#WRONG its now an entire part of my personality and is always one stray thought away from becoming my main focus | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

bonny-kookoo · 4 years ago

Text

Sing to me: JJK x Reader 🔞

Pairing: Jeon Jungkook x Reader

Genre: Mermaid AU, Siren!Jungkook, Prince!Jungkook, homeless!Reader, Romance, Smut duh

Wordcount: 5k (medium)

Tags/Warnings: okay so, spoiled kook, possessive kook, Theres literally an attempted murder lol, drowning? whoops, blood oh no, reader is hella fucking dense ok, biting, courting lol, fish boy is in love, whoops, anyways we got sexy times too, because in this AU fishboy got legs n all of that hah, unprotected sex because, guys pls this ain't supposed to he realistic, wrap it before you tap it folks, its also not all that filthy lol, blink and you'll miss the scene, honestly I didn't include much smut because yall nasty so you will ask for dirty drabbles anyways, not that I mind lol, k I'm done I think, wow mom I've sinned less than usual..

Summary: Help me love myself, and I might learn to love you as well.

Or alternatively: you save Jungkook from being killed, and he totally gets the wrong signals. But he's cute, so its fine. Probably.

Jungkook is floating.

He thinks about what lies above the waves, and cant think of anything he really finds interesting. The surface is littered in junk, in things humans leave behind without thinking twice about it. It's air is thick and stuffy, hard to breathe and never clear at all. It's crowded, with creatures who at the end of the day all look the same in his eyes. There's nothing exciting about the world people walk on.

Its boring, and dirty.

His own home is, compared to that, a kingdom radiating like the moon itself. It shines and sparkles, and harbors some of the most beautiful creatures ever to be found. He and his family, as well as everyone else, live in peace with nature down underneath the waves, existing side by side instead of trying to gain the upper hand all the time.

And he's reminded of the cruelty of man, when he finds himself caught in a net.

He's somehow made the fishermen drop it instead of pulling him up on their boat. But that doesn't mean he's free- he's still struggling with it, fighting it, but he cant rip it apart. All he does really, is tie the knots tighter, have them dig into his skin until spots are rubbed raw. He can't really swim anywhere at this point, gives up as he can see the last lights of his distant home fade into the distance.

Jungkook is floating.

He's slowly being led by the waves, by the love of wind and waters, as he closes his eyes. Its a pity, really; for a prince held so high to die by the mere hands of the poor, he thinks. It's upsetting him, very much so, but he takes it as it is. There's nothing he can do anyways, as he slowly comes into contact with the sand below. It washes him up onto short, the dry sand sticking to his body, waves pushing him higher and higher onto the ground.

He shivers, the cold outside air biting at his skin now unsheltered and defenseless.

He doesn't know how long he lays there.

But at some point, steps are heard on the sand. He keeps his eyes closed, doesn't care about what will happen next- he really just wants to have it be over by now, the ropes already painfully burning his skin at certain spots. He's sure theres sand in his wounds as something touches him- warm fingers, hesitant, and almost shy.

He keeps his eyes closed.

"My god, I hate humans.." You mutter under your breath, your voice hitting his ears, making him notice the way it sounds. He thinks it sounds very similar to some of his kind; sirens being blessed with voices sweet and enchanting. Maybe you were one of the strays who had decided to live on the surface for some reason? But your smell was entirely human, although much sweeter and pleasant than anyone he'd met before. And then, after a small short moment of pain-

He's free.

His arms flop to his side, and he breathes in deeply- finally able to fully move again. His eyes open, and adjust to the night for a moment, before they meet yours.

How interesting.

"Jungkook?" Jimin asks him, curious to what has gotten the young Siren so occupied. Typically, Jungkook would be watching the annual kingdom dances with at least some form of interest; even if it was just a glimpse of it, just to make his parents worry less about him misbehaving. But today, as the graceful dancers move around to the orchestra playing, the young prince is absolutely not there. At least not mentally. "Jungkook." The older one scolds, getting Jungkooks attention- his gaze hard and annoyed. "Please, young prince- at least try to pretend you're interested. This is after all part of our culture." He strategically uses his title as teasing- something which makes Jungkook snort without any fun.

"I really don't want to be here." He explains, and Jimin sighs. "I'd rather be at the surface.." He mumbles, being careful not to be too loud- but Jimin does pick it up, and so does his partner, Taehyung, next to him- now leaning a bit forward to hear better.

"Oh?" Jimin asks. "What could be of interest there, I wonder?" He teases, and Jungkook grows even more irritated.

"Nothing that should interest a whore like you." He says harshly, though Jimin knows he means no harm with it. Jimin is, after all, a man who enjoys the simple pleasures in life- which is why he can't quite grasp why Jungkook, a young man in his prime like himself, doesn't seem to care about whats going on around him.

"Hm, but I think she must be absolutely divine if you're willing to risk the wrath of your own mother just to see her." He says, and Taehyung snickers next to him, clearly amused.

But to both of their surprise, Jungkook grows.. calm. Theres even a glimpse of a smile on his lip as he rests his head on his head, elbow on the armrest of his throne. "That she is." He says, quietly, as he watches the young woman in front of him. He has to imagine you there instead, moving oh so gracefully to the sounds of his Kingdom's greatest musicians- dressed in the most beautiful gown he'd gift you. "That she is.." He repeats, a dreaming look on his face that Jimin has not seen before.

Jungkook watches you.

He enjoys watching you on your daily trips to the beach, picking up cans and bottles, and other things people throw away without care. You're cleaning up the beach, and he thinks its a very good behavior- he likes the way you always carefully scan the ground and sides for any garbage. He swims a little closer as he spots you squatting down; eyes lighting up as you pick up a shell he'd personally not care much for. It's slightly pink- but nothing he hasn't seen in his life. They're so common, and he suddenly thinks that if this already makes you happy, what if he was to bring you something else? Something better, something more worth your attention?

He feels a rush of excitement.

Dashing into the opposite direction, he makes his way towards the ground below, eyes scanning the ground as he searches for something. He spots it after a few minutes of searching, but when he holds the pearl, he hesitates.

Its not enough.

No, that's not what you should get. He's only paying back his dept, yeah, that's what he's doing. But what if he was overdoing it by bringing you something too expensive or rare? No, he should be smart about it, yeah. Start small, and work your way up he thinks, as he takes the pearls he's collected while deep in thought, and pushes himself back to the top, swimming easily. He hopes you're still there-

And there you are, dipping your feet into the water.

He looks at what he can see; only able to see clearly underneath the waves rather than above. There's a bracelet hanging around your ankle, and it looks cheap, he thinks. It only helps him by giving him ideas for his next gifts- if you would accept his first, that is. He's never been rejected before, but then again, has always rejected instead. Nothing had interested him to the extend you did. Maybe you really were of his kind, secretly.

When he slowly brings his head up the waves, you don't get scared, or flinch. You simply look, spot him, and smile.

He likes that expression.

He comes closer, free hand helping him onto the stone you sit on, his hand holding your gift eagerly pushing against yours. You understand quickly, and open them, and he smiles. You're smart, he notes, and it only adds to your qualities, he thinks. Dropping the pearls, your eyes sparkle again- as they should, he thinks with pride. You inspect them with big eyes, as if you've never seen something alike. He enjoys your reaction- and you nod at him. "Thank you- are they for me to keep?" You ask, pointing to them, and then at your chest. He's not fully fluent in human language, but has picked up on some words and phrases, since Seokjin had recently strayed- teaching him some stuff whenever he got bored and visited his younger brother.

So Jungkook nods. "You." He says, and you like the sound of his voice; fittingly just as handsome as the rest of him, you think. But then again- his kind is known for its beauty and enchanting voices. "Keep." He tells you, pushing your closed palm a bit closer to your body as if to underline his statement. You think its cute, in a way.

"Okay." You say. "I'll keep them-?" You ask, and he doesn't understand, until you point to yourself, and say a name- yours, he supposes.

"Ah-" He starts, pointing to himself. "Jungkook. Jeon, Jungkook." He tells you, and you nod, smiling.

"It's nice to meet you, Jeon Jungkook." You smile, and he grins back, slightly sharpened canines in stark contrast with his bunny-like smile.

He thinks its nice to meet you too.

"But you're a witch, aren't you?" Jungkook argues, staring at Taehyung. "I thought you were all so capable." He challenges, and Taehyungs eyes darken- quite literally, since sea witches do technically have black eyes- but conceal them, as to not scare off people. He regains his composure however when Jimins hand lays on his shoulder.

"Now now, no need to become huffy." He says. "He didn't say he can't do it- he simply told you that its not that easy." He explains, and Jungkook sighs, rolling his eyes. Ever the spoiled prince, they think to themselves.

"I don't care about that." He states. "Can you do it, or can you not?" He asks, and Taehyung thinks for a moment.

"I.." He begins, before he sighs. "I can. But, there's a catch, Jungkook." He tells him, and this time, the youngest of the group seems just as serious as he listens. "I can't promise that.. the result will be what you will expect." He says.

"What do you mean?" Jungkook asks.

"There's a chance she won't survive it."

He doesn't think much about why you're so often sitting on that rocky structure close to the deep- he likes not having to get out of the water to be close to you. And you think, Jungkook is quite the interesting being.

He’s curious; that much you can tell. His hands rest on your knees, your toes sometimes brushing against his abdomen as he swims closer- face coming forward to properly look at you. His vision must be bad outside of the waters you assume, his brown eyes squinting in concentration until he huffs and let’s himself back into the waters. You chuckle, and simply take off your jacket, slipping into the water as well as you control your breath- his entire face brightening at your body now underwater in his world, finally clear to see for his eyes.

You’re pretty, he thinks, definitely prettier than any other human he’d encountered before. The clothes covering your breasts and private parts a bit dull and boring for his taste- but he’d change that soon. He smiles, happy, before holding up his finger as if to signal for you to wait before he swims away, elegantly and fast. You swim up to breath some air, catch your breath, until there’s a hand around your calf, holding, fingers running over the skin, signaling you to come down again. You follow his question, taking a deep breath to meet him underneath the surface; his excited hands wrapping something around your neck, before he swims in circles as if he’s suddenly got too much energy. You point to yourself, as if to ask if you can keep it- and he nods, wide eyes watching you with a smile that you can’t help but mirror.

You don't quite realize what he's doing.

He however thinks you know. You know that he's courting you, and you're interested in him. You know that he's just given you more than a simple gift. He only believes you're letting him work for it- something he happily does, taking on the challenge as always. He swims closer, holds your shoulders, as his eyes look into yours, his gaze happy and child-like almost. He's close to finally showing you affection- but you suddenly swim to the surface instead.

And even though he knows you only wanted to breathe, he can't help but feel slightly sour at the ruined moment.

"You're awfully happy these days." His mother says, watching her son in the gardens of the palace. "May I ask what has gotten you in such a bright mood?" She asks, and Jungkook doesn't quite know how to break it to her. He knows its not forbidden, knows it has, and does, happen each and every day it seems- but there's still fear inside of him. Theres still hesitation, even though he is not ashamed of what has happened- of what he has done. His mother however notices. "You know you can trust me, right?" She says, and he nods.

Its now or never.

"I've found a mate." He says, and his mother smiles warmly, holding his cheek as she kisses it in congratulation. "Its a human." He says, quietly, hurried- but his mother continues to smile.

"I have suspected as much." She states. "Your friend- Park Jimin- is not very good at talking quietly." She snickers, and Jungkook curses under his breath about how he wants to strangle him. Theres a huge weight lifted off of him however; finally having said it, made it very real to him, in a way- even though it was already.

Because, after all; you were wearing his kingdom's sigil around your neck already. He had claimed you.

He's restless the next time he swims to the shore to meet you again- eager to see you to give you the news of his family's acceptance.

You're late- later than usual, and his brows are furrowed, mood upset at your mannerism. You're usually always on time, always just as eager to see him he thinks- but this time, you're not there. After his anger however, he grows increasingly worried instead. What if something had happened to you instead? Oh what a bad person he would be to be mad at you for getting into an unfortunate situation. As guilt slowly makes his way into his body, claims his muscles, he moves to sit on the stone he usually finds you on. He tries to look around- rain on his skin making it possible to be out way more comfortably.

He spots movement above.

Theres a person he can't make out- throwing something off the cliff down into the sea, and Jungkook clicks his tongue in anger, already upset- but still curious on what it was the person had been so eager to discard. Typically, its tiny things or plastic he finds- but this is something else, he knows.

Underwater, he smells blood.

His pupils contract, eyes widening, as he spots the black bag slowly making its way to the bottom of the sea- red trail leading from it. Its not the blood however that makes him frantic- its the smell of it, of you, that stops his heart.

He gets you out the bag, his anger over the entire situation diminishing into nothing as he holds you close, eyes spotting the deep cut on your side, and the scratches on your face. Unsure where to bring you, he holds you close, brings you onto his back as one of his hands hold yours, your arms around his neck. He swims quickly to the only place he knows you can breathe.

The underwater cave is big enough for now, he thinks, as he brings your body onto the ground, out the water. He doesn't notice he's crying, doesn't quite speak, his native language of clicking sounds and little noises escaping him as he whines out for your attention, waiting for you to wake up somehow. He's been so invested in making you like him and accept him that he's got no idea what to do with a human. Are you cold? How can he warm you up? How does he stop bleeding wounds? How much can you bleed before you die? Are you already dying?

Jungkook doesn't know what to do. So he simply lays by your side, holding you close, in hopes his slightly higher body temperature can keep you warm.

"He's doing the best he can-" Jimin says, Seokjin next to Taehyung as they both lean over your body. Both witches are concentrated, already exhausted, but there's no way they're giving up on you now. Not only because you're important to Jungkook- but because no one deserves to simply die like this.

"I know, I know!" Jungkook huffs out, pupils turned into cat like slits- a clear sign of the absolute terror and chaos inside of him. "What if they're best isn't good enough? Jimin, I can't loose her, you don't understand-" He starts, but Jimin holds the younger one's shoulders, for the first time serious with him.

"I do." He glances at Taehyung. Jimin had saved Taehyung before as well- the young sea witch having been hit by a fisherman's harpoon years ago. Ever since then, Jimin had been attached to the witch like glue. "Trust me, I really do. And they're doing all they can to make sure she's going to be fine." He promises, and Jungkook nods.

All he can do is pray.

When you wake up, there's several things you notice.

First, you're alive. Having a raging headache, and your limbs and muscles feel horribly tender, but you're alive. There's also strings of rope tied to two rock formations acting like a clothing line, several blankets and clothes hanging from it. They don't look human-made to you- the fabrics and designs not something you would think of as regular. There's a bucket and several stained rags- now copper-brown with old blood. Its then that you look down, seeing your cut sewed shut.

You also notice its rather soft underneath you.

Its sheepskin laid over seaweed you notice- the whool soft and fluffy, and warm. Everything seems to be so thoughtfully placed, even some decorative items- you can spot fireflies casually sitting in a jar close by, and burned wood, probably to . Probably to make light during the night. You're tired however, so you simply lay down again. Quite honestly, surely you should fee worried about the situation- but then again, there was no one to miss you, no place you called your home anyways. No use in worrying- because deep down, you had your suspicion.

A Jungkook swims to the surface with the plastic box in his arms, he's careful not to throw it too hard onto the ground. As he steps out the water, he's sure to at least try and his his hands of most the water before he goes to check on the blankets he had brought this early morning. They've dried enough, he notices, and is glad about that, as he picks one up.

You don't have to be cold anymore, he thinks.

He's unnaturally careful for his typical character- his usual behavior quite the opposite as it was now. Now, he's making sure you're properly tucked in, as he notices your eyes watching him.

He freezes, for a moment.

Jungkook hasn't really thought much about what would happen if you were to wake up- after all, Seokjin had told him he was unsure if you were to wake up this early in the first place, and Taehyung didn't even know if you would wake up at all. He'd told his younger brother to be prepared for any reaction really; fear, confusion, maybe even anger. But you seem calm, curious even, and Jungkook decides to sit down in front of your face, waiting.

"You brought me here, right?" You ask, and he nods, eyes not leaving your form.

"You-.. hurt." He points to the spot where your wound had been. "Also hurt." His hand points to your head. "Brothers, helped." He informs you, and you smile, nodding at his words. He suddenly looks at the ground, mumbling. "I.. worried. Thought... you, dying." He tells you, and you sit up slowly again, keeping the blanket around your shoulders.

"I'm not dead though." You say, and he nods. "Thank you, Jungkook. Now we're even." You say, and he tilts his head in confusion- a mannerism you could only think of as cute. "I saved you- you saved me." You say, and he smiles, nodding.

"I-" He starts, leaning forward a bit, now way more energetic and lighthearted as before. "I- we-" He growls a little in frustration, and you cant help but giggle at his troubles- the chirps and clicks escaping him foreign- but somehow, they feel hazy, as if your mind knows the language, but has forgotten what it meant. He's trying so hard you notice, and appreciate. "You like here?" He asks, and points around. You nod, and he beams at you. "I made." He tells you, proudly so.

"I guessed as much. Its very thoughtful of you, thank you." You say, and he nods, happy you like what he did for you. Its not a permanent solution, obviously, but as soon as you're healed well enough, he already planned a new spot for you to come with him.

You just don't know it yet.

There's a weird feeling inside of you.

It's like homesickness, you think. Every time you look at the waters, you feel- sad? It's making you uneasy, and with every day passing by, it just gets worse and worse. But it's today, that you cant take it.

When you dip your legs into the water, it soothes an ache you can't recognize ever having. It helps your skin, it somehow feels as if you're breathing again. But It's not enough, you think- before you let yourself fall into the deep end.

You're floating.

It's like leaving a stuffy and crowded mall, just to stand in a park, fresh air after it had rained, and light breeze clearing your head. Everything is silent, but not at the same time- the water around you feeling as if you're being hugged, held. It makes you relax, makes you let go, makes you only exist for a moment.

You're floating.

And there's a sudden wave of realization that you're also breathing. There's no water in your lungs- or maybe there is, and you just don't feel it being there. Darkness surrounds you as you don't know where you are exactly- theres no telling where is where, no way to know if you're upright or not. Maybe you've died?

Did you drown?

If you did, it would explain Jungkook being there. He's swimming towards you with a face full of worry, as he grabs your wrist and holds you close. "I can't even let you out of my sight for a mere day it seems, my love." He sighs, and your eyes widen. Its almost comedic how his own do the same, focusing on your neck, as he touches.

You're sensitive, and shift away from his touch.

"It-" He starts, now holding your shoulders, as he begins to smile. "It worked! It really did- by the dragon kind, you look absolutely divine!" He laughs, and can't help but hold your hands, eyes roaming your appearance, as you don't quite get it- until you follow his gaze.

Just like him, there's fins now on the sides of your calfs, smaller ones on your ankles as well. Theres also ones decorating your outer forearms- they look like the ones you'd always see on goldfish as a kid. There's something alike to scales as well, but barely noticable. "I- what happened to me?" You ask, and Junkook smiles.

"You.. almost died." He admits, taking your hand and swimming to what you assume is back towards the cave. "You had been robbed during the day, and when I found you.. well, you know what happened." He says. "While you were asleep, we were thinking about what to do. There was no way you would survive as a human- so, a friend of mine- Taehyung- performed a ritual, together with Seokjin, my brother." He says. You finally spot light, glad to be able to have at least some form of orientation. "I'm glad you're adjusting so quickly, my love." He states, smiling at you.

You notice the petname again.

"Jungkook-" You start, as you both reach the cave again, sitting on the edge of where the ground of the cave meets the water. "Why are you.. calling me that?" You ask, and Jungkook seems confused.

"Why do you ask?" He questions. And you don't quite follow, until he continues. "You're my mate- I am only addressing you as such."

Your eyes widen. "Wait- we're-" You start, and its only then that it clicks in Jungkooks head.

"Oh." He says- the dissapointment bitter and evident in his voice. "You.. didn't know?" He asks, and you shake your head, unsure what he means. "I see.." He tells you, suddenly distant. "I.. will bring you breakfast tomorrow.. sleep well." He abruptly says, and before you can say anything, he's already gone.

What just happened?

"There you are!" A voice says, deeper than Jungkooks, but not unfamiliar. Taehyung had been visiting and bringing you food and nescessities ever since that talk with Jungkook. This time, however, Taehyung seems like he wants to say something. You look at him, silently urging him, and he sits down next to you, sighing.

"Does he hate me?" You ask, quietly, and Taehyung looks sad.

"He could never." He says. "He just.. didn't take the rejection well. He'll need time to come around. It won't take that much time- his mother is already trying to get a new partner for him." He explains, and your head whips around towards him. "I- you.. did reject him, right?" He asks, slowly. "You do.. not love him, right?" He urges again, and you groan suddenly, throwing your face into your hands.

"Oh my god I'm so stupid.." You say. "It all.. everything was so overwhelming, I didn't even notice what he was doing." You cry into your hands, as Taehyungs hand places itself onto your back, trying to soothe you. "I though.. especially after I found out about his status.." You mumble. "How could he want me?" You ask, and Taehyung sighs.

"Head up, little siren." He says. "He's still able to hear you sing, if you want to." He says, and you look at him.

"But how?" You say. "I have no idea where the kingdom, or anything really is. And he won't come see me until its too late." You say.

"Well-" Taehyung says, standing up, and holding out his hand. "-allow me to escort the future princess to her lover."

"How did you find me?" He simply asks, not turning around, as you float closer. "I'm sorry, but I still need time to.. get over-" He starts, but you don't let him finish, instead leaning into his back, your arms around his middle.

"I'm stupid." You say. "I'm really, really stupid." He shakes his head, but you continue. "Just because I didn't realize- doesn't mean that I don't feel anything for you." You say. "I just.. felt unworthy, I guess. Insignificant." You admit, and he turns around, holding your face in his hands.

"You really are not gifted with the mind of the dragons king, my love." He states teasingly, the glimmer in his eyes returning. "My status means nothing to me, if that meant I could not have you." He says, and you lean forward, capturing his lips. "I hope you know what this meant, at least." He teases, and your eyes widen, scared you might've done something wrong. "It means you love me." He says, and you chuckle.

"Good." You say. "Because I do."

Even though he thinks you looked like a goddess reborn in your white and pearl decorated gown from the wedding, he enjoys you without it, close to him, just as much. He's alive, he's feeling, he's in love, as his hands move over your skin, his senses filled with you and nothing else.

The sounds you make for him are sweeter than any siren's song he's ever heard or could ever sing himself. No member of his kind is as enchanting as you, he decides, as he bites and kisses the sensitive skin of your neck. Jimin had teased him relentlessly the entire evening and night by trying to send you sweet words, to which you didn't react- but that didn't mean that it didn't piss him off.

You were his.

His princess- and soon to be queen, one day.

And he's planning on making that very evident, as he marks up your skin with little bites, visible for everyone to see. He wants everyone to know, even though by tomorrow, the entire Kingdom will celebrate the marriage of its prince anyways. He's more than ready to show you off, to hold you close, to have people see the divine being at his side that's you.

It's only natural for his hands to roam your skin, for his lips to worhip every inch it seems, as you reach out for his hand every second it leaves you. It's painfully endearing he thinks, how you can be so innocent and pure, while he's between your legs, performing the sinful act of pleasuring you with his mouth.

You pull him towards you, as you straddle his waist, leaning down to kiss him. He's in god's divine lands he thinks, as he suddenly feels you sinking down on his awaiting length. You fit around him perfectly, more so than he could've ever imagined. And as you both move, he holds you close, happy that here, in his world, he doesn't need to breathe.

He can kiss you as long as he wants.

(c)Bonny-Kookoo. I spilled strawberry milk on my poor laptop while writing this.

