

“I -- yes,” she answers, her voice meek, “Yes I want you to.”

Harry smiles softly, “Poor thing, How many stupid boys were refusing to eat this sweet little peach?” He runs his thumb up and down her slit, visualizing where the wet spot had grown and soaked her panties so that the fabric thinned. Leaning in, he nosed at her clit and she inhales, “God, I’m so excited — you’re okay with this? You’re okay with me eating this little pussy out? Need you to let me know because once I start sweet girl, I’ll be in heaven.”

“Yes, please, please lick me.”

“So polite,” he suckles a kiss at the very innermost part of her thigh, before licking one, long stripe up her center through the fabric. She moans, pushing her hips down toward his mouth as he drags his tongue over it again, and again, and again. He soaks it with his spit, teasing her — he wanted to pull her panties to the side and suckle and slurp between her lips until she came — but he wants her to beg for him. Wants to hear that she wants him just as much as he wants her.

He smiles against her as he hears her getting impatient, little huffs between each moan. She whines, her hips bucking up against his tongue — he looks up to her, watching as her chest rises and falls quickly. The fingers of one hand are dug into the sheets beside her, while the others rest between her teeth. Her brows were tilted, lips pouted, whimpers come more frequently the longer he suckles and laps on the fabric, drenching it.

“Harry,” she finally works out, shivering when he pauses just over her clit and flickers his tongue over the top of it, “Oh, please just -- please.”

“Hm?” He hums against her, jolts, inhaling sharply, “What is it, baby? You’ve got to use your words.”

“Please stop teasing me,” she tells him, “Please take them off.”

And Harry may love to tease, but he wasn’t cruel. Wasn’t a bloody monster, was he? So he slides his index and middle finger in between the fabric and her core and tugs them over to the side -- he didn’t want to waste any time wiggling them down her legs. No, instead he dips his tongue in between her lips and slides it flat and straight up to her swollen clit. The groan that leaves her is sinful -- it makes his cock twitch in his pants, his heart slamming against his sternum as he suckles and her fingers find his curls. She digs her fingers within the strands, rocking her hips up to meet his mouth, and for a moment, Harry just leaves his tongue out and flat for her to grind against. Harry thinks, if he could spend the day just strapped to Y/N’s bed, willing, ready, and waiting for her to come use his mouth how she pleased -- he would be inconceivable happy.

Eventually he wiggles his face back into her, sliding his tongue back and forth before he latches his lips back around her silky folds. The swollen little button crying desperately for his attention was where he spent most of his time, lapping, or lulling his tongue in circles around it. She keens, her heel digs into the mattress and begins to slide down but Harry grabs a hold of her thighs and pushes both of them up, so her knees are to her chest. The new position makes her cry out his name raggedly, and Harry was teeming with carnal desire, and so horny he thinks he would barely have to hump against the mattress to cum.

“I’m close,” she warns him, mewling, “I’m g’na cum, I’m -- oh, please don’t stop, please don’t stop.”

Harry doesn’t think he’d stop if he was paid to do it. He doubles his efforts, sucking harder, sliding down to tongue at her hole while his fingers wrapped around and spun little circles into her clit. His other hand he reaches up with and slides his thumb into her mouth and she accepts it graciously, as it muted her moans that grew louder and louder the closer she got.

When she cums, it’s beautiful -- Harry wishes he would be able to see it on repeat, how her back arched upward and her hips bucked loosely as she pulsated around his tongue. Her mouth hangs open around his thumb, her eyes squeezed shut, the fingers in his hair tighten and her other hand wraps around his wrists and holds him tightly. The initial lurch of it subsides and she melts into the mattress, trying to catch her breath, her chest heaving beneath her sweater.

After he thoroughly cleans her (until she’s twitching and jumping away from his tongue), he crawls up her body, pushing her sweater up over her breasts, “Can I fuck you, Darling?” He asks her, a small smile on his mouth when she leans her chest closer to him so he can reach behind her and unclip her bra. Tugging the cups away, he grabs them carefully, thumbing over her nipple, “If you don’t want to, that’s okay, don’t feel bad about it, just let me know.”

“I want you to,” she rushes to tell him, nodding, “Do you have a condom?”

He dips his head against her chest, breathing out a sigh, “Fuck me,” he utters, shaking his head, “No, I don’t. I’m sorry.”

He usually does -- Harry always keeps a few on him, but he remembers very vividly he and Y/N had blown his last one up just a few nights prior and drawn a face on it. For a moment he feels hopeless, a sad pit forming in his stomach because the thought of fucking Y/N sounded like paradise and he only brought one bloody condom that he wasted.

“It’s okay, we’ll do it next time then,” she tells him, and Harry feels a joyful spike in his overall demeanor. Next time -- she wanted there to be a next time? And if she wanted there to be a next time, then they would have to see each other after the camp. . .they would spend time together, Harry could learn what she was like in her normal day to day. He was eager and delighted, and not even just at the prospect of pushing into her (which he was also pretty damn excited for), “I mean, if you wanted to do this again, then, yeah -- right? We’ll hang out after camp is through?”

A smile threatens to split his cheeks, “Of course we will,” he tells her, nosing at her jawline, “And not just ‘cos you promised to let me fuck you. I was hoping we would see each other still but was worried that you might be sick of me.”

Her brows pinch, “Sick of you? Dummy, I thought you would be sick of me!” She shakes her head, rolling her eyes at the both of them, “We’re so stupid, we ought’a communicate better.” Y/N presses at his abdomen, “C’mon then, I’ll spin around and you can fuck between my thighs. I did it once with a boy -- I just shaved in the shower last night too so it should be soft.”

Y/N flips over, scooting her bum in the air for him as she cuddles a pillow to her face, her ankles locked in place and her thighs squeezed together. Harry wiggles out of his pants and boxers before he lets a glob of spit fall onto his stiff cock that had soundly slapped up against his stomach, slicking it up nice and wet so the glide between her thighs wouldn’t be too dry. One hand he lays palm flat to her bum, stroking the skin there with his thumb while the other hand navigates his prick, tipping it down and fitting it between her warm, soft thighs.

It felt good; Harry groans wantonly as he pulls out and sinks back in, watching himself disappear between them. She wiggles her bum at him and Harry playfully swats it, chuckling when she squeals and giggles, “You’re so fucking cute,” he coos before bending over, stretching himself over her so his chest was pressed to her back as he started steadily fucking in between her thighs. One hand he uses to cup her breast and tweak at her nipple while the other he slides down to her pussy, finding her swollen little button and rubbing it.

Harry’s skin prickles as she moans, her legs falling open just slightly but he tuts his tongue, “Keep them nice and tight for me, baby,” he murmurs, and she nods, tightening the channel for him once more. He won’t last long, he knows it -- he can feel that pool of heat crackling in his lower belly. His blood buzzes in his ears as he fucks his hips forward, their skin slapping together sound in their little cabin. Her breasts bounce with each thrust he gives, she’s beginning to cum again from the ministration of his fingers, and Harry’s nearing the end of his rope.

“You feel so fucking good,” he’s just a breath away from her ear, “You’re gonna make me cum.”

He nibbles at the shell of her ear and lets his eyes flutter closed, his senses on overload. All he can hear, and taste, and smell, and feel is her. Dizzy and overwhelmed, Harry feels as if he may burst at the seams.

“Cum,” she murmurs, “Please, I want you to feel good -- I want you to cum.”

That’s all it takes -- the little push of her words has his hips stuttering as he cums, spurting long stripes between her thighs, some catching her skin, some landing on her sheets below them. His world fizzles out, static splinters through his body as warmth rushes through his veins, and his toes curl hard enough to lock up. As he comes back to, he giggles, the last of his orgasm drooling from the tip as he pushes a kiss to the back of Y/N’s head, “Stay still, lemme go get us a rag.”

His legs feel like jelly when he stands, fleeing arse naked to the bathroom and returning moments later with warm, wet rags. He cleans her first, careful in how he works her underwear down her legs before he pats gently around her thighs and at her center. She’s sensitive, so a few times she twitches and flinches from him but eventually relaxes as she holds tightly to the pillow. He wipes himself off a bit haphazardly, more concerned with getting Y/N somewhere to lie down as he gently tugs on her arms, “C’mere, poor thing, I came all over your bed.”

“Yeah, you jerk,” she says puckishly, letting him guide her over to his bed, climbing in and immediately snuggling beneath his covers. Harry is not too far behind her, and at first she snuggles up close to him, she hisses and squeals before trying to shuffle away, “Why are your feet like ice?” She asks him, her words accusing, like he’d come in the bed with intent to freeze her.

Harry shrugs, “I dunno’ I usually wear socks to bed to keep them warm.”

“Socks? To sleep?” She slowly wiggles her way closer to him, despite the words that follow, “I don’t think we can share a bed, you’re batty.”

“Guess you’ll have to go sleep on the jizzy bed then.”

Y/N laughs, and Harry feels it vibrate through his body as he holds her close to his chest, his arm wrapped around her shoulders. They’re quiet for a moment, as they both settle, taking deep, slow breaths, allowing themselves to slip towards sleep.

Before Harry could get there, Y/N murmured his name.

“Thanks for being my camp ‘husbad’.”

Harry smiled to himself, and held her a little closer before he teased her.

“You can say thank you next time with an 18 carat diamond.”

#WRITING #WOOOOOOOOOOO #I HOPE YOU GUYS LIKE IT #YAHTZEE :D #IT WAS FUN TO WRITE #IM GONNA DO A SMALL PART 3 TO TIE THINGS UP IN A LITTLE BOW #HAPPY READING #harry smut

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shyficwriter · 3 years

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Temporary Home: Chapter 7

Guardians of the Galaxy fanfic | Reader x Guardians (With Yondu and Kraglin!)

Summary: Peter is determined to chip your shell away, but unfortunately, his attempts only seem to annoy you. He might need to step up his game, and by that he means recruiting Mantis, which backfires on him. This could be the start of a war, if Yondu knows what he's talking about.

Previous Chapter here | Next Chapter Here Or click here to: Start From Beginning

Author’s Note: I got a suggestion from @maribatshipper to add a scene where some actual raccoons get in the trash and Rocket finally sees a raccoon. I love the idea but I unfortunately didn't get a chance to add it to this chapter as it was finished before I saw the suggestion (I'll probably add it later, don't worry! lol) Anyways, it gave me an idea. What's some stuff you guys would like to see happen in this story? I do already know the direction of the story, but this could also be fun!

Word Count: 3,729

You were going to kill Peter. Probably Kraglin too.

It started maybe a couple hours after "the smelly incident," as you had mentally dubbed it, had resolved.

Peter got bored, found some old DVDs in the cabinet below the TV, and when he recognized a movie from when he was a kid, SpaceBalls, he managed to convince you to watch it with them.

He might have also quietly pulled the "unless you're too shy..." card for the thousandth time, and you might have told him it was getting old and he was working his way towards a black eye, but you did agree to watch the film with them. Peter had somehow convinced everyone else to watch the movie, too. Might have had something to do with the fact that no one exactly had anything better to do.

Kraglin sat at on one end of the sofa, Gamora on the other, and Peter & you were sandwiched in the middle, him next to Gamora and you next to Kraglin. Mantis, Rocket and Groot sat on the floor, while Drax and Yondu took the armchairs at either side of the sofa.

Only you and Peter got the Star Wars references, of course, but there were plenty of parts the others found funny even without it. Rocket mostly laughed about how Terrans didn't understand space at all if you thought that's how things worked, and compared Peter to the main character, Lone Star. He meant it in a derogatory way, of course.

At about the scene where Dark Helmet breaks the 4th wall with the line, "What the hell am I looking at? When does this happen in the movie?" Peter had started to notice that you didn't laugh openly like everyone else. You always covered your mouth like you were trying to stifle it, despite no one else bothering to be quiet, least of all Drax, who laughed loudly at parts that weren't even that funny.

That simply wouldn't do. You should be laughing freely with the others, like you did when Kraglin and Rocket got tangled up in the hose, which was probably the only time he had seen a genuine full laugh from you, now that he thought of it. To him, this was evidence that he was right, you needed to break that shell of yours and learn how to loosen up.

Annnd... if that required a little mischief on his part... well then so be it.

He waited a bit, just to see if you'd eventually let yourself relax, but when you just kept biting your lip not to laugh and covering your mouth when you started to, he decided he'd 'help' you along.

The scene came on where Dark Helmet's men were combing the dessert with a literal giant comb, and seeing you trying to stifle another laugh, Peter decided to poke you in the side.

You tried to stifle your squeak and you glared at him, but he just shrugged innocently. Poke you? Never... Doesn't sound like him...

He spaced a couple more pokes within the next few minutes of the film, making you jump and hiss at him to stop. He grinned at you and whispered he thought you could use some help laughing, since it seemed you had forgotten how. The little shit.

You irritably whisper back, "That's not gonna work, I'm not-"

Peter rolled his eyes playfully and replied, "Yeah. Sure. Not ticklish. You've said. Too bad I don't believe you." He made to poke you again and you pinched him hard on the arm, which you admit was childish, but he deserved it for annoying you. He gave you a pouty look in response and then frowned when Gamora scolded him and told him to quit behaving like a child.

You sat back and thought he'd finally quit.

And he might have, seeing that it wasn't quite working as he hoped, but Kraglin, who of course noticed your flinching and the childish bickering between you and Peter, caught Peter's eye and they shared a look. He wanted in on the fun. Movie wasn't all that interesting to him anyways.

Five minutes later you received a poke from each of them simultaneously, making your arms clamp to your sides. You turn your head from side to side to glare at both of them. Quietly threatening to break their fingers if they didn't straighten up and just watch the movie.

Based on their expressions it was clear they didn't take you seriously, but they seemed to back off... for about another ten minutes. That's when they decided to poke you again and you jerked up off the sofa with a "That's it." and moved to sit down on the floor next to Mantis where you knew you were out of their reach.

Gamora smacked Peter in the arm for annoying you off the sofa, but no one paid much mind or reacted with more than a glance as they were paying attention to the movie. Well, except for Yondu, who had fallen asleep and was now snoring softly in his chair.

Peter was slightly disappointed that you hadn't been able to let your guard down, but he wasn't deterred. In fact, he was more determined to not just chip at your shell, but shatter it. There was someone who liked to have fun in there, and he was determined to find them and pull them out.

Thankfully, you were able to finish the rest of the movie unbothered. Rocket complained about the sappy ending where Lone Star and the Princess marry, but then Mantis said she thought it was sweet and he waved her off, grumbling about how she thought everything was sweet, or cute, or whatever...

After the movie you decided to go out to the shed and apply the varnish to the bed frame, and when you came back inside to wash some of the varnish off your hands you were startled when Kraglin snuck up behind you to poke you in the ribs. He dodged just in time to avoid being smacked and ran out of the kitchen, his giggles joined by Peter's in the hall.

