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coucouatoi · 10 months ago

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now you're in my life... | h.s.

Pairing: Harry Styles X Reader

Warnings: sexual tension, slutshaming, women being viewed as wives and baby makers only (not by Harry), fluff, Harry being a gentleman, implied age gap, smut

A/N: Bridgerton fic incoming!! I'm late to the Bridgerton party but I've finally rewatched it all... also didn't reread a 7th time so if u find any errors, sorry <3

the bridgerton collection

Summary:

Dearest Gentle Readers, remember that a Bridgerton Courting season is never complete without some juicy drama. Here's some tips to stay... out of trouble:

1- Don't attempt to stand out

2- Don't even try to become the Diamond

3- Don't get caught with Londons most sought after bachelor in a compromising position

Good luck readers!

Lady Whistledown

Travel is exhausting. It always is.

Travelling with the end goal being dancing, presenting yourself, being courted and then wed is excruciating.

Your mother, bless her, is more excited than you've ever seen her. The carriage is already quite cramped with you, her and your younger brother squeezed tightly against each other. Her legs bounce constantly, her fan is flapping like she wants it to break in half and the lessons. Oh god, the lessons. A second of silence is too long. You have to be bombarded with rules and tips to make you the perfect debutante this new season.

Your brother, however, is barely spoken to. He is not going to be presented to the ton until a few more years have passed. The conversations seem to bore him. Bore him so much that he has seemingly slept through the entire trip... or at least pretended to.

Your trip to London is quite long. You have taken a boat and ridden so many carriages your behind has most likely become flatter. Today is the last day of travel thankfully. You'll be arriving at your family's English estate soon enough, your father is probably already waiting in the steps most likely impatiently tapping his foot.

He and your mother are still obsessively in love with each other. Married three weeks after courting during their first-ever year as debutants. First child, you, nine months later... after that things slowed down. It took them twelve years to have another child and now, six years later, she's gotten pregnant again. Their grand finale as they keep calling it.

You can only wish that you'll be able to find someone who makes you feel even just a smidge as happy as your parents make each other. That there's someone here, in London, who will make a worthy husband and an even more worthy father.

Your mother's squeal startles you out of your thoughts as you turn into the estate. She must have spotted your father.

The time has come, you must now be the best future bride possible for all the men in the Bridgerton ton to run after.

You feel absolutely ridiculous. Who allowed this to be the standard for debutantes?? A feather tucked into your neatly styled hair but not just any kind of feather it's not small or dainty, no. It's tall. Taller than most things in the room. On your tiptoes, you could reach some of the lower ceilings with it. The dress is fine, the gloves are only a little itchy and the shoes are actually quite pretty. But that damn feather...

"Are you sure I can't just accidentally set it on fire?" you grumble to your mother who is your sponsor for your official debut this season.

"That would certainly bring attention to you... I'll entertain the thought" she quips with a small smile.

"I look ridiculous with it! What's the point of looking like an ostrich? Is that what English men find desirable?" you're incredibly confused. This can't possibly be something that attracts suitors...

"The Queen demands it, my dear", she rubs your arm reassuringly, "We don't want to upset her"

You shrug in defeat. Your mother is right, no one would dare go against the queen. Especially when you are to be presented in her court.

The two women in front of you are escorted into the ballroom as their names are called. The doors close as the debutante bows to the Queen.

This is it. You're next. You're going to walk in front of the entire ton as fresh meat. Someone they don't know.

Your father owns an estate here but you've only been to London twice before this. Never enough time to make friends or make any kind of impression. Hopefully, they don't eat you alive.

Your mother fusses over the sleeves of your dress. Then she tugs your gloves up, making them pull uncomfortably at the webbing between each of your fingers. You let her fix anything that she deems askew or not perfect enough. It's the nerves making her twitchy. As the doors open in front of you she pushes the feathers you wear deeper into your up-do.

"Y/N L/N and her mother Lady L/N" Your mother locks your elbow with hers as you walk forward.

The room is littered with people, London's finest and richest gathered to see what fresh meat this courting season brings.

The other debutantes are lined next to each other facing the door, their mothers or older sisters behind them peering over shoulders.

Once your eyes lay on the queen you suck in the breath you were about to take. She sits on her throne like she was born to be on it. Her head held high but her eyes inquisitive. She eyes you up and down, more than once, it makes you stand up straighter. You want her to like you, get her and the rest of the ton curious.

Your mother lets go of you as you get closer to the Queen. The last steps you take are the most nerve-wracking ones you've ever taken. All eyes are on you; men, women, debutantes, the queen's harem, potential prospects.... Everyone.

You bow to her, deeply. Your right leg goes behind your left, you bend your knees and your head tucks down towards your chest. You stay like that, it's only polite to stay low as long as you can but when your foot starts feeling numb you stand back up.

She's in front of you. Eyes locked on your face, she examines it as a smirk forms on her face. The Queen approves of you.

"My diamond, make me proud" She taps your cheek once, twice, thrice before kissing your forehead and nodding her head as she makes her way back to her throne.

What does she mean by Diamond?

As soon as you enter the Bridgerton ball with your family you're swarmed. It's as if you're the newly set dessert table.

Potential suitors waving pens in your face begging for a spot on your dance card.

Is this what being the Diamond is all about?

Being chased around like you're nothing more than a cheap prize to these men? That's probably what you are to them...

You fill out two dance spots at random before managing to wiggle your way through the crowd and into the actual festivities.

The ballroom is enchanting, with flowers of every kind scattered all around the room. You feel like you've stepped into an indoor garden, everywhere you look there's at least one blooming plant. It's gorgeous. You want to stay in this room forever.

The dance floor is currently occupied by couples, waltzing around each other, the choreography running through their veins as if they were born knowing them.

It's all so hypnotizing. The dances, music, seeing the ton gossip so proudly, the men trying to woo this season's debutantes and the women batting their lashes waiting for someone to walk up. It's a game, all of it and you love being a witness. Well, a player now...

"They have a buffet!" Your little brother exclaims as he runs through the crown and straight for a table littered with a large array of foods. He's going to be distracted there for at least 2 whole dances. You have the next dance clear for now so you take the time to wander around, head held high as you take everything in. Your mother had fused incessantly over how you should act tonight and over your chosen outfit. It had to be:

- Fit for a diamond (whatever that may be)

- Have flowers, by order of the Queen

- Unique enough to attract attention

- Modest but not prudish

Complicated demands under the time restraints you had but she made it work. Calling upon her best modiste contacts and personally seeing to the design of them. You have to admit she has done quite the selection for you this evening.

Your gown is a light green, sage might it be? There's a thin layer of darker tule over the bottom half and your sleeves, giving it dimension. The area that goes around your bust and upper back is lighter and full of gemstones shaped like different flowers. It looks like the modiste managed to sew an entire bouquet into the fabric. The gloves are sage as well, going past your elbows and trimmed with the same darker tule. Your mother had a spare ribbon of the sage silky fabric saved for your hair. It's styled into the updo, weaving itself perfectly between the colours of your neatly styled hair. Smaller gemstones have also been placed precariously to make sure you shine as bright as any diamond should.

They've done an excellent job at making you look like a walking dream. Tempting, gorgeous and almost unattainable.

The song that is playing is about to end, which means you're about to have your first dance of the evening. You can't even recall with whom you had simply grabbed a random pen and wrote the colour of his jacket. Too many names had been screamed at you for you to decipher which was his. Hopefully, whoever occupies your first spot manages to find you and whisk you away to the dance floor.

As the couples either leave the dance floor or get ready for the next song, you look around somewhat panicked. Is your first slot not even going to find you? That would be slightly humiliating...

"Lady L/N" you turn swiftly toward the voice behind you. "I'm Lord Talag, pleasure to finally make your acquaintance" Lord Talag takes your hand and presses his lips to the back of it. His suit is blue with silver stitching, your very first slot. He leads you to the dance floor and you both take the first positions for the waltz. The violins start first and you're instantly moving.

Arms gracefully twirling over your head as you spin backwards. As you turn you can't focus on Lord Talag but you know he's doing the same thing. When you stop your turns and face your partner, you see that he's fallen. On his ass, on the floor, in front of everyone. The other couples around you stop abruptly to not trip over him.

"My Lord! Are you alright?" you gasp reaching out to help him stand. However, he ignores your attempts to aid him back on his feet and dusts himself off.

"Good evening, Lady L/N," he says and rushes out of the room. He resembles a kitten running to beg their owner for a treat: legs kicking quickly, bum shimming from side to side, a determined expression...

You're left standing in the middle of the dance floor as everyone looks at you with a confused expression. Your own must look quite similar to theirs. Your first dance partner for the evening has walked out on you. All because he fell on his ass. Men, am I right??

Taking a breather after the embarrassing moment Lord Talag put you through is essential. You can't possibly face the ton as they gossip about it. His chances of finding a bride now are squashed, he's the laughingstock of this courting season. Well, for now at least...

The midnight air is crisp. The cold air prickles at your skin causing goosebumps but you enjoy it, your skin had heated up under everyone's stares. There's no wind, no sound (besides the muffled voices inside) and only a slight orange hue glows around you on the balcony. There are some oranges perched around you and over your head. They aren't quite ripe yet but they do look particularly inviting.

You turn to rest your bum against the marble railing, lifting your head towards the sky. The stars are bright. Brighter than you would have imagined to see in the city. They reflect over the artificial pond under you, seemingly dancing on the ripples. It's all so peaceful.

"Don't you think it's a little cold to be out here without a coat?" the deep voice has you jumping out of your skin. You turn around abruptly to see who's sharing the balcony with you.

"I'm sorry, I didn't know someone was already here" you bow politely already stepping towards the door. You're not about to have two incredibly embarrassing moments in one evening. Would the Queen be tempted to take away your 'Diamond' status?

"There's no need to leave!" He rushes towards you, his right arm extended towards the door and body facing you. You back up quickly not wanting to make any accidental contact. You're unchaperoned in a private setting with a man... Please let no one come outside!

"I'm sorry if I startled you. I just realized you were holding onto yourself quite tightly... as if trying to heat up" he adds moving away from you as he stands up straight again. He must have realized how compromising this could seem.

"Oh! No, I'm actually comfortable... I'm just overthinking" you clarify for the mysterious, albeit handsome, man. You don't want him offering his jacket or anything of the sort. That would look even worse.

"Ah, I see. These types of events always bring out the worst in people" he laughs dryly as he shakes his head. It's almost as if he's recalling a specific memory. "I'm Harry, Duke Styles if you want specifics"

DUKE??? Your nighttime patio buddy is a DUKE?? This could not look any worse. You have to leave the secluded area now! Before anyone joins you and screams indecency.

Your panic must not be very well concealed as Har- Duke Styles, gets closer to you again with his hands raised.

"I'm not going to bite you, please don't panic" his hands are waiving slowly in front of your face. He's trying to demonstrate that he means no harm but all it does is make you jump back. Your mother would berate you if she knew what was happening right now. "What's your name?" he asks in a soft tone.