#bts imagine #bts #bts fanfic #jungkook imagine #bts fic #bts smut #bts jungkook #jeon jungkook #jungkook #bts reactions #Sing To Me AU

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kithtaehyung · 4 years ago

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bewitched, body & soul. (drabble) | knj (m)

title: bewitched, body & soul. (drabble) pairing: namjoon x reader(f) genre: pride & prejudice(ish)!au ; marriage!au ; smut/pwp rating: m (nsfr!) wc: 4.2k (went slightly over the 3k+!) warnings: nonlinear plot, unprotected sex (pls be responsible!), cunnilingus, fingering, breast play, light bondage (with his hands), light pussy slapping notes: this is a commission from one of my inspirations @wwilloww for the ARMY for AAPI Justice and Advocacy Event. please click here to find more resources and consider donating to the cause! the entire fic (teaser) will also have the link to the advocacy event! this is just the commission submission. also thank you to the always wonderful @missgeniality for the super speedy beta! and to @yoonjinkooked for just being a great hype person in general. you’re both amazing. prompt: fantasy/historical vibes. really just namjoon in a billowy shirt vibes. standing in a dewy field at dawn vibes. this may be pride and prejudice vibes, who knows?? (you know, writer!) he has something important to say or show the reader. the sun is rising! it's amazing! fluff/angst/smut all good - whatever calls to you! release date: april 23rd, 2021, 12:15am EST

He had come with the morning sun.

As a strong, sure hand brushes up your dress—nimble fingers bunching it into beautiful curls—your lips taste the mist on his neck.

He had walked thousands of steps to get to you.

It’s your turn to throw your head back as a mouth as hot as summer shine sears your jaw. Passion sinks its claws into your core, flooding it with want that spirals into the fingers that you rake into your lover’s hair. When a lovely weight pushes into your stomach, one of your arms shoots behind you for balance, knocking a stack of books and parchment paper to the ground.

Rays of dawn stretched over the rolling hills behind him, throwing lines of light on his heavy but determined shoulders.

As you stood in the field outside of your house, you thought it an illusion; your mind had deceived you just as he had, multiple times. Your judgment proved to be the one that caused part of the deception in the first place, but your pride was too inflated to admit any wrong.

The thumps and flaps snap him out of his heated daze, only to spur him to shove the rest of the items off his executive desk. Clinks of sturdy glass and the tiny hits of quills reach your ears right before your body is pushed onto the wooden surface, and before you can protest the choice, a strong body burdens your own and lips crash back down onto yours.

You remember your reddened eyes struggling to recognize that it was indeed him. That it was Namjoon in his telltale long coat encasing his favorite white linen shirt, sleeves cuffing the hands that you had only touched once before. They couldn’t grasp that it was his light grey hair, now a slicked dark silver from accumulated sweat and drizzle, a few stray strands swooping over his sharp eyes.

Your shoulder blades war with the solid surface of the desk, but you don’t care in the least. As you drink in everything that Namjoon is giving you, boldness in the form of your tongue shoots into his mouth, eliciting a low groan that leaves you shuddering. The hands that grabbed your dress before are now pushing the faded grey fabric up your thighs. Higher, higher, not high enough.

“Namjoon,” you gasp as he impatiently thrusts his weight between your legs. “Please.”

“You’re so beautiful.” Your lover—once your enemy—brushes a gentle finger down your cheek. He then cups your jaw with a hand while gripping your hip with another. “I can’t decide what I want to do with you.”

Impending scenarios race behind your eyes, and all you can do is groan. “I know what I want,” you proclaim with a growing smile and demure eyes.

“And what is that, Mrs. Kim,” he responds, sending you careening into another plane.

Your vision focuses for a second to observe his mussed hair, his dimpled cheeks, and the rest of his master bedroom behind him. Shades of redwood and amber engulf his form, and your eyes glide across the loose cambric hanging by his muscled shoulders. Entranced, you lift one of your hands to slide it off on one side, reveling in the defined body underneath its white material. “Why tell one another when we can very well show what we think?”

A warm breath rolls down your face as he chuckles—a low, honeyed sound that took you by surprise the first time you ever heard it—before he murmurs, “I figured you of all people would take any opportunity to speak what’s on your mind.”

You tut before rolling your eyes heavenward. “Well, now I do have something on my mind, but you’re certainly not going to—”

Namjoon smothers your annoyance with his lips once more. He takes your arched back as an opportunity to slide an arm underneath your waist, kissing you deeper and rendering you thoroughly speechless. His mouth leaves yours only to descend down your jaw, trail down your neck, latch onto your pulse.

Enthralled, your legs squeeze his hips. A mewl leaves your lips while your hands frantically skate across his broad shoulders, and when your nails leave tiny red roads on his skin, you feel his cock harden and push further into your center.

There had been a hundred misconceptions between the two of you.

Since the beginning, there wasn’t a time when either of you landed on the same page. Arguments or spats became a staple in your relationship, and everyone around knew there wasn’t any reconciliation in sight—especially after Namjoon had made some choice decisions that he had no business making on his own.

But, if there was one thing you had in common, it was an innate stubbornness that refused to see things for what they truly were. That same attitude had created a rift between you that caused nothing but heartache and a constant, lingering burn in your throat.

Until he had made the journey across.

You remember lowering your eyes to his boots—boots that were always shiny and pristine—only to see dirty, mud-riddled shoes that were falling apart at the seams.

I cannot endure this any longer, he had admitted.

To which you replied, Then don’t.

A hand shoves your dress above your waist. Before Namjoon moves any further, his lips nick your ear and cause you to throw a moan to his vaulted ceiling.

“Yes, love,” he whispers, pushing his mouth into your neck hard and making you bite your lip, “I want to hear you.”

The groan you suppressed comes out in earnest, and your fingers dig into his shoulders at the same time. “I want to hear you, too,” you admit, earning a low rumble in your ear.

“Open your legs for me.”

The command alone makes you whine, but when you slowly spread your thighs only for Namjoon to shove them wider, a full whimper leaps from your throat. A few light taps on your thigh are what you get before your lover cocks an eyebrow. “I know my wife isn’t shy,” he says with confidence and a bit of suspicion.

“But she is a bit… Intimidated.” Although your chest swells with pride at your husband’s words, your stomach still swims with anxiousness. You have never let anyone see more than what sleeveless dresses offer.

Namjoon bends his body over your ruffled form sprawled across his desk. “I’ll take care of you,” he murmurs before molding his warm lips onto yours once more. Each kiss he had given before had been full of passion, but this one is different. There is nothing but comfort in his touch, and you can feel any stress drip from your body and tenseness dissolve from your bones. You barely resist the way his fingers glide under your dress before looping around your underwear, slowly peeling them from your wet core. You don’t register the way he has stepped far enough to close your legs together, slipping the panties off with ease, before widening them again.

“Can I touch you now, love?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” Namjoon kisses down your neck again, but he descends lower, his teeth grazing the slope of your bosom before his mouth picks one to kiss over your dress. A warm palm closes over the other, squeezing before pulling the material down, and when your breasts spill over they are enveloped with his tongue and large hands once more.

“Namjoon,” you gasp, arching your back and digging your shoulder blades into the hardwood again. The pain is surprisingly adding to your pleasure instead of retracting, and you can feel the slick on your center multiplying at an alarming rate. One of your hands shoots into his grey hair, and your tug causes his grips on your hip and leg to tighten immediately.

Latching onto a nipple, Namjoon gives it a hard suck while twisting the other enough to make you cry out, and you can already feel your legs shaking.

“Tell me to stop if you need me to,” your husband orders, “Because I might lose myself otherwise.”

“Please do,” is all you can get past your dry lips, gripping his hair tighter.

“God.” Namjoon abandons your breasts to the chill of the room as he drops to his knees between your legs.

You have no clue how he is going to react once he sees you down there. So when your dress is fully bunched around your waist and Namjoon spreads your thighs apart, the pause that greets you is almost too much to bear.

In a freight, you start to close your legs and apologize. Teeth nick your thigh, and the dark laugh you hear has your eyes widening incredulously.

“I might drown in you.”

You don’t know how to respond. But the fingers that slide across your folds tell you that you don’t need to, and you throw your head back in pleasure. The wetness you feel has pooled onto the desk beneath your buttocks and is now being coated on Namjoon’s long fingers, one after the other rubbing your center in tiny circles and sliding deliciously up and down its slippery slope.

You start to shake in need, but a firm hand shoves your stomach back onto the desk. “Relax, love,” Namjoon orders. “You’re going to like this.”

When you settle back onto the desk, you squeak as your hips are yanked forward. Abruptly, your body is pulled to the edge of the desk, and your legs are hoisted onto Namjoon’s shoulders to rumple his white shirt on one side.

Words are lost on your tongue as his hot muscle dives into your center. You can feel the way your walls immediately flex, you can hear the wet laps and the sucks on your clit. Everything feels new and familiar at the same time, like you had already experienced this with him in a past life or alternate timeline, and the sheer intimacy has your eyes squeezing shut. Moans spill from your lips, constant.

“Namjoon,” you gasp. Frazzled, your arms flail to find anything for purchase, only to settle on the edge of the desk above your head where your fingers grip tight.

Your husband peeks with slitted eyes, groaning into your center when he sees your newfound position. Your lidded gaze drinks in his wet lips, and your foggy mind barely realizes that it’s your essence that coats his face until he dives back down again.

When Namjoon’s tongue fully presses into your core before his soft lips suckle your clit, you cry out in need for more. Instantly, that is what you’re given: long, deft fingers enter your folds to the knuckle, curling up to hit a spot that has your entire being soaring into the ceiling. Exquisite. You’re floating. There’s something inside of you winding and winding.

“Come for me,” is the last thing you hear before your body obeys. A white light blinds you and curls your toes, snaps your limbs rigid and has your knuckles aching as you grip the desk even harder. The loud whine you hear is your own, you recognize, and you bite your lip to smother its volume.

A mouth closes over yours, and there is a strange taste in the kiss you share. When you realize what it is, instead of disgust, you only feel another wave of want slam into your gut.

“As much as I want your pretty lips around my cock,” Namjoon rasps into your mouth, “I can’t wait any longer this time. I need you.”

“Yes,” you agree, your body already winding up again, “God, yes.”

Your fingers are pried off of the edge—you hadn’t known you needed help with it until Namjoon assisted you with slick digits of his own—before your body is pulled off of the desk. “Go,” he commands with a wet pointer finger, signaling to the canopy bed on the other side of the room. “And I want you fully undressed before you get there.”

You wordlessly thank him for being merciful in the change of surface, deftly unstringing your dress like you have done many times before. Shucking it from your body, you untie your bodice next, your legs wobbly with your coming undone the first time. The undergarment drops to the floor, and when you spin around, you take in the sight of your husband—jaw landing next to your clothes.

His body is built like a king. Broad, rippling shoulders come down to a defined chest and stomach, and powerful thighs encase a cock so large and pretty that you can’t take your eyes off of its curve.

Taking the length in his palm, Namjoon takes determined strides to your still form, eyes never leaving your body even when your arms come up to instinctively cover your front.

“You’ll do no such thing,” he commands, his tone juxtaposing the tenderness he uses when bringing your limbs back to your sides. “I want to see all of you. Now get in.”

Obeying, you hoist yourself into the plush sheets, gasping in surprise when a strong body immediately covers yours right after. “You really are impatient.”

“I am.” Your arms are thrust above you, and you let out a quick mewl as your wrists are pinned together. “And you are going to learn why in a second.”

As you gaze up at Namjoon’s rippling chest before landing on his look of lust and adoration, you remember everything that led to your wedding day: the day that you never thought was reserved for you.

But after you had broken the chains surrounding the pair of you—the sheer difference in wealth and status, stubbornness, roaring pride—Namjoon had proposed that morning in the field without pause.

The days following were a blur, but your betrothed had remained confident in his decision; soon, everyone had willingly or unwillingly agreed to your matrimony and the event took place in a garden that rivaled those of fairy tales.

Months of tension, misjudgment, misplaced anger. All of them melted away at the sound of your vows and slipped into the soil under your matching, clean shoes. Your eyes gained stars that day.

Which brings you here: not the night of the wedding, but the morning after. Namjoon had woken you from the first peaceful slumber you had in months, and he coaxed your grumbling form into a robe and into the back garden of your estate.

Both of you wandered the grounds, listening to the early sounds of dawn and whispering as to not disturb the flowers into premature bloom. When you had stopped him only to kiss the knuckles on his dominant hand, Namjoon stared at you and professed his ever-blooming love for you before whisking you into the very room you exist in now.

With the strong arms caging in your vision, veins prominent under their skin, Namjoon steadies himself as he slots his cock in between your legs. Your moan at the feel of his nakedness escapes in a soft puff, and your nipples pebble in anticipation.

Your husband gazes unabashedly at your sex. When his lidded eyes come up to meet your curious ones, he swoops down to claim your mouth again, tongue rolling across your lips and jutting inside to tether his passion to your heart.

You respond in kind, trying and failing to release your arms from his grip above your head. When your attempts prove futile, your whimper echoes into his mouth, and his deep chuckle stirs something primal within your core.

Namjoon’s ravaging continues as he leans his sharp cheekbones into the side of your face, his tongue licking fire along your neck. Unbeknownst to you, one of his hands wanders down to your folds, and you jolt in shock when familiar fingers slide along their path.

“Please,” you gasp in his ear, tightening your arms again and bucking your hips to move anything, anything at all in response to the pleasure. “Namjoon, please.”

“What do you want, Mrs. Kim?”

Your first attempt at a response is cut off by his teeth nicking the pulse on your neck, and your entire butt leaves the bed and thrusts into his beautiful fingers, causing them to slide deeper into your cunt. Namjoon’s proceeding groan is enough to have you keening back for more, but you still have it in you to answer with, “You.”

“You already have me.”

“No, I mean”—you gasp as he moves his fingers around, thumbing your clit and causing slick to gush from your center—“I mean, I need you.”

“That’s the same thing, love,” Namjoon tuts, knowing full well he is being an ass. “I need you to be specific for me.”

As you feel the incredibly hard cock against your thigh twitch in want, you wonder why the hell your lover is stalling. You try to jerk against his strong restraint on your wrists again, and he laughs at your feeble attempt. “You’re impossible,” you huff.

“And you’re going to tell me what you want, or else you won’t be getting it.”

The fingers in your cunt pick up in pace, swirling and diving and bringing you closer and closer to orgasm once more. The spring in your lower belly is tightening as much as the tension in your wrists. “You said you couldn’t wait any longer earlier,” you gasped through the pleasure coursing through your mind, “Change… Change of heart?”

Namjoon shoves his hips down into yours, and the feel of his length presses into your core. You cry out in want, thrashing in earnest and groaning in a mix of frustration and pleasure. Smirking, he leans next to your ear and whispers, “No. I just like seeing you like this.”

“Ass!” you harshly whisper in his ear, and when he leans away before you can bite his ear, you huff again.

“When it comes to you? Always.” There is a brief, light slap to your cunt, and your body jolts up until your fingers knock the dark wooden headboard. “What do you want, love?”

“For my husband to stop being an—”

Another slap to your aching folds causes your back to arch again, your nipples grazing Namjoon’s firm chest. “Try again. Just say it.”

You suck in a breath and exhale shakily, your legs straining with the constant pressure against your core and your arms growing beautifully sore above your head.

“I want it.” You stare right into your husband’s eyes. Even though you have never done anything like this before, the sheer lust hovering around his visage provides you with enough courage to finally put your thoughts into words. “I want your cock, Mr. Kim.”

“Fuck.” Namjoon slides his fingers in one long swipe up your cunt again before bringing them to his mouth. As he licks them clean, you let out a shuddering breath, wondering how there is still room for you to swoon. “I knew my wife wasn’t shy.”

Instead of a biting retort, you only smile. Because though you not shy, you are incredibly nervous. But you trust your husband with your life, so you figure this shouldn’t be that much of a burden.

Namjoon leans down slowly to kiss you once more, and you are grateful for it. It’s a chance for you to relay your nervousness as he positions himself, sliding his hardness against your slick and letting you feel just how thick he will be.

His lips leave yours too soon, but it’s to tell you, “Just breathe for me, okay?”

When you nod, Namjoon slowly enters, and the intrusion is nothing like you imagined: it hurts. You hiss at the feeling, and Namjoon is merciful again in the way he releases your wrists to sling an arm behind your head. His hold on the back of your neck is gentle, and he whispers, “Breathe, my love.”

Your freed hands immediately look for purchase on his shoulders, gripping them while you follow his direction and take deep breaths. The intrusion starts to feel welcoming as your cunt adjusts to the newfound sensation, your walls fluttering around his length and starting to suck him in further.

“You’re so tight…” When Namjoon is fully sheathed, he stays as still as he can muster to let you get used to the feeling. “So perfect.”

You can absolutely tell the wait is torturous for him, which makes you love him all the more. As the pain gives away to sheer pleasure, you slide your hands into his hair and tell him you’re ready.

Namjoon swoops in to steal a kiss from you again, and he digs an elbow into the bed for balance as he starts to move. You love the way his brows scrunch in concentration, the way he looks down to watch himself make love to you while in the act, the way he makes you feel nothing and everything at once.

The feeling is unlike anything you had experienced before, and when Namjoon’s small thrusts end up not being enough, you tell him to go faster. He only laughs before obliging.

“I knew you would be like this here, too.”

“Like what?”

Instead of responding, your husband picks up the pace, his muscles rippling under his sweaty skin and his stray strands of hair bobbing with each motion. Your moans and mewls mix with his deep groans, and you have decided that those are your favorite sound in the world. Maybe even better than the soft turns of pages.

Feeling full and complete is unrivaled. Your body is acting on instinct, moving with him and even wrapping legs around his built frame. The grunt and lip bite you get in return is a prize you sigh at, and when Namjoon claims your wrists above your head again, you revel in the restraint.

“The death of me,” is what he finally answers your previous question with, and you immediately preen.

Your legs slide against his buttocks and the rest of his skin, but your muscles endure. His cock rubs against your walls in the best way possible—each stroke deeper than the last—and you know you’re close to euphoria.

Lips come down to suckle your breasts, and you throw your head into the pillow beneath you. Everything from your hands bound above your head to the way his cock fills you to the brim is too much, and your legs finally give and slam back down onto the sheets.

Namjoon takes this as a cue to take full command, settling on his knees and bringing both his hands to grip your hips. No words are exchanged between the two of you, but the feelings are conveyed perfectly. Passion, want, love. Everything unsaid even after the proposal and wedding day.

Your body goes limp as Namjoon thrusts into you, hard fingers digging wonderfully into your skin and brows knitted in ecstasy. He continues to bite down on his bottom lip as he watches his cock enter you again and again, and your gaze is hazy as you watch his chest ripple with each thrust, enamoured.

You feel it before you recognize the winding. The edge you toppled from before is in reach again, and after a mewl you gasp, “Namjoon! Namjoon, I’m close.”

“Then come for me, my love,” he grunts, low and leaving no room for objection. One of his hands reaches down between you, a thumb rubbing your clit lovingly. The feeling is too, too much, and your vision blanks. Every limb in your body locks with pleasure. The ceiling is closer to you now. You can only describe the feeling as a constant wave crashing against your shore, slamming its powerful crests into you again and again.

“You’re so beautiful.” You hear the words somewhere above you, but they’re blurry in your ears.

Finally—slowly—your limbs settle back onto the bed. Namjoon smiles down at you before asking, “Did I lose you?”

“You’ll never lose me,” you confess truthfully.

Namjoon huffs in amusement before whispering something under his breath. You don’t have time to ask what he said before he starts back up again to chase his own high, and your body is heavy with content as you watch.

He leans down and commands a kiss from you, using the same elbow for balance at your side. You pour your entire body and soul into the connection, and your husband’s thrusts start becoming frantic and jilted. His free palm grabs your hip to steady your quivering form; your hands swing behind his shoulders. Fingers rake love lines across his back, and Namjoon outright moans into your mouth before his thrusts are so rough that your body is shoved up the bed.

You almost feel yourself reaching the third orgasm of the morning, but it’s him you want to come before anything else.

And he does seconds later, his voice gravelly as he groans above your face—your list of favorite sounds forever multiplying. You feel strings of his essence shoot into your cunt, another feeling foreign yet familiar. As his forehead presses into yours, you hug him close, almost brought to tears from the emotions spilling from your chest.

For a moment, nothing else exists. Only the feeling of his bare skin sliding against yours, the connection between your legs, and the souls dwelling within appear on this plane. It��s a strange thing to think. But it is yours to store away in your memory forever.

“I love you,” Namjoon whispers, “Most ardently.”

The words slip down your face and into your mouth, only to be thrown out again as you reciprocate. As you both pant in exhaustion, you already feel sleep start to claim you again as sunlight breaks over the tree line outside your large bay windows.

He had come with the morning sun.

And since that day, you have wanted nothing more than to experience a million more dawns by his side.

fin.

a/n: ahhh, i hope you all enjoyed! i’ll tag the same people in the tag list here + some joon stans just in case, but this isn’t the full fic! taglist: @ladyartemesia, @lilmeowmeow02, @fckinshy, @jungoodeewani29, @annacroft23114, @pjmsdior, @sketchguk, @ppersonna, @monvante, @yoonjinkooked, @jungkxook, @r-m, @ditttiii-2, @oftenderweapons, @lovetrivia, @thejooncrew, @joheunsaram, @papillonsgf, @ironicarmy, @trustingofwinds, @sunshinekims, @honeyj00ns (couldn’t tag @livelyjay and @cheshirelikesmile) ++ feedback box (added nov. 25th, 2021): ⇥ of course, any reblogs/comments/messages are appreciated! ⇥ for the ones that aren’t okay with reblogging with a review, commenting on this, or sending a message, i went ahead and made another anonymous form where you can send in what you think! ⇥ no emails collected, no need to put in a username. it’s literally just a feedback dropbox :D ⇥ here! ++ ⇥ masterlist

#armyadvocatesaapi #bangtaninn #btsgoldnet #houseofddaeng #thebtswritersclub #btscreatorscorner #ksmutclub #btshoneyhive #bts imagines #bts reactions #namjoon smut #ryenwrites #bbasdrabble #bts fanfic #bts smut #nsfr #bangtansorciere #bangtanuniversity

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soobmint · 4 years ago

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paper hearts | choi soobin [f] ; [c] 80s! au, 9.6k words

s u m m a r y ; if there was one thing you wanted to avoid on valentine’s day, it was running into your ex best friend, choi soobin. but when a series of unfortunate events involving too much purple eyeshadow, drunken punches, and one stolen bicycle leads you right back to his side, you begin to realize that maybe you truly belonged with him all along.

c o n t e n t s ; soobin x fem!reader, 80s! au, valentine’s day, ex best friend! soobin, rich boy! soobin, but he’s a major dweeb and the biggest softie, yeonjun is a major prick (i’m so sorry junnie), reader is a part time worker, soobin is best friends with lee felix of stray kids, some themes of social classes, roughly inspired by the 80s movie “pretty in pink,” mentions drugs, alcohol, and single parent households, mostly just fluff, fluff, and more fluff, with a hint of crack/humor

n o t e ; hello friends! this was a very quickly planned, last minute valentine’s day idea, and it’s actually a collab with one of my dearest friends, @chanluster ! she posted her piece of the collab as well, you can check it out by going to the collab masterlist here! this was so much fun to write and i think that 80s! soobin was just too good of a concept to pass up! anyways, happy valentine’s day, i hope you enjoy this oneshot! do leave a like, reblog, or comment if you could, it really helps so much <3

[back to my masterlist] [oneshot playlist]

IF ONE MORE CUT-OUT, CRAFT-PAPER HEART HIT YOU IN THE FACE, YOU WERE GOING TO QUIT YOUR JOB.

Of course you would never actually quit. With your mother out of the picture and your father working nonstop overtime just to barely have enough cash to put food on the table for the both of you, you had come to rely on your minimum wage part-time hours more than you liked to admit. However, the handmade strings of paper hearts that hung from wall to wall throughout the entirety of the record shop you were employed at was enough to make you consider it; not to mention the Phil Collins record that had been spinning all day, filling your ears with melodies embodying the very air of romance, and the embarrassing pink sweater your boss had forced you to wear. You mumbled curses beneath your breath as you pulled at the collar, itching away at your neck.

When you made a step towards a crate full of records, ready to tidy it up after a customer had rummaged through it leaving it a mess, you were met with another face full of cheap red construction paper. With a large growl of exasperation, you swatted at the hearts and accidentally caused the entire string of them to fall to the ground. You cleared your throat, glad that no customers were present to see your little outburst.

Your boss, Jen, still saw it all.

“That’s not very festive of you, kid,” She said, taking a drag on her cigarette. “It’s Valentine’s Day! Lighten up.”