You sighed, now thinking you should have taken more time in the shed with the varnish. Maybe cooking something would keep you busy enough, but what would you cook? Your first thought was that lasagna would likely feed everyone, but then you remembered the cheese and you were not about to have a repeat of that morning. You were sure the hairs inside your nose were singed-off forever.

You walk out the kitchen door to catch the men still giggling in the hall and they jump from the unexpected sight of you, probably thinking you had come out to properly smack them for deliberately annoying you. You look at them, unamused, and say, "Supper will be in about an hour if you want it. If there's anything else any of you can't eat you should probably tell me now."

Peter and Kraglin exchanged looks before Peter turned back to you and said, "If there is, we don't know it yet."

Kraglin nodded and added, "Not a lot of experience with Terran food, ma'am."

You cringe slightly at being called ma'am, but give a short nod. "Well, here's hoping I don't poison anyone again," you say, turning to head back to the kitchen. You are stopped when another poke to your waist makes you jump and you turn back with a hand raised to smack him.

Peter recoils with a laugh and says, "Just wondering if you'd like any help in the kitchen?"

You narrow your eyes. "Nope. Think you two better stay out here. Clearly can't trust you not to annoy me." You can hear their chuckles as you walk back into the kitchen.

Mercifully, they left you alone all through the cooking and eating of dinner, (you had decided to make a stew). Well, they left you alone physically, that is. Throughout dinner they kept attempting jokes, and it was obvious they were aiming them at you in an attempt to get you to laugh. Most of them fell flat, however, because most of the jokes Kragin told hinged on you knowing about creatures or other stuff not from Earth that you'd have not any way of knowing the context for to make the joke make sense. The others seemed to get the jokes and find them funny though, so at least they seemed to be enjoying themselves. Better than awkward silence any day.

Peter was able to tell a few jokes with Earth references that you could understand, but they were such old jokes that anyone who didn't live in a cave would have already heard them before they finished primary school, so you didn't really laugh at his either. You did, however, smile politely, assuming that they were only trying to be friendly.

After dinner you started to get ready to wash the dishes, and Gamora offered to help.

"No thank you, I've got them tonight." you say, taking the couple of bowls she had gathered and put them in the sink.

"You sure? You cooked for us, it doesn't seem right to let you clean up by yourself too."

"Don't worry, I'm not going to make a habit of it, just... some nights I like to have something to keep me busy, ya know?" You turn on the tap and start washing the dishes. You hated to admit it, but that boiler Fury replaced your immersion with had proven to be very helpful with eight extra people in the house. If you didn't know better you'd say it was magic. Somehow there was just always hot water. You willed yourself not to get too used to it, however. No one had said, but surely SHIELD was just temporarily loaning it until the Guardians finally were able to go back home. You couldn't imagine them just giving you an upgrade like that to keep forever.

"Ok," Gamora relented, not wanting to push it. She could tell you probably still needed a bit more time before you could fully relax. "Thanks for supper."

"Don't mention it," you say, not looking up as you sudsed a bowl.

Gamora nodded and walked out of the kitchen, passing Peter, Kraglin and Mantis on her way into the sitting room. They looked like they were conspiring something, but as a general rule, she didn't get involved in Peter's shenanigans. That meant that unless it was going to directly annoy her, or possibly injure someone else, she pretended not to notice.

She had been right, they were conspiring. Well, Peter and Kraglin had been, Mantis was just along for the ride. With nothing better to do, the two men decided they'd put their energy towards continuing to mess with you, however, it was clear that they needed to get smarter about their approach if they didn't want to risk a black eye.

So they deployed Mantis.

It didn't take much to convince Mantis to do it either. It literally just took Peter asking Mantis if she wanted to play a game and she agreed.

In truth Peter was testing a theory. He watched from the kitchen door with Kraglin as they sent Mantis in to do the poking while you washed the dishes.

She poked, you jumped and spun to face her, clearly thinking it was one of the guys, and then the irritation softened from your face as you realized it was her and all she got was a mild scolding. Mantis looked back and Kraglin encouraged her to do it again with an enthusiastic nod.

This time she fluttered her fingers at your waist from both sides like she had the other day, making you jump again, and, with what sounded suspiciously to the guys to be a poorly suppressed giggle in your voice, you scolded her again and shooed her away.

Theory confirmed. You couldn't bring yourself to try and smack her away like you had with them. Good. He could work with that. Use your soft spot for her against you.

This time they motioned Mantis to come back.

She meets them at the doorway and on her way out whispers, "Did I do a good job?"

Peter smiles, "Yes. You did great. Hey, I want to show you a trick..."

***

A bit later you walked into the sitting room and Mantis calls you over to the table, saying she wants to show you a trick.

She's sitting with Peter, Kraglin, and Gamora, and you walk over hesitantly, wondering if Gamora's presence meant you could assume you'd be safe from mischief or not, seeing as she normally swatted at or scolded Peter for being annoying.

Once you reached the table Mantis stood and encouraged you to take a seat. You pull out a chair at the end of the table and sit, only to be instructed by Mantis to turn and face her.

You eye her suspiciously and then turn to Gamora. "Am I going to regret this?" you ask, your eyes moving to Peter and Kraglin who sat across from her, shrugging and shaking their heads. You were sure you could only trust them about as far as you could throw them, but Gamora appeared to genuinely have no idea what Mantis wanted to show you, so you decided to just play along. How bad could it be?

Mantis instructed you to hold out your hand for her, and you did as asked. She then held your hand palm up and placed her thumb at the tip of your middle finger, and rested the tip of her own middle finger where the palm of your hand met your wrist, as if she were measuring the distance with her own hand.

She then released your hand and moved the hand she used to measure the length of your hand with to your knee, placing her thumb on your kneecap and lowering the tip of her middle finger to rest on your thigh above the knee.

"What are you doing?" you ask, suspicion and confusion in your voice.

Mantis looked up to meet your gaze. She smiled happily and said, "I'm distracting you for this!"

You raise an eyebrow but before you could wonder much about it she squeezed your leg where her middle finger had been resting, sending a tickly jolt through your body and making you jerk in your seat and your breath catch in your throat.

You grasp for her wrist to push her away, but then she just attacked your other leg with her other hand. "Mantis! No!" you squeak, squirming in your seat and flailing for her hands. Every time you'd grab for one hand, she'd free her other hand and send ticklish pokes and squeezes wherever she could reach.

She was was a little stronger and quicker than she looked, so it made the task of restraining her hands difficult for you. You did your best to hold back any laughter as you flinched and jerked from your torment. You could hear Peter laughing and telling her 'good job,' and Kraglin encouraging her to continue, which she did, happily giggling the whole time.

"Peter!" you half scold/half beckon.

"Yes?" he asked teasingly, folding his hands under his chin with a cheeky grin. Gamora rolled her eyes and tried to shake her head disapprovingly at him, but she couldn't help grinning. Mantis just looked so playful and it was honestly adorable.

"Will you-AEK" you squeak as she darted a hand and squeezed at your waist before you could stop her, "Will you make her stop!"

"Thought you weren't ticklish?" Kraglin said with a teasingly smug grin. "That shouldn't bother you at all then. I don't see a problem."

Gamora sighed with a smile at the two men. So that's what this was about. They must have put Mantis up to this.

"Dammit!" you jerk again as Mantis landed another squeeze above your knee. "I'm- I'm not- I'm-" you were having managing words, because each time you attempted, you were cut off by another poke or squeeze from Mantis, and you were afraid you would start laughing if you allowed yourself to talk through it. You were already having a hell of a time trying not to smile, and failing.

"I swear, if you actually say you're not ticklish right now, Pete and I will pin you down and prove that you are." Kraglin threatened with an evil grin.

"Kraglin!" Gamora scolded with furrowed brow, but her warning wasn't taken too seriously on account of the humor laced in her voice.

"What? She's the one being so stubborn she can't admit it!" Kraglin laughed. As far as he was concerned, you deserved it for fibbing. Plus, wouldn't kill you to loosen up a bit- you could be... well, scary... sometimes. Although it was kinda hard to think of you as scary at the moment while you were spasming in a chair as you kept trying to get a hold on Mantis's quick hands and a grin more than threatened to crack your face.

You could feel your cheeks getting warm, hating showing signs of weakness, but knowing you didn't have much choice at the moment. "Ok! Fine!" you cry out, still grappling at Mantis's hands and biting back any giggles that threatened to spill out. You knew when you were beat. It was pretty damn obvious that you couldn't deny being ticklish anymore, and you sure as hell weren't about to give them a reason to actually properly tickle the snot out of you. You wouldn't stand a chance.

"Fine... what?" Peter chuckled in a sing-song voice and leaned on the table.

You could kill him. "Fine! I'm ticklish, okay!? I admit it! Are you happy now!?" Just then Mantis managed to free both hands and briefly tweak your ribs before you got a grip on her wrists again, finally getting a short laugh to escape your throat as you spasmed in your chair. "Will you call her off now, please!?" Gods, this was embarrassing. You didn't know how, but they were so going to pay for this.

Peter and Kraglin high-five and Peter says, "Alright, Mantis, good job."

Mantis stood and clasped her hands, giggling and saying how that was so much fun, and you half-heartedly glare up at her before standing so you could get out of there, but not before turning to aim a glare at Peter and Kraglin. The jackasses.

When you turn back you notice Yondu leaning on the back of the sofa looking amused and you cringe, asking, "How long have you been standing there?"

Yondu folded his arms and pretended to think. "Hmm... Long enough to hear the boys threaten to tickle ya silly and then see ya fold like a cheap tent." Humor twinkled in his eyes and you wanted to melt into the floor.

You inhale and look to the ceiling, your cheeks burning. Your expression then turned mischievous. Vengeance. Now.

"Mantis?" you say, turning back to face her.

"Yes?" she answers, smiling wide and sweetly.

You put on your best, most innocent face. "Ya know, maybe you should do that to Peter. Or Kraglin. Why should they miss out on the fun?" Your eyes flick to the pair menacingly to see Peter looking at you like you just shot him.

Mantis giggles and goes to take your suggestion, bouncing to their side of the table. Peter bolted from his chair, saying, "Mantis- wait a minute!" and tried to run around the table, getting slowed down when Kraglin tripped him, mostly likely to save himself as he also stood to get out of Mantis's way, grabbing her by the shoulders and spinning her in Peter's direction when it looked like she was going after him. Unfortunately for Peter, he didn't get much further after Kraglin tripped him as Gamora effortlessly caught him by the arm and then laughed as she held him in place and he complained.

You turned back to Yondu with a satisfied smile and started to walk past him to leave when he leaned over to speak in a low tone as you got near. "Hope ya know that was a mistake, girl," he chuckled.

"What?" you say, surprised. Peter could be heard laughing and pleading with Mantis and Gamora behind you.

He grinned wider. "If there's anythin' I know about that boy, ya just declared war. An' if that ain't bad enough, now yer stuck in a house with him, and my first mate who ain't got nothin better to do."

"Ah." Your voice cracks, your eyes widening, nervousness creeping into your belly. "Well surely they wouldn't hold a grudge- I mean, they started it-"

He straightened back up and chuckled, shaking his head knowingly. "Jus' figured I should give ya a heads up. Do with it what ya will. Boy's partial to pranks when it comes to revenge. Might wanna be on the lookout for buckets of water above your doorways tomorrow. Or grease in your boots. That used to be Quill's go-to." Mirth glistened in his eyes and made you unsure if this warning was out of the goodness of his heart or if he enjoyed seeing the 'oh shit' look on your face.

You swallowed. Fuck. Just what you needed. A war. You decided it might be a good idea to get out before Peter could escape, or before Kraglin could decide to avenge his friend. "Well I'm going to go to bed now." Your voice was a little higher than you'd like and you could hear Yondu chuckling as you scarpered.

He knew it was more likely you were going to hide than going to sleep. It was barely dark out.

Yondu shook his head and walked to take a seat on the couch, still chuckling at the flicker of fear in your eyes when he told you that you had started a war. He switched on the TV and idly wondered who'd give up first. He'd gotten the impression that you wouldn't be one to back down, despite the nervousness present on your face.

You may have the advantage of being on home turf, but Quill could be relentless. More than likely you were fucked, but it'd be interesting to see how it all played out.

You might surprise him.

#gotg #guardians of the galaxy #x reader #peter quill #kraglin obfonteri #starlord #mantis #gamora #yondu #rocket raccoon #pranks #hijinks

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koutarouthighs · 3 years

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『 champagne bubbles 』

S U M M A R Y ― drunken words expose sober thoughts, and what do these boys have to say when their heart is too soaked in liquor to dull their filter?

post type ➺ headcanons fandom ➺ haikyuu!! characters ➺ tsukishima ⧾ kageyama ⧾ atsumu genre ➺ fluff; slight nsfw (sensual themes) tags ➺ established relationship; alcohol; language; pda; lotsa touchy drunk boys; word count ➺ 2.2k+ request ➺ [YES/NO] ; anonymous requested “could you maybe write drunk!tsukki being really sweet to his gf? like calling her pretty and being super sweet?” ↳ request status: *.·:·.✧ O P E N ✧.·:·.*

✕ tsukki doesn’t really like to get drunk, because he’s more of a spectator. he enjoys watching everyone else lose their wits so he can poke fun at them for it, sarcastically asking them a dozen questions just to video their answers to bring it up when they’re sober. ✕ but, with kuroo betting tsukki that he can drink him under the table, his obstinate personality has no option other than to meet his old friend’s challenge. what he doesn’t know is that kuroo never planned to win, not even from the start. ✕ when you see tsukki later, you’re confused with his wobbling frame and garbled words. his eyes seem to cross behind his glasses, and when he approaches you, he’s got his arm around your shoulders in a flash. you’ve never seen him be so publicly affectionate, especially not in front of a group full of his old friends who knew him once as an antagonistic rival. ✕ tsukishima compliments your appearance, your voice, your dress. he talks about how lucky he is to have you and you swear you see his reddened eyes begin to blear with tears. ✕ his hands cannot find a part of you he does not wish to explore further, always seeking but never finding solace. and finally he cups your cheeks and sloppily kisses your mouth, and you are so frozen in your stead that you do not have half a mind to kiss him back.

more below the cut ↯

⧾

“you’re just so pretty,” his voice drawls, eyes blinking slowly as he uses the arm not slung around your body to push his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. the slightest of pouts tugs on his lips and you want to push yourself up on your toes to kiss him, but you know how he feels about public affection.

a small laugh makes your chest blossom and tsukishima tugs you closer, your body engulfed by his lanky yet thick arms. his bicep flexes as he runs his index and thumb against either side of your neck, “you are! i know i don’t tell you enough, but you are. you’re the prettiest girl i’ve ever seen.”

“kei,” you murmur as he drops his head to your shoulder, planting a quick kiss to your exposed collarbone. kuroo and akaashi widen their eyes at the sight, and you try to weave your fingers through tsukishima’s hair to get his attention, “kei, are you drunk?”