"Um, I'm... I'm Lady L/N" You somehow manage to speak in a slow and stuttering manner but it worked.

"The diamond?!" Oh god. He didn't even know. "How do you have time for a breather? Isn't your dance card full?" he sounds completely shocked.

You shake your head rapidly. It's the only answer you're able to give him before the patio door bursts open as a couple attached at the lips tumbles outside. They walk straight into Lord Styles, making his knees give out and then falling straight into you. His hands grasp your waist and arm seemingly trying to get himself straight up on his feet again. He fails. He keeps falling unfortunately dragging you down with him. His left hand, the one holding your arm, quickly moves to the back of your head before it makes contact with the stone floor. The other at your waist stays there but his grip tightens, you can feel it firmly through your corset.

The couple has separated from one another and they are now looking at you both in shock. They were most likely not expecting anyone outside. They are speaking, well you think so. Their lips and arms move erratically but there's only a high-pitched ringing in your ears.

The hand on the back of your head tilts it away from them, your eyes meet Lord Styles. They are wide, worried, panicked. You're not sure why.

He's talking too but he must be whispering as the ringing is still the only thing you hear. It's getting annoying; you want to know what he's saying to you. It seems important.

Your vision blurs right before it darkens completely. You've passed out not even knowing of the commotion you've caused.

Tule, satin, silk, needles, charcoal drawings on the walls, books scattered on various surfaces... Where have you found yourself now? You seem to be in a study of some sort that also serves as a studio. You manage to sit up slowly, the pounding in your head spiking for a second before it settles.

"Mother?" you call out in a weak voice. How did you get here? Or better yet, who put you in here? No one answers your call so, at a snail's pace, you manage to get into a standing position. Your legs are stronger than you thought they would be, aiding you in your quest to figure out where in the Queen's name you are.

As soon as you leave the study your eyes burn because of the bright sunlight streaming in the hallway you now find yourself in. Blinking a few times makes your eyes adjust quicker making you able to tune into your other senses.

You hear mumbling, a few different voices leak out of the room right next to where you had been sleeping. You try to make out what they saying but nothing makes sense in your mind. You can't even hear them enough to confirm if you know any of the voices.

Not even considering that some may think it rude or even improper you open the door and make your way inside.

Lord Styles is the first on his feet; almost seems like a knee-jerk reaction. His posture is tight, and uncomfortable he is standing straight as a ruler as he looks at you with a terrified expression.

"My darling!" your mother rushes to you as fast as she can with her swollen feet and round stomach slowing her usual pace.

She brushes your hair out of your face before embracing you. She holds you tight but carefully as if to not break you.

"How do you feel?" she asks you once she pulls away.

"Fine, I think. My head hurts quite a bit but it's bearable" You smile at her reassuring as your gaze drifts back to the man still statuesque in the middle of the room. You don't find words to say but you do walk towards him. You don't like seeing him this uncomfortable... especially in what seems to be his estate.

"This is yours? The house?" you ask him gently. His eyes meet yours and the tension seems to bleed out a little. He's a bit more at ease seeing that you are polite and cordial with him.

"Yes, we thought it was best to bring you back here... less scandalous" He gestures to your father and he only nods back as an answer.

"Less scandalous?" you look around the room, at the three people surrounding you with different expressions on their faces. Your mother; excited, your father; thoughtful, Lord Style's; embarrassed?

"Why is your estate less scandalous, Lord Styles?" you meet his eyes, hoping to somehow be able to read his mind. Figure out why he's so closed off now. He did seem pretty willing to talk to you on the pat-

The patio. Oh my. The patio!

"Why am I here Father?" your headache spikes when you turn your head rapidly towards him. His expression tells you all

that you need to know. You're now engaged. There's no scandal because you're going to wed Duke Harry Styles.

"An outdoor wedding would be gorgeous this time of year, don't you think so Y/N?" your father smiles at you kindly. He's happy with the man you've managed to "score", even if it isn't a love match like him and your mother.

You only nod at him before looking back at Lord Styles, whom you find to be already looking in your direction. He meets your gaze and bows his head in a polite gesture, welcoming you. Welcoming you in your new home, into your new life as a Duchess.

The wedding is set to happen in 9 days. The first wedding of this year's courting season. Your mother has been on top of everything, she's practically planning the whole thing. You and Lord Styles, your fiancée, let her do it... after all this was a surprise to both of you.

Today you're choosing your wedding dress. The last dress that you'll wear as the incredibly eligible and sought-after diamond. The dress you'll become a bride and then a wife in. You'll become a duchess, Duchess Styles...

"What do you think of this one, dear?" your mother is holding a white gown with delicate baby pink embroidered flowers all over it. You nod approvingly making your way back behind the changing partition as she brings it over to you. It's only the second one you're trying on so your spirits are still high. Madame Delacroix, the modiste, was much too eager to have you wear one of her gowns on your big day. Said it was "Perfect marketing!" and she led you to her newest collection that was apparently straight from France.

You manage to slide it on with no issues and as you're about to ask the modiste for some help with the clasp in the back you hear a voice you don't recognize say your name. You stay quiet hoping to hear what they are saying.

"You haven't read Lady Whistledown yet?! This one is so juicy, she talks about Duke Styles and the Diamond"

"Please tell me you have a copy of it on you! I need to know how that happened"

Are people really this eager to know how you got engaged?

After the first girl presumably pulls out a copy of whatever they were talking about they start reading it aloud.

"But how could I forget to mention the most surprising moment of the courting season yet? London's own most wanted bachelor, Duke Harry Styles, has found a worthy bride. He does shoot for the stars, doesn't he? Or rather in the mines... as the newest Duchess soon joining the ton is Lady L/N, the Diamond.

However, the choice seems to have been made by herself and herself only. Who wouldn't throw themselves at him just to be caught in a compromising position? I certainly would! Her parents must be so proud to have such a stellar whore seductress presented this season.

The hopefully happy couple already share a house, how warm is the Duke's bed? Has Lady Y/N done what so many other noble women have wanted to do?

Congratulations to the happy couple... See you at the wedding!

Yours truly,

Lady Whistledown"

Your blood runs cold, you're frozen in place after hearing what was written about you. You don't even know who these two girls are, who the writer is or where this paper comes from. Is that really what people think of you? That you whored yourself to Duke Styles to secure a wealthy and powerful man? You haven't made a single friend yet and now this is what people are saying about you, how are you meant to live amongst them now?

You quickly undress yourself of the wedding gown and get back into your dress, you somehow manage to clasp it yourself. Before running out of the boutique you hand the dress back to your mother and take a quick look at the girls that were just gossiping.

They are already looking at you with wide eyes and shocked expressions. Well, at least that's what you think their reaction is to seeing you practically trip out of the shop.

You don't hear what your mother calls out to you, too concerned with the humiliation pumping throw your veins. You need to get back to the Dukes manor as soon as you possibly can. You're grateful to have ridden here separately from your mother so you don't have to leave her stranded with no carriage and very pregnant. The ride back feels never-ending... How can you ever face the ton again?

The bath water is almost boiling, perfect to wash away the shame you felt. Your mind is all over the place. Nothing you can come up with will fix this, you're stuck labelled as some desperate whore. Does your betrothed know who this woman is? What those papers are? If anyone and everyone reads what she writes about other people? The lies she creates to make things interesting... You didn't even manage to find a gown you liked for the wedding... You might now not even be able to face the public, would the Queen allow a private wedding for her diamond? Probably not.

"Oh! I'm sorry I didn't know you were back" For the second time today your blood runs cold. The scorching hot water feels icy against your skin as you look up to meet Duke Styles's gaze.

He is also stuck where he is. His feet seemingly glued to the floor, one hand holding the door handle and the other stopped halfway done unbuttoning his shirt. His eyes leave your face and trail down your nude body under the water. No man has ever looked at these parts of you, he isn't supposed to see them until your wedding night.

He swallows when his gaze snaps back to yours, probably just registering what he was doing.

"I'll let you bathe, sorry for interrupting" he turns around quickly but before he can close the door you call out to him.

"Who's Lady Whistledown?" your voice cracks halfway, desperate to get an answer that no worker has answered. Not the chariot driver, not the gardener, not even the maids that helped prepare the bath everyone avoided your question. "Why did she write about me, my lord? About us?"

He takes a few seconds to walk back into the room but eventually comes in and shuts the door.

He sees there is a small stool in the corner of the room, the maid has used it to undo your hairdo when you got in the bath. He grabs it and places it next to the tub, close to where your face is. He sits facing you with one of his arms resting on the edge, trying to look nonchalant.

"Call me Harry, no need for formalities between us" is the first thing he says, you nod as your answer.

Before speaking again he takes in a deep breath and wipes down his face, looking for a way to explain this.

"You read it?" your voice is meek, he saw that she called you a whore. He read that you threw yourself at him to trap him.

"I did. Only because the men at the club told me to" he answers honestly. "I told them that what she wrote was wrong. That yes our marriage was unexpected but not an entrapment"

"Did they believe you?"

"Yes, after I told that I am very satisfied with my future wife. How lucky I am to have such a gorgeous lady share my house, such a smart lady in my life. They wouldn't dare question me or us" his words shock you. You didn't know if he was satisfied with you or your engagement. There hadn't been a conversation about it but you're happy to hear he doesn't resent you.

Harry seems to read your mind and tuck a lock of hair behind your ear, he lets his hand fall to your shoulder after.

"She called me a whore, a seductress. I've never even let a suitor hug me... Much less seduced one" his eyes bore into you. They are enchanting and so inviting. You want him to look at you this way always like you're the only thing he could ever look at so attentively.

"That's what she does... Last season she almost destroyed Lady Eloise Bridgerton... You haven't met her yet but she didn't leave her manor for the rest of the season" his hand is rubbing from shoulder to shoulder, pinky finger grazing the very top of your breasts at each movement. You don't move or break the eye contact it feels good.

"The ton eats her words up but don't waste time thinking about what she thinks, she is a coward saying all of this nonsense anonymously" he shakes his head disapprovingly.

"So there is no Lady Whistledown in the ton? Is it an alias?" your questions stays unanswered but it is obvious that is what he was saying. No one knows who she is or rather who they are.

Harry's hand has travelled lower without you even noticing he's gone past the water and travels from your chest to your stomach. It seems casual and natural like you've done this a million times before.

Silence stretches as you take in the small amount of information about this person who spreads false claims about you and the man currently exploring your body.

He is now going up and down your legs switching legs once in a while. You don't know what he's doing or why he's doing it but it feels so intimate... so good that you don't stop him, you don't want him to.

You will bear his heirs and pleasure him when he wants you to but what he is doing now seems to actually pleasure you. His fingers graze your core and you gasp as the sensation takes you by surprise. This breaks the trance he had been in as he rips his hand away from your body and out of the water then out of the room before you can even get a single word out.