“Ah, my bad. I forgot that I was supposed to be overjoyed on the day honoring the execution of St. Valentine,” You said as you gave her a sarcastic smile. “I’ll make sure to smile at the next couple that walks in and ask them how they plan to contribute to the commercialization of a martyr’s death.”

“You must be real fun at parties,” Jen mumbled. She shook her cigarette at you from behind the counter. “You’re just bitter because you don’t have a valentine. I can’t blame anyone for giving you the cold shoulder with that attitude of yours.”

You scowled, picking up the string of hearts that you had sent crashing to the floor. “I’m not bitter, and I don’t want a date. Also, I told you to stop smoking inside! It smells awful.”

“Last I checked, this was my shop, not yours.” You rolled your eyes as you approached the counter, handing the discarded string to Jen so she could throw it in the trash. “Now you’re making me do chores for you too? You’ve got some nerve, I’ll give you that.”

“Jen, please, I’m really not in the mood for this today.”

Jen shrugged, bending towards the trash can to throw away the string of hearts when she paused and pulled something from the bin. You glanced over your shoulder and gasped when you saw what she held in her hand—a small red envelope with your name scrawled across the front and a pink heart-shaped sticker stuck on the back.

“What’s this?” Jen asked, opening the envelope and shaking out the contents. A single slip of paper fell out, landing atop the counter. You rushed to grab it, but Jen snatched it up just before your fingers reached the countertop.

“Give me that,” You insisted, face growing warm. “I threw it away for a reason!”

“It’s an invitation to a party?” She seemed beyond surprised, glancing back and forth between you and the paper several times. “You got invited to a Valentine’s Day party, and instead of going, you asked me to give you extra hours? Why?”

You looked down at your feet, digging the toe of your sneaker into the blue carpet. There were, in fact, many reasons why you did not want to go to that party. They were as follows:

One: Choi Yeonjun was the one who had invited you. After you had rejected his offer when he asked to take you to a basketball game a month before, you could barely make eye contact with him in the school hallway without feeling guilty. That and the fact that he was one of the richest preps in the school, you knew he had just been asking you out for some sort of prank or dare that you preferred to not potentially fall victim to.

Two: you needed to work as much as you could. Money, as always, was tight for you and your father. There was no way you would sacrifice precious hours to go to a party full of rich kids where nothing but humiliation was sure to await you.

Three: your old childhood friend and the one person you couldn’t bear to see was probably going to be there—Choi Soobin.

You had barely spoken to Soobin in the four years you had been in high school. Crossing paths with him in the cafeteria, turning down the same aisle of books as him in the library, all those tiny stolen glances and accidental encounters were the only bits of interaction you had kept throughout all that time. The worst part was, he hadn’t done anything wrong.

It was nothing but your own cowardice that had driven the two of you apart, and you were still too afraid to own up to it.

Instead of explaining all of this to Jen, you simply shrugged and said, “I dunno. It just sounds lame.”

Your boss sighed, holding the invitation out towards you. “Okay, I’m letting you off early. Go to the party.”

With wide eyes, you shook your head immediately. “Absolutely not. Why in the world would I go?”

“Well, first of all, it’s a once in a lifetime opportunity for you. Who knows when your next chance to go to a party will be.”

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes at that.

“Second, it’s a holiday! The only reason I even opened today was because you were begging me for hours. I thought it was because you were bummed about having no plans, but clearly it’s because you wanted an excuse to be a recluse.”

“Hey, I’m not a recluse.”

“Clearly.” She shook the invitation at you once more, brows raised. “If you go, I’ll raise your pay by fifty cents for the next month.”

Your ears perked up at that.

“Well?” She asked, well aware that she had hit the jackpot. “What'd ya say?”

Weighing the risks against the benefits, you bit the inside of your cheek.

“Make it a dollar and you’ve got a deal.”

“HAPPY VALENTINE’S, CHOI.”

When Soobin heard the sarcastic remark coming from his best friend, Felix, he had to fight back the urge to burst into tears then and there. He still wasn’t quite sure how Felix had convinced him to come, but he was already regretting it. The last thing he wanted to do to celebrate the day dedicated to love was spend it at a house party—or, as Soobin preferred to call them, any outcast high school kid’s version of hell on earth.

With a quick peek between his fingers, which he had used to cover his eyes immediately upon arriving at the site of the Valentine’s party, Soobin caught another eye-full of couples getting all too familiar with one another out in the open. He gulped, letting his hands grip the handles of the bike as he averted his gaze, choosing to cast his best glare at Felix, who was busy adjusting his ever-present beanie.

“Shut up,” he murmured, slowly sliding off the seat of his bike. He dusted off the worn, tearing cushion, glancing around the area. “Now quick, we gotta put our stuff somewhere safe.”

Felix looked aghast, making no moves to help Soobin in his search for a hiding spot. “What are you doing?”

“Tryna find a safe place for my bike?” He thought the answer to be somewhat obvious, but clearly Felix wasn’t on the same track of thinking. “You don’t know today’s world! Anyone is willing to steal nowadays.”

“Soobin, your bike is coughing up oil from its chains. It should be in its own care home at this rate.”

“I don’t wanna hear your slander, skater boy,” Soobin retorted, eyeing Felix’s ebony skateboard that he refused to be seen without. As if on cue, when he pushed his bike forward, the chains squealed, drawing the attention of a pair of particularly passionate individuals who had been wrapped up with one another moments before. Soobin ignored their annoyed stares, feeling his ears burn from embarrassment. He glanced back to Felix. “Help me find a hiding spot.”

Felix was anything but enthusiastic, but he began to help Soobin search nonetheless.

“Slide it in here, Soobs,” Felix called a few moments later. He was pointed to an empty space between the home’s perfectly trimmed bushes. Soobin pursed his lips together, pushing his large glasses further up the bridge of his nose—a nervous tick of his. Felix groaned, rolling his eyes. “Or you can leave it out in the open so it’ll spit more oil on the passersby? Is that what you want?”

“Fine, fine!” Soobin huffed, wheeling his bike over to the shrubbery, chains squeaking all the way. He carefully laid it beneath the brush and moved a few branches to cover it up nicely. He stood up straight, dusting his hands on the front of his loose blue jeans. “What about your skateboard?”

Felix gave the board a pat, awarding his most prized possession a dazzling smile one would expect to see a proud father giving his beloved son. But in reality, it was the school’s stoner grinning ear to ear at his old, dusty skateboard. “Nightrider stays with me.”

Soobin scrunched his nose, cringing on instinct. He still calls that thing by that stupid name?

Felix clapped him on the shoulder before he could make a remark, catching him off guard when he said, “Right. Let’s go and get your girl.”

There was nothing Soobin could do to stop the flush that rushed to his cheeks right away. Images of you, his ex-best friend and the only reason he had even come to this party in the first place, flashed through his mind. Had he not overheard Yeonjun invite you earlier that morning and then casually mention the encounter to Felix, there was no way he would have even stepped foot out of his house that night. Part of him was peeved, wishing he had never uttered a single word about you to his overbearing friend. Yet, deep down, there was hope within him—the tiniest sliver.

If there was even the slightest chance that he could talk to you that night, he would do anything. Even if it meant dealing with a stupid party, and the never-ceasing teasing he was bound to continue receiving from Felix.

“Don’t even say that,” He said, emphasizing each word as they walked up the front steps. Soobin had to glance down at his much shorter friend to see the devious grin on his freckled face.

“Say what? That she’s your girl, your woman, your one and only?”

The blush must have been creeping to his neck by that point. He could feel it. “I. . .” There were many things Soobin wished to say; angry words that would hopefully shut the blonde skater boy up real quick. But he couldn’t bring himself to say a single harsh word, so he sighed in defeat. “I can’t even say it.”

“That you hate me?” Felix only grinned even bigger, and Soobin couldn’t help the tiny defeated smile that slipped over his features. “Oh, I know. It’s because I’m too good of a best friend.”

They stepped into the house then, instantly being overwhelmed by loud music, boisterous laughter, and drunken yells echoing throughout the halls. Soobin latched onto Felix right away, gripping his friend’s sleeve as someone stumbled into him, a bit of beer spilling from their cup. He pushed his glasses up, only for them to slide right back down as he began to sweat.

“Maybe we should go home, Lix!” Soobin shouted to be heard over the noise as they travelled further into the house. “We can always try next year!”

“Stop being a scaredy-cat!” Felix shouted back, and Soobin thought he might actually begin to cry as they squeezed their way into the living room. Soobin nearly gagged at the strong smell of alcohol as it burned in his nose. The scene was nothing short of a nightmare to Soobin—loud voices, smoke rising in the air, vodka assaulting his nose and sweat beading on the back of his neck. He had never been one to drink, and he didn’t plan on starting that night; but he was beginning to understand what Felix meant when he had once told him it was nearly impossible to get through one of these parties sober.

He was about to make another complaint and beg to leave when someone from the crowd hollered his name, causing him to wince when he recognized that voice as the one that belonged to none other than Choi Yeonjun.

“Soobin! Where you been?”

Soobin smiled nervously at the school’s heartthrob—and textbook snobby rich kid—before he turned back to Felix. He didn’t want to leave his friend, but he knew that he would never hear the end of it if he ignored Yeonjun’s persistent calls. “I’ll be right back,” He promised Felix, still holding onto his sleeve.

“No, no,” Felix assured. “You go. You’ll probably find her around that place anyway.”

Soobin wasn’t so sure of that. You were definitely not of the right social standing to be caught amongst the circle of the school’s rich boys—which was why it had surprised Soobin that Yeonjun had invited you to the party in the first place. Your high school had its own caste system, and you were near the bottom of it.

And, as much as it pained him to admit it, Soobin was stuck at the very top with all the other rich snobs who cared about nothing more than their daily allowances that came straight from their daddy’s bank account.

“What about you, buddy?” He asked Felix, desperate for any excuse to remain by his friend’s side. He would have tried to bring Felix with him, but his friend was in an even worse social standing than you were—he was poor, and he was most known for being the school’s pothead. There was no way Soobin would willingly drag him into a situation where nothing but slander and torment awaited him.

“Me?” Felix shrugged, gripping his board tighter. “I’ll just smoke away the night.”

Soobin pouted, glancing back at the group of preps as they called for him once again. He sighed, clapping Felix on the shoulder. “Just make sure you won’t smell too much of it when I come back.”

Submitting himself to his doom then, he turned on his heel and slowly made his way to where the group of boys sat near the sofa, giving them a half-hearted wave.

“Why were you hanging around that Felix guy?” Yeonjun asked once Soobin had reached their circle. “Did he blackmail you or something?”

Soobin frowned, pushing his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “He’s my friend.”

Yeonjun rolled his eyes, brushing a hand through his perfectly-straightened ebony locks. “Sure he is. Tell me, do you see every kid you find on the streets as some sort of personal charity project? Or is it just Felix and—what was her name—” He snapped his fingers then before he said, “Y/N, right?”

Soobin didn’t respond—well, it was more like he couldn’t respond. By nature he was a very passive being, but nothing drew him closer to bouts of anger than when the people he cared about were being insulted right before him.

Especially when it came to you.

Yet, as much as he wanted to tell Yeonjun off or give him a nice shove into the smoke-stained walls, words failed him. They always did. Perhaps this was why you had abandoned him all those years ago. Nobody knew him better than you did, so of course you were able to see what he truly was beneath all the expensive clothes and nervous laughter—a coward.

He figured that he’d probably have left himself too.

“Drink up, buttercup.” The chipper voice that belonged to the other Choi in the small gathering of socialites, Choi Beomgyu, thrust a plastic red cup towards Soobin’s chest.

He shook his head, throwing another wavering smile in his direction. “No thanks. I don’t drink.”

Yeonjun rolled his eyes. “Of course you don’t. Why are you even here then?”

Once again, Soobin chose silence as his only response. He swallowed, patting the front pocket of his denim jacket. As the group of boys began conversing once more, he couldn’t help but let his eyes wander around the room, searching every drunken face for the features that belonged to you, trying to hear your name in every conversation, desperate for your voice to break through the blasting music and shouting voices.

“Who ya looking for there, Big Choi?” Soobin grimaced at the nickname. He was skinny, but incredibly tall, and nobody would let him forget that. “Big Choi” was one of his most common nicknames among the elitists. He despised it, but of course, he would never voice that aloud.

He glanced at Beomgyu and smiled nervously again, shaking his head. “Nobody.”

His eyes met Yeonjun’s and he gulped yet again as the latter eyed him with suspicion. It wasn’t as though he had anything to hide, but something about Yeonjun’s calculating gaze made his skin crawl.

He needed to escape. Just for a moment, at least.

“I’ll be right back. Going to find some water.”

He slipped out of the living room then, apologizing profusely to each couple he accidentally bumped into, bowing in remorse to each person’s toes his big feet happened to stumble over. He ached to be by Felix’s side—the stoned skateboarder had become somewhat of a security blanket to the taller of the duo—but his blonde friend was nowhere to be seen.

After snagging a bottle of water from the kitchen, Soobin managed to slip into an empty bathroom. He slammed the door shut and wasted no time in locking it. Letting out the biggest sigh of relief, he closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the door, taking a big gulp of the ice cold water.

He set the bottle on the counter and carefully reached into the front pocket of his jacket, his fingers finding the piece of paper he had been storing there all evening. He pulled it out and let his eyes wander over his middle school creation. It was a big heart, cut out from a scrap piece of red construction paper. Scrawled across it in his eight-grade handwriting were the words, Be mine this Valentine’s! His name was etched at the bottom, and at the very top, delicately printed in hot pink glitter glue, your name was written as well.

He had planned to give this to you four years ago on Valentine’s day. Everything had been planned out perfectly; he was to pick you up on his old, trusty bike. It wasn’t really made for two people, but the two of you had fashioned a makeshift extra seat for you to sit upon whenever you went places together.

He wanted to take you to the Dairy Shack, which was the local ice cream shop where the two of you spent the most time together. You always got a large chocolate shake to share, playing a quick game of rock, paper, scissors to decide who got to eat the cherry on top. He was going to order a shake and specially ask for two cherries that time, and planned to give both of them to you before he would bravely present you with the handmade card he had spent all day working on.

However, when he waited for you outside your house that day, the red dusk turned to pitch black night, and you never stepped foot out your door.

He had even gone up to your door a few times and knocked, but there was no answer. Eventually he pedalled off into the night, back to his house. He was disappointed, of course, but more worried than anything else. He had hoped you weren’t sick.

But when he saw you at school the next day, he knew that hadn’t been the case.

And when you ignored him calling your name as you passed by him in the hallways, he knew that something had drastically changed.

For weeks, Soobin was in great turmoil as he replayed your last few encounters together before you had stood him up. Perhaps you were angry that he had won the last few games of rock, paper, scissors? If he had known, he would have given you all the cherries for the rest of time if it meant you would still talk to him. He didn’t care about them—he cared about you.

He missed you.

And as weeks turned to months, and months turned to years, you still barely spoke to him, and he missed you more and more. The best friend he had wanted to take a step closer to had taken a thousand steps back from him, and he still had no idea why.

But that night, he was determined to find out.

Well, if he could muster up the courage to get a single word out, of course.

He folded the heart back up and stuck it back in his pocket, taking a deep breath as he observed himself in the fogged-up mirror. He fixed his bright blue hair that Felix had helped him bleach and dye, making sure the pieces fell over the corners of his eyes just right. He straightened his white turtleneck and cuffed the sleeves of his denim jacket until he was at least somewhat content with his appearance.

“You can do this, Soobs,” He told himself, adjusting his big round glasses further up the bridge of his nose. “That’s what Felix would say.”

“Hey, rich boy!” A loud scream came from outside the bathroom door, accompanied by harsh knocking that sent Soobin stumbling backwards until he fell in the shower, pulling the curtains down with him.

“Hurry up in there! I’m about to piss myself!”

Soobin let out a shaky sigh, scrambling to his feet as he rushed to fix the curtain he had torn down with his clumsiness. “Sorry,” he mumbled, though he doubted the person on the other side of the door could hear him.

He realized then with an ever growing dread that it would be a miracle if he survived the night long enough to even find you, but it would take the work of God himself for him to actually speak to you.

He figured it was time for him to start praying.

YOU KNEW IT WAS A MISTAKE TO LET JEN DO YOUR MAKEUP.

When she had stopped you on your way out the door with a compact of bright purple eyeshadow, you had turned her down right away. No way in all of creation were you walking in a party with such an atrocious color caked up to your brow bone.

“How can you say it’s gonna look bad if you haven’t even let me try?” Jen had asked.

You had given her a once-over, your lips pressed into a thin line. “If it’s gonna look anything like the way you do your own makeup, I’m gonna have to pass.”

After that snide remark, she had threatened to fire you if you didn’t let her apply the makeup. And so you obliged, though you didn’t have much of a choice.

The booming sounds of the party hit your ears before you had even reached the lawn. Screaming teens—well, there were probably some adults thrown in there as well—and the sound of music spilled through the open windows of the home. Couples and singles alike were scattered throughout the perfectly kept lawn that was now littered with empty cups and other assortments of garbage.

You looked down at your patchwork jeans and pink sweater, certain that you would be underdressed compared to the rest of the partygoers. But from the looks of things, as you carefully squeezed your way through the front door and into the home, everyone was probably too wasted to even notice your arrival, let alone care about your looks.

You caught a glimpse of your face in the hallway mirror, cringing at the sight of your eyeshadow. You had tried to wipe some of it away before arriving, but it simply smudged, giving you quite the shocking smoky, purple eye look. For someone who didn’t even know the difference between a paintbrush and a makeup brush, it was a bold look, to say the least.

If Soobin saw you looking like this, he’d probably have a heart attack.

Soobin.

In the midst of all your frantic preparation, you had nearly forgotten about the main reason why you had planned to avoid this party at all costs. With a quick glance around the room, you realized that he was nowhere to be seen. You wouldn’t have been surprised if he hadn’t shown up at all. He was never a fan of parties, anyway.

You crossed your arms over your chest and slowly slipped past the couples crowding the hallway with their limbs intertwined, mouths practically swallowing one another whole, until you reached the living room. Surprisingly, it was less crowded in here than you thought it might be. A few minglers were scattered about the room’s perimeter, but they all kept away from the center of the room, which was occupied by none other than Choi Yeonjun and all his brainless, rich-boy worshippers. You quickly scanned the group, not able to make out Soobin among them. When you realized he wasn’t there, you were partly relieved and partly disappointed. If was to be anywhere at this party, it would probably be with these guys.

With a quick turn on your heel, you planned to make your way out of the living room before Yeonjun could see you. The last thing you wanted was for the boy with a bruised ego to see you, regardless of whether or not he had been the one to invite you.

“Y/N? You came?”

Too late.

Plastering a forced grin to your face, you slowly turned to face Yeonjun, who had just called your name. He was eyeing you with slight surprise, but soon, a smirk slipped across his lips as he motioned for you to come over. You had to hold back your sigh, wishing there was some way for you to get out of this situation. It was all Jen’s fault that you had to show up in the first place. You decided you were going to demand an extra ten cents be added to your raise the next time you saw your pushy boss.

“Hey Yeonjun,” you said once you had walked over to him. “I figured I’d stop by for a minute or two, since you were kind enough to invite me.”

He smirked, glancing at a few of his friends. They shared a knowing laugh with one another, but the meaning of it was lost to you. You wanted nothing more than to get away from them, but that wasn’t an option.

“You’re too busy to go out with me to a basketball game but free enough to come to a party, huh?” He asked.

You blinked, digging your nails into your arms. “I’m sorry?”

“It’s fine, really,” He drawled, swirling his plastic cup of beer in his hand. “You didn’t think I’d be upset or anything did you? I only asked you out because I was dared to shack up with you. But I’m guessing you already knew that, since you’re so smart and all.”

Your eyes went wide, but you managed to control the rest of your expression. It was just like you had guessed—Yeonjun had invited you to the party with the sole purpose of making a scene.

If you survived the night, Jen was never going to hear the end of it.

“You’re not gonna say anything?” He asked, pushing himself to his feet. You could tell by the slight stumble in his step and his hooded eyes that he had quite a bit to drink. He took a step towards you, causing you to back up immediately. Your back hit the wall, and you placed your palms against it as Yeonjun towered over you.

“It’s okay, sweetheart. I know why you’re here anyways.” He leaned forward, his lips hovering near your ear. “You’re here to see Soobin, aren’t you? Since he’s the only one here willing to waste his time on filth like you.”

Your blood boiled, and you had to clench your fists at your sides to control your anger.

“Don’t,” You seethed, “Call me that.”

“Call you what? Filth? Or sweetheart? Why, is that something good old Binnie used to call you—”

He never got to finish that sentence, because with one big burst of anger, you stomped on his toe as hard as you could with your worn-out platform sneaker.

“What the hell!” He screeched, drawing the attention of several others in the room. His outburst even caused a few of the couples to pull away from each other’s faces long enough to eavesdrop.

Before you could even say anything back, lukewarm liquid was splashed up in your face, burning your eyes and nose. You gasped, running your hands over your eyes to see Yeonjun with his now empty cup of beer pointed towards you.

“Think twice before you act out against me next time, sweetheart. Never forget your place.”

Tears of anger burned in your eyes, and you scanned the room to see several people exchanging whispers and giggles as they glanced in your direction. You pushed past Yeonjun and quickly made your way out the back door of the house, unable to stand the humiliation for a moment longer.

Soobin arrived in the living room just in time to see you leave.

He wasted no time in rushing towards Yeonjun, grabbing hold of his arm. “Yeonjun, was that Y/N?” He asked, eyes quickly taking in the puddle of alcohol on the floor and the empty cup in Yeonjun’s hand. “What happened?”

“Nothing you need to worry your pretty blue head about, Big Choi. I just put her in her place is all.”

Soobin’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean you ‘put her in her place?’”

Yeonjun laughed, giving Soobin a nonchalant pat on the back. “Just drop it, would you? It has nothing to do with you.”

“What did you say, Yeonjun?”

Yeonjun was growing irritated now. He huffed out a breath, crossing his arms over his chest. “I said it has nothing to do with you, Soobin. I know you like to hang around people like that pothead Felix, but the rest of us live in the real world, where we’d rather not waste our time with those who have no future anyways. I bet he’s the one that got you to dye your hair that god awful blue, isn’t he?”

Soobin bit the inside of his cheek. He so badly wished to rip Yeonjun to shreds then and there. If he had Felix’s courage, the cocky bastard would have been knocked to the ground ages ago. But if there was one thing Soobin was sure he could never be, it was brave. And so, despite his rage, he remained silent, his eyes practically burning a hole through Yeonjun’s chest from how intently he was glaring.

It seemed as though Yeonjun was about to say something, but his eyes landed on the bit of red that peeked through the front pocket of Soobin’s denim jacket. Before Soobin had time to defend himself, Yeonjun had reached forward and snatched it from his pocket, revealing the large paper heart—his valentine for you.

“So this is why you care so much,” Yeonjun said, laughing as his eyes scanned the glittery words that decorated the page. “You want her to be your valentine.”

“Give that back,” Soobin said quietly, his hands beginning to shake.

Yeonjun instead lifted his eyes to Soobin, gave him a sickly sweet grin, and ripped the heart straight down the middle. He let the two pieces fall from his hands to the ground, and with them Soobin’s heart went also.

“You’re really willing to try and go against me, and for what? For the sake of a girl who can’t even afford a new pair of jeans and a boy that smokes his life away in the bathroom stalls?” Yeonjun took a slow step towards Soobin, his eyes glinting with a sinister determination. “You may be rich, Soobin, but if you choose to lower yourself to their standards, you may as well be dirt poor just like they are.”

With his hands clenched into tight fists, his glasses sliding down his nose, and his heart quite literally in two pieces on the floor below him, Soobin decided that he had had enough.

“I’d much rather be associated with people who are kind and have actual depth to their character than be lumped together with a bunch of pricks like you with no real personality—because that’s something you can’t buy with daddy’s paycheck.”

He had to physically restrain himself from slapping his hand across his own mouth in shock. It was as if the spirit of Felix himself had possessed him to say such harsh things. He wondered where Felix was then, wishing more than ever before to have his best friend by his side as he began to tremble from either the rush of adrenaline that coursed through his veins, or from fear. Or perhaps it was both.