“yep!” kuroo’s voice is unmistakable, even from where he and akaashi, and now bokuto, are sitting in the kitchen, swiveling in their barstool seats, giggling to themselves. you narrow your eyes and hope that the glare you cut them is enough to not let them sucker him into anything like this again, knowing how much he will hate finding out about this when he’s sober.

“we can go home,” you murmur in promise against his neck, pressing a kiss to his cheek before settling back on your heels. tsukishima kisses the top of your head and wraps you back up again, tucking your head beneath his chin. he sighs, and you feel his chest deflate, “no, i like going out with you. i know i say i hate it, but i like that you want the world to know that you’re mine.”

you tilt your head back, raising a brow, “tsukki, i’m not ashamed of you. never have been.”

“no, i know,” he almost sounds stone cold sober for a second, and you blink to try and make sure you can reconcile what you’re hearing with what you’re seeing. “i just hope you know that i’m not ashamed of you. you’re kickass, and i can’t believe you let me call you mine.”

“of course,” and you feel your own voice growing heady without the influence of whiskey, “i love you.”

tsukishima, drunk or not, reaches down to frame your face with his hands and as if in slow motion, purses his mouth until you feel the bow of his lips meet your own. you flex your feet so you’re up on your toes, face heated at the sudden display of affection, disregard to who might see. his palms are expansive and warm, floating from your neck to your shoulders, down your arms until he finds the curve of your hips. his thumbs slip beneath the hem of your shirt and he sighs, parting his mouth from yours, “tell sober me to appreciate you more. he’s kind of an asshole.”

“yeah,” you lick your lips and read the hunger in his eyes, matching it with a fire in your own, “i’ll make sure to tell him in the morning.”

✕ kageyama believes that alcohol dulls the senses and takes his mind off of what is truly important - the next match. so, it’s kind of difficult to get him to indulge in a drink from time to time. but hinata always manages to spur him on, citing his days in brazil have made him the better consumer, and kageyama just can’t let that redhead best him at anything. ✕ you wish you had the effort to try and deter him from it, but watching kageyama turn loose and enjoy his time with his friends is so elating in it of itself that you don’t have the heart to try and drag him to a glass of water. ✕ your face goes red when kageyama puts down his fourth glass of rum and coke and turns his attention to you. eyes sheathed by half-hooded lids, lower lip consumed in the cage of his canine tooth as he sucks the slow drip of whatever drink did not make it to his tongue. ✕ the praise he dotes on you when he slots himself into the couch next to you is not unwelcome, and yet foreign and uncomfortable all the same. tobio is not unknown to shower you in kindness when you are alone, and when he can gather his words and his spirits, but now, in front of his friends and rivals from high school, it all feels a little out of place. ✕ his hand rests curiously high on your thigh, the other arm around your back to hold you close. he kisses your cheek and then your neck, warm breath smelling of the sweet concoction he’s downed one too many of in your absence.

⧾

“tobi,” you whimper when his thumb drifts against the seam of your jeans, manicured nails digging into the plush of your thigh, “a-are you drunk?”

“so what if i am?” his curt response is quick, just like always. you suppose even when drunk, he’s not completely unlike himself. your gaze meets his darkened irises, pupils dilating as he tries to focus on any one feature of your face. his tone softens as he looks at you a little while longer, “god, you’re beautiful.”

your expression must show how taken aback you are, because tobio’s nose scrunches and he looks like he’s eaten something sour, “have i never told you that before?”

“n-no, you have,” you shake your head to bring your wits about you, “it’s just weird to hear it in front of all your friends.”

kageyama shakes his head and straightens his spine, palm falling down to your shoulders to massage at the blade of your back, “well, it’s the truth. in front of my friends or at home. y-you’re pretty.”

you can’t help but laugh at his wavering voice, another wave of drunkenness bringing out a shy side of him that you’re used to seeing from time to time. you lean across the space between your bodies and press a kiss to his cheek, “you’re adorable, tobi. especially when you’re drunk.”

“d-do you need anything?” he asks, the palm on your thigh finding your hand to squeeze your knuckles between his own, “water? another drink?”

you nod, brushing dark hair back from his face to his ear so you can see his sapphire irises in full, “i could use some water, if you’re getting up. but you don’t have to get me anything, babe.”

tobio is standing to his feet as soon as you finish your sentence, eyes wide and hands still clutching at you, despite the distance, “of course!” and he is gone before you have another moment to draw him back in. biting your lip, you watch as he scrambles about the kitchen, but your attention is drawn away by the other girls sitting on the couch opposite of you.

when kageyama returns, his arms are full, and his mouth is moving as if it were attached to a motor, “i got you two bottles of water and they had a can of that seltzer you like in the fridge so i got that too, and then i know where hinata hides the chocolate so i grabbed you a few pieces and then there’s also an apple in case you get hungry.”

you want to laugh, you desperately want to let your giggles escape, but you tamper them down to take the various items teeming in tobio’s hands. you reach up to cup his cheek, “you really do think of everything, don’t you, kags?”

“for you,” his voice sounds faraway, ethereal, “i’d do anything for you.”

✕ most nights after a long week of training, or a tournament with msby, atsumu spends time with bokuto and hinata and sakusa, and even osamu tags along, and they buy up tumugi, sake, and vodka until they can’t see themselves home. atsumu has the dd or a cab bring him home, and you can always tell by the way his steps stutter over the rug that he’s too far gone to even know you’re home. ✕ atsumu is a clumsy, most of the time loud, drunk. he forgets how lumbering his body is, how much he weighs, and how his head might hit the overhanging light in the living room if he’s not too careful. ✕ as soon as he spots you, curled up on the couch, his whole being softens. he licks his lips and calls your name, eyes shining when you finally make eye contact. he’ll call out for you again, asking for his girl. ✕ atsumu’s hands are insatiable as he fumbles over the top of you from where you lay, tucking his head into your neck and caging you in with his limbs. he likes the reminder of how big he is, how he can encompass your space with minimum effort. he seeks skin on skin contact while he can’t see straight, preferring to close his eyes and just feel you. ✕ he’ll mutter things into your soft skin and slip his hands underneath your shirt, but it’s nothing you haven’t heard already, only accented with giggles and blown raspberries along your body.

⧾

“don’t you have a game tomorrow?”

“so what?!” he nips at your jaw, “what are you, my mother?!”

“that would make this a very strange position, wouldn’t it?” you snort, scratching your nails up the base of his back to his shoulders, his shirt riding up inch by inch. atsumu groans, dropping his head to your chest, circling his arms around your waist until he’s clinging onto you for dear life. he sighs and you try your hardest not to shiver at the feel of his warm breath over your bare skin.

he grunts, shifting his legs to get more comfortable, “osamu bet he could do three shots faster than me, and you know i’m the better twin, and i had to prove it, so i did it. and... and now’m here.”

another laugh makes its way out of your throat and you squeeze his shoulders, “that competition is going to get you in trouble one day. you can’t win everything.”

“i don’t gotta win everything,” atsumu licks his lips and takes a breath, craning his neck so he can look you in the eyes, “i already got you, don’t i?” you’re blushing but that doesn’t stop him, not when he’s on a drunken roll like this, “i mean, that’s about the best thing i ever coulda won.”

you twirl a finger in his hair to keep your hands busy, rolling your lips together as he rambles. atsumu pushes himself up further on your body so you’re eye-to-eye, the tip of his nose brushing up your cheek as he gets situated, “cause even when i lose a match, i still get to come home to you.”

the threatening heat of tears makes your eyes throb and you close them to get some relief. atsumu kisses both of your eyelids and then your nose, and your face scrunches at the overwhelming smell of vodka on his lips, but you don’t care, not when he’s being so kind and genuine. he cups your face with a palm, heady and calloused, and then kisses your cheek until your skin relaxes. he chuckles, “i mean it, sweetheart.”

“i know you do, ‘sumu,” your voice is thick and you clear your throat just after you speak. you finally peek your eyes open to look at him, and you almost wished you hadn’t. his umber irises melt into dark pupils, a warmth there that you cannot place, cannot describe. his skin is rosy, kissed by alcohol and emotion, and you just want to drown in him.

he noses your cheek and then captures your lips, soft kisses volleyed back and forth between the two of you as your hands roam and find supple skin and dense bone. lines blur between evening and morning, and words slur between the both of you.

and every time, as one breath ends and another begins, atsumu makes sure to show you that his words ring true, and his greatest win was always you.

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poison--ivory · 3 years

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Cat Interruptions

Shinsou x fem. Reader

Warnings: Kissing, NSFW, fluff, modern au, no quirks, drinking black coffee, kind of shy reader

Word Count: 1.5K

Shinsou loves cats, no one can deny that. He cares for his two adult cats each day, feeds them, gives them water, weekly checkups, and cuddles with them whenever he has free time. He starts off every afternoon getting ready for the day, feeding his cats, and watching whatever he found on his for you page. This was more than not his daily routine, besides work and kaminari dragging him to the bar now and again.

He works at a seven-eleven as a cashier, working from 3pm to 11pm, sometimes even later when his co-worker after him doesn’t come in for the night shift. His manager fired the guy and hired someone else, she’s a small elderly lady, but she gets to her shift on time, so Shinsou never complained when she stopped him for a small chat.

He never really had any reason to deter from this daily regime. That was, until about a week ago his whole routine went out the window. As of lately he's been fluctuating his schedule around to stop by a certain cafe.

That’s where Shinsou, Hitoshi met a nice girl, around the same age as him at a local cafe. She’s a bit shy, always looking down or glancing away everytime he stared in her direction. Her face always looked flushed, probably from all the hot steam that gets blasted in her face. Her name tag read, (L/n),(Y/n), a pretty name for a pretty face he thought. They chatted every time he came in there, bonding over coffee taste and their anti-social behavior.

He ordered a black coffee with a cat cookie, she made a side comment that she loved black coffee. Then, they both laughed that each of their friends hate the taste of regular coffee.

Shinsou found himself dropping in at that cafe every week or so, just to see her. Waking up early to come drop by the cafe or blowing off trips to the bar to hang out with her after work. He slowly started to gain confidence with each passing minute. He finally acquired enough courage to ask her out on a date and from then on you both have been inseparable. You wouldn’t catch Shinsou without (L/n) next to him.

Like right now, he had his tongue down down your throat, the weight of his body pressed against your front. Grinding against your pelvic, and smirking once you began to do the same. His hard on rubbed up against your clothed area, causing a soft mew to come from you. He pulled away, bringing a trail of saliva with him. He kissed your cheek and worked his way down to your neck. Shinsou’s big hand slid up your shirt, tugging at your bra fumbling with the strap. An annoyed grunt hummed against your neck, and you humored him for a bit before undoing the “tricky” clasps.

“I could’ve done that, ya know.” He remarked. His big hands palmed at your chest, squeezing the plump flesh and teasing your hardened nipples. Your hands worked up his jacket feeling at his muscles, a smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. He pulled his jacket and shirt off, aimlessly tossing it behind him. “Like what you see, kitty.”

“Mhm.” She averted her eyes, a look of embarrassment plastered on her features.

Clothes quickly were skewed across the room, Shinsou locked lips with you again. His hand reached out to his bedside drawer trying to pull out his condom stash. Only his hand touched something besides the sleek feel of the box. It was soft and for a moment thought he was touching one of the pillows he received from Mina, but this one was really warm. Tearing his mouth off yours he stared at the cat laying underneath his hand. He forgot that Mochi was still in his room as he remembered that she followed them down the hallway. Soft purring hummed against his palm and as he redirected his hand to his drawer, the cat followed forth and jumped down into the now open drawer.

Goddammit, Mochi! Not now, I’m trying to get laid.

“What’s wrong, Shinsou?” You asked.

“Nothing,” He uttered, his hand yanked out the rubber presenting it to her. “Just looking for protection.” Tearing the plastic off, Shinsou rolled the rubber down his length, giving it a few practice tugs. Smirking Shinsou went back to making out with you, his hand traveled south down your body. Thick fingers played with your sensitive button for a while, before concentrating on preparing your tight hole.

His other hand caressed your face,“You ready?” Receiving an assured nod, Shinsou moved in between your thighs. Massaging his shaft between your slick folds. Grabbing hold of his length he slowly maneuvered his shaft to your hole. The head slipped in and that alone sent shivers up his spine. Sinking all the way to the hilt he looked up to you for any signs of discomfort. Gripping your knees he leaned down to kiss your heated cheeks, whispering sweet nothings into your ear. As he waited for you to give ‘the all go ahead’, Shinsou was trying his best not to nut just yet. You squeezed his dick in a vice grip making it even harder to compose himself.

Grinding your pelvic and hips to his you wrapped your arms around his chest. “Y-you can continue.”

With that he began his slow pace, looking down at your face to see your face scrunch up in euphoria. Gradually, his pace got a little faster, moving your left leg further towards your chest.

“F-faster.”

“You sure.” He groaned out. You gave a firm nod, Shinsou nodded back in response. Fingers latched around the mound of flesh on the back part of your thigh, lifting them up he placed the back of your knees on his shoulders. Re-positioning his body he situated both his thighs on either side of your hips and slammed his cock back in. A muffled yelp came from you, smirking he pulled out half way before ramming his dick in your plum cunt. Grinning Shinsou’s pace sped up to an abnormal rate, tears fled down your face as he bottomed you out.

His concentration was soon was hindered by something furry rubbing up against his foot steadily trailing up his calf. A flash of silver darted across his peripheral, easing her way between the two gently purring on top of your chest.

“Mochi.” His voice was stern, but the cat leisurely casted her gaze down at you pawing at your nose. “Mochi, no.” Releasing your legs he picked the cat off your chest and softly placed her off the bed. Before he could even go back to having sex with you Mochi jumped back on the bed, placing herself halfway on your boob. Pawing at the fleshy mound before being kicked off the bed again.

Shinsou decided to put her outside the room, “She really loves her papa.”

Maybe too much. He noted.

Climbing back onto the bed he loomed over your frame, “Let’s continue where we left off, Kitty-cat.” Leaning over her he caught her lips and began to make up for the little distraction. He didn’t get far as the sounds of excessive mewling began to get louder with each flying second. A very loud yowl followed by growling insured.

“We can do this another time or at my place next time.”

Mochi. Goddamnit. Why now?

“Yeah, sorry.” A defeated sigh escaped past his lips. His mind wandered off to past experiences with lovers, some hated his cats after about a week into the relationship or agreeing to a second date after learning about his cats. A light peck on his cheek snapped him out of his trance, gazing down at you his face grew bright red and before he could give another apology you intruded on his rant.

“To be honest I’m just glad I got to spend this time with you. You make me very happy, Shinsou.” A warm smile grace your features, your swollen lips pecked his lips. “Even if our time was intruded by a very clingy kitty.” A giggle slipped out, causing Shinsou to laugh in response.