You finished your bath shortly after with your skin still tingling from where Harry had touched you. The ghost of his fingertips exploring places no one has touched not even yourself. You wanted to see how far he'd go, what he would do to you, how he would keep exploring your naked body. Seeking him out feels desperate but you have to know how far he was willing to take you. Was he just as affected by the intimacy? You knock at his chamber door softly praying that he doesn't reject you. "Come in" you hear him speak through the thick wooden door.

You quickly smooth out your sleeping gown before making your way into his chambers. This is the first time you've been in them, the amount of fabric, mannequins and art around the room surprises you. You had previously seen his work room where he designs and creates many different clothes but you had no idea he had more where he rests. You find Lord Styles lying on his large bed with one arm covering his eyes. He hasn't realized that's it you that's walked in yet so you take some time to look over his designs. You see some suits, daywear, and gowns of all kinds but then you stumble upon one that is called "My Bride". You pull it out from under some other sketches. The gown he's drawn is breathtaking, tight bodice detailed with what you think must be lace and gemstones, there's many layers of lace going downwards towards the bottom of the dress giving the impression of a flower that has not yet bloomed. He's added a simple shawl to the sketch which just adds to the elegance of the look.

"Would you make this dress for me?" your voice is loud in the otherwise quiet room. Harry startles on the bed, clearly not expecting you, sitting up quickly. He holds your gaze for a few seconds before looking at the paper you are holding.

"I can, if you want me to make it for you I will" he nods looking back up, studying your face.

"I'd like that" you smile "I'm much too ashamed to go back to the modistes anyway..." you put the drawing back down on his desk. At this point, you are only pretending to be looking around his space. Your goal is to make your way to his bed... try to get him to touch you again.

"There's no need for you to be ashamed. They should be ashamed, the ton is over-critical of newcomers" he leans back on his hands the now completely unbuttoned shirt falls off of his torso, revealing it.

"I suppose so... it's still disheartening to think that people think like that about me" you sigh walking towards him again. His eyes don't leave you he seems to be analyzing you, your actions, your body, everything.

"What can I do to make you feel better?" he tilts his head in thought, "Threaten anyone who looks at you wrongly? Find this Lady Whistledown and burn her out of existence?"

"You..." Okay, deep breaths, this is when you'll make your move, "You can touch me again... Keep doing what you were doing?" the pitch of your voice is much higher than usual as you finish your suggestion. You avoid meeting his gaze, too embarrassed to look at his reaction.

What you hear isn't an answer but the sound of him moving on his bed, towards you? God, you hope so. You still don't totally understand what his touch made you feel or why it has you craving for more. You don't even really know what "more" means.

"I wouldn't want to ruin you as some say" he guides your head towards him, forcing you to meet his eyes, so intense and inviting.

"Well, they already think you have... I just want you to make me feel good" You don't back down keep your eyes on his.

"Have you ever made yourself feel good?" Harry's voice is deeper than you've ever heard, it sends a shiver down your spine.

You shake your head as an answer, the ability to speak lost when he placed his hands on your hips. He tugs you forward, bringing you so much closer to him it makes you flush. He hums in understanding, still debating if he should do this or not... but the look on your face, the curiosity and the neediness makes his decision very easy.

He gently pulls you to lay down on his luxurious bed, the silky sheets and soft mattress feel glorious. You could stay in his bed all day long.

"Don't you resent me? I cut your first courting season quite short" he gently pecks your cheek before gliding across your lips to do the same to the other. You unconsciously follow his lips trying to have them meet yours again, you're already in a mental fog of pleasure and he's barely touched you.

"Can't answer, doll? Mh... don't worry I'll make you feel good" That's when he kisses you. Properly.

You let him take complete control as you've never kissed anyone. You don't want to make it unenjoyable for him or yourself so you follow his lead. His hands slowly bunch your nightgown up revealing more and more skin, skin that he is now seeing for the second time. He separates from your lips to look down at you, to admire your figure. Goosebumps spread all over as he delicately rubs his hands up and down your thighs spreading them apart adding him in lying down between them.

His face is inches away from your most private parts. Parts that have never been seen by anyone but your aids when getting dressed or cleaned. To aid him you didn't put any underclothing on, hoping he would accept your request. So, he's staring directly at you, making you flush from embarrassment.

"You want me to do this, gorgeous, you're sure?" your eyes meet his. His expression is unreadable, you've never had someone look at you like that. Like he wants to eat you whole.

"Please Duke Styles" you answer in a soft voice, he smirks at your answer and immediately gets to work.

What you're feeling is something completely new, foreign, unbelievably good; The curl of your toes as his mouth meets the skin you've never even explored yourself, the arch your body does and the loud gasp that slips past your lips. Who knew you could feel this way? Why did no one tell you that you could feel so unbelievably good?

Your hands grab onto the edges of the pillow you're lying on and you try to meet his gaze or maybe just to see what he's doing looks like.

Harry's eyes are already on you, your gazes meet easily, his pupils are dilated and his brows furrowed. He's so concentrated...

His tongue circles your clit sucking at it before letting his free hand join. His middle finger teases your entrance, not wanting to take your purity, he'll be somewhat of a gentleman and keep that for the wedding night.

"Ah! Harry" you moan desperately, desperate for something you don't even know, begging for him to keep going. You have an urge to shut your legs together but Harry's pushes onto your left one, keeping it pinned to the mattress.

The hand that was teasing your hole slowly goes up your nightgown, touching your skin delicately as he works his way up to grab your breast. His hand is warm on your chest, grabbing and massaging the skin he reaches.

He uses your slight distraction to prod his tongue inside of you exploring the few inches he's able to reach. Maybe exploring your inside isn't so bad... You'll be married no matter what happens...

His hand leaves your chest and makes its way back down, circling your bud. He can feel how close you are so he zeroes in. Lost in your pleasure and on his quest to make you feel good. Make you forget about the judgement the ton regards you with. He pinches your clit making your body lock up and your breath hitch but Harry doesn't stop. He keeps going until your whole body is spasming against his mattress until you're unable to make a sound with your mouth agape in pleasure.

You don't feel anything besides the tingling going from the tip of your fingers to the tip of your toes and the ends of your hair. Your heartbeat slowly stops being so erratic and your breathing calms down. As you start wondering where Harry has gone you feel a damp cloth rubbing against your intimates. You shiver at the feeling, obviously still sensitive, flinching when he gets close to your sensitive bud.

"How do you feel, my lady?" Harry's voice is soft and tender. Probably trying to preserve the warm atmosphere around both of you.

You hum positively as an answer, words lost as you meet his intense gaze.

"Cats got your tongue?" his tone is teasing. He throws the cloth away and joins you on the bed. You shake your head with a smile.

"I'm lost in thought" is the first thing you say to him, "I will be for a while after that" you sigh dreamily as you get comfortable in his sheets.

"Mh, maybe we should rush the wedding, get the Queens blessing for her diamond to wed in a rush... you won't speak a week after what I'll do to you" You just might have to march into the royal palace first thing in the morning.

#harry styles x y/n #harry styles #harry styles x reader #harry styles fic #harry edward styles #harry styles x you #harry styles imagine

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xmissrogersx · 1 month ago

Text

Hello, again | Pedro Pascal

tags: fangirl journalist, pedro being sweet, argentina language.

my writing is entirely my own. Any adaptation and/or copy is forbidden.

i hope you are enjoying my stories! U help me a lot if you give me a ♡! All the love.

The comic-con was booming when we arrived. Thousands of characters passed by walking around us.

-I’ve never seen so many spidermans in my life.

-I think they agreed this year -I said looking for my pass.

-You don't think we should have dressed like that, do you? -asked another guy from the set.

-We are press, I don't know if it was ideal.

-Personally, I would have put on my Darth Vader suit -he said proudly, to which we laughed under our breath.-What is funny?

-Oh, nothing, it's just that it's very... basic? -my partner replied, to which they started a discussion from which I quickly escaped.

I saw the Star Wars stand, where the merchandise was simply amazing. A little Grogu stuffed animal caught my attention.

-Can I see it?

-Of course! -the seller exclaimed. I smiled to take it in my hands, stepping back to let other buyers look.

Suddenly, my right foot slipped slightly, making me lose my balance. But out of nowhere I felt a hard surface against my back, making me collide with something, or rather with someone.

-Sorry, I didn't see...

-Calm down, don't worry. Are you okay? -exclaimed a somewhat strange voice, to which he looked up to notice the helmet on.

-Yes, I'm fine, thank you Mando -I answered obviously, to which he laughed.

-I'm flattered to know that you know me, miss...

-Priscilla.

-Priscilla -hearing my name with his modified voice sent an electric shock through my spine.-Are you coming for work?

-Oh, yes. I came with a group of colleagues, whom I have already completely lost. I must make a report to someone from the convention.

-You can do it to me, no problem.

-Excuse me? -mierda, i’m an idiot. How would I react if the greatest of my fantasies in my head were starred by the man who was supposedly in front of me.

-That you can make me the report, I will gladly help you.

-Really? Thank you very much...

-Din, Din Djarin -he exclaimed, to which I laughed, nodding with an obvious head.

He looked at his wrist, reading the time on his watch.

-I have a presentation in 20 minutes, in the main room, in case you want to go.

-I would love to -I nodded and smiled again.

-Your smile is beautiful -he blurted out, leaving me static and sending the electricity again, and then leaving.

I went to the main room, which was already full. I only managed to stand at the bottom. Instantly, all those who were going to show up came out, to which everyone began to applaud effusively.

-Wow, it's incredible that cosplay generates this.

-This is not the cosplay presentation -my partner Honey turned to me, to which I arched an eyebrow.

-I don't understand, they're playing...

-They don't play them, they are the cast of The Mandalorian, they are promoting the movie. Remember you show me the photos of the promo last week. You are the biggest fan of Din Djarin, and doesn’t know it?

-Then...

It was him. Her dark brown hair, which combined with her brown eyes. Television didn't do him justice. And only a moment ago he had been in front of me.

-Pris, are you okay? -she shook my arm, taking me out of my trance.

-Yes, yes... I think -I stammered.

I spend the conference between applause and laughter. Every time he answered a question from the audience, he smiled genuinely. Holy God, his smile already provoked in me too much, but in person it upset me.

Miss, come with me, please -someone spoke to my right.

-Excuse me? -I frowned.

-Come with me, he requested your presence behind -the man pointed out, to what accompanies him.

We crossed a curtain, and then reached a corridor with several doors.

-It's here, come in and wait -he finished and then withdrew. I entered doubtfully, not understanding why I was there.

After 10 minutes, the door handle moved, causing me to paralyze. His figure entered the room. He was wearing the helmet again.

-Sorry for the delay.

-No, don't worry, they brought me a few minutes ago -I nodded, closing my eyes a little in shame, already feeling the blush on my face.-In my head that sounded different, I swear.

He laughed, denying slightly. He raised his hands to the helmet to take it off. I think I've never felt in my life to hold my breath for so long.

-Hello again -he said, raising his right lip up.

-Hi... -I replied stupidly because of my trance, which I didn't want him to notice.

-I have a proposal to make you. I help you with your report, only if you agree to be my guide to show me the city -my expression detonated in amazement instantly.