He didn’t have time to ponder it any longer before Yeonjun’s fist collided with his nose, resulting in a sickening crack as pain echoed throughout his face in tidal waves.

He stumbled backward as people began to shout, raising his hand to his nose and gasping when he saw that his palm was covered in blood.

Beomgyu had his arms wrapped around Yeonjun, who was desperately trying to lunge towards Soobin once again.

“Knock it off, Yeonjun!” Beomgyu shouted, pushing the elder back. “His dad is on the school board! Are you trying to get expelled?”

Beomgyu looked over his shoulder at the still stunned Soobin, who was gaping at the blood that now stained his once white turtleneck.

“Get lost, Soobin,” Beomgyu said, to which Soobin only blinked in reply, his ears ringing.

“Now!”

Head spinning, Soobin picked up the two halves of his paper heart, stuffed them into his jeans, and stumbled out the same door he had seen you go through just minutes before. After checking to make sure his glasses were still intact—they were, thankfully—he shook his head in an effort to clear his mind of the static, eyes scanning the front lawn looking for any trace of you.

It didn’t take long for his eyes to spot you among the now dwindling crowd of partygoers. Your bright pink sweater stood out against the darkness, so he was able to recognize you even with your back towards him. He sniffed, wiping the back of his hand against his dripping nose as he slowly made his way to where you sat on the curb, your feet planted on the asphalt street. He wished that he looked a bit more presentable—when he played this scene out in his head over the years in which he would finally reunite with you, he never imagined himself dazed and covered in blood.

Desperate times called for desperate measures, he supposed.

When he reached you, he simply stood beside you in silence for a moment, unsure of what to say. He could tell that you sensed his presence, but you refused to look up at him as you kept your face buried in your hands. He could have sworn he heard a few muffled sobs slip through your fingers, but of course, he wasn’t going to bring that up.

Eventually he decided to slip his jacket off of his shoulders, leaning down to drape it over you. You still kept your head down as he sat beside you on the curb, but he watched you grip the jacket and pull it tighter around your body. He smiled a bit, holding the collar of his turtleneck against his throbbing nose.

“Thank you,” you muttered, wiping your hand across your eyes. You finally looked over at him, and when you did, you couldn’t hold back your gasp. “My God Soobin, what happened to your face?”

“Oh, well, I might have gotten punched,” He said quickly, trying to wave off your concern. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Punched? By who?”

He looked down at the ground, sniffing as a drop of blood hit the pavement. “Yeonjun,” he muttered under his breath.

“I’m sorry, did you just say Yeonjun? Are you insane? Why on earth would you butt heads with the Choi Yeonjun?”

Soobin didn’t say anything in response, he simply stared at you, eyes wide with beer dripping off the ends of your hair, makeup smeared across your face, your sweater stained down the front. It didn’t seem to take long for you to put the pieces together, as the shock left your face and was replaced with something akin to guilt.

“Oh,” You said, looking back down at your shoes.

“So she knows that I did it all for her,” Soobin thought.

For some reason, the idea of that both terrified and excited him.

A second later, he glanced over to see you ripping one of the hand-sewed patches of fabric off your jeans, leaving a square of your skin exposed to the chilly night air. You leaned towards him, pushing his hand away from his nose so you could use the patch to clean up some of the blood on and around his puffy red nose.

“Y/N, your pants!” He exclaimed, trying to push your hand away. “They’re ruined!”

“I’m not worried about my pants, you idiot,” You said, swatting his hand away as you continued to press the cloth against his skin. “You got punched in the face because of me, this is the least I could do.”

“That was my choice though,” He muttered, although he stopped trying to resist your touch. He ignored the way his heart thrummed harder in his chest, hoping that you couldn’t hear.

“Well, this is my choice too.” Your eyes flicked to his for a brief moment, your bottom lip pulled between your teeth. “Why did you do it, by the way?”

“Do what?”

“Stand up to Yeonjun for me and get a nasty nosebleed as a result.”

“Oh.” He blinked slowly, keeping his eyes fixed on yours. “Just ‘cause.”

“Because . . . ?”

“Because of you.” He blurted, causing your hand to go still against him. He swallowed his fear, braving the best smile that he could. “Just you. That was my only reason.”

You didn’t say anything as your hand fell from his face, the cloth clutched between your fingers. The anxiety he had tried his best to suppress came rushing up all at once, and he was surprised that his ears didn’t begin to squeal like a tea kettle from all the pressure.

“Y/N,” He said, gently placing his hand over yours despite how his fingers trembled. “Why did you pull away from me?”

“What?”

“Four years ago. Why did you stop talking to me?”

You were quiet for a moment, digging into the ground with the toe of your sneaker. Soobin held his breath until you finally replied with, “I was afraid.”

“Afraid? Of what?”

“We were getting older, Binnie,” You said, and his heart skipped at the use of your old nickname for him. “You and I, we’re from very different walks of life. You get to hang out with people like Yeonjun, whereas I get a cup of beer poured all over my face just for existing, and you get a fist to the nose for trying to stand up for me. We’re from different sides of the track, one might say.”

“So?” Soobin asked, his hand tightening around yours. “Did you really think that would affect us that much, Y/N?”

You frowned, glancing down at his hand over yours.

“I thought you’d be embarrassed of me,” You said, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Embarrassed?” Soobin’s eyes went wide as he gripped your hand tighter still, pulling it into his lap. “Y/N, I would never, ever be embarrassed of you. Besides, have you seen my best friend? He’s on a first name basis with the principal because of how often he gets written up for smoking behind the school. If I’m not embarrassed of him, why would I ever be embarrassed of you?”

You laughed, wiping the back of your hand across your eyes once more. “I guess I was worried about nothing, huh?” You sniffed, giving his hand a squeeze. “I’m sorry, Soobin.”

He shook his head, squeezing your hand right back. “Don’t apologize. You’re here now, that’s what matters. Do think we could—you know—”

“Pick up where we left off?” You smiled, nodding vigorously. “I’d like that very much, Binnie.”

He beamed then, almost pinching himself to be sure that he was not dreaming, but the pain in his nose was real enough to remind him of that on its own. He jumped to his feet, pulling you right up with him.

“In that case, how about we finally go on that Valentine’s date I had planned all the way back then?”

“Date?” You asked, a brow raised. “Is it really considered a date if two friends are just hanging out?”

He didn’t respond as he pulled you along behind him towards the bushes where he and Felix had hidden his bike. He crouched down and moved the branches aside, feeling his heart drop to his stomach when he realized that his bike was, in fact, no longer there.

He shot up, turning to face you with eyes wide. “Felix—that bastard took my bike!”

You were quiet for a moment, but then, you burst into boisterous laughter, leaving Soobin utterly confused.

“It’s not funny, Y/N!” He whined, shoving your shoulder lightly. “I was supposed to take you to the Dairy Shack on my bike!”

“It is funny,” You said between bursts of laughter. “Only you would get such a rusty old piece of metal stolen from you.”

He pushed his lips out in a pout, sliding his glasses up his sore nose. “It’s a good bike, don’t make fun of it.”

You grinned, interlocking his fingers with yours, which was enough to instantly wipe the pout right off his face.

“Let’s just walk, Binnie. The Dairy Shack isn’t that far anyways.”

You were right; the walk to your favorite milkshake place was very close to the house where the party had occurred. Although Felix stealing his bike had thrown an obvious wrench in his plans, it was a minor hiccup, and one he could most definitely handle. Besides, he wouldn’t have to see Felix until the next day anyways. He could deal with his frustration then.

At least, that’s what he thought anyways, until the two of you spotted Felix at the skatepark on your way to the dairy shack.

Soobin’s eyes took in the deplorable sight before him—from where he stood on the dimly lit sidewalk, he could see Felix and a girl he had never seen before, their faces nearly pressed together, and most importantly, with his bike discarded a few yards away from them.

“Soobin,” You said, tugging on his arm. “They look like they’re busy, let’s just go—”

But Soobin, who had little patience when it came to Felix messing up his plans, didn’t let you finish before he screamed, “Give me back my freaking bike!”

You had to hold back your snort of laughter at his choice of words. Even when he was trying to sound angry, he was undeniably adorable.

Soobin watched as Felix startled, clutching his spliff between his fingers as he glared daggers back at his friend. Soobin gulped, trying not to let his fear show on his face. What did he have to be afraid of, anyways? He was the victim of thievery, and his best friend was the offender.

Felix took a big step towards him, but he paused, his eyes landing on your interlocked hands. Soobin glanced down as well, his face growing furiously warm as he realized the situation he had gotten himself into.

He decided to divert the subject before it could even be brought up by saying, “I can’t believe you stole my bike! All this time I was trying to hide it from strangers, but you, my best friend! I should’ve been hiding it from you!”

Soobin noticed Felix’s female companion step off the skateboard and walk over in his direction, and for a second he felt bad for possibly ruining her night with his best friend. However, his frustration was more prominent in the moment as he fixed his gaze back on his best friend, who had fixed a mischievous smirk upon his face that made warning sirens blare in Soobin’s head right away.

“Now, now, buddy,” Felix said, his voice calm and carefree as ever. It probably had something to do with what he had just smoked, but Soobin didn’t care all that much. “You’re just gonna have to let me borrow it for a little longer.”

Soobin nearly laughed at the audacity of such a statement. “You are gonna give me the bike, or—”

“How about this, Soobs?” Soobin’s lips clamped shut at his friend’s interruption, as the thief in question gestured with his joint to where Soobin’s fingers were locked with yours. “You let me keep your bike for the night, and I don’t tell your dad about you hanging out with the opposite gender.”

Unable to control yourself, you let out a big laugh. Soobin would have felt betrayed, but he was more terrified than anything else at the idea of his father finding out that he was taking a girl out without his permission. He would be grounded for weeks—no, months.

“You wouldn’t.”

Felix’s lips curled up even more into a twisted grin that Soobin wished he had the guts to slap off his face. “God, just imagine the look on Mr. Choi’s face. Imagine him finding out about your premarital hand holding.”

No. Not the hand holding.

Soobin almost felt faint, but he steeled himself to the best of his abilities as he cleared his throat. “One night, Lix,” he warned. “If I don’t see it on my porch in the morning, you’ll be sorry!”

“Oh, I’m so scared,” Felix teased. His expression changed a moment later though, when he finally noticed Soobin’s swollen nose and blood-stained turtleneck. “Wait, Soobs, the hell happened to you?”

Soobin, however, had already taken his first steps away from the skatepark, pulling you along behind him. “I’ll tell you later, bud. Enjoy your spliff with that kind girl who you probably don’t deserve!”

“Hey!”

Soobin couldn’t help but laugh as he swung your interlocked hands together, grinning as you let out a laugh as well. The anger that had seeped through him seemed to melt away in an instant as the two of you continued your journey to the Dairy Shack.

“Would your dad really be that upset if he found out about this?” You asked.

Soobin grimaced. “We should probably wait til next year to tell him about this outing. Or maybe the year after that.”

When the two of you had finally reached the Dairy Shack, you waited outside for him while he went in to order your drink. A large chocolate milkshake, with two straws, just like you used to get every time before.

When he had the drink in hand, he walked back outside and sat down beside you on the curb, smiling as you wrapped his jacket tighter around your shoulders. You smiled back up at him, your eyes creasing from the expression. Your smile had always struck him right to his core; he had missed seeing it every day.

He hoped he could see it every morning and every night from that day onward. There was no way he would let you go this time.

He just had to muster up the courage to grab hold of you first.

“You know what, Binnie, you turned out to be a lot taller than I thought you ever would be,” you said as you took one of the straws from his hands. “You’re actually enormous. It’s shocking.”

“Should I find that offensive? It sounds kinda like an insult.”

“Take it however you will,” You teased, leaning over as he popped the plastic lid off the milkshake. He grabbed the cherry by the stem and held it towards you.

“What are you doing?” You asked, holding out your fist. “We have to rock, paper, scissors for it. Remember?”

Soobin laughed as he shook his head. “I’m giving it to you this time. It’s what I planned to do all those years ago, when I asked you to hang out on Valentine’s.”

You seemed to be taken aback, but you simply shrugged as you plucked the cherry from his hand and pulled it from the stem with your teeth, glancing back over at him. It was silent for a moment, but then your eyes landed on the pocket of his jeans, where you could see a bit of red paper poking out. You leaned over even further, reaching your hand out to snatch the paper.

“What are you—hey! Give that back!”

Soobin desperately tried to take his Valentine back from you, but it was too late. You held both halves of what used to be a whole in your hands, your eyes scanning the words as you pieced them together.

“Soobin . . .”

He held his breath. Had his act of young love left you completely speechless? Were you so touched that you would burst into tears?

“This looks like a middle schooler made it.”

He let out the breath in the form of a long, long sigh.

“That’s because it was made by a middle schooler,” He said as he set the milkshake down beside him. “I made it back in the eighth grade. I planned to give it to you that Valentine’s.”

“Oh.” You ran your finger along the card’s surface, the smallest smile creeping across your lips. “Well in that case, it’s not half bad. Why’s it ripped though?”

“Ah—well, Yeonjun . . .”

You nodded, taking another glance at his swollen nose. “No need to elaborate. It seems you had a lot planned for our Valentine’s Day back then. Is there anything else you wanted to do?”

His mouth went dry at that, and he wished that you couldn’t see his face because he was sure that his expression was quite comical. All the way back then, four years prior, he had in fact planned the perfect, ideal day in his head. Picking you up on his bike, giving you the cherry from his milkshake, and presenting you with his hand made card.

There was only one thing left on his list.

He didn’t move at first, willing himself to have enough courage to even look back in your direction. But when he finally did allow his eyes to meet yours, he felt his shoulders relax and his heart rate became more manageable.

He took a deep breath, leaned forward, and pressed his lips against your cheek.

He lingered there for only a moment before he pulled back, daring to pry one of his eyes open to take in the look on your face.

The disappointment was palpable—from the way your brows furrowed together and the way you pursed your lips. His stomach dropped, and he scooted the tiniest bit away from you.

“I’m sorry,” He blurt out, his face growing warmer by the second. “I shouldn’t have done that, I just—”

“Is that all?”

Your question stopped him mid-ramble, his eyes growing wide. “Huh?”

“Is that all?” You repeated, closing the distance between you that he had created. “It’s Valentine’s Day, Soobin. I think we can do better than a peck on the cheek.”

The implications of what you were saying didn’t register with him right away, but when it finally did, he could have sworn his heart began to beat loud enough for the entire town to hear. His hand curled into a fist as he gripped the denim of his jeans. He leaned forward, keeping his eyes open just enough to watch you as he brought his lips closer to yours. He could feel your eyes on him all the while, causing his heart to pound fiercer still within him.

When he was just a breath away, he whispered, “Can you close your eyes?”

“Hm?”

He lifted his hand, gently placing it over your eyes. He leaned closer then, filling the space between you both as his lips met yours. You tasted vaguely of cherry and strawberry slice soda, and he found it quite nice the way his lips seemed to fit perfectly against your own. As the seconds drew on, your hands slipped around his neck, pulling him closer. He slowly let his hand fall from your eyes, tracing lines with the tips of his fingers down your cheek before he cradled your jaw, letting his lips part just enough to taste the sweet sugar on your lips once more.

He thought in a haze that it was a good thing he didn’t drink anything at the party, as kissing you was proving to be intoxicating enough on its own.

When you finally pulled away, leaving your forehead resting against his, he let his eyes flutter open enough to see the euphoric smile that adorned your features. He grinned as well, gently running his thumb against your cheek.

“I think that back then, I had planned to ask you this before kissing you,” He whispered, “But Y/N, will you be my Valentine?”

Instead of a spoken answer, you laughed, leaning forward to capture his lips with yours once again, and that was the only answer Choi Soobin would ever need.

WHEN SOOBIN ARRIVED HOME THAT NIGHT, HE WENT STRAIGHT FOR THE TELEPHONE.

It was kept upstairs at night right outside his parent’s door, to keep himself and his brother from using it in the late hours. Of course, this never stopped Soobin from sneaking it downstairs to his room in the basement to make late night calls to Felix.

And that particular evening, he really needed to give Felix an update.

He grabbed the phone from the small table in the hallway, carefully tiptoeing towards the basement stairs. Before he had even taken the first step down, the bathroom door creaked open. Soobin whipped his head around to see his brother Kai standing there, rubbing the sleep from his eyes as he raised a brow at his older brother.

Soobin froze, blinking slowly as he realized the incriminating situation he found himself in.

“Please don’t tell mom,” He whispered, his eyes pleading with his younger brother.

Kai nodded, although Soobin wasn’t quite convinced that the boy was even coherent enough to understand what was going on. Soobin offered a rushed thank you, and ventured his first step down the stairs.

Well, he tried, anyways, and ended up missing the first step. He tumbled down the rest of the stairs, landing on his butt at the very end.

He winced in pain, glad to see that the phone was still intact in his hands. He glanced over his shoulders to see Kai staring down the stairway with wide eyes, his lips parted in shock. Soobin quickly put a finger to his lips, begging his brother for silence.

Kai simply shook his head and walked away, allowing Soobin the freedom to breathe out a sigh of relief.

He quickly ran to his bedroom and shut the door, collapsing onto his bed with the phone as his breaths came in ragged gasps as an aftereffect from his tumble down the stairs. He figured he should have dialed Felix’s number right away, but he couldn’t help but brush his fingers against his lips, remembering the feeling and taste of having yours pressed against them.

He was so caught up in his daze that he didn’t notice Felix calling until the third ring.

He picked it up, breathing heavily into the speaker as he rubbed a sore spot on his lower back.

“Please tell me that panting is from running a marathon, and not what I think you’ve successfully tried.”

Soobin nearly gagged, holding the phone away from his face as he coughed, flustered by his friend's crude words. He brought the phone back to his face and said, “No, you sicko, I just fell down the stairs.”

“How the hell did you manage that with those long legs?”

“That’s not important, Lix!” He laid back onto his pillows then, twirling the phone cord in his hands as he stared up at his ceiling, the memories of his adventure with you that night flooding his mind once more. He couldn’t help but smile from ear to ear as he said, “Look, I need to tell you something important.”

If he didn’t know any better, he would have thought that he could hear the smile in Felix’s voice too as his friend replied.

“Well buddy, I got something to tell you too.”

1K notes · View notes

rommahh · 3 years ago

Text

Enough For You

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader

Word Count: 4.8k

{This is my first peter fic and theres more to come. I may make a part two of this- it depends though. This work is a complete work of fiction and doesnt follow the mcus storyline of peter parker at all. Just the characters. Anyways enjoy. Much love, R.}

Peter, as smart as he can be, was a complete and utter idiot. He could read an entire textbook on quantum physics, take a test on said textbook, and ace it like it was nothing. That's how intelligent he was. But when it came to the obvious things that didn't take place in the academic world- he was an oblivious idiot.

Y/N has had a crush on Peter since they were in elementary school. Everyone in Peter and Y/N’s inner circle saw how deep in love Y/N was with Peter- except for Peter. Y/N has spent years trying to tell him how she feels but he always just interprets it as Y/N telling him how much she loves their friendship- like the idiot he is.

As senior prom slowly approached Y/N waited for the moment where Peter would ask her to the dance. They both were not dance people but senior prom was so different. Y/N just wanted to spend the night with her closest friends before they all went their separate ways for college. Normally Y/N and Peter went to every dance together, but as prom got closer, Y/N started to worry that he wouldn't even ask her. And unfortunately, she was right to think that.

Ned, Peter, MJ, and Y/N all sat at a round table on their school's campus during their lunch period talking and eating. The conversation of prom came up making Y/N’s ears perk up hoping to hear the words she's been waiting for from Peter.

“So Peter, what are your prom plans?” MJ asked, chewing on some of Y/N’s carrots from her lunch. Y/N looked at Peter waiting for his answer. He blushed, rubbing the back of his neck to ease his nerves.

“I'm actually going to prom with Liz. I asked her yesterday after school and she said yes.” He smiled happily of the thought of him and Liz dancing at prom. Y/N on the other hand felt her heart clench uncomfortably. MJ looked just as shocked as Y/N hearing Peter's words. Ned looked up from his comic book as an uncomfortable silence filled the table.

Quickly, Y/N packed her lunch back into her lunch bag and slung her bookbag haphazardly over her shoulder. Her face was scrunched up as she tried to contain her tears. “Sorry guys, I completely forgot that I have to help Mrs. Anderson with some...thing.”

Rushing away, the group was left to watch Y/N’s figure scurry away from the table. Tom looked at her in confusion before looking at his other best friends trying to figure out what had just happened.

“What just happened? Is she Ok?” He asked getting his stuff ready so he could go and follow the girl. MJ put a hand on his arm to stop him from packing up.

“I think you should just let her be alone for a minute… So you and Liz huh?”

“I- yeah I've had a crush on her for years now. I thought I told you guys this.” Peter’s hands fiddled with the book in front of him. Ned shared a look with MJ making Peter look at them confused again. “Guys, what aren't you telling me? What's going on?”

“Sorry dude, it's not our place to say. You should probably talk to her after school.” Ned replied, patting Peter on the back trying to comfort him. The bell interrupted any further conversation from happening. The trio went their separate ways to class after saying an awkward goodbye.

Peter spent the whole day with his mind clouded with thoughts. He racked his brain for any possible reason as to why Y/N were so upset.

After school, Peter showed up to a Y/N’s house hoping to talk to the girl and figure out why his best friend was so upset. Y/N’s mom gave Peter a small smile when he approached the house, nodding her head to where the backyard was located to say where Y/N was at.

Y/N sat on a quilt made by her grandmother on the soft gras of her backyard. A large tree covered her from the sun that was slowly beginning its descent into the night. She looked up from the book she was reading hearing the sound of footsteps coming towards her. Peter stood there, backpack on one shoulder, hands in both sweater pockets just waiting.

“Hey.” Peter said, setting his backpack down before sitting across from the girl on the soft quilt.

“Hi Peter.” She quietly replied, keeping her head low so she couldn't meet his eyes.

“Can you tell me what happened today? You seemed upset. Did something happen in class?” He asked, his hand reaching out to tilt her face to look at him. She looked at his face, seeing his furrowed eyebrows and watching as his eyes searched her face for any clue as to what was wrong.

“You're taking Liz to prom.” She finally spoke after a moment of silence.

“I'm taking Liz to prom.” He confirmed still sitting there in confusion.

“I wanted you to ask me to prom.”

“Oh.” Y/N stopped looking at Peter, her hands playing with the frayed edges of her ripped jeans.

“Oh? You always ask me to school dances and I just thought…”

“Thought what? Y/N I dont get what you're saying. We did go to past dances together but this is prom you know. I really like Liz so I asked her.” He said still not putting two and two together to understand the issue.

“To be the smartest boy in our school, you are the biggest idiot ever.” Peter scoffed, offended by her comment. “Peter, I love you.”

“What?” Peter was shocked by her statement.

“I've liked you since the 4th grade and I guess I assumed you had started to like me too. I thought you were going to ask me to prom because you- you liked me too?” She looked at him again, face flushed and shoulders tense with anxiety.

“Y/N...I'm sorry but I- I dont like you like that. I didn't know that you did like me like that.” He watched as her shoulder dropped in defeat. Tears pooled in her eyes spilling onto her cheeks. She quickly wiped her face off with her hands. “Please don't cry, i'm so sorry. I still want to be friends though.”

She chuckled at his words. “I don't think we can be friends, Peter. I think it would be best for myself if we weren't friends.”

Her words cut like knives through his heart. He stood up abruptly as anger flooded through his body.

“So we can't be friends now? We've been friends since kindergarten. You are my best friend Y/N and you're going to throw it away over this?” His voice rose as he spoke. Y/N stood as well, anger taking over her as she listened to Peter raise his voice at her.

“Do you know what it feels like to watch someone you love not love you back?” She yelled at him, Peter’s eyes widened in shock having never heard his best friend speak like this before. “Do you know what it's like to watch the person you love have crushes on everybody but you? Do you know what it's like to not be enough? What is it about Liz that I don't have? You don't even know her!”

“You're mad at me for not liking you back? I can't control my feelings Y/N and I'm sorry for that but I don't want to lose our friendship. Please don't do this.” He held her face in his hands brushing the stray tears from her face. She shook her head free, backing away from him. Her hands clutched her arms, folding on top of her chest.