“I’m glad I got to spend this time with you, too.” Crawling under the cover he pulled you in with him, the warmth of your body gave some realism to the situation. “Uh, do you want to get washed up before bed or I could just get you a washcloth.”

Nodding you asked to use his washroom, he motioned with his hand that his restroom was down the hall, the middle door. He watched as you sauntered out the room, letting in Mochi as you went. The cat jumped into Shinsou’s lap, stretching and kneading his thigh as he stared up at her master.

“You may be a cock block, Mochi and I can’t really blame you for that since you’re a cat, but thank you. I’m pretty sure you just brung me and (L/n)-chan a bit closer.” The silver haired cat yawned as she curled up in her master’s lap.

Shinsou sat back against his headboard, petting and scratching his cat's head. His mind is roaming to various abstractions, slowly dozing off absentmindedly. . .

Shit! I’m still wearing the condom!

#shinsou x reader #shinsou imagine #shinsou hitoshi x reader #bnha #bnha imagines

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romioneficfest · 3 years

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Just a Snog

Title: Just a Snog

Prompt/Day: 7 - Anything Goes

Tumblr Name:

Rating: T

Brief Summary: 6th Year AU - Ron confronts Hermione immediately following his row with Ginny.

Triggers: language

***********

"Harry's snogged Cho Chang!" shouted Ginny, who sounded close to tears now. "And Hermione snogged Viktor Krum, it's only you who acts like it's something disgusting, Ron, and that's because you've got about as much experience as a twelve-year-old!"

And with that, she stormed away. Harry quickly let go of Ron; the look on his face was murderous. They both stood there, breathing heavily, until Mrs. Norris, Filch's cat, appeared around the corner, which broke the tension.

"C'mon," said Harry, as the sound of Filch's shuffling feet reached their ears.

Ron tore off ahead of Harry, blinded by rage. He could faintly hear Harry calling after him but couldn’t be bothered to look back. How dare Ginny call him out like that? He was already in a shit mood from practice, and the last thing he wanted was to see his sister snogging his dorm-mate behind a bloody tapestry.

All he’d wanted was to go back up to Gryffindor tower, take a hot shower and go to bed. Sod his homework, he’d do it later. But now, he was too riled up to even think about settling down. Images of fucking Viktor Krum with his hands all over Hermione poured into his mind, and no matter how many times he tried to scrub the image away, it just came back ten times worse.

“Ron, wait up!” Harry panted behind him.

Ron stopped dead in his tracks at the sound of his voice as a blatant realization occurred. Harry hadn’t acted surprised when Ginny shared that bit of knowledge. Why wasn’t Harry surprised? He spun on his heel to face Harry, who’d stopped short of crashing into him.

“You knew.” Ron’s voice was low and murderous. A jealous rage simmered underneath his skin.

“Mate, you’ve got to calm down! You know as well as anyone how Ginny just says stuff when she’s angry,” Harry offered a weak explanation.

“You knew, didn’t you?” Ron wasn’t about to be deterred.

“About Cho? Well, yeah, I was there…”

“ABOUT HERMIONE, YOU TOSSER!” Ron roared.

“I—I heard them talking about it one night, but Hermione never said anything to me. I kind of suspected—”

“And you didn’t think to tell me?”

“It wasn’t my information to tell! Why does it matter?”

Those were the absolute wrong words to say, and Harry knew it, judging by the look on his face. Ron stormed off again, taking out his anger on a small first year in the corridor as he stalked past, but that wasn’t enough to even remotely subdue the beast within. He needed to find Hermione. Enraged as he was, he needed to hear that she’d snogged Krum from her own mouth.

He felt completely sucker-punched by the whole thing, like she’d betrayed everything about their friendship. Not that he had any claim to her or anything. That wasn’t what he meant, but still, some part of him thought that maybe—

It doesn’t matter now, does it?

As he approached the Fat Lady, Ron growled the password at her, only to receive a snide remark about politeness and a rude stare in return. He bit back the urge to tell her off for fear she wouldn’t permit his entry. Ron barely waited for the portrait to open completely before tumbling in. His eyes peered around the common room, but it didn’t take long to see Hermione working at one of the small tables in the corner.

“Ron, don’t do anything stupid,” Harry managed to mutter behind him.

Unable to make any guarantees, Ron left Harry in his wake as he marched over to Hermione. When she noticed him, her face lit up, and a wide smile graced her lips. It was enough to lessen his anger by a tick, even though his resolve didn’t break.

“Did you snog Krum?” he blurted out.

Hermione’s warm smile immediately turned to a frown. “What?”

“Just answer the question, Hermione. Did you snog Krum?”

He noticed how she looked down and began fidgeting with her quill as her teeth rolled over her bottom lip.

“I—I wouldn’t call it a snog exactly,” she said slowly, unable to meet his eyes.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Ron snapped, the anger returning to its original state as she spoke in bloody riddles.

That got her attention as she met his gaze.

“Why do you care?” she asked, her tone defensive.

“Why do I care? Because I thought we were best friends! Best friends don’t keep bloody secrets from each other! So, you snogged a sodding international quidditch star in fourth year. Now what? Are you seeing anyone else in secret?”

Ron was sure his whole face was burning crimson at his ridiculous accusations, but he didn’t care. He noticed Hermione’s nostrils flare as she stood quickly, knocking the chair over in her haste. It was comical, really, and Ron had to bite back a laugh as she attempted to size up to him.

“How dare you! What goes on in my personal life is none of your business! Last I checked, I didn’t need to disclose a few chaste kisses with my Yule Ball date to you! And even if it was a snog, I wouldn’t have told you anyway!”

Ron opened his mouth to speak but paused as her words hit him like a freight train. A few chaste kisses. So...not a snog? Why would Ginny lie? Harry’s words popped into his head next: You know how she gets when she’s angry.

This didn’t completely diminish the anger coursing through his veins. He still felt betrayed by Hermione, but the anger now mixed with a soft flutter in his chest knowing she hadn’t snogged Krum. Or anyone else, he hoped. But Ron couldn’t let her see that his anger had subsided so quickly. Not when they were just getting in the thick of it. He still had a point to prove.

“Well, then I guess we aren’t as close as I thought! Since you could tell Ginny and Harry, but not me!” Ron knew it was a low blow, especially because Harry had admitted she hadn’t told him, but he couldn’t help it.

Hermione let out a disgruntled sigh as Ron watched her begin to pack up her things and throw them in her bag. Was it just him, or were her eyes becoming redder? After she closed the flap on her bag and hoisted it onto her shoulder, she shot Ron a scathing look.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize I needed to give you a play-by-play of every moment in my life! Let me make it up to you right now. I was having a perfectly enjoyable evening, but now it’s been ruined by a red-headed prat, so I’m heading up to bed. Is that alright with you?”

No, it’s not bloody alright with me! Ron shouted internally.

There was still one more question weighing on the back of his mind that he was desperate for her to answer. She was halfway across the common room before Ron found his voice.

“So, since your type seems to be famous quidditch stars, why invite me to Slughorn’s party? Out of pity?” Ron scoffed.

Ron walked closer to the boy’s staircase as he spoke, not wanting to be left alone in front of the rest of the common room like he’d lost the argument. He couldn’t help shooting one more dig at Krum and hoped he hadn’t taken it too far as he caught Hermione freezing with one foot on the first step of the girl’s staircase. A thrill shot through him as he thought he’d done it now.

Hermione made an abrupt turn and doubled back towards him, her face scarlet. Her voice was low and barely discernible as she tried her best to get in his face, despite being several inches shorter than him.

“If you must know, it was never a pity invite, nor was it meant to be as friends. I was asking you to be my date, but apparently you’re too thick to—”

Ron had no idea what came over him. Maybe it was her proximity as she was lifted up on tiptoe to match his stature or the brief wisps of the perfume he’d given her last Christmas that invaded his nostrils at the slightest of movements, but when the word date crossed her lips, he lost all self-control. He pulled her into him as his lips crashed onto hers in a possessive manner.

He had no idea what he was doing, but that didn’t stop him. Her stiff demeanor melted away as Hermione folded into his arms. Ron determined he must be doing something right since she hadn’t pulled away or slapped him across the face. She was kissing him back!

All too soon, he was jolted out of his reverie by a faint sound of whooping and cheering that erupted throughout the common room. As he pulled away, Ron suddenly became shy. He’d just kissed his best friend in the middle of a row in front of half of Gryffindor house.

The dazed look on Hermione’s face faded away as she said, “Should we, um, talk about this somewhere more private?”

“Er, yeah,” Ron agreed.

Talk, snog, whatever. Ron was so elated that he didn’t care. The anger had been replaced by full joy, and despite the fact that he was still angry with his sister, he chose to let that go...for now.

#hpfic #Romione FicFest 2021 #romione #Ron Weasley #Hermione Granger #Rated T #CW:#CW: Language #Ace Safe #Queue up for the Dragon

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princess-of-inarizaki · 3 years

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hello ! if ur requests are currently open, can i get headcanons / scenario of inarizakis manager having a celeb crush (like finn wolfhard, louis partridge ALSO if u can, can u please make the celeb crush louis patridge ? im kinda desperate for sum louis x reader scenarios lawl) and they let them simp for him cuz it's just a crush right ? right, what they don't know is that manager-chan has made some attempts for him (their celeb crush) to notice them and they have successfully made him notice them bc manager chan is such a charm, so what will be their reactions if they see manager chan holding hands with the celeb crush that they didn't worry ab ? thank u in advance if u do it ! but it's fine if ur requests aren't open,, i just didn't see any posts ab ur requests being closed hehe also sorry if i did this wrong 😭 this is my first time requesting sumthn 😭😭

Louis Patridge x Inarizaki manager

Oh my goshhh hi bb. I'm so glad I was your first :D (yes, initially, requests were closed, unfortunately) but this was literally such a good one, I couldn't resist writing it. (I'm in love with Louis Patridge too, bubs)

Also, just a tip (if you're gonna request on anon, make sure you follow me, or have my profile saved because tumblr doesn't give you a notification when I've answered you 🥺🥺)

🦋; Inarizaki manager (reader) x Louis Patridge (celeb crush) x Inarizaki vbc ,, triggers: none!!

“Guys. DID YOU WATCH ENOLA HOLMES?” your breathless face was red due to fact that you've ran a long way, obviously to tell them this.

Atsumu and Osamu nodded in unison, “Yea, that Millie Bobbi Brown chick acted prett' well”

Suna rolled his eyes. “Hated it. Only watched it for Superman, though.”

Kita shrugged, walked up to you, and shook his head as he smoothed your hair down (the stray curls obviously came undone as you were running). “I don't watch fictious movies, y/n-san. Was it good?”

Eyes sparkling, you nodded. “It was more than good. Besides, that actor, Louis Patridge? The guy who plays Lord Tewkesbury? I think I'm in love with him.” a dream-like look glazed over your eyes as you stared at your phone wallpaper wistfully.

Suddenly, the bell rang, jolting you back to reality. “Oh that's right, I need to go to class now.”, and with that, you left six very stunned boys in the gym.

“I wonder what'll be of her crush on that' actor?” asked Atsumu with a smirk. Don't be fooled though, behind the easygoing exterior, he was the most concerned of the lot (and the most jealous).

“Yer' overthinking it. They live oceans apart, and he plays movies on the big screen.” drawled Osamu.

“Yeah, I'm sure one of us still has more chance with her than him, she's actually met us, after all.” chirped Akagi, with a positive note. He was determined to win you over, and a celeb crush didn't deter him in any way.

Suna nodded, whilst Kita and Aran exchanged looks. “It's important to be supportive of her though. Albeit it being merely a schoolgirl crush, this could mean a lot to her.” said Kita, and his tone invited no further disagreement.

Back at home that evening, thoughts of the handsome brown haired boy could not leave your mind, and you logged onto Instagram, hoping to see if he had posted any updates.

He had, and it was a selfie of himself, with his tousled hair in all its "I-just-got-out-of-bed" glory. Damn, this man was sexy.

Smiling, you typed out a comment. “No offense, but if being adorable was a crime, you'd have fine written all over you ˃ᴗ˂ ”. Yes, it was dorky, and cheesy all in one. But why not? He might not ever read it anyways, as your comment got swept underneath the hundreds of others that came after it.

Sighing, you settled down to study, with thoughts about the comment and Louis pushed out of your mind.

Meanwhile, as Louis scrolled through his comments, a single one caught his eye. She used a pickup line (how adorable) which caused his cheeks to redden. Tentatively, he surveyed her profile, before feeling the familiar sensation of having a crush, wash over him.

She was gorgeous, and although he knew he shouldn't stalk random pretty girls over the internet, he couldn't help himself. Her pictures showed her to be the manager of a club of some sort, and she was almost always posing with a teammate. A male, teammate.

But damn, that smile. Even if he felt a small pit of unfounded jealousy at the guys, her smile was enough to distract him from anything.

His fingers hovered over the "follow back" button, before he finally gave in to temptation by following her, commenting, and putting his phone away quickly, suddenly feeling like a schoolboy all over again.

That morning, before school, you could barely believe the notifications waiting for you on your phone.

"louispatridge_ is following you"

"louispatridge_ commented: nah, if anyone's fine, it's gotta be you ˃ᴗ˂ "

Of course, after having seven mini panic attacks, and fawning over him, you set out to tell your boys at the volleyball club the good news.

And all you could think about on the way there was how Louis Patridge somehow noticed you. It was unbelievable, and somehow turned your insides to jelly.

As soon as you reached the gym, you flung yourself on Atsumu, engulfing him in a hug. “Guys I'm so happy” you managed to choke out.

Atsumu obviously enjoyed holding you, and he gently wrapped his arms around you to feel your heart beating quickly

“To what do we owe the pleasure of seeing you this early, y/n?” joked Aran.

Wordlessly, you dug into your pocket and pulled out your phone. “He thinks I'm fine. Fine means hot right? I mean, I used it meaning hot. Because he is hot. And he thinks the same of me, that's gotta be good? And the emoticon. He used the same one, he's so cu—”

But you were interrupted out of your whisper-babble by the boys' shocked faces. He noticed her? This fast? “I'm so happy for you, y/n” said Akagi cheerfully, but internally he was demotivated and sad at the prospect of you dating the young star.

Suna looked at you thoughtfully and ruffled your hair. “That's my girl. She's just as amazing and capable as those girls on the silver screen.” and although it pained him to say this, he just wanted to share your happiness.

The twins were withdrawn, and Kita congratulated you, whilst obviously feeling a bit regretful for dismissing it as a "schoolgirl crush".

In general, the boys were upset, but not surprised. If you had them all collectively whipped for you, why not a movie star?

After kissing Suna's cheek and waving the rest of the boys off, you skipped all the way to homeroom, excited to share the news with your friends.

Silence followed your absence as Aran shrugged. “So are we gonna acknowledge the elephant in the room?”

Atsumu pouted and glared at them all. “Why did he have to notice her? Was it her profile picture? I've always asked her to change it, she looks way too attractive.”