-Is this your first time in Buenos Aires?

-Something like that, but I would like to see it through you.

la puta madre.

He extended his right hand towards me, to which I replied the greeting even repeating his words in my mind.

-Pedro.

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leafington · 9 months ago

Text

𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙢𝙤𝙧𝙚 𝙞 𝙙𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙠 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙞𝙣, 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙡𝙤𝙣𝙜𝙚𝙧 𝙢𝙮 𝙣𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩𝙨 𝙜𝙚𝙩. - kento n.

content warning !! - enemies to lovers w nanami (i caved), blackfem!reader, ngh modelceo!reader, ceo!nanami, me putting my business and entrepreneurship knowledge to use, light intoxication, suggestiveness at the end

a/n - IM BACK YALL WOOOOOO, sorry for making u wait @jellicatty 🙁

For years, Nanami has held himself to competition with you and your company. If he had a tier-list of all the people he hated, you were a close second to Gojo. To say he hated your guts was an understatement, some thought he just had some sort of lingering grudge, others assumed you two just got off the wrong foot but they couldn't be far from wrong. That man practically wanted you dead, and that's a hard call to make from someone who was raised well.

His mother was nothing short of a good woman, she taught his son to do great things—respect elders, women, and children alike, offer up his seat to those who needed it more than him, never pray upon someone's downfall no matter how hard they made his life. Each and every time he comes across your presence, he closes his eyes and mentally apologizes to his mother.

Your being insinuates such hatred within him. The way you arose to popularity out of nowhere due to what? Daddy's money? Your looks that earned you sexiest woman alive four years in a row? He wasn't accepting that 'model starting their own company' bullshit, not that he didn't believe one couldn't, just not you.

He recalls the very first moment he met you, three years ago when you made his life hell. 'Japan's Top Model, L/n Y/n, announces her official clothing line.' Who knew a simple headline could turn his future upside down? At the time, he'd only heard of you once or twice over a news article or a random scandal that just so happened to sneak into his algorithm. But this was different, it effected him in every way possible.

Suddenly, he has competition. 'LVS' stocks had reached a pinnacle point within just a few weeks of launching, he'd never seen those abbreviations before, the next, his own business was constantly being compared to by this new threatening company. All things after that basically consisted of Nanami fighting for his top spot. You can't even describe how upset he was when he first met you. A beautiful woman, buttering up the chairman into letting you attend the business meetings that he [Nanami] went to, pretty tits bouncing when introducing yourself to the other members of the council, and that gleam of something in your eye when you finally met with Nanami.

"So you're the one hogging No. 1?"

He doesn't give a damn how many of the other pervs fell for your charm, to him, you were the devil in disguise.

Nanami Kento despised you with every fibre of his person. Even at this formal event.

"Sexiest woman alive"? Damn right you were. He can see how easily the others fell for you, if he didn't have his head screwed on tight, he would've been the next one to take you in the office.

That black sleeveless maxi dress kept him on his toes the entire night, curves and assets prominent. The way you held your glass of sparkling rosé, chatting it up with whoever that unfortunate soul was that thought they would get you in their bed after this was all over. Nanami held his own drink, a good amount of scotch that'd get him through the remainder of the event without bashing someone's head in. He's trying to listen to his colleague brag about his latest product of his work that's been selling well, but you being in his line of sight smiling and giggling seemed way more appealing.

In no way is Nanami a man who occupied himself with women, until he found a good place to settle and retire, a relationship didn't have any room in his life. To the best of his abilities, he ignores the now reciprocated exchange of stares, only sipping from the modern glass whenever he felt he needed the extra loosening.

And loose he was.

You look good. Too good. He turned his head to avoid indulging, not with the woman who's downfall he's prayed upon. Though it's far too late because that scotch is getting it's moneys worth having already downed three glasses and bringing him closer and closer to the woman he claimed he loathed.

His compliments were unlike anything he's ever thought of you. "You look stunning tonight." "Your stylist did an amazing job." "The pictures do you no justice." Drunk words are sober thoughts as they say. His eyes were telling more than his words, he wanted you bad.

Compared to any other elderly male he knew what to say to have you feel won over, even if you were well aware of his hatred towards you. So.. though it was just for a night, you returned the favor. Addressing his compliments with your own, insisting that the media makes such false claims about his person, feeling him up, and eventually dragging him to the bathroom to show him exactly how you shot to the top.

"You minx." He hisses as your kisses trail lower from his jaw. "Oh? What happened to all that talk you were doing?" You effortlessly tug his tie off, allowing it to hang from his neck. "Do you do this with every man you want to surpass?" He grits, fighting his natural urges to give in. "Very few, only the ones that act uppity and look good in a suit."

"Fuck... I hate you so much."

#anime #anime and manga #animanga #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #guess who #nanami kento #kento nanami #nanami x reader #enemies to lovers #jjk nanami #jujutsu nanami #ceo nanami #grgrgrrg i wanna bite him #i hate school

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headkiss · 2 years ago

Text

become the sun

pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader

summary: figuring out how to move on from life in hawkins, steve takes a trip to the beach, where he meets you, who becomes his tour guide and maybe more than that.

word count: 14.5k

warnings: fluff, teeny bit of angst, strangers to friends to lovers, and some kisses!!!

a/n: hiiii i am so excited to finally have beach steve done for u guys!!! it’s inspired by true blue by boygenius (if u couldn’t tell by the title)!!! i put a lot into this one and i hope u like it <3

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞

The beach is an interesting place. It changes with the seasons, the population shrinking as the leaves fade from green to brown.

There’s the crowds that come through from the months of June to August, the people that occupy summer homes, the tourists stopping by, the sand stuck to skin, the coconut smell of sunscreen. It’s when everything is bright, saturated with sunlight and people.

And then, there’s winter. The cooler weather driving away the summertime residents, turning things into a quiet town where the locals all know each other. Snow falling on the beach in January, hands tucked into jacket pockets.

For Steve, it was exactly what he needed. A getaway, room to grow, something away from Hawkins where he felt stuck, still.

For you, the beach is home.

You’ve lived in True Beach your entire life, in one of its classic blue houses with white trimming and accents. You’ve watched the town grow, watched people come and go with the seasons.

The town sits on the east coast, tucked away and—when it isn’t in the heat of summer—small.

You’ve been working at the cafe for years, floating between positions. Baking in the back, ringing people through, cleaning tables. Mornings are spent in the cafe, then, when you’re off, you’re trying to soak up whatever summer has to offer.

Today, you’re heading out the door with your swimsuit on under a sundress, tote bag on your shoulder.

“Have a good one, sweetie!” Macy, your boss (more like a mother figure and friend by now) calls from the counter as the bell above the door jingles with your exit.

“Bye, Macy!”

The heat hits you as soon as you step out the door, your eyes squinting in the sun as you try to fish your sunglasses from your bag.

Your walk to the shore is easy, the steps nothing but muscle memory by now. You cross main street, head towards the path worn into the sand by foot traffic, over the small dunes until the sound of waves crashing onto sand hits your ears. It’s mixed with laughter, conversation, the sound of kids playing.

It’s pure summer.

Towel laid out, you settle in a spot a bit further from the shoreline, enough so that there isn’t anyone else sitting in close proximity to you.

Soon enough, you’ve got your dress pulled off and tossed into your bag, a layer of sunscreen applied, and a book in your hand. You’re laying on your stomach, propped on your elbows, ankles crossed. You’re so wrapped up in the words in front of you and the heat of the sun on your back that you don’t notice the boy setting his things nearby and jogging towards the water. Not until he comes back.

A droplet of water splashes your page, and you look to the side to find the culprit. Your heart stutters at what you see: a boy shaking out his wet hair the way a dog does, all clumsy and cute.

You’ve never seen him before. This boy with brown hair falling over his forehead, eyes crinkling in the sunlight, freckles in a constellation across his skin, a sunburn kissing the bridge of his nose and his cheeks. He’s pretty. You’re glad your sunglasses can hide the way your eyes trail down to his chest, the smattering of hair there, the sand that sticks to his damp skin.

In this part of True Beach, you know pretty much everyone. The locals, the people who stay for the summers, but not him. You’d remember him if you did.

“Good swim?” You speak up.

Steve’s head lifts, his eyes finding you easily, laying on your tummy, sun setting a glow across your skin. He scans you, the curve of your back, the book in your hands. You’re the first person who’s spoken to him so far in True Beach, and for a second, he thinks he might’ve dreamt it.

“Yeah,” he says. He wants to say more, ask your name, something, but the words seem stuck. “It’s beautiful here.”

“First time here?” You push yourself up to sit, book set on your towel, your hands propped behind you.

“First time anywhere, really.”

A smile tugs at the corners of your mouth, flickering across your face.

“I hope it’s a good one, then.”

Steve runs a hand through his hair, pushing it from his face, he slings his towel over his shoulder, “I do, too.”

With that, the boy picks up his bag and heads off, and you can’t help but watch him leave, the freckles that dot his back, the muscles that sit there, too. You hope that you’ll see him again.

You hope that maybe, maybe this summer will be different than the rest.

Steve’s staying in a condo down by the beach. A white building with scratched paint and faded accents of greens, yellows, and blues. He’s on the ground floor, his small patio a step away from the sand. Coral Condos, it’s called.

He’d found True Beach on a whim, staring at a map and waiting until something jumped out at him. This town did.

For Steve, Hawkins was becoming too much. A reminder of everything that’s ever happened to him, of things he doesn’t know he’ll ever accomplish. His friends were all moving on, moving away, and he was just there.

First it was Nancy and Jonathan going out of state for college, then it was Eddie moving to Indianapolis for his music. What hit him the hardest was when Robin was off to school, too. When he was working shifts in Family Video alone, with his thoughts and the hum of the TV.

He needed to get out, away from the house that served as a reminder of the absence of his parents. He needed the room to change, to let himself be known as who he is now and nobody else.

So he’s here, spending his summer in True Beach to try and figure things out.

Steve’s been worried about his decision, wondering if it was too much, if he was doing the right thing. Robin had reassured him plenty, but after being in a single town for pretty much his entire life, this trip seems bigger.

Then, you spoke a couple of words to him on the beach, and he thought that maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. Even with big sunglasses covering your eyes, there was a kindness there, the beauty of someone not having any preconceived notions about him. Here, King Steve doesn’t exist.

Not to mention that you spoke to him, sunlight bouncing off your skin, lips moving around your words in a way that caught him.

His walk back to his condo is full of replaying your short conversation, the small smile that had spread over your face. Why the hell didn’t he ask your name?

Steve hopes to see you again, to feel the way he did when you talked to him. Like a person, someone worth speaking to, someone without a reputation that follows him despite being long gone, someone he wants to be.

Yeah, he really hopes to see you again.

Soon enough, you’re back at the cafe, working your morning shift and glancing up every time the bell above the door jingles. You’d never admit it, not even to yourself, but you’re looking for someone specific. Looking for the boy from the beach.

It’s odd, the little spark of hope you get whenever the door opens. You don’t even know his name.