“I'm sorry Peter that I couldn't be good enough for you.” She gave him a small heartbroken smile before grabbing the book she was reading and went inside of her house. Peter watched as his best friend walked away from him for the second time that day. His chest felt tight, hands shaking as he thought about the ending of friendship he held dear to his heart.

Peter dreaded going to school. He spent the whole night being forced awake by panic attacks and non-stop crying. He had never felt a heartbreak like this. He's heard people say that friendship breakups are harder than relationship breakups and Peter can attest to that. Granted he's never been in a relationship, but he's going through a heartbreak he's never felt before.

He got ready for school slowly, relishing in the comfort of his room before exiting out into the living room of the apartment. He gathered his backpack that had been thrown carelessly in the living room out of anger as Aunt May watched him from the hallway before her bedroom. She decided against asking him what was wrong because she didn't want him to become even more upset on his way to school. Her heart aches as she watches her boy frown and wander around with sadness looming on his face.

At school, Ned and Mj waited for Peter at his locker like the group normally does. This time, Y/N was nowhere to be seen. Peter walked up to his locker, unlocking it and grabbing his things from inside of it for class.

“Did you guys know she liked me?” Peter asked after standing in silence with the group for a few moments. They looked at Peter in pity before nodding yes. Peter shook his head, upset with himself for never noticing the obvious feelings coming from his best friend.

The group walked to their first period class, Ned and Mj making small talk whereas Peter walking listening in on the conversation. Sitting in their normal seats, they waited for the first bell to ring that determined when the first period would begin.

The door of the classroom opened showing Y/N with arms filled with her textbooks and backpack slipping off of her arms. MJ thought Peter looked bad but Y/N probably looked worse. Her eyes were puffy carrying bags of sleeplessness and her overall appearance looked tired. The Y/N the group knew would come to school always dressed for success wearing the cutest outfits and makeup done to perfection. She wasn't over the top with it but she always looked so well put together. Today, she was wearing leggings and a ratty hoodie. Her hair didn't look like it normally did, her face was bare of makeup.

She moved slowly looking for an open table in the classroom. She saw one in the back of the room near the window and walked over to claim it as her own. Her friend group watched in shock as she walked past them and towards the empty table. Peter’s chest hurt so bad watching her walk past them. Mj and Ned were upset too but they had spoken to her before school and understood her want for space.

“She doesn't have to sit all the way over there.” Peter whispered still staring at Y/N as she settled into her seat in the back of the room.

“It's ok, she just wants space and that's ok.” Mj reassured him, rubbing his shoulder as he laid his head down on the table. He didn't know how he would cope without his best friend or lack thereof.

Lunchtime came sound and normally the friend group would sit outside together if the weather was nice. They've always done this since freshman year. They would sit at the wood tables and share their lunch with each other. Y/N would normally share her fruits and vegetables knowing that her friends packed unhealthy junk food.

Today was different though. Mj, Peter, and Ned sat at the table without her. Her spot at the table is empty leaving an uncomfortable gap at the round table. Y/N found herself seated inside of the library by the window that looked out on the wooden tables she would normally sit at.

Y/N sat in the quiet library crying her eyes out as she watched her friends comfort Peter. She was hurting so bad knowing that she ruined her friendship. She wishes that she never said anything. That she just let Peter be happy with his newfound relationship with Liz. She wanted to be happy for him but she had some resentment towards him. She understood he couldn't control his feelings but she hurt knowing that he never in the years they've known each other he's never looked at her more than a friend.

She wiped her tears from her face, pulling her neatly packed lunch box out of her backpack. She stared down at her lunch, sad that she had no one to share with anymore.

“Hey, do you mind if I sit here?” A voice said from above Y/N. Looking up she saw Bryant, another senior in her class, standing with his lunch.

“Oh- yeah, sure, of course.” Y/N stuttered making room at the table for his things. The table was large enough for the two of them so there was no real reason for her to say that he couldn't sit with her. Bryant was the captain of the baseball team at their highschool. He wasn't like the cliche popular kids at school who stayed within their cliques but he was very sweet and attentive to anyone he crossed paths with.

“Thank you! I saw you sitting by yourself and it kinda looked like you needed a friend.” He commented setting his salad from the cafeteria down along with his backpack that seemed too empty for a highschool seniors backpack. “So, how's today going for you?”

Y/N was taken aback by the boy's boldness. This was her first time ever talking to him and he wants to know about her day? She was baffled.

“I-It's been slow I guess. I'm ready to go home honestly.” He nodded, chewing on his salad.

“I feel that. I wish I could go home after school. I've got prom preparation after school, so annoying.” He rolled his eyes at the thought. “I don't know if you know but my name is Bryant, it's real nice to meet you.”

Sticking his hand out to shake, Y/N grasped it hesitantly.

“I'm Y/N, I think we had english together last year.”

“Yeah we did didn't we. I hated that class, you were awesome in it though.” She blushed at the compliment. “But yeah, I know who you are. You're apart of Peter’s little group.”

“Oh yeah, I was.” She shrugged emotions overwhelming her again.

“Was? You obviously don't have to tell me, but I hope you're ok.” Bryant smiled at Y/N and Y/N was blown away by his kindness.

“Peter and I aren't friends anymore. He's going to prom with Liz and I just thought that maybe he would have asked me.” Bryant felt bad for Y/N. He could see how hurt she was despite her wearing a smile on her face. Y/N wasn't a stranger in this school. She played a large role in academics and actively participated in multiple clubs. The Y/N Bryant saw before wasn't present today and it was sad.

“I know we've just met but I don't have a date to prom either...if you would like to go with me. I wanted to go with Jordan but it turns out he is not actually into very beautiful and athletic boys.” Y/N laughed along with Bryant.

“I would love to go to prom with you as long as we can coordinate outfits.” Bryant laughed some more agreeing with her. Y/N looked down at the lunch before sliding over a few snacks toward Bryant. Y/N still felt the sadness of letting go of her best friend lingering with her but it felt nice to meet someone new. Not someone to replace her Peter but someone to remind her that life goes on and that she'd be ok in the long run.

Weeks have passed since Peter and Y/N’s fallout and it was a weird few weeks. School was coming to an end, cap and gowns were slowly being handed out for graduation and prom posters were posted everywhere.

Y/N was still avoiding Peter at all costs but she apologized to Ned and Mj for ignoring their feelings. She didn't want them to feel like they had to be in the middle of this mess. She didn't want them to feel like she also ditched them too. They understood her, they knew how hard it was for her to remove herself from their friend group for the sake of her mental health.

Y/N and Bryant continued to grow closer. He was a good distraction from her current problems. She also learned that he was bisexual and that Jordan was also on the baseball team who was too scared to come out and go to prom with Bryant. Bryant was someone Y/N didn't expect to befriend her. His kindness made her feel so much better after what had happened.

Peter struggled badly. He had been so happy to finally get the girl he had been pining after for years but seeing Y/N cry because of him hurt so much. It made him rethink his whole friendship with her. Did he really only think of her as a friend?

Peter watched everyday as Y/N grew closer to Bryant, a warm feeling entered his belly every time he saw the two together. It wasn't a pleasant warm feeling, it was a feeling that made him overthink everything he did. It was a feeling that made his face scrunch up and his head fill with sickness. His thoughts became muddled, words not making sense as he watched the two. He was jealous. Did he recognize it as jealousy, no, because Peter was an idiot.

Prom season was hectic and fun all at the same time. People were hardcore prepping for the dance. Money was being saved for the before dance dinner and the stretch limo that would provide a chariot to the dance.

The mall was beyond crowded, Bryant led the way with Y/N pushing through crowds of people to reach the small dress shop they had been dying to go to all day. The small dress shop was locally owned by a hispanic couple who hand made the dresses in the shop. The dresses they had were beautiful, all arraying from different colors, sizes, and silhouettes. Y/N tried on almost every dress in the store that was in her size.

“This is useless, these dresses are gorgeous but I feel like I look so stupid.” Y/N huffed sitting next to Bryant on the velvet loveseat that sat in front of the dressing room. Y/N was near tears out of pure frustration.

“Stop it, I thought you looked amazing in every single one of those dresses. I think you're just too into your own head. What's up girl?” He put an arm around her shoulders laying his head on top of hers.

“I just want to look good. Good like Liz…” She whispered the last part out of embarrassment. Bryant scoffed.

“You're joking right? You two are incomparable people. She's pretty in her own ways just as you are. Are you comparing yourself to her because of Peter?” Bryant exclaimed loudly, catching the attention of the woman who owns the shop.

“Peter likes Liz.” Was all that Y/N could muster, pouting at her own words.

“Here mija.” The woman who owned the shop came walking over to Y/N with a beautiful pink dress in her hands. “I made this a week ago but havent even put it on the floor yet.”

Y/N shook her head furiously, “No I couldn't.”

“No, please try it on and if you like it, it's yours.” The woman insisted on a bright smile playing on her face.

“Its-Its mine?”

“Yes honey, you obviously need this dress more than I do. You need a dress that will make you feel beautiful and I think this will do.”

Y/N tried on the dress watching it flow down to the floor. It was a pretty pink color with flowers at the top. Buttons adorned the middle of the dress cinching the waist and the bottom of the dress flowed to the floor in bunches.

Stepping out of the dressing room, dressed clad on her body, Bryants mouth dropped in shock at the sight of her.

“Holy….” He was at a loss for words. Y/N blushed, turning to look at herself in the mirror, her own mouth dropping in shock.

“...Shit” She finished.

“You look amazing mija. It's all yours, please, you have to wear that to your dance.” The woman begged Y/N. Y/N nodded, smiling at herself in the mirror. It had been weeks since she felt like her normal self. She had spent so many days pondering about why Peter liked Liz more than her. Why Liz got Peter versus Y/N getting peter. But now it wasn't about Peter.

The woman walked with Y/N up to the front of the store, carefully wrapping the dress in a delicate box.

“No boy should ever determine his worth.” The woman said, handing the box over. “You are beautiful and I'm sure Liz is too but you, you are a gorgeous young woman who will encounter many men or women or people in general who will want to be in your life simply because you are you.”

Y/N thought about the shop owner's words as both Bryant and her maneuvered through the mall's crowds. Y/N grasped the corner of Bryants elbow as he carried their shopping bags. He made small jokes making Y/N laugh. He kissed her on the cheek endearingly as she laughed some more.

Unknown to Y/N, Peter stood a few feet away from the couple as they walked by holding onto each other looking like...a couple. That warm feeling reentered Peter's belly, sickness looming over his head making him feel lightheaded. Peter watched the couple walk away with sadness filling his heart. He missed being Y/N’s best friend. He missed their walks through the mall where he would buy her all the pretzels she wanted while holding her bags of useless junk she spent hundreds on. He missed her.

Prom night came quickly after finals finished on campus. Y/N put on her dress and had her hair and makeup done by her mom. Standing in front of her mirror she made sure she was ready to go. Her mother called her to the front door signalling Bryant was there to pick her up.

Bryant showered Y/N in compliments, getting his matching pink tie tied by Y/N’s dad. They both exchanged corsages and boutineers that were adorned by pretty white flowers. They took pictures in the backyard by Y/N’s tree posing in silly poses and in your typical prom poses.

Peter stood outside of Liz’s house filled with dread. He realized that this was not the place that he wanted to be. He wanted to be at Y/N’s house taking pictures, eating her parents food, and laughing about the stupid things they normally joke about. He wanted to watch as Y/N showed off her dress to him. He wanted to be the one to bring her a bouquet of flowers that she would dry up in her journal for safe keeping. But instead he was here, in front of Liz’s mansion, hurting.

The dance was at full blast when Y/N and Bryant arrived- late because Bryant believed being fashionably late was the best type of late. They walked around the venue hand in hand as Bryant showed off all of the things he contributed to the dance. Bryant left Y/N in the flower photo room having been called away to help fix something for the dance. Y/N admired the walls covered in small and large flowers.

“Woah.” Someone gasped from behind Y/N. Turning around she came face to face to a red faced peter. “You look…ethereal, is that even the right word?”

Peter couldn't stop staring at how beautiful Y/N looked. Her dress made her stand out from the rest. Butterflies erupted in his stomach replacing the warm feeling of jealousy he had been previously feeling.

“Oh, hi Peter.” Y/N was filled with nerves as he slowly walked towards her. “How are you?”

“I don't feel too good honestly. I messed up a really good thing I think and I want to fix it. I never realized how much you meant to my life until I lost you. I know that's cheesy but it's true.” He quietly uttered, staring into her eyes. “I don't want us to stop being friends and I think I do like you.”

“You think?” She questioned looking at him hopefully.

“I- yeah I think.”

He thinks. He doesn't know if he likes her but he thinks he does. Y/N shook her head disappointed.

“Peter, I've spent the last three weeks wondering why I wasn't good enough for you to like me. I only just realized that I was good enough maybe not for you but for other people. Since we were kids I always did things in hopes of catching your attention. I joined the debate team because you did. I joined the academic team because you became the captain. I even tried to apply to be an intern at stark industries so I could work with you without even realizing that stark industries didn't have internships. And that spiderman started appearing a lot more after said internship appeared.” She had a knowing smile on her face.

“Oh so you know.” He looked down at the ground embarrassed to be exposed.

“Peter, I know so much about you. I know you better than Mj and Ned that's the whole reason why we are best friends. I know how you like your sandwiches- breakfast and lunch. I know how you organize your school work. I know that you like to specifically request time in the lab in the morning because all of the equipment is freshly washed and you like to first pick at the goggles and coats. Peter, I know you don't like me. You feel bad and miss me but you don't like me.” She walked to him, placing her hands on his cheeks. He melted into her hands.

“But I think I do Y/N.”

“Ok so say you think you like me, I would prefer to have you when you know you like me not when you have only developed small feelings after not having me for a few weeks. Peter, I'm in love with you. I'm in a lot deeper than a few small feelings. I don't want to make you be in a relationship when we are in two very different places.” She sniffled a little one hand coming to stop the tears from ruining her makeup.

“I want nothing more than to be your best friend again but I can't.” He couldn't stop his tears from falling at those words. “I can't go back to being the girl who did nothing for herself and everything for the boy she loves. I need more for myself. I'm going to college and I don't even know how to just be me without you and I need to learn how.”

He absorbed her words, crying free flowing tears.

“I want you to be happy Y/N.” He nodded, she swiped her thumbs under his eyes. She smiled sweetly at him. Placing a sweet kiss on his lips, Y/N gave him one last smile before walking away from him.

Y/N walked away with her heart feeling light. She felt like a burden had been lifted off of her shoulders. Her intent wasn't to hurt Peter but she needed to say what had been in her mind for weeks. She knew he would eventually move on from his slight crush on her and so would she. She would move on eventually, it would be a slow and hard process but it would happen. And she would never fully get over him. She's been in love with him since they were kids- it's all she's ever known. But for right now she was focusing on loving herself and growing into the person she was meant to be- without Peter.

#peter parker #peter parker x y/n #peter x you #peter parker oneshot #peter parker imagine #peter parker angst #spider man #spiderman x you #tom holland #tom holland x reader

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amazingphanisnotonfire-imagines · 3 years ago

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Maeve//i don't belong, and my beloved, neither do you

Request: Could you please do something else with Maeve? Perhaps something where reader works with Maeve on an English project and she's surprised that they have so much in common. She realizes she has feelings for her somehow after that? Sorry that's sort of rubbish, have a swell day/night.

hey! what’s up everybody! i hope everyone is well, and i hope you like this!! title is from ‘the lakes’ by taylor swift!

- English projects are never fun

- I mean, who finds constant stress and a deadline that’s always far too close fun?

- Nobody

- That’s who

- Well apart from Mrs Jones

- Your year 9 English teacher who made every minute of her classes a living hell

- And who mysteriously went missing half way through the year after having a screaming match with a fellow English teacher

- When she was supposed to be teaching you Romeo & Juliet.

- One day she was accusing Miss Newman of being a terrible teacher and purposefully bumping up students grades so she looked better

- And the next day both her and Miss Newman were gone

- And you only got a replacement teacher when you moved into year 10

- Right now though

- Its seems Miss Sands is going through some stuff

- Because not only did she give you an assignment on Friday with a deadline of Monday

- She also chose your partners instead of letting you choose your own

- Which is why you’re stood outside of Maeve’s in the pouring rain

- On a frankly miserable Saturday morning

- It seems the weather knew exactly what sort of weekend you were facing

- And decided to make it even worse.

- By the third knock

- You’re about to give up

- The curtains are still drawn

- And you’ve seen more movement in a graveyard

- Plus

- You kind of already assumed you would be doing the project alone

- Maeve Wiley was known for being very...

- ...independant

- And group projects are no different

- You actually think she may be more independent during group projects

- So as soon as Miss Sands paired you together

- You knew

- You were 99% sure that

- You’d do your thing

- She’d do hers

- And then five minutes before the presentation

- You would figure out a way to connect the two.

- Anywayyyy

- While daydreaming about a time when you won’t have any assignments

- And making awkward, accidental eye contact with Maeve’s neighbours

- The door in front of you opens

- Simultaneously giving you a fright and almost knocking you out

- She yawns and scratches the top of her head

- ‘what are you doing here?’

- She sounds both tired and annoyed and you blink at her a few times before answering

- ‘er - i - the project. for english.’

- It takes her a few seconds to process what you’ve said

- But when she does

- She looks even more miserable than she did five seconds ago

- And you brace yourself for a long weekend

- She sighs and rolls her eyes

- Before slowly opening the door properly and letting you in

- You feel slightly nervous as you walk in

- But you really have no idea why

- It’s not like she’s a complete stranger

- But then again

- She’s not exactly a friend

- ‘don’t worry, i’ve hidden the drugs. i don’t really like to share anyway.’

- ‘what?’ you ask confused and she rolls her eyes again

- She huffs and crosses her arms before nodding to the slightly messy living room

- ‘i get it. we’re a bunch of benefit fraud chavs that do nothing but drink and smoke all day.’

- ‘that’s not what i was thinkin-’

- ‘sure it wasn’t.’ she rolls her eyes and you stare down at the floor. ‘i need to get changed so make yourself at home I suppose.’

- She walks into what you assume is her bedroom and slams the door behind her

- Leaving you to stand awkwardly in the middle of the living room

- It’s small and slightly cramped

- And most people would say that all the stuff makes it look busy

- But to you

- It’s wonderful

- It’s filled with stories and memories

- Some self explanatory

- Some slightly more bizarre

- Like the wonky blue and yellow clay swan living on the coffee table

- You really want to know the story behind it

- But decide it might be a little early in your partnership to start asking about her attachment to a half swan, half moth looking ornament

- So instead you pick up a pile of books on the dining table and move them onto the floor

- You can hear Maeve opening and closing drawers while humming a familiar tune

- And you feel yourself relax slightly as you place your laptop and books where the books were previously sat

- Even if it does feel like you’re using all of your braincells to try and figure out where you’ve heard it before

- ‘wow, do you actually trust me around that?’

- ‘what?’ you stop humming and look up at her

- She looks between you and the laptop, staring at you expectantly

- ‘oh no. i mean of course i do.’ you blush and she shakes her head before sitting opposite you

- ‘so what do we know about women in fiction?’

- ‘historically they are written as either a femme fatalle type or some sort of innocent angelic being.’

- ‘they still are’

- ‘true’ you agree and flick through your textbook

- ‘why don’t we write about that then?’

- ‘what? how we’re still depressingly far back in the equality movement, despite being told otherwise?’

- She stares at you for a few seconds

- A mixture of shock and surprise

- Before nodding

- And smiling

- An actual genuine smile

- You didn’t even know she could do that

- Well you did

- Of course you did

- But you just haven’t seen it a lot

- Usually when you see Maeve

- She’s either mad, grumpy or very, very, very angry

- But her smiling

- Puts a smile on your face

- And this was definitely not where you thought this was going

- ‘yeah...that’

- ‘okay.’ you shrug. ‘you can do classic literature because i know you prefer them and i’ll cover modern works.’

- ‘how do you know i prefer classics?’

- ‘the pile of books’ you nod towards the floor and she follows your gaze, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear. ‘they’re all ripped and folded. you either love them or really, really hate them’

- ‘okay’ she eyes you suspiciously as you focus on your laptop

- And you can feel your cheeks heat up under her gaze

- However as quickly as they were there

- They disappear

- And the two of you fall into a surprisingly comfortable silence.

- After about half an hour

- Maeve stops what she’s doing to stretch

- ‘is it okay if i play some music?’

- ‘sure, it’s your place. do what you want...as long as its not awful’

- ‘and what constitutes as awful?’ she asks, a smirk playing on her lips

- ‘well’

- And with that one question

- Your entire day disappears in front of you

- Laptops and books are closed and long forgotten

- And instead you talk about music and movies

- Books and plays

- Characters that you love and hate

- And the fact that her favourite character is the one you hate the most

- She makes you lunch while you debate between movies and books and which adaptations are good

- And which ones should never have been made

- And you clean up and apologise profusely after a stray cushion (possibly thrown by you) ends up knocking the pan over

- Surprisingly

- She finds it quite funny

- And you let out a relieved sigh

- Soon the sun goes down on another day

- And you’ve barely written two paragraphs done between you

- ‘do you want to stay?’ she asks while your putting your jacket on

- If she’d asked you that this morning

- You would have thought she had lost it

- But now it feels almost inevitable

- And you feel genuinely lucky to be asked

- Not many people get to know Maeve

- The real her

- And that last person she told all of this to broke her heart

- Very publicly

- And she told herself she would never let herself be that vulnerable with someone ever again

- But this just feels right

- For some reason you feel right

- She feels safe with you

- And part of her hates herself for it

- But then again

- She hates herself for not getting to know you sooner

- She feels far too attached to you

- And it’s barely been twelve hours

- You of course agree to stay

- Shocking yourself and her

- And while she sorts to sofa out

- You excuse yourself to the bathroom

- Under the pretences of telling your parents where you are

- It takes two seconds to text them

- And the other 28 to ask yourself

- What the fuck are you doing?

- Why are you agreeing to this?

- Why do you feel like this?

- What are you feeling?

- Who knows?

- Not you

- Great

- Now you’ve been in the bathroom for a suspicious amount of time

- Just get it together, Y/n

- It’s just a study sleepover

- Maeve gives you a questioning look as you leave

- ‘you know how mums are. always worrying about where you are and what you’re doing’

- ‘i wouldn’t actually’ she shrugs and your eyes widen

- ‘oh shit, sorry. i’m so sorry. god, i’m an idiot.’

- ‘it’s fine’ she forces a laugh and you wince. ‘i got you an extra duvet and little women is ready to watch so i can show you that the book is better’

- ‘that’s not what i said and you know it’

- ‘i’m sorry. i can’t hear you over the sound of me being 100% right and you being 100% wrong.’

- ‘you may be good at english, but you suck at maths’

- The next day you wake up to the sun shining through the curtains

- And a clump of Maeve’s hair in your mouth

- You splutter and cough and wake her up quickly

- And she jumps away from you and smacks her head of the table

- The two of you ended up moving the blankets to the floor while watching Pride and Prejudice

- And neither of you bothered to move back

- Maeve yawns and scratches her head

- Exposing a small part of her stomach and you feel yourself become a little breathless

- ‘are you okay?’