Osamu nodded and jutted his bottom lip. “I mean, we think she's the most beautiful girl in the world, and apparently other guys do too.”

“Oh God make it stop” whispered Suna. “I wish she'd just stay ours. I don't mind competing with you guys, I'm obviously better, but that actor dude? No chance.”

“We'll be supportive” reaffirmed Kita. “Above all, she's out friend and we do not own her. If this makes her happy, we won't ruin it.”. Akagi and Aran were quiet.

Ever since that day, you and Louis have been slowly but steadily growing closer and falling harder for each other.

He tried his luck by texting you, and although you were shy and tentative at first, getting to know the real him was refreshing.

And you really did like him. He was intelligent, adorable, and realistic. The two of you spent your time from dusk till' dawn talking, whether on call or on text.

And no one could deny the blossoming chemistry between yourself and Louis. He was a gentleman in every way, and his honeyed words stuck in your heart, finding its way to be replayed every time you felt down.

The boys slowly saw you drifting away. And when you weren't, it was always "Louis this—" or “Louis said—” and frankly their hearts couldn't take it anymore. It was time to give up, and love you as a friend instead.

But immersed in his attention you barely even noticed.

One day, Louis called you as you were heading home after practice. “y/n! Love, guess what?”

“aw bubs, just tell me. I hate guessing. Mostly because I suck at it.”

You could hear him chuckle on the other side of the line as he softly whispered “I'm coming to Japan on the ninth!”

“Wait, Louis. Today's the ninth.”

“I know. So are you gonna come to that bubble tea place you won't shut up about, or must I come get you?”

“You're joking”

“I'm not. I've wanted to surprise you, and I swear it was one of the hardest things I've ever had to do. Which includes getting kicked by a horse on set, but nevermind about that, y/n, I want to see you, so get your arse here.”

“Coming, Lord Tewkesbury”

“I might have a kink.”

You blushed bright red at his words. “shut up oh my gosh, I'll be there.”

Louis ended the call with a small smile on his face. He knew how easily flustered you were with him and he loved it. It was just another thing on the list of all the reasons why Louis Patridge adored you to hell and back.

The whole way to the shop, your heart was pounding. So you'd finally get to meet the guy you've been dreaming about ever since you laid eyes on him in a movie.

Ever since those late night phone calls and early morning texts made your heart race and eyes sparkle with wonder.

You were finally meeting him.

The familiar sweet smell of the tea washed over you, and a familiar face waited for you at the entrance. His brown eyes looked gorgeous in the sun and his hair was tousled exactly the way you once saw in a selfie.

Wasting no time, you ran to him, pulling him to a hug. He laughed and caught you in his arms, holding you closer as your legs wrapped around his waist. No words were exchanged, just touches. There were too many words said already.

After pulling away, he gently stroked his thumb through your features. Tucking a strand aside, ruffling your hair. His hands ached to touch you, and now, finally, he could.

“You're such a dork.” was all you could whisper, afraid speaking loudly would break the spell.

“Your dork. All yours.”

“Louis!” your voice went an octave higher as the familiar warm sensation came over your cheeks, painting them a delicate pink.

“Oh God, I've always wanted to see you blush. How can you be so adorable?? Oh God.”

You whined in protest, but frankly, you were too happy to be around him to care much at all.

Tipping your chin to face him, Louis Patridge did the one thing he dreamt of doing, ever since he stalked through your Instagram profile one fateful morning.

He kissed you.

And wouldn't you know it? You kissed him back. It was warm, comforting, and everything you thought it'd be.

Meanwhile, the boys had finished cleaning up the gym, and started heading home.

“Hey guys, do you wanna go grab some bubble tea?” asked Aran. The prospect of food, or sweet things always cheered up the boys, and after a day of particularly grueling practice, it was no surprise they agreed at once.

You however, were comfortably nestled next to Louis as you swapped stories. Your hands never left each other, though. He kept stroking your palm, just to remind himself you were here, right next to him.

“So how's the volleyball club, Mrs. manager?”

“Mrs? Do I look like I'm married?” to which Louis responded with a shrug and wink.

Coincidentally, the Inarizaki boys entered the shop at that very moment, freezing in their tracks after seeing you in a booth with Louis.

“Psst. Guys. Loverboy's here.”

“Should we say hello?”

“I might cry if they kiss” whimpered Akagi.

“We need to say hello, it's the right thing to do.” said Kita sensibly, as he walked up to the two of you. “Hello y/n-san, Louis-san.” said Kita with a slight nod.

Happily, you rose from your seat and hugged the captain, thanking him for saying hi, as you introduced him to Louis.

Soon, the other boys came around and one by one, introduced themselves as well. Honestly speaking, they were jealous. How could they possibly get over someone like you? Someone as spectacular and beautiful as you? But when they saw you face shining with radiance as you smiled at Louis, and the way his hands never left yours, they understood.

And they wanted you to be happy. That was the most important thing, above all else for the both of them.

“I love you, manager-chan.”

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jaskiersvalley · 4 years

Note

I absolutely love your writing!! It's so very enjoyable and your au's are absolutely delightful. I just thought you should know.

Thank you so much, Nonnie! AUs are something I really enjoy and to hear that others find them fun makes me so very happy. As a little thank you, here’s another AU feat Kaer Morhen Radio and a Jaskier driving an 18 wheeler.

Life was a lonely one on the road. There were many acquaintances and other drivers Jaskier had a passing friendship with, Valdo Marx had the annoying habit of having similar routes to him - they did say mimicry was the highest form of compliment. Alas, nobody was a steady presence in Jaskier’s life. Well, nobody who was aware of him. Though there was the Kaer Morhen Radio family. They were the closest Jaskier had to everyday friends, as sad as that sounded.

“Good morning fuckheads.” Such a declaration could only mean it was 6am and Lambert had taken over. Instinctively, Jaskier was smiling as he sat up with a yawn. Most radio stations liked to gently rouse listeners with swelling music that got more up beat as the day went on. Not Kaer Morhen Radio. They had Lambert as their morning DJ, there to wake sensitive ears in more and more creative ways. He had become known for his unique way to wake listeners up; from bringing in pots to bang to trying to imitate the mating call of a moose at full volume. The only thing listeners loved more than Lambert being a general prick was his flirtation with Aiden who did weather and traffic announcements.

“And, in those four famous words: and now, the weather,” Lambert announced gleefully. After a long moment of silence, he snickered. “We shall have to give Aiden a moment to climb out from under the desk and rinse his mouth. In the mean time, here’s a banger.”

The banger, Jaskier was surprised to find, was quite literally a recording of someone (possibly Lambert) attempting to play drums (badly) on some kitchen pots. By the time the piece reached its rather boisterous end, it seemed that Aiden was no longer preoccupied.

“The weather today-” Jaskier tuned Aiden’s words out in favour of figuring out whether he was messing around or whether he really did sound so husky and gravelly thanks to having his throat fucked. It was quite the conundrum and Jaskier spent the start of his morning drive wondering how many complaints Lambert and Aiden will get now. Their record was 36 for the game of “identify that noise” wherein they stuck their fingers in various containers and made them squelch. To that day, nobody knew whether the last one really was, in Lambert’s words, “Aiden’s well used hole and my come”.

Afternoons were much more peaceful. Eskel took over at 2pm and he was laid back, played soothing music and gave the impression of being a very calm and reliable member of society. Jaskier always maintained it was an impression because, among all the chat, Eskel would sometimes drop a strange little fact that made him do a double take or two.

“This next song,” Eskel had once said, “was written while under the influence of cocaine.” It was a reasonable enough fact to share, Jaskier had been listening while stuck in a traffic jam along a motorway. “How they managed to write it though, I have no idea. Cocaine is terrible for your focus, I could barely scratch an itch before being distracted by something else. So kudos to the writers for creating a whole song while off their face.”

Which was something Jaskier had never thought Eskel would know anything about. He always seemed to demure, the solid rock of Kaer Morhen Radio. He balanced out Yennefer’s news updates perfectly. It was probably why Jaskier liked him so much, now that he thought of it. The surface innocence mixed in with hints of a very colourful life lived beneath the steady exterior. Well, hints other than the incident where Eskel somehow managed to not turn his microphone off and had a conversation about going to a rave with someone who worked at the radio station. Nobody knew the man’s name and his answers were half muffled but listeners swore they heard him suggest something along the lines of a collar and leash - which Eskel had hummed in agreement to, sounding all too happy. When questioned, Eskel resolutely refused to name the mystery man but conceded that there had been a rave. Jury was out whether Eskel had grumbled about being ‘in ecstasy’ or ‘on ecstasy’ for it. And there was definitely a picture of floating around the internet of him in a collar at what definitely looked like an underground rave.

The real reason Jaskier listened to Kaer Morhen Radio was the late night DJ. 10pm on the dot, Eskel would flick the switch and a prerecorded intro played, announcing that it was Late Late Nights with Geralt. Between 10pm and 6am, Geralt manned the station. The only reason Jaskier knew his name was because of the intro. Otherwise the man was silent other than a few hums between songs. Sometimes, presumably when he knocked something over, there would be a growled “fuck” that listeners lived for.

As little as Geralt said, Jaskier was in love. The music was eclectic and death metal could be followed up by electro swing or grime. There was to way to predict just what Geralt would play next, he didn’t take requests, didn’t talk to his listeners. But, somehow, he still drew them in. Jaskier had made the mistake of looking Geralt up online and swooned a little at the few pictures available. It seemed Geralt was an elusive man, somehow managing to turn away from cameras with an uncanny ability. Though a few pictures did exist of Lambert and Eskel on either side of him, quite literally holding him down for a photo.

Truthfully, Geralt was one of the main reasons Jaskier chose to do overnight hauls. Not only did they pay better, he also had Geralt’s nonverbal grunts and hmms to look forward to. He was well aware that it was an infatuation and nothing more. He’d never met Geralt before, Geralt wasn’t even aware of his existence. So, really, Jaskier could daydream all he wanted but had no intention of doing anything more.

Except, Jaskier couldn’t help but wonder. Geralt had such range in his musical taste, maybe he would like what Jaskier wrote. It was a rare night off and Jaskier was well into the bottle with Valdo when they got talking, egging each other on about who was the better musician. It ended with Jaskier drunkenly posting a CD of his music to Kaer Morhen Radio, addressed for Geralt. When he woke up in the morning, on the floor next to his couch which was occupied by Valdo, Jaskier groaned.

Thankfully, there was never a mention or even a single note of his music in the next week. Slowly, Jaskier relaxed, only a little disappointed that his music hadn’t even been acknowledged by Geralt. He almost had a heart attack when eight days later, Lambert came on air with a mad cackle.

“Morning fuckheads!” Lambert sounded more cheery than ever before. “You’ll never guess what I found. Geralt has been hoarding new music. Good music. Said it was for him. Well, I have decided he cannot hold this back from us. If you’re listening, Jaskier, your note was hilarious. I hope your hangover was worth it. Thanks for the CD!”

There was a growl that sounded like Geralt storming into the booth but the microphone was cut and Jaskier’s song started playing. Jaskier almost crashed his truck in shock. Especially when Lambert declared it so good, they would play it again and, sure enough, the song went back to the beginning to play twice in a row.

If it had just been Lambert, Jaskier would have quietly died of shame, accepting that he was being mocked. But Eskel got in on it too. That afternoon he introduced Jaskier’s song with the promise that management were looking into getting in touch with him about the music. Even worse, a listener even requested the song later that evening. Jaskier was both in heaven and hell at the same time. That night, Geralt didn’t play his song and Jaskier was only a little disappointed.

His phone rang the next day.

“Good afternoon, my name is Vesemir, I’m calling from Kaer Morhen Radio. May I speak to Jaskier?”

Jaskier promptly choked. He got an invitation to the studio. It was a good seven days of driving away and Jaskier searched for a contract that would take him across the continent. While he drove, he got a bit braver and started e-mailing the radio station on his breaks.

His written request for songs were acknowledged by a hum and the song coming on next. When he asked Geralt for a shout out, he got obnoxious pop music playing instead. So Jaskier asked for two hums if Geralt wanted to meet and three if he didn’t. Thus, there was a “fuck” on air and the Beauty and the Beast theme song started playing. It was safe to say Jaskier didn’t understand it but he wasn’t deterred.

By the time Jaskier got into town and made his delivery, it was almost 6am. There was no time he had been specifically invited for and he ended up approaching the building at the same time Lambert showed up with Aiden and three large cups of coffee in hand.

“Excuse me,” he called out, “I’m here to see Vesemir.”

“Bit early for that.”

“He never gave me a time so I figured an early start would be appreciated.” It wasn’t exactly a lie but Jaskier kind of wanted to meet Geralt who would be finishing up soon.

For some bizarre reason, Jaskier was led into the radio studio, no questions asked. Surely it was a security issue but then again, Jaskier checked out Lambert and Aiden, they would no doubt be able to handle any issues. Then there was Geralt, stepping out of the booth, Lambert’s intro queued up. He froze when he spotted Jaskier and, curiously, glanced away, seemingly all shy. The curious response was explained away all too soon. There, on the wall, was Jaskier’s CD and a polaroid of him and Valdo, helpfully labeled “The Talent” with an arrow to Jaskier and “The Fake” pointing at Valdo.

“You here for Vesemir?” Geralt asked eventually, sipping at one of the cups Lambert had brought.

“Amongst other things,” Jaskier replied.

“He won’t be here until 10. Why don’t we go grab breakfast while you wait?”

Aiden wolf whistled at that and Lambert whooped, arms in the air.

“My dear fuckheads,” he purred into the microphone, “we have a date between our local cryptid and our mystery siren. Please wish them luck.”

It turned out that, in person, Geralt was a bit more talkative than on air. And Jaskier helped fill any silence without any problems. He ended up being later than planned to meet Vesemir and Tissaia who had a very handsome cheque for him for playing his music and also his phone number with the promise of passing it on to some connections who had expressed an interest in his music.

Never before had Jaskier thought he would thank Valdo Marx for anything. But, one drinking session with him had landed Jaskier with not only a contract with a record label but also a boyfriend. With his first pay, Jaskier send Valdo the biggest bouquet of flowers humanly possible.

#geraskier #laiden #geralt of rivia #jaskier #lambert #aiden #eskel #radio au #long post #tldr: jaskier drives a truck while geralt is a dj

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hutchhitched · 3 years

Text

Don’t Talk To Me

Written by: @hutchhitched

Prompt 76: Modern a/u Katniss is getting over the loss of her sister (you decide how) when she meets Peeta. She’s closed off but he finds a way in. Maybe she works for him? Him for her? Maybe she cries herself to sleep on his bread scented shoulder? (Please yes I need that) [submitted by @endlessnightlock]

Ratings/Warnings: T

A/N: Y’all... It’s finally here. This is story number nine from the nine prompts I claimed for the 2020 @everlarkficexchange and then lost the will to write during the early months of the pandemic. I wasn’t sure I’d get here, but it’s happened. This is not the story I intended to write when I took the prompt, but sometimes the muse takes control, and I simply follow. Thanks for your patience, and I hope you enjoy. Huge thanks to @javistg for understanding the delays and @endlessnightlock for being supportive of my plot change.