Instead of facing this strange pull you feel towards a total stranger, you try to focus on work. Your customer service smile, making coffees, bagging sweets. You’ve been doing it long enough that it’s all subconscious, a routine that’s easy to fall into.

Then, only an hour before your shift is meant to end, the boy walks in, hair messy on top of his head.

Unsure if he even remembers you, you try to act natural. “Good morning!”

Steve follows the sound of your voice, finding you at the counter by the register, welcoming smile on your face. He recognizes you right away. It’s the same face he’d seen on the beach, the one he’s thought about since.

“Hi,” he says, stepping up to the counter across from you. He glances down to your name tag, pinned to the strap of your canvas apron. It suits you, he thinks. “Makes more sense than ‘girl from the beach.’”

“Sorry?”

“Your name, I mean.” He shifts a little on his feet. “I’m Steve, by the way.”

Steve. A piece of him you won’t have to wonder about anymore. Today, Steve’s wearing a linen button up shirt, the first couple buttons undone, his chest hair peeking out.

“Well hi, Steve. Boy from the beach,” you smile softly, a shared memory floating between you. “What can I get for you?”

If he’s being honest, Steve had sort of forgotten what he came into the cafe for once he saw you standing behind the counter. He looks at the menu on the wall behind you, skimming over the words.

“Um,” he looks back at you, his indecisiveness written in a small wince on his face, “have any drink recommendations?”

“Coming right up.”

You turn to make his drink, the coffee machine whirring behind you, the sound of things brewing a constant background to your day. You pour some ice into a cup, and soon enough you’ve got his drink mixed and poured, too.

You grab a cup sleeve, scrawling a small message on it before you can overthink it, and then slip it onto the cup, turning back to the counter where Steve is waiting, hands tucked into his pockets.

He watched you bounce between things in the cafe, hands moving like it’s second nature to you.

“Here you go,” you say, setting the cup onto the counter.

“Thanks.” Steve picks it up, dropping a bill onto the counter with his other hand.

Again, he finds himself wanting to say more to you, to stretch out the conversation. Instead, he heads to a table in the corner of the cafe and takes a sip of what you’ve made him. Of course it’s good, he thinks. You don’t look like someone who would mess these things up.

Right when he’s about to set the cup back down, he notices the sharpie scrawled onto the sleeve, lettering angled and curved to fit in the empty space. It could only be your writing, the words sweet and simple.

‘Welcome to True Beach :)’

Steve smiles at his cup, at the hint of something friendly, something kind, in a place so new to him.

He really should talk to you more this time, he knows it. Because he regretted not doing it once and he doesn’t want to do it again. So, when he finishes his drink, he walks up to the counter all over again.

“You’re back,” you say, though he never really left. He’d been in the cafe the whole time, your eyes always finding their way back to him.

“Yeah,” he sets his now empty cup down on the counter gently, “can I get another?”

“You liked it?” You smile a little, feeling a zip of success, of some sort of accomplishment.

“I mean, it’s refill worthy, so,” he shrugs like the answer is obvious, shoulder to his sunburnt cheek.

You make him another, the same way you made the first, his eyes on your back, your hands working on autopilot. The recipes make themselves by now, written into your memory.

You still can't really believe Steve’s here, that the boy from the beach walked in when you’d been thinking about him since you spoke. You wonder if it’s some sort of sign, hands of fate pushing him into the cafe.

Either way, you decide to take a chance.

“So,” you hand him his drink, and he hands you another bill and refuses the change, “if you wanted to meet some people, there’s this bonfire tonight at the beach. You should come.”

“Really?” He checks, because there’s no way you’d invite him somewhere after such small conversations, right?

“Yeah, really,” I want you there, you’d say if you had the courage. “You can get to know a bit about True Beach. Being a newbie and all.”

So far in his stay, Steve hasn’t been inclined to seek things out. He’s been alright keeping to himself, going to bed early enough. Now, he’s thinking that it’d be good to get out, to meet people, to explore the way he told himself he would here.

Maybe to see you again, too.

“I’d like that,” he nods, a shy smile on his lips. “You’ll be there?”

In all honesty, you’ve yet to attend a bonfire this summer. You’ve never been a huge fan of them, really. But if he’s going, so will you.

“I’ll be there,” you confirm. “It’s down by the docks. Sort of hard to miss.”

“I’ll see you later then, girl from the beach.”

“Later,” you smile, and a mirrored expression spreads on Steve’s face. “Boy from the beach.”

He turns and leaves, the bell above the door ringing yet again with his exit. For once, you spend what remains of your shift eager for the day to pass, for it to be nighttime with a fire crackling nearby and the boy from the beach as company.

Steve doesn’t know what it is about you, doesn’t know how or why, but somehow, you’ve made him feel like he’s in the right place. Like leaving Hawkins wasn’t this big huge mistake the way he’d worried it would be.

He needed to get out, he knows that, and he’s done it, but he’s yet to move on. Maybe tonight could be a step towards that, a step towards new friends (though he’ll always have those from Hawkins), a new environment, a new beginning.

He thinks about it all on his walk back to the condo. His past, what could be his future. He doesn’t know what it looks like, and maybe he never will, but he knows that the sun warming his skin and the salt in the air is something he could get used to. Something he could love, if he could just let himself.

And when Steve eventually throws away his cafe cup, he makes sure to keep the sleeve with your handwriting on it. A souvenir as good as any.

Maybe a sign, too. A promise of some sort.

Your hands are covered by the sleeves of your sweater as you walk over to the bonfire, bright orange casting a glow over the sand, the warmth of the flames hitting you as you draw nearer.

It’s early enough that hints of the sun remain in the sky, a stripe of orange on the horizon, fading into blue as you look up. It’s a really nice night, the stars and moon bright above you, the breeze still warm enough to wear shorts. Even so, you can’t help but be nervous.

You haven’t been to one of the bonfires in a long time, and though you see these people often in town, it’s never like this. Never all at once.

Plus, there’s Steve. You hadn’t told him a time, but he said he’d come and despite barely knowing him, he seems like the kind of guy who means what he says. The anticipation is what gets you. What you’ll say when you see him, how to act.

You’ve never wanted to get to know someone the way you do with him, the instant sense that he’s a person you’d like to have in your life, and that’s intimidating in itself.

“Look who decided to show up!” It’s Steph’s voice, your longtime friend, forever neighbor.

“Hey,” you give her a small smile, happy to see her and apologetic all at once. “Sorry it’s been so long.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that,” she tosses an arm around your neck, “come on!”

Steph guides you to the group standing around the fire, people you’ve known forever, people who cheer at your appearance (though the enthusiasm is hugely influenced by their various states of being drunk).

It’s Mason who works at the record store, Vic that busses tables in the diner like no other. It’s everyone who makes True Beach what it is and you’re glad to be a part of it, even if your mind continues to drift elsewhere.

You keep looking towards the path that leads to the beach, hoping to see a silhouette coming through, the boy from the beach. Steve.

It’s unusual, the way you wait for him to show up. It’s been a long, long time since you’ve had this sort of eagerness, the excitement of meeting someone new, of feeling this pull.

Steph seems to notice your eyes drifting again during your conversation, and she’s quick to ask, “what’s over there?”

“Huh?” You look back at her face, and you don’t exactly love the accusing look on her face.

“You keep looking at the path,” then, she gasps, like she’s discovered something amazing, “are you waiting for someone?”

“What? No.” You shake your head when she nudges her shoulder into yours. “Just thought I saw something.”

“Sure you did, babe.”

All you can do is shake your head again. She’s already gotten the idea in her head, you won’t be getting it out. Besides, even if you won’t say so, she is right, after all.

The night continues on this way, your eyes constantly flicking towards the path, thinking that the person arriving is Steve. It never is, though.

Your hope is shrinking smaller and smaller as the time goes by, thirty minutes, an hour, another hour. Still no sign of him. You’ve only just met, and yet, the disappointment strikes you hard, a sinking in your gut, a thump in your chest. You really thought he’d come.

You shouldn’t be surprised, you think. Or upset, really. You’re a total stranger inviting him to a beach at night, you’ve probably scared him off, freaked him out.

Eventually, you find yourself sitting in the sand by yourself, everyone wrapped up in conversations, laughter ringing behind you.

You stare at the waves, the steady rise and crash onto the shore. You stare and stare and stare until you figure it’s too late now, Steve’s not coming, and you should just go.

So, with an embarrassing lump in your throat, you stand and dust off the back of your shorts and head towards the path, glad that nobody notices your departure, that you're able to force away the tears that have no business being there in the first place.

Where he is, Steve blinks his eyes open gradually, waking up to a dark condo and a kink in his neck. After a day in the sun, he’d accidentally crashed on the couch, falling asleep with the hum of the TV in the background.

At first, he’s just confused, disoriented as he checks the clock and sees the time. 12:26 AM. Then, it hits him. The bonfire, the ‘see you later,’ you.

Fuck.

He scrambles to get up, shoving on his shoes and heading out the door without a thought about how he must look right now. His hair a total mess from being pushed against the couch cushions, his eyes bleary from sleep. That’s not what matters.

Steve’s basically sprinting to the beach, running until he sees the docks, sees the fire still burning nearby. There are still people, too. Maybe I can save this, he thinks, maybe she’s here and I’ll explain and we’ll just laugh about it.

You’re the first person he’s really spoken to here, the first one to make him feel like True Beach was a good idea, and he’d be a fucking idiot to lose the whisper of a friendship before it’s gotten the chance to form. A total fucking idiot.

Breathing heavily from his rush to get here, Steve walks over to the first person he sees, a girl with a can in her hand, her hair in braids that have become loose with time.

“Hey, sorry,” he says, getting her attention.

Steph’s the one he’s addressing, though he has no idea who she is. She turns towards him and smiles politely, because she’s got no idea who he is, either.

“Hm?” She hums.

Steve says your name, the name that’s been in his head since he’d read it on your apron. “Have you seen her?”

“Oh! You’re the one she must’ve been waiting for.” Steph looks around, her eyebrows scrunching, “ummm, she was here. Guess she left.”

You’re the one she must’ve been waiting for, she was here, guess she left.

Steve’s stomach drops. You’d been waiting for him, and he’d practically stood you up like an asshole. Sure, he was asleep and it was unintentional, but you don’t know that, and he feels awful. The things you must’ve been thinking, how you felt.

He feels like the biggest jerk ever.

Steve forces a smile, though he’s sure it’s an awful facade. “Okay, thanks anyway.”

With that, he turns away from Steph and heads back towards the path, his head down, shoulders a little slumped because this isn’t how things were supposed to go.

He was supposed to show up, to talk to you and learn more than your name or where you work, to plant the seed of something between you. Friendship, maybe. More, if he’d been lucky.

“Hey,” Steph calls before Steve gets too far. He turns around. “She’s got a shift tomorrow. Seven AM.”

He nods, and heads off again. He’ll fix this. Somehow, he’s going to fix this and it’ll work. It has to, he thinks, because he needs to know you.