- ‘ye-yeah’ you nod and she eyes you suspiciously

- ‘whatever’ she shrugs and starts making breakfast

- You watch as she pours to bowls of cereal

- Giving you the last of the milk

- And for a second you’re a little worried as to how she knew you liked it

- But then you remember that she also likes it and you had a whole discussion about the best and worst types of cereal at 2am

- And half way through breakfast

- You remember the original reason you’re here

- And both of you curse loudly

- Before rushing to finish eating

-You get half way through your project

- When Maeve asks if you want to go out for a bit

- And well

- She doesn’t need to ask you twice

- And by the time you come back

- The feeling you had last night returns

- And has settled in your stomach

- For the foreseeable future it seems

- It makes you feel both light and heavy at the same time

- And when you look at her

- You feel dizzy

- So you rush to finish the project

- So you can go home and pretend nothing has changed

- And yeah

- With the need to leave

- You get the rest of the assignment done fairly quickly

- But you end up leaving feeling more confused about Maeve as you did when you started this

- Maybe Miss Sands was right about a weekend project

- Any longer and you would have gone insane trying to figure out whatever the hell this is

- You just have to get through tomorrow and then you’ll be okay

- Everything will go back to normal

- You and Maeve can go back to being neutral to each other

- And you won’t have to deal with all of these confusing feelings that have decided to make an appearance for some reason

- Wellll

- Turns out Miss Sands was wrong

- A weekend is not enough time

- And the first few presentations are awful

- To put it nicely

- So you spend the next week in a permanent confused state

- Confused as to why you start looking for Maeve whenever you enter a room

- Confused as to why your heart skips a beat whenever you hear her laugh

- Confused as to why you never want her stop talking in class

- Even if the bell has rung and it’s lunch

- Confused to why you keep looking for excuses to go over to see her

- Despite your assignment being long done

- And even more confused as to why you feel anxious when you’re waiting for her to answer the door

- The next Monday rolls around both painfully slowly and far too quickly

- And while you wait for Ola and Danny to finish their presentation

- Your hands shake with anxiety while your grip your papers

- Maeve reaches over the table and gives them a reassuring squeeze

- But it just makes them shake more and she slowly pulls back

- Your turn can’t come quick enough

- But then it’s over far too quickly

- And you slump back down in your seat disappointed

- Despite Miss Sands’ praise

- Because it’s over

- You no longer have an excuse to hang out with her

- You never talked before

- So why do you care about after

- But there’s so much about her that you want to know

- Like the weird swan/moth hybrid

- And the ugly plate that sits on top of the bookshelf

- You want to be part of these stories

- You want to be able to point to these things and say

- ‘yeah, i know exactly why that is special to you’

- You want to be the reason to add to this random collection of stuff

- You want her to smile when she looks at them because they’ll remind her of you

- You want her to smile when she looks at you

- ‘y/n? are you okay?’ she asks making you jump

- The classroom is now empty and you didn’t even notice the bell go

- ‘ye-yeah’ you nod and grab your bag

- ‘are you sure?’ she grabs your arm forcing you turn around

- ‘whats the weird swan thing on your coffee table?’ you ask and she furrows her eyebrows at you. ‘it’s just i saw it when i first came over and i really want to know the story behind it’

- ‘oh. aimee went through a pottery phase last year and that was the only thing she made that didn’t have a hole in it.’

- ‘and the plate?’

- ‘birthday present from my neighbours’

- ‘they got you a plate?’

- ‘yeah, they don’t have any kids’

- ‘clearly’

- Silence fills the room and you stare at the peeling posters behind her head

- You can feel Maeve move closer to you and your breath hitches when she stops a few centimetres in front of you

- She grabs your hand and squeezes it again

- And your heartbeat increases

- ‘y/n?’

- ‘yeah?’

- ‘i’m really, really confused right now. like more confused that i have ever been in my life. but what i do know, is that if i watch you walk out of that door without saying anything first, then i’d regret it for the rest of my life. i’ve only ever felt like this about boys before, but now i feel this and more about you and i have no idea where it’s come from or what i need to do, but i do know i need to tell you. because otherwise, it wouldn’t be fair for either of us’ she whispers and you stare at her wide eyed

- ‘can i kiss you?’ she asks and you nod your head quickly

- Slowly she leans in

- Her eye flutter closed and you follow

- Your lips brush over hers

- Her hands wrap around you waist to pull you close

- And then your lips connect

- And you feel everything change

- She kisses you slowly

- And when you pull away you both feel breathless

- Her cheeks are bright red

- And there’s a shy smile playing on her lips as she looks at you bashfully

- And all of a sudden you feel really grateful for Miss Sands and her personal issues

- Although you really hope they are resolved now

- For your sake as well as hers

support my writing! if you want!

#sex education #sex education imagine #maeve wiley #maeve wiley imagine #maeve wiley x reader

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rantrambles · 3 years ago

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Ever get so upset you make a Tumblr account to vent?

I haven’t even listened to The Penumbra Podcast yet but it’s on my list because it’s insanely popular and the cosplays I’ve seen are hot as hell (A+ to all the cosplayers I’ve seen you’ve done great work). Now, with the recent news surrounding the podcast, I’ll wait till it’s done if I ever do get into it. I’m Asian and part of the LGBT community but I’m not nonbinary so I can’t say much about the trans represention in the art but I wanted to add my two cents on the matter as a person of color and someone examining the situation from the outside. Also, before I get deeply into it, I’m not the only person of color with opinions on this matter so if people have their own frustrations and criticism with the racism in The Penumbra Podcast and/or the new artist they hired, definitely listen to them too. These are my own personal opinions, and I’m sure other people will disagree and that’s fine. We’re all going to have different views on this so bear that in mind. Also, feel free to correct me or add anything if I’ve missed some information. Here’s a great breakdown of the whole situation for those that don’t know what happened. Finally, I was very hesitant to post this, but I felt it was important because I make a statement at the end on how race should be presented in a podcast format so if you are interested in making a podcast and want to have a diverse range of characters, please skip to the end to read those thoughts.

I’ll start off by saying, I’m not even that upset with the new artist that The Penumbra Podcast hired. I know that statement alone is controversial but I don't personally know them, and I’m not going to judge who they are as a person by a few pieces of art they’ve made. They are the least of the problems that I have here. Since the announcement and the backlash, I’ve been scrolling through the artist’s Instagram account and I can tell why people find the designs offensive, but I’m also comparing the designs to the artist’s other work, and I honestly believe that’s just their style. They’ve exaggerated the features of just about every character they’ve made, regardless of race or gender. From what I’ve seen the sharp angles and overly round curves in the anatomy that make some of the character’s features more jarring are how they prefer to draw. I’m sure they’re capable of drawing more realistic proportions but for the most part they’re art aims to call attention, be bold, and create distinguished features. Not inherently a bad thing on its own.

And yeah I’d understand the issue if this were a scenario where the artist heard how these characters acted in the podcast and thought “hey, obviously this character is a black woman because they are super strong and therefore must have big muscles, no other woman could look like that” or “hey, this character has to be Asian because they act super seductive sometimes better draw them as such.” But from my understanding the race was already decided by previous official artists and a general description of the characters were already generated by the audience, similar to how The Magnus Archives leaned towards drawing scrawny Jon with black, greying hair and dark skin. The new artists couldn’t really change those features even if those features aren’t described in canon because a depiction that strayed too far from popular fandom interpretation would make the character’s unrecognizable to the fanbase.

I think the reason this became such a big issue for most people is because the new Penumbra artist used their exaggerated art style when making these characters and people of color and nonbinary folks already see themselves drawn as these exaggerated caricatures all the time (with those images being used to further discriminate against them). I’m sure the artist didn’t mean for their art to be offensive, but that of course doesn’t change how it was received.

According to some, the poses and expressions the artists chose did not fully represent the characters entirely and only served to further perpetuate harmful stereotypes, and I’ll have to take their word for it because I still haven’t listened to the podcast so I have no idea how the characters act. But again much of the criticism is based on the one line-up and doing a deeper dive into the artist’s work I managed to find artwork that was much less offensive. Here some art where Vespa is depicted in a non-violent pose and one where Vespa is in a threatening pose but not an overly violent one. Here is Peter drawn in a non-seductive pose. Hopefully, the artist truly does keep the criticisms in mind as they work on the new official art. I’m just not the type of person that wants to get the pitchforks out and cause this particular person to lose a job they seemed really excited about over their old character line-up, especially when that person is also part of a marginalized group.

Again, that’s just my opinion on that particular artist. Those who are offended by their art are still valid in how they feel, and the artist should absolutely take their criticism to heart to better how they represent the characters.

What I’m more upset about is that I think The Penumbra Podcast should never have released official art for their characters in the first place and that’s their mistake that they refuse to own up about. They have made it clear that the story was never meant to portray characters of colors, a fact emphasized by the fact they hired mostly white actors from the start. They only started releasing art of the characters to get a profit. And the thing is they know what they did was wrong. All I had to do was search Penumbra Podcast racism and there is a note on their website saying that they archived some old official art.

“We have discontinued all Penumbra merchandise that uses the original character designs, and in the meantime, any profits on the sales of that merchandise will go to the For The Gworls project. We also realize that the depiction of these characters as POC, while not appropriate for us to use in our marketing and merchandise, has nonetheless become personally meaningful to many POC listeners. For that reason, and because we do not wish to distance ourselves from our mistake, we are keeping these images on our website for archival purposes. Though we do want to make it clear that many of the main/featured voice actors are white and that we did not write the characters to represent any specific POC experience, you are, as always, free to imagine these characters in any way that you like.”

I went to their shop and they still sell posters and pins with the character’s faces on them, but they are donating it to a good cause so hopefully that stays the same. However, I still find it a little uncomfortable that they are still selling character merch and have plans to continue selling character merch. They have no right to dissuade the fans that already found representation in the characters, but they also have no right to profit off the representation that was built, regardless if they made the story.

Let’s compare this to another piece of popular media. I love Avatar the Last Airbender and, I liked the ATLA voice actors just fine but there should have been more people of color doing voice acting behind the screen too. The voice actors for that show were mainly white too, however, the creators knew that they would be making poc characters. That’s what makes the difference. Did they still choose to go with mostly white voice actors? Yes. Could they have done better and pay more people of color? Also yes. But I’m not as furious at them because they did their research on the cultures they were basing the ATLA world off of and intentionally gave us a show where Asians could see characters that looked like them represented on the screen. The Penumbra Podcast did not do any of that. Again, they openly admitted that it was never their intention to make the character’s people of color when they made the podcast so that goes to show no research was made to properly represent specific cultures. The color of the character’s skin in their official designs therefore became more of aesthetic choice rather than representation, and it wasn’t even their aesthetic choice to begin with!

Race isn’t a color you can just throw onto the character because you feel like it. So I want this to be a lesson to anyone that wants to make a podcast: if you want to include poc characters please do some research into the cultures you plan to represent the way you would with any other form of media. Just because the audience can’t see the characters and just because it’s harder to smoothly introduce the character’s appearance doesn’t mean you’re allowed to be lazy on how you present the characters. Do research before you start writing the first episode and take the time to hire poc actors. Hiring poc actors is actually the least that can be done to show representation. Also, since the audience cannot visually see the race of the characters on a podcast and it can’t typically be described the way you would in a book, you’ll have to be creative. It’s not my job to say how, but my suggestions would be, before the fans come up with their own image of the character, you need to establish race in the first few episodes or release character profiles on a website so that the fans know you canonically intended the characters to be of a certain race even if you aren’t able to mention it in the actual podcast. If you are unwilling to do any of these then the best route is to avoid stating race at all and allow the audience to build their own representation into your form of media. However, once this happens, you are not allowed to profit off popular fan interpretations. You lose all rights to create official art or images of the characters. You cannot use “we have a diverse cast of characters” when you market your story. It doesn’t matter whether you created the content or not, you did not create the representation for those minority groups.

It’s one thing for fans to build their own inclusivity into a form of art like a podcast, but it’s another thing for the creators who never worked to make the representation happen to take advantage of the representation that the listeners built for themselves. Thank you for attending my TedTalk.

#the penumbra podcast #podcast #race #the magnus archives #diversity in podcasts #diversity #tpp #tpp fanart

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jawllines · 4 years ago

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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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animangalover-writes · 1 year ago

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Maybe I am autistic and maybe one of my special interests is the Zelda franchise.

(I literally will not shut up about it once I get going. I've been doing this since I was like 5.)

#literally I can go on and on about lore and headcanons and the mechanics of each game and why i love them all #you dont understand i will literally never shit up if given the opportunity #my older siblings thought that they were just getting me into a game they liked too #WRONG its now an entire part of my personality and is always one stray thought away from becoming my main focus #anyway im not diagnosed but i have a feeling #or maybe ive got adhd who knows #autism #autistic #special interest #the legend of zelda #loz #legend of zelda #zelda #link #aml speaks

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qu1nby · 2 years ago

Note

“You don’t have to tell me anything, but I’m here for you okay?” keabedo :)

OO oooo ty! I had a bit too much fun with this one.

"You don't have to tell me anything, but I'm here for you okay?"

Wrong, wrong, wrong.

The entire experiment had gone wrong, and Albedo didn't have a clue as to why. He spent weeks gathering materials and writing equations, only to have the beaker explode the second it touched a heat source.

It must have been an issue with the glass. He had no doubt his math was correct. He double -- no, triple checked.

To make matters even worse, a stray glass shard had somehow managed to slice its way clean through his right pinky. Chalk coated his hand, the particles settling deep into his skin. It was a minor inconvenience, a simple fix for someone with his alchemical skills, but it was an inconvenience nonetheless.

The one time he decided not to wear gloves. How could he had been so careless? Pain ached dully in the back of his mind. Bearable, thanks to his not-quite-human composition, but still annoying.

Creating an entirely new finger from scratch would take much more time. It would be easier to connect the old one until he was done with his work.

His pinky. It was somewhere, surely. The last thing Albedo needed was for someone to see him searching through the snow piles-

"Helloo~! Is anyone home?"

Now?

"One second!" It had to be somewhere! Albedo could hear snow crunching under Kaeya's boots.

"Lose something?" He was behind him now. Albedo took a deep breath and stood, careful to hide his missing pinky.

"Oh, nothing important." He waved his spare hand absentmindedly.

"Do you want lunch? Or are you too busy?"

It would be easy to tell Kaeya that he was working and couldn't be disturbed. He had always been so understanding in the past. However... they hadn't seen each other in a while, and he came all that way to bring Albedo something to eat.

He could hide his discomfort for half and hour if it meant Kaeya would be happy.

Hide was a bit harder than he thought. It wasn't easy to eat a sandwich with only one had and make it appear natural, and Kaeya was not stupid. He would suspect something was wrong eventually.

Where did I put my gloves?

They weren't on the table or anywhere on the ground. He still didn't see his finger, either. Perhaps they were-

"Are you okay?" Kaeya asked. He looked concerned, meaning Albedo must have been acting too quiet.

"Yes, I am." Albedo said as calmly as he could manage. He didn't like it when things weren't in their proper place, and his lab was currently a mess. Not knowing where the things he needed were bothered him more than he would like to admit.

He sighed and picked up his drink, bringing the cup to his mouth. It took him a moment too long to realize that he had grabbed it with the wrong hand.

For the most part, Kaeya did not seem as alarmed as any other person would be. He stared at the space where Albedo's pinky should be, his mouth slightly agape.

"Did you get hurt?" His brows creased with concern. "I- Do you need to go to a healer?

"No, no, no, I'm quite alright." They were both standing now, Kaeya closing the space quickly to grab Albedo's hand in his.

"There's no blood." He said, brushing his finger over the crumbling nub. "Why... why is there no blood?"

Albedo wasn't panicking. He didn't panic. Surely Kaeya would understand, it was Kaeya. Albedo knew he would likely have to tell him someday.

Knowing that didn't make it any easier -- where was he supposed to even start?

"You know what, it's okay." Kaeya took a deep breath. He seemed to be able to tell that Albedo was, in a way, short-circuiting.

Later, Albedo would blame his reaction on a combination of stress and the distant pain of losing a finger. Not because there was a part of him that was almost scared of what Kaeya would say if he knew the truth.

"You don't have to tell me everything, but I'm here for you. Okay?"

"Okay." Albedo took a breath, then another. Kaeya's hands were warm in his.

"...Would you mind helping me look for my finger?"

#asks #not sure what I think about this one!#anyway I love the idea that #by being with Kaeya #Albedo slowly becomes more human-like (like he has a wider range of emotions)#and now he has something that he is scared to lose #and Kaeya is like 'yeah so what if my boyfriend is made of chalk'#genshin

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jackrrabbit · 5 years ago

Text

it will come back [pt. 2] /// Yandere Shigaraki x f!Reader

Summary: You have a bad habit of picking up strays, and the half-dead villain you find bleeding out in a dumpster is no exception. [Part 1] [Part 3]

A/N: Title from the Hozier song—“don’t let it in with no intention to keep it / jesus christ, don’t be kind to it / oh honey don’t feed it / it will come back.”

Tags/warnings: yandere, violence (not directed toward reader), crying, Shiggy REALLY likes you, reader needs a friend and a good night’s sleep, non-explicit sexual content. [In later parts: 18+, sex, other stuff]

He—Tomura—keeps visiting.

At first you think it’s because of the free medical care, and you wish you had the spine to tell him to suck it up and go see a professional. After a couple weeks turn into a couple months and his wounds fade into ragged purple scars, though, you start to think differently.

Within a short time Tomura has figured out your work schedule, and he does a decent job of not showing up after your long shifts. The unavoidable consequence of this is that he ends up monopolizing your precious days off, but you come to the realization about a month and a half in that you don’t actually mind. You like it. It’s like spending time with a friend.

Mostly you guys talk. It doesn’t seem like Tomura really has anyone to talk to the way the two of you do, but that’s probably just you projecting. It’s usually shallow stuff—TV shows you like, video games he plays, funny stories from patients you treated. Sometimes when you’re cooking for yourself, you make extra for him. (It happens a lot, actually, and at one point you bring up how much his appetite is costing you and the next time you see him he brings a bag of rice and makes you a porridge that crunches between your teeth when you try to eat it. You can’t finish yours, but he eats an entire bowl and insists that you’re being picky.)

Sometimes he sleeps over on the couch, but he’s always gone when you wake up.

The two of you skirt around the heavier stuff, and you know it’s intentional on his part. You have to resist the urge to ask him about being a villain—he’s all but confirmed it for you, and it’s human nature to be curious, isn’t it? In the same way you can’t help looking at a car crash, you want to poke and prod and find out what it is, exactly, that Tomura does for a living. That part of his life is suspiciously absent from your discussions—if you didn’t know better, you’d think he spends all of his time sleeping and playing games and breaking into your place.

On the other hand, you don’t want to know. Plausible deniability. You can accept criminality in the abstract, but you’ve treated too many victims of the bullshit hero–villain battle to be comfortable really knowing why Tomura avoids public places.

So you don’t ask about it, and Tomura doesn’t tell, and you don’t look up his name. And it’s easy. It’s nice. You’d forgotten what it’s like to come back to a home that isn’t empty.

And then one day when you get off a few hours early from your shift, you stop by a convenience store to pick up some snacks for yourself (hey, you’ve been working hard, you’re entitled to binge a little on foods that you’re afraid to look at the fat content for), and you think, Hm, I wonder if Tomura wants some.

[You: 7:49 PM] > Are you coming over today? [T: 7:49 PM] > Yeah why [You: 7:51 PM] > Getting snacks > Want some? [T: 7:51 PM] > No

[T: 8:12 PM] > When r u coming back to ur place

[T: 8:58 PM] > Hey where are you

[T: 9:39 PM] > (Y/N)?

There’s a man with a gun in the convenience store.

It takes you a second to process at first. You’re standing in the snack food aisle seeking out Oreos and debating the merits of Double Stuf vs. Mega when you catch the mumbled demand and the metallic clicking noise you’ve only ever heard in movies before. It’s a gun—you know that, but your mind dismisses it because it’s ridiculous. Guns are rare in hero society. People don’t go around robbing bodegas at gunpoint anymore.

(You should know better. You work in a goddamn ER. But you compartmentalize, and the crimes you see written across your patients’ bodies stay out of the realm of your personal life because you need them to.)

It’s only when you see the muzzle of a hunting rifle pushed up to the cashier’s sweaty neck that you really understand what’s happening.

You drop to the ground immediately, looking toward the exit but it’s shut and there’s some kind of metal…thing holding the door closed. The cashier mumbles a denial and you can hear him fumble around with the cash drawer for what feels like ages.

It’s real. This is real. You’re in the middle of a robbery. Where are the heroes? Why isn’t anyone doing anything?

God, you’re a hypocrite, cowering behind the aisle divider and waiting for someone to step up while the robber’s demands get increasingly louder and more frantic. He wants money, and the cashier (who, you remember, is a man in his sixties with hands that shake with Parkinson’s when he holds out your receipt) isn’t being fast enough.

“That’s it? There’s no more? Are you fucking kidding me, there’s gotta be a safe or something—“

“No! No, p-please, I’m sorry, this is all I have!”

You cringe, crushing your eyes closed as if that will make it go away. You’re surprised you can hear at all over the sound of your blood rushing in your ears.

“Don’t fuck with me old man, I know there’s more! Show me the safe or I’ll blow your goddamn brains out!”

No! You have to do something. You can’t just sit here. You’ve heard plenty of death threats from your patients (not to mention that one from Tomura), and you know the difference between a bluff and a serious warning. Maybe you can catch the robber off guard, try to pull the gun away? You stand up quickly, hoping against hope that you won’t regret this, but in a split second you see that the cashier has the same idea and he’s trying to pull the rifle out of the robber’s hand and—

BANG.

Something warm and wet splatters across your face.

///

Tomura is angry when you get back to the apartment. As soon as he hears your key in the lock he rises from your couch so he can grab your collar with three fingers, jerking your head up to force you to look at him. “Where have you been? Do you know how long I’ve been waiting—“

But he cuts short in the middle of his sentence. Maybe because he sees the look on your face. Or maybe he just notices the traces of blood you haven’t been able to wipe off.

“What happened,” Tomura says. It’s not a question. He adjusts his grip slightly so it’s not quite as punishing, but you hold still anyway.

You have to force your mouth open in order to speak, but when your voice comes out it’s more steady than you thought it would be. “It’s not my blood. There was a robbery at the store. The cashier got shot.”

“Oh.” He releases you and frowns. “That’s it?”

“Fuck you.” You push past him into the kitchen to get yourself a drink with trembling hands. Pantry’s out of shōchū, whiskey will just make you sicker—ahh, there it is. Baijiu. The glug glug glug of the liquor into the glass does nothing to put your nerves at ease, but you pour yourself a double anyway.

“Wait—wait.” Tomura’s hands twitch and rub over his arms like he’s trying to stop himself from grabbing you by the shoulders and shaking you. “Calm down. Why are you so upset? Don’t you see this stuff every day?”

You do. You’re an ER nurse. There’s no injury you haven’t seen. But it’s not about the blood. “I...I knew him. The cashier. He was nice. He had a grandkid on the way. I—“ You bite your lip and down the baijiu in one gulp. It burns.

Tomura clearly doesn’t know how to comfort you; probably doesn’t even really know why you need to be comforted. What does it mean that death is so meaningless to him? you wonder. But you need someone to listen to you, clueless or not, and Tomura will have to do.

The baijiu is still bitter and hot down your throat when you speak again. “You know something? Know what they asked me when the heroes finally showed up and pulled us out of there, me and the corpse?”

“…What?” Tomura asks warily.

“They stuck a camera in my face and asked me if there was anything I wanted to say to the hero who saved me. Any words of gratitude I wanted to share,” you spit. Now it’s your turn to feel your hands making fists at your sides. Your fingernails scratch into your palms like the pain can be an outlet for the sudden overwhelming fury spilling over you. “They didn’t save him. They were too late.”

Tomura’s eyes widen, and through your curtain of anger you can tell he’s looking at you in a way he’s never looked at you before. It’s unlike him to even look directly at you, and when he does it’s usually in disinterest or half-sincere irritation. This, though…this is different. He’s watching you like a believer watches a prophet. You can tell—or at least some deep, ugly part of you that you hope is wrong can tell—that he’s trying not to smile.

“I hate this,” you say, and the first tear drips out of your eye and runs down your cheek. It’s awful. You don’t want to cry in front of Tomura. You don’t want to show him how weak you are. But before you can wipe it away, Tomura’s hand comes up and does it for you, smearing the tear over your cheek in a gesture that—for him—is oddly tender.

Then he hugs you.

It’s stiff and awkward, like he’s forgotten how to do it, but the intention is clear. His arms fold around your back, pulling you into his chest while his chin makes its way to rest on your shoulder. He’s leaning into you so deeply that your spine is arched back, and you stagger away from him only for him to step closer again to make up the distance.

“It’s not fair, hm,” he murmurs into your hair. His tone is the closest thing to sympathy you’ve ever heard from him, but there’s an undercurrent of excitement you can’t ignore. “They’re always too late, aren’t they? The heroes… And everyone will watch that video of you thanking the heroes, and they’ll think they’re safe too. They’ll keep going about their lives and think that nothing bad can happen to them because a hero will always be around to save them…but you and I know that’s a lie.”