Katniss Everdeen hates people. Well, that’s not exactly true, but she doesn’t exactly like them either. They’re too…human or whatever. Too many acquaintances. The last thing she wants to do is get close to any of them, especially after the events of the past few months. She’s barely holding it together as it is, and introducing people or, even worse, friends could tip her right over the edge. She values her sanity.

That’s probably why the new, sweet, disgustingly optimistic, overly friendly hire at the coffee shop where Katniss works irritates her so much. He’s just so nauseatingly earnest. It makes her want to punch him in the face.

“How’s my favorite barista today?” he asks when she joins him behind the counter while still tying her apron. She mumbles noncommittally, but he doesn’t seem at all deterred. “I like that sweater.”

“Peeta,” she says as she attempts to maintain control of her temper. He looks at her with such eagerness, she wilts under his obvious enthusiasm. “I’m just… It’s not a good day. Can we not?”

His face falls, and she almost relents. She doesn’t know what it is that’s convinced him she’s someone he needs to befriend, but she simply has no interest. She doesn’t want more entanglements. They hurt too much.

“Sorry,” he whispers and turns away. She swallows a twinge of guilt for hurting his feelings, but she doesn’t yield. Instead, she pivots to the espresso machine and starts making coffee. They work together silently, their only conversation about drink orders. They move around each other easily with no uncomfortable bumping or banging elbows or shoulders. He’s a good worker, at least, and he knows how to take a hint.

“See you tomorrow,” Peeta says softly as his shift ends, and she flashes a brief smile. She doesn’t want to be rude, but come on. He doesn’t have to be friends with everybody.

It continues like that for months, him fruitlessly friendly and her taciturn and distant. He continues to pursue a friendship, never pushing or prodding, simply being there and consistently showing kind. It’s exhausting.

“How do you manage to stay so sickeningly upbeat?” she asks finally after several days of wanting to scream. He wears her down. She’d tell him to stop, but she’s starting to think she might like his optimism a little bit.

He pauses for a second to glance at her before returning his attention to slipping sleeves onto the cup he’s holding. He calls out the order and smiles at the customer before answering. “What’s the other option? Being miserable?”

“Well, I’m pretty good at it.”

“I don’t think that’s true,” he argues softly. “I think you’ve had a rough time, and you’re grieving and healing. No one begrudges you that.”

She gapes at him for a few seconds before snapping back to attention. The last thing she needs is to break down in front of everyone. Somehow, she thought he didn’t know anything. It’s disconcerting to realize her grief is on public display when she’s worked so hard to tuck it away. She reels, and he presses his lips together in frustration.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to overstep.”

“It’s… You’re fine.” She swallows hard and shakes her head. “I’m taking my break.”

His wounded expression slices through her as she flees.

****

Another couple of weeks pass before Katniss finds herself alone with Peeta again. They’re scheduled to close on a slow night, and everyone else has gone home when he locks the door behind the last customer and she turns off the light and secures the window for the drive through window.

“Alone at last,” she jokes and is struck by his wry grin.

“You don’t have to do that.”

“Lock up? I think I do.”

He catches her gaze and refuses to let it drop. “Pretend to be happy you’re here with me.”

“I—”

“I’m sorry,” he insists. “I thought maybe if I could talk to you and stop being so, you know, wounded that maybe we could take a shot at being friends. I didn’t mean to upset you, Katniss. That’s the last thing I’d ever want to do.”

She doesn’t answer for several beats. He squirms a little and drops his eyes to study twisting hands and twitching feet. She’s going to regret this. She knows she will. Still, there’s something sweet and shy and kind that she yearns for when the rest of the world is so hard and cold. Maybe it’s weakness or something else equally awful she should expunge from her personality, but she can’t let him spiral this way. Maybe it’ll stop hers, too.

“We could, uh, try that.”

It comes out garbled and stunted, but the change in his countenance makes her glad she took the step. A thousand emotions flit over his handsome face, but a grin splits his lips so wide that his teeth flash white. She holds up her hands to head him off, but he steadies himself. With eyes twinkling, he chuckles.

“I saw the fear there for a second. I’ll control myself before I start asking the deep stuff.”

“The deep stuff?” she asks, still gun-shy.

“Yeah, like it’s crazy that I’d voluntarily cover a shift for you if you called in sick, but I don’t know your favorite color.”

“It’s green.”

“Mine’s orange.”

“Like those chairs?” she laughs and nods at the overly bright upholstery on the furniture. Apparently someone in corporate thought pumpkin spice wasn’t just their most popular fall drink; it was also where customers could put their butts as they sipped caffeine-laden drinks.

“Softer,” he answers, his voice a breathy whisper. “Like the sunset.”

Her eyes drift shut. He’s put a spell on the space with his words, and she wants to stay there for a moment. When he’s not being overeager, Peeta Mellark is charming as hell. Lord, help her.

“Can I tell you a secret? It’s really important.”

She tenses, but when she opens her eyes, she finds that he’s moved closer to her and propped his hip against the counter. He looks so young and hopeful there’s no way she can be scared of him.

“If you must,” she sniffs and smiles to soften her response.

“Lean in close. It’s a big one.” She does so slowly, and he waits patiently until she’s close enough that he can whisper, “Don’t tell our boss, but I’m a tea guy. Two lumps of sugar. I don’t even like coffee.”

Her eyes widen for a split second, and then she bursts into laughter. Tears gather in her eyes as she shakes. “That’s not a big one!”

“Coffee is life, Katniss. A known tea drinker would be cast out among the wolves. I’ll just stay incognito. I’m trusting you with my life here.”

“And what if I spill it?”

“Spill the tea?” He winks as she gasps for air. Just as quickly, he wipes his expression from his face and assumes mock sobriety. Somberly, he picks up the broom and starts to sweep. “Well, then, I guess you’ll have one fewer opponent to beat out for employee of the month.”

The whole idea that Katniss, surly and grumpy as she is, could ever win a customer service award is so preposterous she can’t keep from giggling. By the time the café is clean, she’s a million times lighter. When they head separate ways after locking up, she watches him as he strides down the street. Before he turns the corner, he tosses a look over his shoulder and waves. She doesn’t even have to think about it. She waves back.

****

They become friends, and it upends her life. Katniss isn’t used to having people around. Not since her sister passed away and left her all alone in the world. Katniss had gotten used to being an orphan, but when her sister was killed in a car crash, the loneliness and despair overwhelmed her. With Peeta around, she doesn’t feel quite so isolated anymore.

They take short walks on shared breaks, and he leans down to pick dandelions from between the sidewalk cracks before handing them to her with a bashful grin. He shields her from overly aggressive customers during busy periods at the café, and, after several weeks, he manages to convince her that spending time together outside of work isn’t necessarily a bad thing.

“Friends do tend to see each other in social settings,” he teases, and Katniss finally relents.

They go to movies and basketball games and art exhibits and archery competitions and all sorts of other things she had no idea she’d enjoy until Peeta suggested the activity. Sometimes, they do mundane things like grocery shopping together. She finds she likes trying new things as long as there’s someone with her and they can debrief about what was good and bad afterward. He convinces her to try one of those art classes with BYOB wine and a pre-chosen image to paint, and she gasps when his own creation takes on a life of its own while hers seems like a bad paint with water replica. He teaches her to cook bread and cookies and cinnamon rolls, and she shares her heirloom lamb stew recipe with him. They’re comfortable together. He never pushes, never makes her feel like he needs anything more than simple friendship.

Until, that is, the anniversary of her sister’s death.

She should have taken off work. She knows that, but the café is short-handed. Besides, she needs the money. It’s rainy and muggy and awful when she leaves the house, and the subway is packed much more than usual. She’s jostled and pushed and touched inappropriately (although, that was likely unintentional with how closely pressed together the passengers are in the train car), so that by the time she gets to work, she’s irritable, grumpy, and a ten seconds from losing it.

It’s possible it’s the weather or the alignment of the stars or an almost full-moon or the changing of the seasons. It could be that other people are suffering from trauma and loss and depression, as well. Or it could be that Katniss just has really bad luck.

“This drink is wrong.”

The harsh complaint is snapped at her by an unpleasant looking man with white hair and a beard. He looks at her like she’s something rotten on the underside of his shoe when he shoves the cup toward her and sloshes some of the hot liquid on her outstretched hand. She hisses at the burn and immediately turns to the sink to run cold water over her skin before it blisters.

“Don’t turn your back on me! Fix my coffee.”

Katniss tenses, her guard up, but she refuses to move. His actions burned her, and she’s following not only methods of self-preservation but also the company’s safe work policies. Injuries are to be treated immediately on the job. She’s doing that.

He continues yelling, attracting the attention of patrons and staff. Peeta finishes with the order he’s taking and quickly intervenes, coming to her rescue whether she wants him to or not. She’s not sure which is accurate.

“Can I help you, sir? My name is Peeta, and I’m—”

The man squints at Peeta and raises a shaking hand toward me. He’s livid, and Peeta takes a half-step back at the fury that’s suddenly directed his way. The situation escalates. It’s not pretty. The police are called, and customers are shaken. That’s nothing compared to the way Katniss quakes inside her own skin. She’s barely holding it together when their manager intercedes.

“Get her out of here,” Haymitch barks at Peeta before turning to the customer. The coffee cup he’s thrown at her rolls on the floor in a puddle of liquid. The name scrawled on the outside is Snow. It’s ironic. Katniss has always hated winter.

They make it to the back before she crumbles, and Peeta lets go of her hand to help her sit down on a stack of crates. He settles next to her and pulls her into a loose embrace—tight enough so that she knows he’s there but loose so she doesn’t feel trapped. It’s the perfect way to comfort her. He’s perfect, and she’s a mess.

The tears flow, and she’s too broken to bother to wipe them away. Shoulders shake and sobs tear from her throat in gulping heaves. At one point, she moans her dead sister’s name. It’s a mournful wail that washes over her and makes her hurt even worse. He pats her back and toys with the tip of her braid. It’s an unlikely source of solace, and it causes her to turn into him and press her face to his shoulder.

He smells like bread, she realizes in a random flash of clarity. She’s lamenting her sister, but that scent claws at her senses and registers in the olfactory section of her brain. How odd, she thinks before a fresh wave of grief shakes her torso.

“It’s okay, sweetheart,” he whispers. “I’m so sorry. I’m here. Take as long as you need. It’s okay. You’re okay.”

She’s not, though. She’s not all right, and she knows he understands that. He’s working with a limited vocabulary as he tries to help her. That’s what people say when they’re faced with a weeping friend. She’s done it herself. His tone of voice and gentle touch more than prove his compassion for her pain.

She doesn’t know how long they sit there, but it’s long enough that her tears have soaked his shoulder. A sharp cough invades their little bubble, and they both glance up to see Haymitch in the doorway.

“Clock out,” he orders in that gruff way of his. “We’ve got you both covered. Take her home, boy.” Peeta nods at the nickname without protest. It would be offensive if it meant anything other than their boss can’t remember anyone’s names, although that’s bad enough.

Peeta hails a cab and gives her address. He escorts her to her door and unlocks it for her before guiding her inside and seating her on the couch. When he moves away, she grabs at his hand and pulls him down next to her. His arms envelop her again, and she presses her face into his neck and allows the tears to streak down her cheeks while she hiccups. She hates being vulnerable, but she trusts him. They’ve grown close over the past few months.

Finally, she runs dry. Her sobs subside, and her body stills. He doesn’t shift, doesn’t attempt to pull away. Instead, he simply waits and gives her the space for what she needs. It’s a beautiful thing to grieve with someone who allows it to occur instead of hindering the process. She’s not okay. She won’t be for a long time, but she’s survived today. For now, that’s enough.

“Thank you,” she mumbles against his shoulder. When he doesn’t answer, she glances up at him through wet lashes and finds him looking at her with compassion in his piercing blue eyes. She could fall into them if she’d let herself. When he lifts his hand to brush flyaway wisps of hair from her forehead, she thinks maybe she should.

Time freezes. There’s a pulse between them that shakes the world. They’re drawn together, and she doesn’t second guess it or pull away from him. Instead, she closes her eyes and meets his mouth with hers. It’s gentle, just a sweet brush of lips, but it tastes like a reawakening, like the snow melting away and the earth coming back to life in spring.

It’s scary. It’s terrifying. It’s also right. After the events of the past year, she deserves a new beginning.

#everlarkficexchange #springtime edition 2020 #prompt 76 #everlark #everlark fanfiction #peeta mellark #katniss everdeen #don't talk to me #bring on the new beginnings #ready for the next round

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todoscript · 4 years

Note

10, Tamaki Amajiki, fluff or smut

Support

prompt: 10. “You really shouldn’t touch that… I told you.” genre: fluff. pairing: amajiki tamaki x fem!reader word count: 2.0k+ warnings: mentions of insecurities.

author’s note: This is longer than a drabble should be but I couldn’t control myself. Also, this is my first time writing for Tamaki so I hope I did well portraying him. Big thank you to @burnedbyshoto for being my beta reader as well as recommending the title for this work!

Tamaki Amajiki has experienced an extraordinary amount of circumstances in his life so far that not many boys his age could even imagine to go through. He’s fought crooks, robots, supervillains, hell even the yakuza, and has managed to come out in one piece every time and claim victory. Of course, he has his training and studies from a prestigious hero school to thank for equipping him with the tools he needs to combat such peril. However, no amount of training or experience could truly prepare him for this new, menacing adversary.

A classroom full of school children.

Being a trio backed up by the honorable title of The Big 3, Mirio, Nejire, and Tamaki were given the opportunity to represent U.A. High School as they speak to classrooms of elementary students next week. This was a chance to talk with the younger generation and encourage them to think about a possible career as a crime fighter, while also ensuring that their futures were in safe hands thanks to heroes like them.

As a shy, introverted person whose solution in these social situations is to envisage everyone in the form of vegetables, Tamaki was not keen on this idea. Kids were boisterous and contained way too much energy in their little bodies to handle, making it much harder to conjure them as potatoes in his head. Not only that, but these days they’ve grown judgemental and full of themselves. They boast about their newly developed quirks amongst each other at playgrounds, already comparing their abilities at such an early age. All in all, his fragile spirit cannot handle interacting with these miniature monsters.

Nejire and Mirio seemed much better suited for this task. They glowed with charisma, and their energetic personalities naturally drew people to them. No doubt, the kids will especially be fond of how receptive they are to their young and frisky attitudes. Tamaki felt he just paled in comparison behind their light; however, his two friends would not allow him to deem himself that way.