Steve barely sleeps that night. For one, there was the nap that was long enough, and then—of course—there’s you. He spent hours laying on his back, watching the ceiling fan whirl above him, trying to figure out what to say.

In the end, he scraps every idea he has and decides to wing it the best he can. Not a great plan, but it’s all he has, so it’ll have to be enough.

Your friend said you started at seven, so Steve shows up at the cafe at exactly 7:02 AM. He's got mismatched socks on his feet, sandals on top of those. He’s sure his eyes are puffy, too, the lack of sleep evident on his face.

Despite that, he opens the cafe door, the bell ringing above his head. He spots you right away, leaning over a table, wiping it down with the towel in your hand, your walkman clipped onto the pocket of your apron, headphones on your head.

There’s someone else at the counter this time, an older woman with crinkles by her eyes and a kind smile. But, Steve came here to see you, so he heads over to the table you’re cleaning.

You can’t hear him coming, you only catch him walking over in your peripheral, his hands shoved in his pockets. You straighten, leaving the towel on the table and pausing your music, pushing your headphones down to rest around your neck.

“Steve. Hi.” You’re sure the surprise is in your voice. You really hadn’t been expecting to see him again.

“I’m so sorry about last night,” is what he says, needing to get it out, unsure of how else to start.

He surprises you a second time, his words are written on his face, the sleepiness in his eyes, the tiny frown on his mouth, the worried scrunch in his brows. It’s impossible to deny his sincerity.

“Oh.” You twist your fingers in the wire of your headphones. “It’s totally fine, you don’t have to apologize to me.”

“No, I do.” Steve pulls his hands from his pockets, and they move as he speaks, like he can’t help it. “Listen, it’s gonna sound made up, but I swear to you, it’s not. I fell asleep.”

“Steve-”

“I did. I got back from the beach and I fell asleep. As soon as I woke up I went to the bonfire, but you’d already left. I’m sorry for making you wait like that.”

You were never angry or upset with him to begin with. It was more towards yourself, the disappointment. You’d built up an expectation of him, of the night, in your head, and it’s your own fault. Still, the explanation has your chest feeling lighter.

“It’s okay, Steve. I mean, I’m a total stranger inviting you to this thing. It’s weird.”

“It’s not! It’s not weird, I promise.” He’s quiet for a second, then, his voice softer than before, he says, “I really did wanna go.”

You’re not sure what it is that gets you, maybe the way his brown eyes seem to melt a little, or the way his voice slows with the last few words, like he really wants you to hear them, but either way, any lingering negativity of the night before seems to fade away.

“You didn’t miss much, really.” You lean your hands behind you on the table. “Just a bunch of people getting drunk and slipping around in the sand.”

“I’m still sorry I didn’t go. I told you I would.”

“Steve, seriously, it’s okay.”

“Thanks for, you know, letting me explain.”

“Stop worrying about it, ‘kay? We’re good.”

Steve wonders if there’s a reason this place jumped out at him when he’d read the name. If some sort of divine intervention led him to True Beach. Because he’d found you here, and though you’ve only spoken a couple of times, he knows that people like you are rare. The sort of kindness that feels refreshing, the easiness of being around you.

He wants more of it, wants to know if maybe there’s a reason he feels like he was meant to meet you.

“I do want to know True Beach,” he says, “being a newbie and all.”

Your words from the day before coming from him make you smile. The thought that he’d remembered what you said well enough to repeat it back. Not everyone listens like that.

“I could show you around, if you wanted? You know, the best spots, the good food.”

“You’d do that?”

“Yeah! It’s an excuse for me to do more than just be lazy on the beach. Plus, It’d be fun.”

He smiles, this time it’s not hidden or pushed back, it’s a beam of light, sunshine peeking out from behind a cloud. “I’ll take you up on it, then.”

You smile, too. “I’m off at one, if you wanna meet back here?”

“Yeah, yes, that’s great. I’ll be here.”

Steven turns to go, but you call out, “don’t fall asleep this time!”

He faces you again, heads towards the front counter saying, “maybe I should get a coffee. Just to be safe.”

You shake your head with a grin, one that stays on your face even when you turn away and continue to wipe down the tables. Not even 8 o’clock in the morning and it feels like a good day.

Macy’s the one who served Steve his coffee this time, and once he leaves, the cafe now mostly empty, she walks over and leans a hip against the table, her arms crossed over her chest, her eyebrows raised at you.

“So, who was that?”

“His name is Steve.”

“Steve, hm? He’s a cutie.”

“Macy! He’s only here for the summer. And we only just met, alright? It’s nothing.”

Somehow, her eyebrows go even higher, the look on her face one you always get when she knows something. Or, when she thinks she knows something.

“Okay, okay. But I saw your smile just now.” She pokes your cheek, “I know you, sweetie. That wasn’t nothing.”

“I’m just gonna show him around. He’s new here, that’s it, I swear.”

She holds her hands up, “fine, but I will be saying ‘I told you so’ if that changes.”

“I’d expect nothing less, Macy.”

Macy likes to try and play matchmaker with you often, but her tone is usually much more joking than it is now. Though it’s still light, still teasing, it’s different. You wonder if maybe she was seeing something you couldn’t, something you didn’t want to see.

You don’t know this boy, not really. You know he has a way of saying things that make them feel true, that he has the softest eyes you’ve ever seen, that he’s able to pull smiles from you without even trying.

No, you don’t know him, but maybe you could. Starting today.

This time, Steve doesn’t leave you wondering. He shows up five minutes before your shift is set to end, and Macy, noticing him walking into the cafe, leans over to you, “looks like your boy is back, sweetie. Go ahead and get out of here.”

You shake your head and let it slide, knowing that she’ll believe whatever she wants no matter how much you fight her on it. You lean your head on her shoulder long enough to say: “thanks, Mace.”

Then, you’re heading out, tugging the bow on the back of your apron loose and slipping it over your head to hang it up on its hook on your way to the back room where you grab your bag. You pause at the mirror by the employee cubbies, smoothing back some baby hairs and brushing stray coffee grinds from your cheeks.

Steve stands to the side of the entrance, somehow looking more sun kissed than he’d been this morning, and he waves when he spots you walking towards him. “My tour guide.”

“That would be me.” There’s a small smile on your face already. There always seems to be one when you talk to him. “You ready to go?”

He moves to open the door, gesturing with his free hand, “lead the way.”

The summer heat hits you as soon as you walk through the door, the sun shining on the side of your face. You twist your head away from the sun and towards Steve, who’s fallen into step beside you, his strides matching yours.

“I thought we’d stay downtown, show you the shops and stuff.” Steve looks at you as you speak, even with the sun making him squint. “Sound okay?”

“Sounds perfect. I trust you.”

He steps around you, tugging your wrist gently to place you on the inside of the sidewalk, and himself closest to the road. It’s a small thing, one that could easily be meaningless, but your heart stutters the slightest bit, your steps slowing before forcing yourself to keep up with him.

The walk is short, filled with small talk that doesn’t feel forced or exhausting. It feels natural, the kind of ‘how are you?’ you get from a friend rather than a stranger. And you suppose he isn’t a stranger, you know just enough for him to be more than that.

Your hands brush between you, knuckles skimming against each other just once. A spark zipping up your arm, the same electricity traveling in his, too.

You ignore it (try to, at least), and before long, you’re at your first destination of the day. You stop walking, turning towards the awning of the store, “here we are.”

Steve stops with you, his eyes set on your face as you gesture towards the building. He looks away when you catch him, looking up at the sign hung above the door, a wave that fades into music notes, the words ‘Splash Records’ layered on top of that.

Now, it’s you who’s looking at his face, looking for a reaction. “It’s a gem, I swear.”

He turns to you again, his eyes, lighter in the sun, set on yours, “like I said, I trust you.”

“Okay,” you open the door for him this time, light blue paint flaking onto your hand when you twist the knob, “after you.”

Walking in, the record store is packed, but not in a way that feels stuffy. It’s full, music streaming through the store’s speakers, surrounding the space. There’s crates of records set on tables in the middle, shelves of them lining the walls.

Then, straight ahead from the door at the back, there’s the counter, the register sitting atop it, a record spinning behind it.

You wave to the boy standing there, “hey, Mason!”

Mason waves back, smiling at you, “hey! Need help finding anything?”

“We’re only browsing. Thanks, though.”

“No problem, cafe. You let me know if you need anything, yeah?”

The local workers in True Beach have developed this habit of calling each other by their jobs, hence why you’re ‘cafe.’ It’s silly, and you’re all well aware of everyone’s actual names, but it started and stuck ever since.

“Sure will, record store.”

Steve, for some reason, has this dull, punched-in-the-gut kind of feeling. He shouldn’t, he really, really shouldn't, but he does. Seeing the boy smile at you, seeing you share an inside joke.

And then, you’re wrapping a hand around his wrist so softly and leading him into the store and the ache is gone, replaced with this warmth. Warmth that blooms and grows into his chest.

“So, Steve, beach boy, what kind of music do you like?”

Just like that, the ache is forgotten.

“Take a guess,” he says.

You walk towards one of the crates at the front of a table, the letter A attached to the front. He follows, watches you flick through the records.

“Hmmm,” you stop and tug one out, facing Steve and holding up ABBA’s Arrival. “This one.”

“Come on!” He laughs, mostly because you’re right, and you seem to know it.

“You’re totally a ‘Dancing Queen’ kind of guy.”

He shrugs, a closed-mouth smile with mischief laced behind it, and turns to a different crate. And then, ever so softly, he starts humming the tune to ‘Dancing Queen.’

You smack his arm lightly, jaw dropped, soon spreading into a grin of victory. “I knew it!”

You continue on with your guesses, Steve following behind you with a sort of brightness in his eyes. He feels like you’re showing him more with each minute you spend together, your personality shining through with every smile or laugh he’s lucky enough to get from you.

The next album you pull is by Wham! and Steve huffs a laugh and shakes his head, “you’ve gotta be kidding me.”

“I’m right again, aren’t I?”

“No comment.”

“I’m so good at this.”

By the end of it, you’ve added a-ha and Tears for Fears to the pile, and though Steve will end up buying every single one, he looks at the stack in your arms and sighs.

“Have you been stalking me?” He asks, because you’ve yet to be wrong with your selections.

“Yeah, right. You wish,” you tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear, fumbling a little with the records in your hands. “I am just really, really skilled. Plus, you just give off the energy for it.”

“You aren’t making me seem very manly, you know?”

“Who said anything about manly?” Your eyes are kind, Steve thinks they sort of sparkle when you say, “good music is good music. Who cares what it says about you?”

He’d been joking, of course he had, because you’ve been right all along and he sort of stopped worrying about music taste when he started hanging out with Robin, who’s favorite genre is musical soundtracks, and Eddie, who never stopped liking what he did no matter what Hawkins thought of him.

And then, he thinks, Eddie would like you. Would like the way you spoke about music.

Steve’s not sure what to say, not sure how to thank you without sounding like a total idiot. But he doesn’t have to, because you speak before he can, like you’d known he needed you to. “Anyways, you ready for our next destination?”