It takes you a second to recognize the emotion that’s raising goosebumps over your arms while Tomura rubs circles into your back, but when it clicks you shiver because it’s fear. You’ve never really been afraid of Tomura before, even when you should’ve been. Does he realize he’s backing you up with how forcefully he’s pushing himself into you? The backs of your knees hit the arm of your couch and you topple onto it with Tomura following.

He holds himself above you on his hands, legs tangled with yours. His eyes are wild and he’s not even trying to suppress his grin now. You’re trapped lying on your back under him—pinned like a butterfly under glass.

“Get off of me,” you say as calmly as you can.

“It’s all a lie, all of it…” A hand comes up and strokes your cheek, rubbing with two fingers at a stray fleck of blood on your neck. “I’m sorry it had to be like this, but I’m so glad you understand…”

“Let me up now, Tomura.”

He holds still for a long moment—waiting, thinking, considering—and then sits up, still straddling you but loosely enough that you can scramble back away from him on the couch. Your heart is racing, but you try to slow your breaths so he doesn’t pick up on how scared you are.

“Don’t freak out. You’re no fun,” Tomura says, and you exhale a sigh of relief at how normal he sounds. You never thought you’d be so happy about him looking at you like you’re nothing.

“I think you should go,” you say carefully.

He rocks back on his heels and runs a hand through his hair. “Are you mad? I thought I could stay here tonight, like usual. Since I waited for so long.”

“I’m not mad. I just…want to be alone.”

“I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to be alone tonight. Not after what you’ve been through.”

Oh, now you care. “Fine. Okay? Fine. You can sleep on the couch.” You’re too tired to argue any more, and you’ve never really been good at convincing Tomura to do anything he doesn’t want to. It’s a miracle he listened to you when you told him to get off you. Considering how often he breaks into your apartment, it’s not like you could keep him out anyway.

So he stays the night. He doesn’t bother you when you take a shower and go to bed, he just lies on the couch in his street clothes. When you wake up in the morning he’s disappeared like he always does, and for the first time since you met him you’re truly relieved that he’s gone.

///

You always thought it would take some level of courage you don’t possess to actually bite the bullet and look Tomura up. To do so would mean saying goodbye to whatever strange relationship the two of you have built over the months, and you’re just not brave enough to risk it.

Turns out it’s not courage that makes you type his name into the search bar. It’s cowardice. You’re lying in bed under the covers when you do it, and the blue-white screen of your laptop is the only light in the room. Your comforter is pulled up almost over your head like it’s a wall that can block out reality.

“tomura”, you enter into the search bar, but you don’t hit return. Instead, you look at the search suggestions.

> tomura shigaraki > tomura shigaraki league of villains > tomura shigaraki decay

Something about it sounds familiar. But you’re not ready. Still, after everything, you’d rather keep your eyes closed. You backspace and snap your laptop shut, and when you do your room is so dark that you think the emptiness might swallow you up.

///

[T: 5:52 PM] > Are u going to be at home tn

[T: 6:14 PM] > Hey check ur phone

[T: 6:42 PM] > Stop ignoring me > (Y/N) > (Y/N) > (Y/N) > (Y/N) > (Y/N)

[T: 6:46 PM] 3 MISSED CALLS [You: 6:50 PM] > I’m at work [T: 6:50 PM] > Don’t lie > you finished an hour ago

[T: 7:13 PM] 1 MISSED CALL [T: 7:14 PM] > You said you werent mad [You: 7:15 PM] > I’m not [T: 7:15 PM] > Then stop being a brat > im coming over > ill bring takeout

You’re nervous about seeing him, but in the two weeks since he pushed you down on the couch you’ve found yourself…missing him. Like it or not, he’s made himself a fixture in your life. So when you get home you’re brimming with anticipation, wondering who you’ll get when you open the door—the normal Tomura you’ve come to like over the past few months, or the one from that night. The villain.

But it’s just him. Good old Tomura, laden with plastic bags and containers of greasy fast food for the two of you to gorge yourselves on. You tease him for being cheap and he argues that you’re just a snob and everything seems so normal that you can almost forget the look in his red eyes when he told you that you understood.

Almost.

///

You probably have no idea how good you look when you’re crying.

Of the couple thousand views on the news channel video of your “rescue” from the convenience store robber, at least a tenth are from Tomura. Eventually he just downloads the video onto his computer so he doesn’t have to read the inane comments that the other viewers leave on the webpage. It seems like everyone but him thinks you should feel lucky that you were saved by a hero before the robber could get to you, too.

As always, the public are a bunch of shit-soaked morons. Reading the comments makes him angry, so angry he’s tempted to look into a few of these brainless sheep and see how lucky they feel when they’ve caught the attention of a violent criminal. But that wouldn’t be productive, so he saves the video externally and leaves the news website alone. It’s for the best. Besides, seeing the “views” counter on the website tick up and up by the dozen every time he refreshes is just another reminder that other people are watching this; other people are seeing how delicate and vulnerable and pretty you are with tears spilling out of your eyes and the cashier’s blood sprayed over your clothing.

Thousands of useless fucking NPCs are looking at you just like Tomura is. They’re probably thinking about how sweet you look, just like he is. And they’re probably imagining all the ways they can take advantage of your fragile emotional state, just like him.

You’re too trusting for your own good. Tomura used to think it was a virtue, and it is, but only when it comes to him. Whenever he thinks about how your face is slapped over a dozen different news websites for the whole world to see, he has to dig his fingernails into his neck to keep calm. It’s better when he can just watch the video and pretend he’s the only one seeing it.

And it’s not like not watching the video is an option. Tomura can’t resist your crying face. There’s a point around the three minute mark where your voice breaks in the middle of your statement, and sometimes Tomura skips there in the video just so he can hear that pathetic little sob and replay it over and over and over. Maybe it’s sappy, but Tomura really does feel his heart skip a beat at the way your eyes and nose are rubbed red from your misery.

How fucked up is it that he gets off watching you cry?

Would you be angry if you knew? You probably would, but you put up with so much from him already. Maybe you’d be okay with it if he told you he really and truly tried to hold out. The first dozen times Tomura watched the video, he refused to touch himself no matter how tight his pants got while you choked out your stilted answers to the reporters’ questions, but at this point he barely has to click “play” on the video before he gets hard and takes matters into his own hands.

At the end of the day, it’s your fault. Everything about you is so erotic, from your shaky voice to your pouty, bitten-red lips. Isn’t it completely normal to be aroused while looking at the person you like? And Tomura likes you, he really likes you. He doesn’t have any pictures of you, and with the high definition of the news channel’s video he can see every perfect contour of your cheekbones, every pore in your skin, every glistening wet eyelash.

It’s not that Tomura doesn’t feel sympathy for how upset you are in the video. He does! Not even just sympathy, even—he’s empathetic. He knows exactly how it feels to be let down by the heroes. How dare they tell you you need to be grateful while you’re still trying to wipe brain matter off your shirt? Always too little, too late. It’s not fair.

But if he’s being honest? As miserable as you are, Tomura is happy that you were in the store when that robber came in and that you had to watch a man you knew get his brains blown out in front of you. You need a wake-up call to lose faith in hero society. If you have to suffer some emotional trauma in the process, that seems like a fair price to pay.

And the fact that Tomura gets to jerk off to it? It’s almost like destiny.

➠ [Part 3]

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novelconcepts · 4 years ago

Note

Hi there could you please do #25 for dani and jamie ❤

playfully biting someone

The best part of a new relationship, Jamie reflects, is in all the little details. The strange quirks of a person you might never see until you begin dating them, until the hours spent in their company twist from nine to five to all bets are off. Getting to know someone’s body is grand; getting to know them, the heart of them, the truth of their day-to-day, is better.

She maybe hadn’t realized that, until Dani--but Dani is teaching her with every passing day just how much is waiting beneath the surface. There is, it seems, an endless supply of bizarre details to file away, each wreathing Dani in more charm than the last.

Dani, she’s learned, doesn’t like to drive--she’s tried exactly once, and spent the entire thirty-minute stretch drawn tight as a bowstring--but loves rolling down her window and letting a hand dangle in the breeze. She is great with a map, almost pathological at remembering radio stations, but frequently gets distracted by conversation and forgets to point out a necessary exit ramp. She is untrustworthy when left on snack duty in gas stations, constantly inclined to pick up a coffee or a bottled orange juice over water, but always seems to find the best chocolate in any given state.

Food, in general, proves particularly interesting. Dani thrills at the opportunity to introduce her to terrible fast food (”We have this,” Jamie says pointedly, as they pull into their first McDonald’s; “Not even close,” Dani says gleefully, and proceeds to order her a Happy Meal for the sheer joy of it). She is perhaps too invested in what sort of pizza Jamie considers the right kind (”Dunno,” Jamie says in a helpless tone, unaware that there are options. “The kind with, uh, sauce?”). There is, it appears, a right and wrong answer to crust width, cheese ratio, and toppings; the first time she orders pineapple, Jamie almost can’t bring herself to take a bite, she’s laughing too hard at the intense expression on Dani’s face.

(“You are,” she proclaims, “ridiculous.”

“It’s good,” Dani insists, and there is no sign of a beast about her smile as she watches Jamie try the pinapple-and-bacon monstrosity and, grudgingly, admit defeat.)

She learns that Dani prefers movies at home to the theater, but makes an exception whenever a new action film comes out. Dani likes dancing, but doesn’t love strangers being able to see her do it; she’s self-conscious about her questionable rhythm, at least until Jamie leans close and murmurs that rhythm hasn’t been a problem yet, from where she’s standing. Dani likes old bookstores, new flea markets, ice cream parlors run by elderly couples who compliment her earrings. Dani likes America, as it turns out, with all its many oddities, and Jamie finds that affection infectious. She is rapidly coming to like America, too--at least, the America she’s offered through Dani’s eyes.

Dani is effervescent by daylight, chatting with strangers, eagerly returning stray footballs that land near her in the park to laughing children. She turns thoughtful when the rain rolls in, always at her moodiest when the sky grows pregnant with clouds that refuse to break open. She feels weird, she says, when the moon is nearly full, and she misses constellations whenever they pull up to a city, and there’s something about Midwestern manners she can’t seem to shake whether they’re in Miami or Detroit.

She’s fascinating, and she’s complicated, and the good days hold just as many facets as the bad. Jamie is growing to love them all--the way Dani shrieks with laughter when tickled, and the way she grows somber at particular Paul Simon songs for no reason Jamie can understand. She loves the way Dani slips a hand beneath the hem of her shirt and holds on for dear life on long drives, her fingers skimming the edge of Jamie’s jeans. Loves how Dani can’t shower with the door closed, can’t sleep with it open, can never figure out the window latch in any given hotel room.

And she loves how Dani behaves with her alone. Not the sex--though that’s only getting better, Dani finding more confidence each time they come together; Jamie’s started to find herself pressed up against doors with unexpected strength, pushed down onto beds with her head spinning and Dani already getting to work--so much as the intimacy. They’re different, she’s learning. Different tiers of the same cake, maybe. Can’t have one without the other, not if it’s good, not if it’s with Dani.

Sex comes easily, though it’s taken a little while for Dani to open back up again. When she does, the transition is absolute--no fear, no hesitation, her hands and lips and voice winding together to explain, If it’s just today, if I only have now, I need to be here. She doesn’t want to miss a moment, she says. Doesn’t want to let anything slip by. She wants to experience every inch of Jamie, and every inch of this country they’re exploring, and every inch of time won back from an unfair universe.

The intimacy--the way her hand always seems to find Jamie’s pocket, the way her forehead leans against Jamie’s back, the way she lets her foot press against the side of Jamie’s boot under a restaurant table--comes from the same place. That need to remember. That need to be here. If only for today, if only a little at a time, she can’t resist.

Which brings her to the part of Dani Jamie thinks she likes best:

Dani’s absolutely unexpected need for attention.

“Did you just--” She hesitates, wondering if she’s hallucinated. It’s such an odd little thing for Dani to have done, sprawled beside her on a motel bed. Such an odd thing, both of them with books open against bent knees and no conversation between them for half an hour.

And still, she’s almost certain. More so, when Dani gives a guilty grin.

“You bit me,” Jamie says, wonder in her voice. “Really?”

Dani doesn’t look particularly apologetic. “Missed you.”

“I’m right here,” Jamie says, unable to restrain the laughter in her voice. “You could, ah, initiate whenever you like.”

“Wasn’t about that.” Dani shrugs, small and clean in a post-shower sleep shirt and very little else. Jamie lays a finger between the pages of her book, closing the cover.

“Was it a food thing, because I have never seen someone put away a burger that size, but I could always order--”

Dani laughs. “No, I just--wanted to.” She shakes her head, looking as though she’s surprised herself as much as Jamie with the simple act of leaning over and sinking her teeth gently into the curve of Jamie’s shoulder. “Didn’t even think about it. Just...felt like getting your attention.”

“You have it.” She always does, even when Jamie’s reading, or starting to doze off, or thinking about tomorrow’s leg of the journey. Somewhere underneath it all, the reliable heartbeat powering her day, she’s always thinking of Dani. That should frighten her. That should worry her very much--and yet, somehow, it feels like the most natural thing in the world.

“I won’t do it again,” Dani says, “if you didn’t like it. It was weird, wasn’t it? Weird thing to do.”

“Very weird,” Jamie agrees. “You’re a bit of a weirdo, Dani Clayton. Dunno if I’ve pointed that out.”

Dani jostles her, shoulder to shoulder, and Jamie drops her book onto the nightstand. In truth, she loves that Dani is starting to do weird little things just to see what response she’ll get--loves that Dani doesn’t twist herself into knots, questioning an act, choosing instead to just go for it. It feels like the Dani she held in a hallway, hours before their lives had changed forever.

“What are you doing?” Dani is giggling already, as Jamie curls against her side, nuzzling into her neck.

“Returning the favor.”

“That--” Dani draws a sharp breath as Jamie finds a particularly sensitive spot and draws the skin between her teeth. “Um. That’s--not what I--”

She’s melting into the pillows, one hand cupped behind Jamie’s head. Her pulse is quickening, though she’s starting to laugh as Jamie rains tiny bites down the side of her throat, along the slope of one shoulder. The cotton of her t-shirt pulled between even teeth, Jamie leans back slightly, meeting her eyes.

“Wanted my attention,” she says, the words garbled around shirt. “What d’you want me to do with it?”

“This,” Dani laughs, her eyes fluttering when Jamie releases the shirt and returns her mouth to the soft column of her neck. “This is, um. Working nicely.”

“Figured,” Jamie murmurs, letting one hand toy along the curve of Dani’s thigh. “I like it, you know.”

“This?” Dani’s head is casting back, offering more room to explore; her fingers wrap around Jamie’s, guiding her toward an end to this conversation, the beginning of a different kind of discussion altogether. Jamie smiles.

“You. Doing weird shit just because. Biting my arm, or singing to me in the shower, or just...bein’ here. I like it. Like you.”

More than, she thinks. More than just like. It’s been true for weeks and weeks, maybe since the morning she’d tried to hold firm against pleading blue eyes in a greenhouse. Maybe. She’s more than liked the way Dani catches her gaze, brushes up against her, seeks out her attention for longer than she even knows what to do with.

Too early to say so. Too early to scare Dani away. She’s getting brighter, getting more hopeful every day, but she still flinches from words like Christmas, like next year, like in a while. She wouldn’t cope well with Jamie telling her the truth just yet.

Better to just do this. To learn the little details--the tiny stamp of intimacy on every step of this journey. To accept the just try it of pineapple on pizza, of dancing on moonlit beaches, of Dani’s teeth sinking into her shoulder for no reason at all. It’s better. It’s the best thing she’s ever done.

There are so many details, with Dani. So many stories to learn, so many quirks to memorize. And there is always, at the end of the day, this: just Dani, in her bed. Just Dani, drawing shallow breaths, pulling her down into a hungry kiss as she urges Jamie to explore with eager hands. Just Dani, who wants her attention merely because it’s Jamie offering it up.

Bit of a weirdo, she thinks, and thank fuck for that.

#fanfiction #ficlet #the haunting of bly manor #the haunting of bly manor spoilers #dani x jamie #damie #physical affection tag

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burnedbyshoto · 5 years ago

Text

sensei

— Being a Pro Hero means having a will of steel, too bad for Shinsou that will of steel has one major kryptonite: a schoolgirls skirt. —

pairing: pro hero!shinsou hitoshi x fem!reader

warnings: 18+, smut, dom!shinsou, bondage (capturing weapon), blindfold, orgasm denial, cursing, praising, mindcontrol, degradation, roleplay

word count: 6,789

a/n: this was a commission!!! omggg!!!! also i used the name mindjack for his pro hero name and neutralizer is your hero name! okay, so like, don’t come for me until you read the entire thing. if I get a single message about what I think ya’ll might come at me for imma spit on your butter. if you cant eat butter then your oat milk or whateva.

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Shinsou stood in the kitchen, his Pro-Hero costume on, and his hands pressed onto the countertop. Today was the day that his hero work student was coming in for a small dinner of celebration. After months of conducting some late-night hours and intensive fighting, they had finally taken down an underground crime ring that had been resurfacing in Japan.

His fingers ran through his hair, the soft locks parting with his calloused fingers. Years of having to strengthen himself to keep up with physically powerful quirk holders had left his body sharp, hard, and rugged. There wasn’t a part of his body that hadn’t been bruised; that wasn’t without its imperfections.

It was almost hilarious to think of where he used to be, a child in high school who was no stronger than the average person in Japan, and where he was now.

Placing his cup to his lip, Shinsou was about to take a drink of water when a knock was heard. A small grin quipped on his face knowing precisely who it was, placing the cup on the table and shoving his hands into his pocket, Shinsou walked over to the front door and opened it.

Opening the wooden door, his violet gaze locked onto a bright and eager set of eyes.

Outside his door stood a young woman who had just recently eighteen with your hair fluttering in the wind. You wore the well-recognized U.A. uniform, your backpack resting on your shoulders. A smile soon grew on your face at the sight of him, and you tilted your head with a small smile in greeting.

“Neutralizer,” he greeted with a coy smile, and his body leaned onto the doorway. His eyes drank you in, the swell of your chest against the button up white shirt, the striking red tie, the jacket that remained unbuttoned on your body, the dark socks that reached your knees, and that stupidly short skirt.

“Hi, Mindjack-sensei,” you greeted with a bright smile, unfazed by the coyness of his energy and ignorant to his straying eyes. “You wanted to meet here today?”

He wet his lips and nodded his head, his eyes closing, “Well, I had to celebrate this joyful win with my favorite student, didn’t I?”

“I’m your only student,” you snorted, pushing past him and entering his house.

You didn’t seem to notice the way his eyes zeroed in on your ass when you passed him, nor did you see how he was nearly drunk off your figure when you bent down to exchange your shoes for his guest slippers.

“I think that speaks volumes on how highly I perceive you,” Shinsou lazily grinned, taking your jacket and backpack and went to put them in his closet. “You’re so great that I don’t need to look for another helping hand.”

“What will you do when I graduate in these next months?” you asked teasingly, your focus back on Shinsou, and you both held each other’s gaze while standing in the hallway.

“You’re trying to tell me that you won’t accept my offer to be my sidekick before you go pro?”

His gaze was dangerous, practically begging you in this subdued cat and mouse game to contradict his theory.

“Maybe I am.”

His eyes narrowed; to anyone else, they would’ve been daunting, menacing, threatening, but to you who had known him for years, you could see right past the playful glare.

“Watch it, punk.”

With that, you walked further into the household and having never been to his house before, you couldn’t help but point out the different pictures you saw. There was no stopping you on asserting how weird it was that he went to school with so many well-known heroes. U.A. sure was something else.

The conversation between the two of you flowed like water. There was no dull moment while you stood by the counter, mindlessly eating fruit while exchanging lively words. You had since reaching the bar rolled your sleeves up to your elbows while attempting to catch the fruit that Shinsou was now throwing at you, but most often, they continued to bounce off your nose and go flying onto the floor.

“You’re horrible at this,” Shinsou snorts when you reappear from the floor with the slightly dirty fruit.

“Get a better aim,” you retorted with a snicker, eating the fruit.

But then Shinsou focused in the wrong area. His eyes focused on the way your lips gleamed under the fluorescent lights, coated with what was definitely your saliva and tinted with berry juices. Your lips stunned him with how delicate and soft they looked. How full and sinful they would feel pressed against his lips, wrapped around his—

“Mindjack-sensei?”

His eyes snapped up to meet your eyes that looked curious, naive to his thoughts, and with the slightest hint of embarrassment.

Recomposing himself, Shinsou cleared his throat and leaned against the counter again, the cold marble digging into his hip. “Y/l/n?”

“I was asking why you’re wearing your costume inside your house, it’s a bit dorkish.”

It seemed the embarrassment wasn’t from his drinking of your lips, but instead because of your question. Shinsou’s fingers fisted into the capturing weapon that rested around his neck. Honestly, he had no idea why he did; his costume was definitely a very comfortable piece, and well, he didn’t exactly go out on the field today, so it was clean.

But when he went to answer your question, his eyes saw the way your teeth gnawed on your bottom lip, and the way that you leaned in closer. Such a flustered school girl. How was he supposed to be professional when you did that? The only thing he could see — the only thing he wanted to see — was you gnawing at your lips when he was fucking you to the heavens, your embarrassment keeping you from being as loud as you could be.

“Come here,” Shinsou commanded, his head gesturing to you to move over to his side of the counter.

Obediently, you followed and stepped before him.

Fuck, you were tiny compared to him. Shinsou looked down at you, your eyes stared up at him curiously, unsure of what he was going to say or do.

“What do you think about me?”

Your eyes widened, your tongue coming out to lick your lips nervously. What was that kind of question? You thought he knew exactly what you thought about him? “Well, um, I think you’re an excellent Pro Hero! You’ve taught me a lot in my work-study, and I’ll forever be grateful for you!”

It seemed like an appropriate response, not too harsh, and it wouldn’t be enough to inflate his ego. But it seemed that he wasn’t in agreement with your thoughts, his hand came to rub his stubbled cheeks, and his eyes darkened.

“What else?”

The words sent a shiver down your spine at those words. There was so much intention behind what that could mean. What was he trying to insinuate here?

“I’m sorry, I don’t follow.”

Shinsou took a drink of his water, his eyes still focused on you. His gaze as calculating, as if he was studying a bug under a microscope. Your locked stares were unbreakable and soul searching, and as you were now just growing used to while on the field, a sense of an upcoming battle was flaring on your instincts. Placing the cup down, he took a step forward, a smirk pulling at his lips.

“What do you think of me?”

“I-I already told you,” you stammered, taking the smallest step back, but your didn’t retreat when he took another step closer. “You’re a very good—.”

“Not like that,” he growled lowly, his eyes dropping down to your breasts, to the swell of your hips.

It was becoming increasingly harder to breathe, his musky scent was overwhelming your nose, sending shivers down your spine, and there was nothing you could do but gasp for air.

“I don’t think I understand…”

Shinsou was now entirely parallel to you, your chest nearly touching his while he leaned down, his lips ghosting the shell of your ear. You could no longer breathe, unable to focus or think of anything but the fact that your boss — your mentor — was seemingly admitting that he was attracted to you.

“How do I make you feel?” he nearly panted in your ear. “All I know is that you drive me fucking insane with how beautiful you are, you’re so fucking pure, yet I know you know what you’ve been doing.”

“Mindjack-sensei—!” you squeak, your face radiated heat. You tried to stumble back, to deny his accusations, but his hands were on your waist, keeping you cemented in place.

“Do you want me the way I want you? The way I want to fuck you until your body is forever printed into the mattress of my bed? To have you begging until my bed frame breaks?”

Shinsou grin turned sly at the way you trembled against his hold.

“Don’t you think about fucking me, kitten? Because I can only think about your pretty lips and pussy around my cock. I bet you have such a pretty fucking pussy too.” An audible moan left your lips, and Shinsou’s fingers tightened around your waist to the point he was most likely leaving bruises. He was enjoying the way you were obviously enjoying this too. “You like this? Mm, of course, you would. Such a dirty little kitten, I bet you’re already fucking wet, wanting nothing more than my cock to fuck you into oblivion.”