“C’mon Tamaki, you have so many things going for you!” assures an optimistic Mirio during lunch as Tamaki sulks in the thought of meeting the kids. “You have an amazing quirk! I bet if you show it off, the kids will love it.”

True, the ability to manifest certain animal attributes depending on whatever he digests could tide the youngsters into liking him. But at the same time, would they really be captivated that easily? Aren’t kids at that age more into flashy things like lasers and explosions? No one wants to see him with cow hooves and clam hands, not with Nejire spiraling concussive vitality from her palms and Mirio shooting right up out of solid ground.

“I… I don’t know if the kids would be into my quirk…” he murmurs, eyes averting to his twiddling thumbs beneath the table.

“Amajiki, if you’re aiming to be a Pro Hero, you can’t let a bunch of ten-year-olds deter you!” chides Nejire. She forks a bit of her strewn pasta.

“Easy for you to say, Hadou. You’re bubbly and approachable. Everyone always comes to you. Meanwhile, the freshmen were intimidated by me before I even spoke a word.” Tamaki broods at his plate of food that grows colder during the conversation, but he can’t muster an appetite to eat it. “I can’t imagine how the kids would feel.”

Nejire chews on her noodles with a pitched hum. The trill ceases the moment her eyes light up, an idea flickering in her head.

“Say, how about you visit ____ at support during hero training today? I bet she can hook you up with some flashy gear that they’ll like.”

The utter of your name sends Tamaki’s body rigid.

“Oop, I think you touched something you shouldn’t have, Nejire,” Mirio gestures to the steely expression written over their friend’s face.

Dealing with children was one thing, but you were another matter entirely.

Being enrolled at U.A. since their very first year, the senior students of the hero and support departments coincided together. They drew out each other’s potentials—whether it was fighting on the battlefield or producing new innovative gadgets in workshops. Naturally, within that time, Tamaki developed a fondness for you.

You were a spirited individual driven by your passion for creating and bringing out the very best out of everyone you worked with, which included himself. With him, you were patient, never one to discourage or berate him despite his nervous and awkward nature that he viewed as probably a displeasure to work with. You took all his strengths and weaknesses to heart, and created the right tools to make him shine in triumph.

If Tamaki is the dead night, then you are the moon and stars that lit up his dark twilight, enlightening the world with his true potential.

However, the boy has never brought up his feelings to you, driven back by the thought you didn’t reciprocate, or wanted to focus more on your future as a craftswoman rather than prattle with romance. To bring you up in his dilemma of having to interact with mere elementary school kids is the last thing he wants to do.

“I don’t—”

“C’mon Tamaki! This is the perfect opportunity to kill two birds with one stone!” Nejire enthusiastically waves a finger ready to describe her expertly thought-out plan. “You come to ____ asking for some of her gear, the ordeal brings you closer together, and then boom, you naturally confess your feelings and then impress those kids next week!” She sits with a proud, lifted head and hands on her hips after explaining her master proposal.

“Hm that’s quite an ambitious plan, Nejire,” chuckles Mirio.

“Way too ambitious if you ask me,” Tamaki scowls, uncertainty forming in his features.

“Confessing to someone you’ve liked for so long doesn’t come that easily…”

Nejire pouts, spinning the last remnants of her pasta around her fork. “Well I say you should still think it over! If anything, the new gear could help.”

And so he does. Lunch soon passes in the next flutter of an eyelash. During an academic class, Tamaki ponders the idea a bit more until it’s eventually time for their hero training course.

Lo and behold, he’s standing right outside the development studio with wickedly narrow brows and contemplating eyes, acting like if he glared at the door hard enough, all his problems would be solved. With his feet cemented into the ground, he doesn’t budge for the next couple of minutes. His mind bounces between his predicament and the possible solutions at hand, reaching to a standstill. Ultimately, he knows nothing will come out of not making a decision, so after another second of thought, he decides to progress.

The steel door jars open at a slide of the handle and Tamaki ganders at the messy workspace before him. He navigates through a mess of gizmos and gadgets with careful hesitant steps.

“____? Are you in here? I, um, need your help with something,” he calls, tentative voice drawing out across the room.

“Tamaki? Is that you?” He hears the distance between your voices, “Sorry, I’ll be with you in just a minute…”

He nods to no one in particular, standing in place as his fingers play with the hem of his white, hooded cape. Too late to turn back now, he thinks. While he dawdles, he can’t help but let his eyes wander around the room, eyeing the vast amounts of meticulously crafted contraptions and accessories all developed in a high school workshop.

The support course sure is something else, Tamaki regards the creativity such students have, being able to construct so many complicated gadgets. He doesn’t know how you do it, but supposes that was another charm about you that he admired so much.

Suddenly, a whirring noise catches his attention, and he turns in its direction. He spots a device flaring in place on a table across from him, the widget shifting and flashing into an assortment of colors that isn’t comfortable for his liking.

“Uh… ____… C-Can you come out real quick? I think there’s something wrong with this thing,” he warns, tone rising with every dissonant sound the device continues to resonate.

“OK Tamaki, I’m done. What do you need— Whoa!”

Your words are cut off by Tamaki, pulling you to him using vines sprouted from his fingers, thanks to the vegetables he managed to eat today. Confused, you brace against his chest as the evident droning whir increases in volume. Tamaki holds a wavering hand over the device.

“Ah wait, Tamaki, you really shouldn’t touch that!” you cautioned. However, Tamaki’s entire hand transforms into a giant clam that quickly envelopes the contraption just as it flares and reaches its peak. He contains the small burst of energy within his shell with a wince, preventing any catastrophe from befalling on both of you and the work studio.

“Hehe, told you,” you shakily laugh off which makes him sigh as he releases you from his steady grasp.

“____, you could’ve gotten severely hurt,” he chides.

“But I didn’t because of you, so thank you very much, Suneater,” you say with a grin. Tamaki slightly tugs his hood down to obscure the growing blush on his cheeks that threaten to expose his flustered reaction to your gratitude.

“It... It was nothing,” he manages. You nod in response before approaching the faulty contraption, shifting your gaze side-to-side to inspect the damage.

“Sorry about that, I think this is one of Hatsume’s inventions from Class 1-F.”

You toss it into a pile of other defective equipment, relaying in your mind to reprimand your junior later.

“Anyways, is there anything I can do for you, Tamaki? You said something about needing my help?” Ah, right, he nearly forgot. He slowly nods.

“I need some new gear…” he admits. A light of passion infused with curiosity dazzles in your eyes.

“What for? Going to face a new powerhouse crime organization next week? Ooh, maybe another gangster threat in the criminal underground? Or perhaps you need something to combat a future natural disaster?” you surmise, but Tamaki only avoids your gaze at all your grand guesses when comparing it to the true reason:

“I need something to impress these kids I’ll be talking to next week…” he mutters under his breath, as if embarrassed.

“Huh?” You knit your eyebrows, muddled by the answer. Tamaki’s head imbues with self-conscious, anxious thoughts about what you must be thinking. However, your response to his predicament is one that leaves him more perplexed than you are.

“Why? You don’t need any gear to impress anyone. You’re fine the way you are,” you say without a single pause or hint of doubt in your tone. Tamaki pauses, grabbing his bearings at your statement before eyeing his spread out hands, unsure.

“But I’m so plain, not flashy or charismatic like Mirio and Hadou… Would kids like me the way I am?” he urges the question with uncertainty, keeping his stare on his calloused palms.

Would you like me the way I am?

You reach out for his hands, holding your own over them and bringing his wavering gaze to peer into yours.

“Tamaki, the kids will like you for who you are as long as you’re passionate about what you’re aiming to do. And that’s to save everyone and become a hero, right?” you assure, slightly tilting your head.

“You protected me without even a thought in your mind just now. That makes you heroic and courageous,” you continue, “Your nervous and shy personality are just small little quirks about you that make you who you are. You don’t need to change that.”

A smile of pure adoration forms on your lips. “Plus it’s what I like so much about you.”

Tamaki’s eyes lift in realization at your statement, his hands slowly gripping yours from below like he may not have heard you correctly.

“You like me?” he repeats, and you nod your head.

“I’ve liked you since our first year, silly.” You giggle at the stunned look etched on his face.

“I…” his words are caught in his throat for a second over the growing developments, but with every ounce of his being, he musters them out, his tone laced in only warmth and affection for you.

“I’ve liked you too, ___, I-I always have. You were so dazzling that I couldn’t help but let these feelings for you grow, and now, I’m glad I got to say them to you.” He finally admits to all the emotions stirred inside him for the past three years, and your smile widens. You inch forward, planting a small peck on his cheek that renders him a flustered mess from the surprise.

“Alright, go show those kids who Suneater is next week!”

Nejire’s plan was a success, after all.

#bnha #bnha x reader #tamaki amajiki #mha #bnhabookclub #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #mha x reader #amajiki tamaki #tamaki x reader #tamaki amajiki x reader #my writing #bnha scenarios #mha scenarios #bnha imagines #mha imagines

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yanderemommabean · 4 years

Text

A really dumb comfort scenario by Mommabean

Dabi x Reader fluff stuff

Dabi never used to see himself as a night owl. Standing out as the skies turn from a pleasant purple to a dark shade of black speckled with bright stars wasn’t something he saw himself enjoying, not until a few months ago when fate decided he needed to meet someone worth staying out late with.

Usually he prefers to just stay inside and do his own thing, be that scrolling through memes or simply just listening to music while he turns the lights off and drifts into his mind for a few hours. On rare occasions he’ll spend time with friends, but it drains him considerably and he has to recharge his battery afterwards.

It doesn’t mean he hates them, he’s just not a person with a lot of energy, but he knows people take it personally. Which can’t really be helped as he isn’t the best with words on explaining why he does what he does, honestly he doesn’t even know.

Typically his weeks goes like this - working with assholes who act like siblings rather than coworkers, then wanting to unwind as soon as he gets home because if he doesn’t he’ll snap or possibly have a mental break. Which probably already happened considering where he is now, but another break isn’t something to want to happen either.

But Dabi was forced out one night a few months back by Toga, who he can’t say no to often as she’s like a little sister and he adores her as such, and was dragged practically to a restaurant for drinks and food as a way to celebrate their hard work. Even Shigaraki got a stick out of his ass for a hangout, so he supposed he could suck it up for their sake.

Leave it to his soft heart to make him torture his own antisocial ass. However, this time he was seemingly gifted, as he heard laughter from across the room and saw you, giggling and almost snorting as you covered your face at the ridiculous joke a friend made. You looked absolutely precious, for lack of a better word. Not a care in the world as you laughed and giggled so hard you lost your breath.

He was drawn to the brightness you added to the dull restaurant, vaguely paying attention to the conversation his own group was having as you peaked his interest. Dabi figures he was being too obvious with his staring, as you looked over and met his gaze directly, but instead of flipping him off and acting like a full Karen, you waved and gave a shy smile.

That kinda hurt to not see that pretty smile. You’ve hidden it the entire time he’s been watching you, as if you hated it. Well, he’s got a plan for that, just you wait. He’ll get you to smile for him, just give him time. He remembers how he managed to greet you, both of you talking and surprisingly having a lot in common.

A total mindfuck to find out an adorable, fluffy person like you was into murder documentaries, scary stories, horror films, and loved to study obscure and odd mysteries. Color him pleasantly surprised. You two kept chatting away after the awkward ice was broken, to the point your friends were getting a bit pissy and telling you to hurry up to leave.

Fuck ‘em. He didn’t like them then and he doesn’t like them now. Out of spite he wanted to ask you for a drink so he could drag out the conversation longer, but he didn’t need to make a bad impression or make Shigaraki think he was pulling something. Which again, was fair, he was known for pulling some stupid shit every now and again.

Months. It’s been months and he hasn’t gotten tired of meeting you and being around you. You’ve had your arguments sure, had your moments where you and him were a bit tense, but that didn’t deter anything. Hell, you two have nicknames for one another now, and he allows you to play with his hair every now and again. He doesn’t let anyone get that close except Toga, you should be a little honored. Nothing is ever getting rid of him if you two are this close already.

It’s still baffling. Months! And all this time, you still hid that pretty smile. The very thing that drew him too you in the first place. What do you have to be ashamed of? Besides your search history, absolutely nothing! Dabi sighs as he sits on the steps outside of his apartment, looking up to the night sky, waiting for you to answer on if you wanted to hangout or not. Either way he began to enjoy this new sight, this addition to his schedule was something he looked forward to more than his late night music sessions.

He was about to text you again, thumb hovering over the keyboard as he thought of what to say, but three dots appear and he decides to wait and see. You, being the sweetheart you are, tell him to wait and that you’ll meet him in ten. A warm feeling fills his chest again knowing you’d be here. It’s been happening a lot lately actually, and he’s not an idiot. He knows he likes you, he’s just never liked someone to this extent. Should he be embarrassed? Excited? Happy? Who the hell knows. All he knows is he would do anything for you, and his feelings towards you are only growing.

Dabi flicks his phone off after a minute and looks around, waiting for you to show up. While scanning the area, he heard frantic steps coming up the sidewalk that were approaching fast, in a panic. He jumps up to his feet to see who could be running his way, more curious than in the mood to save someone.

However, seeing you with tears running down your face wasn’t at all what he expected. He felt rage and worry surge through him, an almost animal like possessiveness took over him and the idea that something happened makes him sick with anger. His body moves without him thinking, his arms wrapping around you and holding you tightly, listening to your shaking sobs as you cling to him and begin to apologize.

“Hey- hey what happened?!” He asked sternly, sounding more pissed than worried, cringing slightly at his tone. Smart move asshole, make them feel even worse. Genius.

You stutter and begin to try and talk, but your throat is tight and your eyes are still pouring like waterfalls. You shake your head and clench your eyes shut again, burying your face into his chest as your knuckles turn white from gripping his sleeves for dear life. Dabi tensed, breath hitching as you hugged him tightly and began to shudder and weep into him.

Hands gently rub your back as he slowly walks with you, guiding you to the steps he was just at to help you sit down and get yourself together. “Who’s ass do I need to kick?”.

You giggle at that, wiping your eyes as you shake your head playfully “No ones Dabi...I’ve just been feeling super fucking depressed and stressed out because of work and I feel I have no time for myself anymore and...well I just needed to be with someone who understands”.

He was touched that you saw him as someone you could come too. Seriously have you seen him? He’s the worlds most selfish asshole! He can’t even trust himself half the time, especially when it comes to bothering people and pulling pranks. You might wanna reconsider who you’re trusting there.

Although hearing no one hurt you was calming, he was still worried for your wellbeing.

“I get it. I mean I’m not the best with comforting but I understand what you mean. It’s frustrating as hell not even having time to rest, and then having to head back to work for nine hours or more over and over...it ain’t easy”. He rubs the back of his neck as he speaks, already feeling the anxiety over his schedule for tomorrow.

Sniffling softly, you nod and scoot closer to him, his warmth soothing and comforting compared to the chilling winds of the night. “Yeah. And it doesn’t stop for decades. I’ll never have free time again or I’ll always feel tired and drained and I hate it”.