“I’ll go wherever you go.” The words are soft, and they feel like so much more than simple when he says them. They aren’t more, you know that, but they sound like they could be. “You’re the tour guide.”

Steve buys the records, and with the bag in his hand, he follows you out the door and walks beside you—again, closest to the street—without question.

A couple of stops later (one being the sunglasses shop, where you and Steve handed each other pairs to try on, giggling behind hands, posing into the mirror of the other person’s lenses) you’re leading Steve into the diner on main. It’s classic, vinyl seating, checkered floors, the light blue of the shallow parts of the ocean serving as the pop of color in the place.

You grab a booth, Steve sliding in across from you. It’s by the window, a street of sandals smacking the ground, towels slung over shoulders, and beach bags covered in sand on the other side of it.

It doesn’t take long before a familiar face strolls up to your table, and you give her a little wave as she walks up, “hey, Vic! Busy today?”

“I’ve seen worse, cafe.” Her eyes flick over to Steve, her eyebrows raising when she looks at you again. “And who’s your friend?”

“This is Steve, he’s staying for the summer and roped me into being his tour guide.”

“Hey,” he says, an awkward, but always kind, smile on his face.

“Well, welcome to True Beach.” Vic pulls out her notepad and pen from her pocket. “What can I get you?”

You both order, and Steve listens to you chat with Vic some more, the interest you show in what she tells you, the way you pay attention to her story about a strange customer. He thinks about the way you’ve greeted every shop employee so far today by name, the way they all greet you with the same recognition.

He thinks about how nice it must be to be a part of something like that, a steady unit in a town that sees different faces constantly.

“Sorry about that,” you say to Steve after Vic walks away. “She likes to tell stories.”

“Don’t be. I was eavesdropping, anyway.”

You laugh, quick and sunny, and Steve soaks it up, letting it warm him up. He’s sort of captivated by you, the way you move, the things you say, the way he feels around you. It’s something totally new to him, no matter his history with girls. This is on its own, special and rare, he thinks. Or, maybe, he wishes.

“So, Steve…”

He fills in the blank. “Harrington.”

“Steve Harrington. What brings you to True Beach?”

“Ummm. Vacation?” Steve asks rather than says, because he really doesn’t have an answer. At least, not one that he thinks makes any sense. Self-discovery? Escape? Didn’t want to be the last of his friends stuck in Hawkins?

All of the above, maybe.

“No!” Your foot nudges his under the table. “I mean, like, really. What’s your story? What led you right here?”

Steve likes the way you say what you mean, how you don’t seem to be afraid to ask something more personal. The list of things he likes about you seems to keep growing.

“I grew up in Hawkins, Indiana. Small town, been there my whole life. I was sort of an ass in high school. Hanging around with the wrong people, you know?” He scratches at the hair at the base of his neck, nervous. Less so when he sees your gentle smile and nod. “Anyway, then I met better people. My best friend, Robin, this dork Eddie, and these kids that I care about a lot. Sort of became their babysitter—minus the pay—and, yeah.”

You notice the way he lightens up when he talks about these people, the whisper of a smile on his face as he does. It makes you smile, too, knowing that he has people like that. People that can ease him with a simple memory.

“My parents were never really around. Work trips all the time, stuff like that, but it forced me to learn a lot. I worked at this movie rental place for a few years, and then all my friends were moving on, going to school, taking control of their lives. I figured I’d do the same.”

“That’s why you’re here?”

“Hm?”

“To move on. Take control of your life.”

“I guess so. I wanted to go somewhere. I’ve never ventured out-of-state until now. Saw the town on a map and that was it.”

“I think that’s really cool.” You reach across the table and squeeze Steve’s hand, his eyes flicking up from his lap when you do. “It takes a lot of bravery to come somewhere new, especially alone.”

“I don’t know about that.”

Steve’s quick to brush things off. He didn’t grow up being called things like brave, and though the expression on your face is clearly honest, it’s hard to accept a compliment. Doesn’t mean his heart doesn’t expand a little, though. Like an extra puff of air blown into a balloon.

“Don’t fight me on this, Steve Harrington.”

He’s not sure he could fight you on most things. He’d rather let you win.

“Alright, fine. What’s your story, then?”

“You sure you wanna hear it? It’s pretty boring.”

I want to know everything about you, Steve thinks. He won’t say it, though, won’t risk freaking you out when this has only just begun.

“You got mine. It’s only fair.”

It’s been a long time since you’ve met someone new, since you’ve had to do the whole getting to know each other thing. Usually, it’s awkward for you, the stress of good impressions. Now, with him, it’s easier for some reason. It feels like you’ve known him far longer than a few days. There’s a familiarity there.

“Okay, okay. My family moved here when I was like five, so it’s pretty much all I remember. We’ve lived in the same house since, blue shutters and chipped paint, but I love it. It’s home.”

You don’t feel very different from how you feel now when you think of home. Comfortable, at ease, like you’re not meant to be anywhere else.

Steve Harrington. You’re glad he chose True Beach.

“I started working at the cafe when I was sixteen, I think,” you continue. “Macy—that’s my boss, but she’s more like family—she gave me the job and I just never left. She wants me to take over one day.”

“Will you take over?”

“I love that place. I don’t really see myself anywhere else,” you shrug, hands fiddling with the napkin in front of you. It’s something not everyone approves of, like you’re wasting away there. “I know it’s not all that impressive.”

“Hey, if you love it, isn’t that what matters?” The toe of his shoe pushes yours gently, your eyes catching his. “Not everybody gets to say they love what they do. And you do. I think that’s impressive.”

“Really?”

“Really. I think it’s great, honey.”

Steve lets the name slip, but when he sees the bashful smile on your face, the way you duck down a little, he can’t bring himself to feel bad about it.

Honey.

If you didn’t have a crush already, you’re absolutely done for now.

Day by day, you and Steve grow closer, and you’re now far more comfortable calling each other a friend rather than a stranger.

You show him a little bit more of the town each day, and a little bit more of yourself, too. He does the same, and you’ve found that Steve is an easy person to talk to, to trust. It’s a friendship born over rented bicycles and hands-free riding down a hill, brunch at the cafe during your breaks, and Steve lending you his baseball cap when you forget your own.

It feels completely natural, like you’ve known him a lifetime rather than a week. It feels like something you didn’t know had been missing.

Steve doesn’t feel much different. There’s a little bit of guilt in him, because he’s never felt this way while in Hawkins; like he belonged. He loves his friends, and that had nothing to do with them, but it sat with him nonetheless. A weight on his chest.

The weight seems to be forgotten when he’s with you, when you’re smiling at him as you show him your home like you’re welcoming him, like he could stay. It’s when he’s alone that he thinks about what this could mean, what he should do.

Right now, though, he isn’t alone, so there’s no heaviness there.

You’re taking him to a ‘super great surprise location,’ as you’d called it, your sandals leaving patterns in the sand, the sun bouncing off your bare shoulders. Steve walks the slightest bit behind you, not far enough that you can’t talk to each other, but enough so that you’re definitely leading the way.

Steve’s honestly too distracted to pick up on where you’re headed. The curve of your spine, the way your hair seems to change color under the sun, the pattern of your strides. It isn’t until you tilt your head and point upwards that he catches on.

He lets his head fall back to match yours, looking up at the lighthouse that sits on a rocky part of the beach.

“The lighthouse?” He checks, “Isn’t that, like, against the rules?”

“Aw, Stevie, since when do you care about the rules?” That’s something you’ve been doing lately, calling him Stevie. He likes it more than he should. “Besides, I won’t let us get caught. Don’t you trust me?”

You’re facing him now, walking backwards, a smile full of mischief on your face. Steve can’t help but be honest, “yeah, I trust you.”

“Well then, let’s get climbing, Harrington.”

You don’t have to tell him again. Steve follows you without another question, like it’s really that simple. He follows you up and up the lighthouse until you’ve made it to the top, out on the metal balcony that overlooks the beach, the water.

You sit down, legs dangling over the edge, arms leaning on the bottom part of the railing. And though Steves not fearless by any means, he sits beside you, position mirroring yours.

“You bring all your tourists up here?” Steve teases, his knee brushing yours.

Vulnerability is scary, and you don’t usually share much about yourself with people, preferring to keep your cards close, but things are different with Steve. It’s scary and incredible all at once. He’s different.

So, you reply seriously, your voice quieter, “I’ve actually never brought anyone up here.”

Steve looks away from the view to look at you, your confession unexpected but welcomed. Like he’s thought since he’d met you, he really wants to know you. Every single thing.

“Really?” He asks, gently poking for more.

“Yeah,” you nod, your eyes focused on the way the waves look from up here, the shades of blue. It’s less scary to talk this way, without looking at Steve and his eyes that you just fall into.

“I always come up here alone,” you continue. “To think, mostly. Like, when things feel really big and awful, coming up here and seeing how small everything is helps. I kinda find comfort in the insignificance, you know? Nothing I do will ever really be that big of a deal, and that’s peaceful, I think. Does that make any sense?”

He finds he can’t look away from you right now, the sad—maybe even nervous—twist of your mouth, your hair messy from the wind. He wonders if he should tell you that he doesn’t think you’re insignificant at all. At least not to him.

“It does,” Steve says, blinking away from you and turning to look at the water, too. “I think that’s part of why I came here. It’s nice to be unknown, to not have to worry about every move I make because of how people will react. Things feel a little lighter.”

You nod, looking down at where your legs touch, your feet hanging over the edge of the balcony. You hadn’t meant to get so serious. Tour guides should be fun, right? So, you add, “the view’s nice, too.”

The sun’s setting now, the sky becoming a blend of pinks and oranges, the rays on your skin turning golden. Still, Steve finds himself looking at you again when he says, “yeah, it is.”

You turn your head at his tone, the gentleness of it. Your eyes find his, the brown almost bronze in the sun, the color melting and swirling and you can’t break eye contact. He’s reeled you in like nobody has before, like he’s been on the opposite end of a string that ties you together, and he’s the only one who could pull it.

“I’m really glad you picked True Beach.”

Steve’s gaze flicks to your mouth, then your eyes, and your mouth again. “I am, too, honey.”

Then, you’re closer to each other, your shoulders leaning together, the warmth of his arm pressed against your own.

You aren’t sure who leans in first, and neither is Steve, all you know is his nose nudges yours, and when you tilt your head in response, you’re kissing. First, a tender press of his lips on yours, and that’s all. But it isn’t enough.

Subconsciously, without a thought, you chase his mouth when he pulls away ever so slightly, and it’s all he needs before he’s kissing you again. Before he’s really kissing you.

Steve’s hand finds your cheek, gently tilting your face for him so he can kiss you the way he wants to. He’s not sure what he’d been thinking before this, all he knows is that this feels too good to stop, too good to be the wrong thing to do.

Your hand is hooked in the neckline of his shirt, knuckles brushing his bare skin beneath it, keeping him close. The other rests on the balcony between you, holding you up, letting you lean towards him.