“Mindjack-sensei,” you gasped in horror of his words despite your body pressing flush against his. His words hadn’t been false, by god did you want him to fuck you into oblivion, but you always pressed those feelings aside because he was a respected authority. He could have just about anyone as a top hero, so why would he want a high school student who worked for him? Shinsou let out a sharp stream of air at the feeling of your thigh rubbing against his growing boner. “We can’t do this! If we’re caught, we’ll—”

“We can’t do this? On the contrary, I think we can fucking do this. No one has to know, but if you don’t want me the way I want you, that’s okay. Tell me to stop then,” he interrupted you, his fingers pulling at the waistband of your skirt, his teeth nibbling at your ear. “Tell me you don’t feel the same way about me, and I’ll stop.”

Your chest heaved, your body screaming at you to let him fuck you. You’ve wanted him for so long, to have him buried balls deep within you, calling him yours and no one else’s. But your brain — your anxieties — screamed at you that this was wrong because he is your teacher. What if something terrible were to happen because of this?

“Nothing bad will happen,” Shinsou murmured, and you stopped breathing at the way his warm breath fanned against your neck. “I promise.”

You pushed away, your eyes wide while looking up at his violet gaze that seemed to grow impossibly darker. You had been under his mind control before, countless days being spent to see who could use their quirk faster, him or you. Each and every time so far, you had bitterly lost, you knew what it was like to be under control. To have your ability to choose what you wanted to do or not taken away. You knew what it was like to not have free will, but this was not it.

You could choose.

You would choose.

Gulping, your fingers rose to his soft purple hair, raking through the short purple locks that were ever present in your fantasies and dreams.

“Fuck me then.”

His lips pressed against yours immediately, and your breathing nearly stopped at the immediate contact. The scruff on his cheeks, chin, and jaw tickled the softness of your own skin, and only continued to scratch against your skin when the kiss increased in intensity. His mouth drank you in quickly, the heat of his mouth making you overwhelmingly woozy. The kiss alone was sending throbbing heat to your core, your cunt already feeling slick with your essence just from this kiss that you’ve wanted for so long.

Shinsou then took a step forward, and you took a step back, a dance between these new lovers until your back was slammed against a wall. With the feeling of the cold wall pressing into your back, the knowledge of where this was going shot through you.

“How do you want me to fuck you, kitten?” Shinsou growled against your mouth, pulling away afterward so that his nearly black with lust irises burned into your own. “Tell me your deepest fantasy.”

You wheezed when he lifted you up, the height difference between the two of you was too grand for him to grind his hardened cock into you while merely standing. The growing slick in your panties grazed against his hardness, and you pressed your hands onto his shoulders. Your head lolled backward; the shuddering pleasure from the harsh graze was already overstimulating you. His mouth latched onto your exposed neck, pressing spicy-sweet kisses onto the soft skin, his hips pressing hardened circles into your growing heat.

“I want you to,” you swallowed, your mouth running dry from his actions, mind unable to keep up with his pleasure gaining effects.

“What do you want, kitten?” he growled against your growing slick neck. His fingers were kneading and pulling at your covered breasts, someone how managed to press onto your nipples despite not knowing your naked body. Fisting your hands into his hair, you tugged hard at the roots, the pleasure shooting through your body unignorable.

“I want you to use your capturing weapon on me,” you plead, your hips jerking against his in frantic attempt to get this going. “I want you to blindfold me — fuck, I want you to use your quirk on me, deny me, overstimulate me, I don’t care. I just want your cock in my pussy.”

“My, my, you’ve been thinking about this for a while now, haven’t you?” Shinsou grinned with a burst of barking laughter at your embarrassment of being caught. “How many times have you thought about me bending you over in the middle of an alleyway, right after a successful mission, fucking you as congratulations?”

“S-Shinsou—!” you whimpered at the way his hips were now embedding into you as if you two weren’t fully clothed, but already fucking like savage animals.

“I want to hear you call me sensei when I’m fucking you,” he grunts against your throat.

“Not daddy?” you squeak when he pulls away from the wall, and your arms wrap around his neck in precaution. His hard cock now presses deliciously against your heated core, the movement of his walking legs adding to the slow and imbued sensations running their course through your body.

“Maybe another day,” he chuckled deep within his throat.

You felt a chill run through your spine at the way he possessively grabbed onto your waist, his body leaning down to press your back against the soft mattress of his bed. His lips were so ardent against your skin. The body heat expelling from his person, making you sweat when his lips dominated you again.

Your lips glided over each other, your fingers fisting into his shirt with undeniable electricity pouring down your spine. Powerful and sharp pulses slamming through your body when he ground his hips down onto you.

“Sensei,” you whimpered when his needy lips pressed once more against your cold neck. The contradicting temperatures quickly spun your head, and your eyes clenched closed, trying to focus in on these exhilarating sensations. “Please, sensei do— oh my god.”

Shinsou’s hips were grinding insistently into your, his fingers now pressing into your clit above your panties, expertly rubbing figure eights into your puffy bundle of nerves. Your legs trembled around his waist, your head flying backward with the beating of your heart heavy between your thighs.

“Do what, kitten?” he asked, his teeth marking purple ringed bruises onto your collarbone, enjoying the angry warm colors appearing on your skin. “Is your sensei making you feel good? What do you want from me right now, use your words? Fuck, you’re gorgeous.”

The last bit is no louder than a mere whisper, but it’s loud in your ears. You hadn’t even stripped yet, and he had these opinions on you! The intensity of that piece of knowledge made your knees weak with the thought of how intense his own emotions were — for how long has he wanted you in the same way you wanted him? Your mouth opened with a chill running down your spine, your hips grinding down onto his circling fingers.

“Now, I don’t like being disrespected,” he warned, his finger stilling against your clit. You, however, were already consumed by the pleasure that throbbed deep in your core over his nimble fingers teasingly touching where you wanted him most. Your hips still roll against his stiff appendages, and he chuckles at the almost needy and pathetic whimpers that expel from your lips. Your eyes are again shut, mouth opened, and body begging for more.

“Stop grinding,” he commands, his left hand pressing onto your hip, stilling any and all actions from you. You groaned loudly, disappointment and disapproval profoundly evident on your face when you finally opened your eyes.

“Sensei—” you whined, but your hips stopped nonetheless, a pout on your lips.

“I want you right now,” he says quietly, but his words are firm, unwavering, and genuine. His fingers trace the inside of your thighs, making you jerk with horny anticipation until you felt like taking in charge of him. “Can I fuck you right now, kitten?”

The words almost knock the wind out of you, the innocent yet well-knowing tone on his tongue enough to make you bite down on your lip harshly while you nodded. “Fuck me right now.”

Shinsou lips stretched into a cunning smirk, his teeth capturing his mouth while he nodded, “I hope you know what you’re getting yourself into.”

Sitting up, your eyes took in his body that was hidden under his baggy clothes, much like his own mentor. You did nothing to conceal the way your teeth tugged at your lower lip in lustful need, and your hand pressed down onto the restrained bulge in his pants, grinning when he twitched under your hot hand.

“I want sensei to fuck me, to fill me with his cock and cum until no one can deny that I’m yours, sensei,” you mewled in his ear.

Without a second thought or a moment to realize what was happening, your shirt was ripped off your person, the buttons scattering loudly against the wooden floor. You shouted in complete shock when Shinsou tugged the red tie off your neck and tossed it on the corner of the bed, and your skirt was thrown to the floor. You lay on the bed exposed in just your undergarments, but they were more than only your regular garments. Shinsou’s eyebrow quirked up upon recognizing that the piece you were wearing was lingerie — expensive lingerie at that.

His eyes met yours, and your eyes swam with confidence that made him stop.

“Were you expecting this?” he asked softly, his fingers grabbing onto the bridge of your bra. His touch so gentle, so soft, it was almost as if he touched it for too long he would destroy the lace fabric of your lingerie.

“It’s hard not to be extra prepared when celebrating with sensei,” you fluttered your eyelashes as you shifted so that you were now straddling his hips. Your body was pressed firmly against his, your mouth ghosting the shell of his ear, “Especially when I want my sensei to fuck me until I’m only his.”

The small victory you gained from being able to distract the Pro Hero was soon snuffed out when cold, and steel-like cloth wrapped all over your legs and arms and slipped between your teeth. The world spun when your face and chest was then shoved into the mattress.

“See what you make me do to you, kitten?”

You whimpered loudly at the arched position you were contorted into. Despite your discomfort, your core ached in need, flaring with this dominative aura that burned to life within him. This is what you had been craving since the beginning, you wanted nothing more than for the purple-haired hero to bend you to his will, to make you no better than some damn puppet while he fucked you deep into his bed.

“Look at you, you’re fucking soaked, and I haven’t done so much as grazing your clit!” Shinsou chuckles, leaning closer to you until you could feel his warm breath fanning against your clenching wet hole. “You’re such a dirty kitten, wanting your sensei’s cock. I guess your sensei is going to have to teach you a few things about mannerisms and make sure you’re fucked to completion.”

You chocked against the cloth in your mouth; it was pressing harshly against your tongue, riling your gag reflexes until saliva poured from your mouth. You weakly looked at Shinsou, your cheeks feeling like they were on fire, your pussy clenching in its attempt to draw him nearer. This was so dirty though, he was older than you, he was your mentor — your sensei. You shouldn’t be letting him talk to you this way, letting him tease your soaked folds, but you wanted his cock — you needed your sensei’s cock to ruin you for anyone ever again.

Shinsou looked at you, his eyes glinting dangerously as if he could read your filthy thoughts while his fingers slid off the black panties until they bunched at your angled knees. Your arch deepens at the feeling of the cold air now reaching your blazing core, and your eyes rolled to the back of your head while you wantonly whine. The restraints on your wrists and ankles were tight, sending just the minutest bit of discomfort through your nerves to send you wiggling your ass impatiently.

But as you stared up at Shinsou, and the way his coarse fingers dug into your hips. His heated fingers dragged against your smooth skin until he caught you staring. “You don’t need to be looking at this, kitten.”

The binding left your mouth and wrapped around your eyes. The cold and wet with your saliva metal binding to your face caused a sensation to course through you that was foreign. It disgusted you on a shallow level but fueled the gagging moan that pressed in your throat.

“Sensei!” you squeaked, not expecting this to happen so soon. Especially with the fact that your body was ultimately under his domination.

Your lack of sight immediately sent all your other senses to one hundred, and you were acutely aware of the fact that he was no longer touching you. You knew he was in the room, but you couldn’t sense him. You only knew that your ass was perked into the air, your arms shot before you in a position that you never knew you could achieve without weight to shove your chest further down.

Shinsou, however, was behind you, his eyes focused on your shining heated slick cunt. A groan emits slowly from his mouth, and he almost relishes in the way that you twitch towards him, the blindfold doing precisely what he had hoped for. Rumbling lowly in his chest, Shinsou inserted two nimble fingers into your wet cunt, moaning at the way that your walls are tight against him. It was so lewdish in the way that your walls were already milking his fingers, begging for more despite the initial entrance.

Your legs trembled, and your mouth fell at the feeling of his foreign fingers entering your spasming cunt. It’s a feeling you immediately burn into your skin. You want this; you crave this. His fingers reach knuckle deep against your heated walls, and they clench around him whenever he attempts to move.

“Your pussy is so pretty and so fucking tight, and all I have in you is my fingers,” Shinsou groans, his fingers curling smoothly within you. Your hips snap backward, trying to fuck yourself against his appendages, desperate the elevated pleasure felt as his fingers moved against you. Desire soaks your body, and you thrust your hips against his fingers, uncaring about how needy this looked.

His fingers were buried in your cunt, and you whined loudly at the feeling of his fingers pushing and pressing against your velvet walls. The feeling of his fingers stroking your walls, sending your body thrusting forward and backward. They continue this pace, not slow enough to be teasing, but not quick enough to satisfy your needs.

“Don’t tease me, sensei,” you pant, your ass moving and wiggling in the air while he manipulated your body under his ministrations. “I want you to — please, fuck my pussy so good!”

There was no response to your pleading, only action. His fingers then hooked within you, scissoring, and even pressing against your walls until nothing was coming out of you except the squelching noises of his fingers digging deeper into your cunt. His hero name a mantra on your lips.

“Such a pretty little kitten, taking my fingers so well. I can’t wait to see how you’ll react against my cock. I bet your cries will be fucking cute to hear,” he chuckled, his thighs hugging against yours, and you moaned at the feeling of his hard cock pressing against your lower belly. You whimpered loudly at the sensation, craving nothing more than to have his cock buried deep within you instead of his fingers.

“Sensei, please!” you begged, the feeling of him all over you. Yet the denial of both seeing him and having his cock buried deep within you was too much. “I don’t want sensei’s fingers, I want sensei’s cock — fuck, please!”

Shinsou chuckled, his fingers left your cunt, and you whimpered at the way your body felt so cold and empty without him buried within you.

“You’ve been good so far, I think you deserve my cock,” he grinned, his breathing heavy and hot against your spine. Your back arched and your body trembled with excitement and nerves as he guided his cock against your wet slit.

Then his hips pressed forward, only the tip of his head pushing through your folds. Teasing you, tormenting you with this half fullness when you knew his cock was much bigger.

“Stop playing unfairly, sensei!” you squawk, your hips trying to slam back to take him more in, but he predicts it and moves back with you. More of his cock leaves you, and you cry in blatant need and horrid horniness.

“Don’t you have any embarrassment?” he chuckles, his hands finally removing the bra on your chest, and his fingers grip and pull at your nipples. You shudder against his hold, curse that he was so much bigger than you. You needed more of his cock, but he didn’t seem willing to give it to you. “A schoolgirl asking her sensei to fuck her silly, do you know what you’re doing to me, kitten? So fucking dirty, so fucking needy. You want my goddamn dick, you better admit that you’re a stupid little girl who wants her sensei for the rest of her fucking life.”

There was nothing but pure electric shivers that poured through your body at those words, and still, you needed him. Your mouth let out a strained whimper; the slightly circling of his fat cock buried an inch into your cunt, a reminder that you needed to get him fully within you.

“I’m a dirty stupid fucking little girl who wants my sensei and his fucking cock for the rest of my fucking life,” you parrot with no shame, your hips bouncing in hopes of engaging him. “I only want my sensei!”

“Such a good kitten, saying such pretty things,” he sighs, but still, he doesn’t penetrate you fully.

But he does begin to move.

It’s teasing and by every means maddening feeling the first three inches of his swollen dick push into you and exit. The feeling of the veins on his cock dragging against your sensitive walls made you stammer his name. But that wasn’t good enough, no Shinsou wanted you to howl his name to the heavens, to make sure that everyone knew what a good sensei he was.

His hips move in faster to meet the back of your thighs. With the slowly deepening penetration, your eyes lull to the back of your head, your tongue pooling from your mouth.

“Say more pretty things, or I’ll take my fucking cock away,” he growled, his fingers digging impossibly deeper into your waist.

“Sensei!” you squirm, your back arching like a cat the second the tip of his cock drags against your particular spot.

“What did I say about not following what I command!”

You splutter, your body thrashing against his stilling hips, “But sensei’s cock! It makes me so dumb!” you whine, your fingers digging into the mattress when he slowly starts again. “It’s so big, so thick in my tight pussy! Sensei, please defile me, please make me cum! Cum in my pussy, please! I need you, sensei!”

Those must have been some magic words because Shinsou snarled, and his hips hammered into you. Sending your arms sprawling, your scream of pleasure and glee dripping from your throat. The way that his cock is now brushing over your g-spot again and again was too much.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

“Your pussy is so fucking tight,” he gasped, his hands slamming your ass back against him. The slapping of your skin on his pelvis sends your eyes fluttering behind the blindfold. He was contorting your body to his will. “After today, I’ll make sure you’ll always be able to take me, all of me, no matter how wet you are.”

Your voluptuous moans are untamable, your thighs trembling with the upcoming orgasm that you can feel throbbing from your toes.

“I needa cum!” you sob, hoping that with how he was drilling against your g-spot, it would be soon.

“You don’t get to cum yet.”

You cried when he pulled out of you completely, and the capturing weapon wrapped around your waist, and you were suddenly pulled to your knees. You heard a familiar sound of a body dropping to the bed, and his hands replaced the fabric around your waist.

“You’re going to ride your sensei’s cock,” he instructed, pulling you down towards him so that your dripping wet cunt was once against grinding against the tip of his dick. “Show sensei what a good kitten you’ve been, what a great hero you’ve become because of me.”

You swallow thickly, your mind swimming with lust and need while his swollen cock twitches at your entrance, “I’m going to show sensei that he’s taught me well.”

“Damn right, you will.”

And with that, he lowered you.

While the blindfold around your eyes obstructed your vision, your sight was wholly taken away from you by his actions. When Shinsou guided you onto his cock, the feeling of his thick veiny length reentering your cunt that begged for his return nearly took your sight away. He wasn’t even within you yet, only the tip of his cock penetrating your slit once more, teasing your walls that clenched in desperation for him. “Don’t tease me, sensei,” you pant, the capturing weapon preventing you from lowering yourself fully onto him, but surprisingly, he does as you hope for.

Then, what you’ve wanted this entire time. His hips thrust forward at the same moment that you’re dropped onto his cock, and your jaw splits into a soundless scream.

“SHINSOU!” you scream, and his fingers that have your dried slick are placed into your mouth.

“Suck.”

Without arguing, your mouth clamps around his fingers and sucks your essence clean from his fingers. He holds you from behind, his free hand meshing and tweaking at your breasts, making sure to tease and pull at your sensitive nipples until your legs were shaking underneath you.

His hand rips from your mouth, a trail of saliva following after his mouth. You can only cry louder, more wantonly of how the cold saliva dribbles onto your overheating body. Your head slams back against him, and his hot breath fans against your collarbone while the capturing weapon still proceeds to make you bounce against his cock. Every bounce sends his cock deeper within your clamping cunt, stretching you out in unimaginable ways until your walls spasming around his length because you need more.

You whine into his ear, your mouth pressing blind and sloppy kisses against his slick with sweat neck.

It’s when both his hands bring your hips down to him, his cock finally bottoming out entirely within you, does the most primal moan rip through your mouth. You convulse on his lap, trying to move as the head of his cock buries against your cervix, and you swear behind the blackness of your vision, you can see the entire galaxy. You tremble on top of him, wordless cries pittering from your mouth while he nibbles onto your earlobe.

“Fuck, kitten, I can feel your cervix against my cock,” Shinsou grunts, and you rise and falls against his throbbing cock.

“You’re filling me out, sensei,” you cry, your hips bouncing up and down, the feeling of his cock pressing up against your cervix, making you dizzier by the second. “Sensei’s cock is so fucking big, he’s filling and stretching me out so much! My pussy can’t — fuck — I can’t take it, sensei!”

“You can take it,” Shinsou growls into your neck, his hands rising you up and down against his cock. The soft slapping of your ass meeting his thighs a drum in your ear. “You’re taking my cock so fucking well, I taught you — I’m teaching you better, I know you can do this kitten.”

You soon readjust to the numbing pleasure, the bruising pleasure, and pain that comes with his cock slamming against your cervix. The way that he thrusts up into you, stretching out your walls far more than you was ever used to.

“I can’t fuck you correctly like this,” he growled, and the restraints yanked you forward once more.

You yelped loudly when you were now on your back, your ankles by your wrists, and your cunt exposed to him completely. In seconds flat, he was buried back into you, but the angle of being on your back aided to the curve of his cock, and your spine nearly snapped in the way you reacted to the pleasure spasming in your toes. This was what you wanted. “Sensei, your cock! SHIT! Oh my god, oh my god, this angle—!”

Your voice lessened to a senseless babble, your sentences blurring together, and your cheek pressed into the mattress and drool pooled from your lips. You feel his hot and robust shoulder touch against the backside of your thighs. With your thighs to support him, he begins to drill his hips into you.

His pace is completely irreplicable, every maddening powerful thrust of his hips shoves you closer to the headboard. The wet slapping echoing throughout the room when he pierces into you almost drowned out both of your senseless cries. His fingers dig into your skin, leaving purple fingerprints on your soft skin, and it amplified your howls of pleasure.

Fire erupts in your cunt, an overwhelming heat that throbs right in your core, and with every slam of his hips, it grows only more.

Intensifying.

Deepening.

The temperature of your body sizzles off you in large heat, and you swear that your sweat evaporates with every slam of his hips. His lips press against yours, a maddening escape of lust and need exchanging between your parted lips. Your salvia is everywhere, covering both of their faces with the sticky coldness. But that didn’t stop him; it only fueled him to kiss you entirely, engulfing you with his mouth, daring you with his tongue.

You were barely keeping up with his snapping hips, your mouth begging for more when he suckled on your tongue.

Her walls fluttered and clamped around him, a constant reminder of the impending orgasm that you could no longer warn him about.

“Do you need to cum?” he huffs against the corner of your mouth, his hips continuing to drill dangerously fast and deep into you.

“Y-Yes, sensei, I needa come so badly! Let me come against sensei big cock, please!” you sobbed, your body trying to press even closer to him. It was at that moment, the revelation that you were close that his quirk washes over you.

It’s a weird feeling, your body continues to feel disgustingly on fire, like an illness burning you from the inside out. But you’re no longer in control, your mind fuzzy and muggy, but he continues to fuck you as if you weren’t there. The coil that had wound so tightly in the core of your uterus seemed frozen. No longer tightening to the point of snapping, but so tight that it pained you that he now denied you a release.

“Well, I’m not ready,” he pants, “you don’t cum until I do.”

His hips now work against you with untapped vigor he had not been using before. One hand holding your leg over his shoulder, the other keeping your hips in place as he continued to push his cock deep within you. Your body was by all terms relaxed, not a single muscle was tense while he drilled into you, his fingers massaging your clit and nipples. But your mind was alert, thoroughly overworked, over thrilled, and feeling like you were moments from exploding with no choice but to keep it in.

His sweat dripped onto your body, and your drool slowly slipped from your lips.

It pained you not to moan, the inability to move your hips against his rutting ones nearly driving you insane until he was snarling like a savage beast, and with his teeth buried into your neck, you only heard one thing before your vision turned white.

“Cum.”

You weren’t sure whether you broke free from his quirk because he let you go or because the orgasm that crashed through you sent your body snapping up and rolling them over so that Shinsou was on his back. But the orgasm was still ripping through you. Powerful waves of insane pleasure drumming deep within you until there was nothing left but that hollowness that came after an orgasm.

Your breathing was erratic, your heartbeat on your tongue while you looked down at him with a frazzled expression.

“Holy fuck, ‘toshi,” you gasped, your hands pulling away at the tie from your eyes, and now you held onto your breasts. Your brain must have short-circuited because nothing was running through your mind, no matter what you tried to think about.

“Look at that,” he mused, looking down at his lower abdomen. You followed his eyes, and a blush brightened your face at the clear liquid that coated his abs.

You had squirted.

“Well, that was fucking hot, I don’t blame ya,” he chuckles, bringing you in. “How are you feeling? I know I was pretty deep in you, sorry.”

You sighed, nestling into his chest, finally relaxed. It took a bit of willpower to ignore the slick wetness that came with your mixed cum sprayed out onto his lower stomach. His lips pressed against your temple, and you sighed wistfully, tiredly.

“I’m fine, ‘toshi,” you affirm, grinning at him. “I might have problems walking tomorrow, so you’ll just needa help me.”

He chuckles but nods in agreement. Tapping you on your waist, he rolls you over so that you’re relaxing on the bed, and he pulls out, and you groan at the lack of his dick in you. Waving off your protests, he leaves and reappears with a damp washcloth. Without speaking, he begins to gently clean you up, placing tender and scratchy kisses against your body.

You grin when your husband finally collapses back onto the bed and pulls you in close, his nose rubbing against your bruised collarbones, eliciting a sharp squeal from you.

“Maybe I’ll pull out my old schoolgirl skirt more often,” you giggle, and he hummed in agreement. “It was fun.”

“I think that would be perfect.”

“Happy anniversary, sensei.”

“Happy anniversary, kitten.”

#shinsou x reader #shinsou hitoshi x reader #shinsou hitoshi #shinsou smut #bnha #bnha x reader #mha x reader #mha

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