Now that’s not necessarily true, but he knows where you’re coming from. Every day lately seems like such a struggle, he knows it all too well. It was clear you needed more than to vent and rant, and he has just the thing to help the mood. “It’s not all that monotonous. I think you’re just overwhelmed and need a break. Wanna come in? I think we both need a drink and a few laughs”.

You fiddle with your hands a bit, looking down at your feet with lips pursed in thought. “I can stay the night?”. What kind of question is that? Seriously what kind of question?! You literally just cried into his shirt no problem, now you’re worried about personal space? “Dude, you really have to ask? Stay a fucking week if you want, just get your ass inside before I drag you in” he jokes.

You look away as you smile, standing up and dusting off your legs before heading into his apartment behind him. Maybe tonight he’ll get you to stop hiding that smile, to bring those walls down even more and let him show how amazing you are in his eyes. Just maybe.

((This was bad I know I know I just needed a way to vent -Mommabean))

#dabi x reader #bnha #yandere fluf #mha #Mommabean #yandere scenarios #i guess #yandere imagines #not really tho hes just falling in love #yandere dabi #yandere bnha

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robininthelabyrinth · 4 years

Text

Strange Creatures Brothers Be (aka WWX & NMJ sworn brothers) - part 1, part 2, part 3

“Not in a million years,” Wei Wuxian said flatly. “We could all reincarnate a thousand times over, and the answer will still be no.”

Lan Xichen seemed surprised by his refusal, or perhaps merely the vehemence of it. “Is there a reason you won’t consider it, Wei-gongzi? As you know, sworn brotherhood has many advantages for both sides –”

“No. You wanted to ask me: I answered. No.”

“It’s bad luck to have a brotherhood of four,” Nie Mingjue opined, offering up a face-saving reason when it was clear to anyone who had eyes that Wei Wuxian wasn’t the sort of person to be deterred by superstition, especially superstition around death and dying. He would be a very poor demonic cultivator if he were. “Besides, Xichen, even if we aren’t sworn brothers, we are friends who went through life and death together – that’s a bond in itself, a well-respected one.”

Friends of life and death was, in fact, a well-recognized bond between men. It just wasn’t as good as being sworn brothers.

Take that, Meng Yao.

…in reflection, Wei Wuxian will admit that his motives to reject Lan Xichen’s proposal were, perhaps, somewhat petty.

Lan Xichen clearly wanted to establish a close tie between them, to balance his old friendship with Nie Mingjue with his new closeness with Meng Yao, to help Nie Mingjue repair his relationship with his old deputy. Just as clearly, Nie Mingjue was halfway seduced by Lan Xichen’s arguments that being sworn brothers would give him the ability to act as a guide and check to Meng Yao, to help him the way he had previously (and still) helped Wei Wuxian.

And Meng Yao –

Meng Yao probably just wanted to leverage it for his own personal promotion, the rotten snake. Scheming fox.

Dog.

Wei Wuxian was aware that his hatred for the other man might be a little irrational.

After all, Meng Yao had explained, and oh so very earnestly, too, how he had had no choice but to take certain actions necessary to lead to Wen Ruohan’s demise: the bodies of the Nie cultivators he’d killed, the cruel words and vicious strikes he’d subjected Nie Mingjue to, even citing as necessary that Wen Ruohan be distracted by the joy of Nie Mingjue’s capture, which obviously he’d arranged himself by sending false information through Lan Xichen.

Three days and nights of torture, Wei Wuxian growled in his heart, no matter that Nie Mingjue was already shrugging it off – he really would do anything if it helped the war, and while that may have benefited Wei Wuxian once before, such blatant disregard for his own well-being was no longer acceptable now that they were sworn brothers themselves. Mark your words, da-ge; if you want me to care for myself, you’d better do the same!

And of course Lan Xichen took the dog’s side, arguing that he knew Meng Yao, that Nie Mingjue knew Meng Yao, that his motives were just even if the actions were questionable –

“What about his actions in Langya?” Nie Mingjue had shouted when Lan Xichen had first raised the idea to him. Wei Wuxian had overheard him from the next room over, still in bed and recovering the way Nie Mingjue should have been doing - but Wei Wuxian wasn’t a sect leader, with all the obligations and duties that came with it; Nie Mingjue had had to drag himself out of bed far too early to deal with it all, and now he had to deal with this, too. “The premeditated murder of his own superior…!”

Wei Wuxian hadn’t heard Lan Xichen’s defense to that, too low to be listened in on, but whatever he’d said, it had been convincing enough to get through Nie Mingjue’s defenses, to wiggle in through the cracks created by old affection –

That was the worst of it, in Wei Wuxian’s opinion.

Nie Mingjue liked Meng Yao.

He had liked him very much once, and still did: Wei Wuxian was painfully aware of that, even though Nie Mingjue had never talked to him about it. It had been obvious even before from the way Nie Mingjue had continued to search for him, clearly hoping to find him safe even as he claimed he wanted to kill him or break his legs, and it was even more obvious now, when the newly dubbed Lianfeng-zun was trying very hard to get back into his good graces.

The chance to help someone he had once cared for, someone he believed needed the help desperately, someone who had wandered off the road of righteousness but could still come back if only someone held out a hand in trust…yes, that was the right way to appeal to someone like Nie Mingjue.

Pity there was a roadblock there, name of Wei Wuxian.

Sometimes Wei Wuxian wondered if his hatred of Meng Yao was truly justified, the way he thought it was. Was the man truly as vile and conniving as he thought? Or was he just drinking vinegar, filled to the brim with petty jealousy that his adored big brother liked someone else too? Spying meant doing things you didn’t like, after all, and the reasons were so seductively convincing…

But Wei Wuxian was petty where Nie Mingjue was not: even if the motive for his refusal was just jealousy, the answer was still no.

It was a good thing that Nie Mingjue was a good brother to those he already had first, willing to help others second: even though he’d been clearly tempted by Lan Xichen’s forthright words and Meng Yao’s slippery arguments, he insisted on consulting Wei Wuxian for his views, since he would be at minimum affected if not explicitly involved.

Wei Wuxian had never once doubted that when he refused, Nie Mingjue would back him entirely.

“Four isn’t always a bad number,” Meng Yao said, and his voice was as pleasant as a rippling brook, his entire demeanor friendly and harmless, as if he only think he wanted or could ever want was to be of service. “After all, with the four of us bound together, we would have a representative from each of the sects: Nie, Lan, Jiang, and Jin.”

“Jin? Has your father accepted you, then?” Lan Xichen asked, attention distracted, and he smiled broadly when Meng Yao inclined his head with a shy smile that Wei Wuxian desperately wanted to punch off his face. “A-Yao! That’s wonderful!”

“There will be a formal ceremony later this week, to which you are all invited,” Meng Yao said. “But he has already recognized me before his attendants, and has even given me the name ‘Jin Guangyao’.”

“Great name,” Wei Wuxian said. “So thoughtful of him to make you part of the older generation, rather than the inheriting one.”

Nie Mingjue somehow managed to make stamping on Wei Wuxian’s foot look as if he were merely shifting his weight from one side to the other. “Congratulations,” he said, and even managed to sound mostly sincere. “I wish you much happiness for having obtained the result you have been striving for.”

Mostly sincere.

Lan Xichen looked a little disappointed in them both.

(It wasn’t nearly as effective as Lan Wangji’s disappointed look, though, so Wei Wuxian considered himself immune.)

“Sadly, we’ve already promised Jiang Cheng that we’d go with him to the Lotus Pier for the second half of the week,” Wei Wuxian said, lying through his teeth with a smile. “With the Nightless City having finally fallen, I need to go light incense for Uncle Jiang and Madame Yu, and I invited da-ge. I need to introduce him, after all.”

There was a flicker of irritation on Meng Yao’s face, quickly suppressed. He was going to say something, probably a suggestion of rescheduling since the dead wouldn’t mind but phrased in a nice pretty neat way that would almost not sound like an insult to Wei Wuxian’s intelligence, when Nie Mingjue nodded.

“And after the Lotus Pier, we must return to the Unclean Realm,” he said. “For much the same purpose. Those who died at Wen Ruohan’s hand or by his order deserve to know that their deaths have been avenged.”

Whatever argument Meng Yao might have been able to muster died at once; Wei Wuixan gleefully hoped he would choke on it. He didn’t even mind the fact that he was now (apparently) committed to going to the Unclean Realm – if anything, that was a good thing, since it’d get him away from the work of rebuilding the Jiang sect.

Something he still hadn’t found a good excuse to avoid.

“I will of course write a letter to Sect Leader Jin congratulating you both on the event,” Nie Mingjue continued, because he was a better person than Wei Wuxian and far too kindly disposed towards Meng Yao. “It will formally recognize you as being my friend of life and death – you can have it read aloud, if that would help.”

If even Nie Mingjue could figure out that their presence was being requested to bolster Meng Yao’s political standing, Meng Yao had clearly been too obvious – he immediately demurred, insisting that he had only wanted to share the joy of the day with them, and only Lan Xichen pretended to believe him.

Maybe he did. More fool he, if so.

After they left, Nie Mingjue turned and leveled Wei Wuxian with a look.

Wei Wuxian grinned shamelessly back. “Next time, ask before announcing changes to your schedule?”

Nie Mingjue looked as though he was on the verge of rolling his eyes. “You’re my sworn brother; if you need me to lie for you, I will do so without requiring explanation,” he said dismissively, as if it was nothing, as if it was obvious, and that was why Wei Wuxian had used the Stygian Tiger Seal for this man. “What I want to know is – why do you dislike Meng Yao?”

Wei Wuxian crossed his arms in front of his chest. “Why are you asking me? You don’t like him, either.”

“I mistrust him,” Nie Mingjue corrected him. “I believe he’s gone down the wrong path – that he’s still focused on glory instead of righteousness, on what people can do for him rather than what he can do for them. Moreover, I’m concerned that the Jin sect will only aggravate those tendencies, and I hope to see him return instead to the man I know he can be. You, on the other hand, actively dislike him. Why?”

There were plenty of reasons, most of them childish – Wei Wuxian would rather die than say it was because Nie Mingjue liked him so much, he felt like Jiang Cheng just thinking it – but the first one, the foremost one, was simple.

“He shouldn’t have said what he said to you,” Wei Wuxian said. “In the Sun Palace. You shared your weakness with him, and he used it against you – it doesn’t matter if it was to keep up his identity or not, he shouldn’t have done it.”

Personally, Wei Wuxian suspected the answer was not. Even before he’d known who Meng Yao was and what he’d done before, he’d heard – as Nie Mingjue, injured, blinded by blood and deafened by pain, had not – the shades of real pleasure in Meng Yao’s voice as he’d mocked Nie Mingjue.

When later, he found that Meng Yao had castigated Nie Mingjue for not understanding him, portraying his lust for glory and power as if it were something virtuous, when he’d heard the full story of Langya, he’d become certain of his conclusion: Meng Yao might have needed to say such cruel things in order to keep his cover, but he’d enjoyed doing it, too.

He’d liked seeing Nie Mingjue at his feet.

Wei Wuxian would never trust someone like that. Not ever, even if Nie Mingjue eventually did.

Nie Mingjue’s harsh features relaxed a little, something almost like a smile curling his lips. “You remember I’m the older brother, right? You don’t need to be offended in my defense.”

Wei Wuxian sniffed and turned his head away, suddenly (belatedly) sympathetic to Jiang Cheng for all the times he’d made a similar argument: that he was older, that he was born a servant, that he wasn’t as important in the great scheme of things…

No wonder it had always sent Jiang Cheng straight into a fury every time without fail. It was, in fact, incredibly irritating to be told that you could only ever be the protected one, never the protector.

“Well, as you know, I’m not very orthodox,” he said lightly. “You’ll just have to put up with it, I’m afraid.”

Nie Mingjue huffed, clearly amused. “Very well. Now that you’ve implicated me, go tell Jiang Cheng about the invitation you issued on his behalf before someone catches you out on your lie.”

Wei Wuxian grinned and sauntered off – Jiang Cheng would be among those helping purify the Nightless City of all the fierce corpses there, same as always.

They’d finally gotten it to the point that it no longer felt like fighting an uncontrollable forest fire and more like a normal night-hunt. Jiang Cheng had volunteered for practically every shift that was available, using it as informal training for his new disciples, and he went up there with them more often than not.

He hadn’t yet asked Wei Wuxian to join him, though it was only a matter of time – Suibian had been rather pointedly left on Wei Wuxian’s bedside, and it was only the fact that he’d been injured in the attack on the Nightless City that had served as an excuse. An excuse that wouldn’t last much longer.

That was a later problem, though.

“Lighting incense to let them know we’ve avenged them?” Jiang Cheng said when Wei Wuxian informed him of the plan. “Yes, that’s a good idea. We should bring jiejie, too; she hasn’t had an opportunity to go back to the Lotus Pier at all since – since before, anyway. I’ll go pick her up from the Jin camp, if you’ll stay and organize the training shifts for the next few rounds of night-hunting…will you and Sect Leader Nie meet us there when you’re done here?”

Arranging shifts was little more than paperwork. Wei Wuxian could do that, and Nie Mingjue would certainly assist with anything else that might need to be done, if it came to that.

It was good to have a big brother.

“Sounds good to me,” he said with a grin. “Tell shijie I’m looking forward to seeing her.”

“More like eating her soup, you pig,” Jiang Cheng said, rolling his eyes. “Tell Sect Leader Nie that he’s in for a treat…you’ll be going to Qinghe after, you said? For how long?”

“Da-ge didn’t say,” Wei Wuxian said, temporizing. It was a really good excuse to get out of the Lotus Pier, actually. “And we’re going to be friends of life and death with Sect Leader Lan and that dog Meng Yao, though now he’s going to start going by Jin Guangyao; we may need to visit them, too, to solidify it. Though hopefully not.”

Hopefully yes.

“Well, don’t be away too long,” Jiang Cheng said. “I need your help back home. Besides, the Jins have already started talking about setting up some sort of celebration – a hunt at Phoenix Mountain, I think. You have to join us there.”

“Oh, I’ll be there,” Wei Wuxian said. A hunt at Phoenix Mountain – he’d wager Meng Yao would be involved in setting it up, and it’d be a shame to miss that. Besides, it’d be a good opportunity to see some of the people he hadn’t seen in a while, like Lan Wangji.

He wondered if Lan Wangji would be happier now that Wei Wuxian, who’d been scared straight by his close encounter with disaster at the Nightless City, had started practicing some of the Nie sect techniques designed to help temper resentful energy in their saber spirits.

It helped. He hoped Lan Wangji would find comfort in that – maybe even be proud of him.

“I’ll definitely be there.”

#mdzs #wei wuxian #lan xichen #jin guangyao #nie mingjue #jiang cheng #my fic #my fics #strange creatures brothers be

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