You haven’t been kissed many times, but you know that for it to feel like this is a rare thing, something delicate that you won’t look into just yet. Right now, this is enough. The sparks that seem to fly around you, burning through you.

Even when you do pull away, nothing feels broken. No, Steve simply uses the hand on your cheek to guide your head to his shoulder, and it’s comfortable, your cheek squished against him, his hand grabbing yours from his collar and holding it in his lap.

You stay that way for what could be minutes or hours. As if you’ve been just like this hundreds of times before.

Steve offered—more like decided, really—to walk you home from the lighthouse, the sun sinking lower and lower with every step. You took the long way, sand beneath your feet, breeze growing cooler against your cheeks.

Neither of you have said anything about the kiss, and you haven’t felt the need to. If anything, it feels natural, like this pink haze brought on by the kiss is meant to be there; there’s nothing to be said.

Maybe that’ll change tomorrow, but it’s today and that’s what matters.

At some point during the walk, after knuckles brushing and sparks fizzling between them, Steve had wrapped his pinky around yours, which then turned into holding hands, fingers intertwined, palms pressed together. The warmth of it spread up your arm, a tide rising up and up and up.

It’s dark by the time your house comes into view, weathered paint and blue accents, the porch light glowing warmly in the night. That’s another thing about True Beach: porch lights stay on.

You stop at the end of your driveway, swinging your hands between you. “This is me.”

“Well,” Steve’s fingers flex in yours, his thumb running over your knuckles just once. “Thanks for showing me your spot, honey.”

You look down at your hands, smiling at the way he says it. Honey. Like you’re as sweet as the real thing, like he really believes that.

“Thanks for trusting me to take you there.”

“It was a good one. How you gonna top it next time?”

“I don’t like to reveal my secrets. You know, like a magician.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He gives your hand a squeeze, eyes finding yours, something written behind them that you can’t pick out. “I’ll see you tomorrow, magic tour guide.”

“See you, Steve.”

You’d spoken the entire walk back to yours, but it feels different now. Thicker. The way it did at the top of the lighthouse just before you’d kissed. You squeeze Steve’s hand back before turning to walk up your driveway.

Steve holds onto your hand until he can’t anymore, his arm stretched out ahead of him, yours behind you, only dropping when you’re out of reach. It’s something that has your hearts beating in tandem, like they miss the contact.

When you get onto your porch, the doorknob in your hand, you turn back and wave to Steve again, who lets a smile spread across his face as he waves back. Once inside, you lean against your closed door, head falling back against the wood.

What the hell are you gonna do when summer’s over and he has to go home?

Steve’s thoughts aren’t much different, because somehow, you’ve made this place feel more like home than Hawkins has in a long time. He’s not always worried about things—though he still worries more than he should—and it’s gotta mean something.

He kicks a pebble the whole walk back to the condo, dragging his feet and hoping that walking slower will make his mind move quicker.

It doesn’t really work, and once he’s back in his place for the summer, he figures that he should

probably call the only person who’ll know just what to say to him (with the addition of some jabs).

He grabs the phone from the wall in the living room and dials Robin’s number.

“Hello hello?”

Steve relaxes a little at the sound of her voice, because she’s his best friend in the entire world and he misses her. A lot. Where Hawkins felt heavy, Robin was the one to make things better, but with her and the group away, the weight got to him.

“Hey, Rob.”

“Steven! How’s your trip going?”

“I told you not to call me Steven.”

He actually doesn’t mind it that much, because it’s something only Robin calls him, and as silly as it is, he won’t really stop her.

“Don’t care. Tell me about your summer. Where are you staying again?”

“It’s called True Beach.”

“And?”

Steve can picture Robin waving her hand in the air as she says it.

“It’s actually really nice,” he says. “The beach is beautiful and the weather’s great and there’s a bunch of cute shops on the main street. I met this girl in the cafe and she’s been showing me around.”

“Oh, really? A girl?” She’s probably wiggling her eyebrows now, Steve thinks.

“It’s only friendly, Rob.” He opts out of telling her about the kiss just yet. Maybe because he knows what she’ll say, something about him

having feelings for you. And maybe Robin would be right about that. “But it’s been really fun so far. Went to the record store, this diner, the lighthouse. I got you some presents.”

“Aw, Steven! You shouldn’t have!”

“Don’t act like you don’t want the presents, Buckley.”

“Whatever, Harrington. Have you been taking pictures? And who’s this girl! You can't just gloss over that, dingus.”

“I have some, but my skills don’t really match up to Jonathan’s.” Steve leans his shoulder against the wall where he stands, twisting the phone cord around. “And she’s great, seriously. We’re friends, okay? You’d like her.”

And Steve believes that, because ever since meeting Robin and finding the sort of once in a lifetime friendship with her, he can only see himself around people that she’d like, too.

“I bet I would, Steven.”

“Anyways, how are you? What’s been going on?”

As Robin updates Steve on things—her crush that she’s never spoken to before, what Eddie said he was working on when she spoke to him last, what she had for breakfast—he listens, letting himself get distracted from his thoughts of you.

Not that the thoughts are bad in any way, but they’re confusing, they’re something he hadn’t been prepared for when he’d decided to take this trip. He finds that even though he spends a lot of his days with you, he’s still thinking about you once he’s alone.

Steve’s not quite sure how to face that, but for now, he won’t. He’ll listen to Robin, talk to her until they’re both too tired to continue. He’ll enjoy having you as his tour guide and his friend.

Whatever else you could become, he doesn’t know. All he knows is that he doesn’t want you to be a stranger again.

Tomorrow has come and you haven’t been able to get Steve out of your head.

First it was the stuff that had you shoving your face into your pillow last night. The way his hand felt on your cheek when he kissed you, the way it felt in yours when he walked you home, the way he held on as long as he could when you parted ways.

Now, it’s the kind of what-ifs that have you worrying about what will happen when you see him again today. Will he act like nothing happened, will he want to talk about it, will he hold your hand again?

You’re excited to see him, it’s hard not to be when you like him so much, but you’re nervous, too. Probably for the same reason.

All you can do is go about your shift and hope that it distracts you enough to ease the small twist in your gut, the unknowns eating at you just a bit. If Macy notices something’s bothering you (which she does) she doesn’t say anything, opting to let you ride it out because when Macy believes something’s right, it usually is.

She feels that way about you and Steve.

Steve, who’s been tossing around in his bed all morning trying to sleep in and avoid thinking too hard. So far, no luck. Instead, he’s been wondering how to go about today with you. Because what he wants is something he’s afraid is too far out of reach, something he’s scared of, and he doesn’t know if it even remotely lines up with what you want.

Eventually, it gets too late for him to keep twisting himself up in the sheets, so he gets up and gets himself ready. Steve chooses not to drink coffee this morning, feeling jittery enough as it is.

His walk to the cafe is different today, because even though he’s still excited as ever to spend time with you, there’s a little weight in his chest that makes him nervous. He decides to walk quickly, whether it’s because he’s eager to see you or to get whatever will happen over with, he’s not so sure.

He doesn’t want you to be a stranger again.

Eventually, with a big breath in, Steve tugs the cafe door open. He sees Macy before he sees you, knowing it’s her because of the name tag.

“Hi there,” she says, her smile crinkling her eyes a little. “Steve, right?”

He’s surprised that she knows his name. And then, the idea hits him like a small punch, his mind getting hopeful with it; you must’ve talked to her about him. You care enough to talk about him with Macy, who you’d said is like family to you.

“Yeah,” he says, walking the rest of the shirt way to the counter where she stands. “And you’re Macy?”

“That’s me!” She seems to notice the way Steve’s eyes search the small cafe, and she smiles as she speaks, “she’s in the back. I’ll let her know you’re here.”

It’s not even a minute later that you’re walking out from the back and towards Steve, tote bag slung over your shoulder, sunglasses on top of your head.

“My guide,” he says as you meet him by the counter. “What’s on the agenda today?”

“You’ll see soon enough.” You fish your car keys from your bag, and they jingle in your hand when you find them. “Ready to go?”

“Sure am.”

As you and Steve head towards the door you hear Macy call, “bye, sweetie! Have fun!”

You turn to face her and send her a wave. In return, you get a wink and an eyebrow raise and you just shake your head. She might be onto something, though.

Soon enough you’re in your car, Steve in the passenger seat, driving out to the lookout because it’s usually quiet this time of day and you want him to see it that way. The waves crashing onto sand below, the endless stretch of sky.

You chat as you drive, and you’ve found that you didn’t need to be so nervous, because he’s Steve and something about him makes everything seem easy, natural. You’ve fallen into the same spot you were yesterday on the walk home, this bubble of pink and sweet and more surrounding you.

Steve asks you about how your shift went, how busy things have been, what you had for breakfast. Simple things that draw you back into simply feeling the glow of being with him. It’s like he soaks up sunshine and spills it out, warm and bright.

When you turn your head to glance at him quickly, you’re stuck on the way the sun hits his face, the freckles that have appeared on his nose from his time spent at the beach. He looks like he belongs here, you think. A boy with summer written all over him.

And when you make it to the lookout, Steve reaches across the center console for your hand, and your fingers lace together just like they had last night. It feels like the softest click of puzzle pieces fitting together, right where they’re supposed to be.

Steve hadn’t been thinking when he did it. It was his hand reaching out on instinct because it wanted to, because it felt empty where it sat in his lap beforehand.

You keep talking for a bit, back and forth and back and forth and all you can think about is how maybe (definitely) this is more than a crush. That maybe you don’t ever want to see him go.

After the lookout you and Steve still have plenty of the day left. You can only look at a view for so long, really, so you decide to head to the beach, which you’ve yet to do, surprisingly.

It’s the main attraction of the town, so you figure you should include it on your tour, even if you know he’s already been. It’s where you met, after all.

You lead him to a spot further down the beach, where crowds dwindle and a line of rocks sort of secludes it from the rest. Of course, it’s not empty. It never is during summer, but it’s as calm as it can get.

A bathing suit is usually hidden under your clothes during the months of May through August, so, with your towels laid out, a cooler that you’d had in your car set in the sand, and bags tossed beside it, you slip your sundress over your head.

Steve watches you pull the fabric up, the hem getting higher and higher until your dress is gone and he’s trying not to stare too hard. Your skin glows with the sun, and he has to tug his own shirt over his head to pull his gaze away. Fabric pulled in front of his eyes to snap him out of it.

Your sunglasses sit on the bridge of your nose, your eyeline hopefully hidden because Steve’s there and you can’t exactly look away. Dusting of chest hair over sun kissed skin, freckles and moles a constellation you’d reach out and trace if you could.

Blinking away, you shift your sights to the ocean, the waves cresting, whitecaps sliding onto the shore. You breathe in the salt air, the breeze warm against your skin.

Soon enough you and Steve are both settled on your towels, light chatter from other groups mingling with the sounds of the waves.

“Boy from the beach,” you say, lulling your head to the side to look at him. “Funny seeing you here.”

“What a coincidence.” Steve likes that you’ve got this thing, something shared between just the two of you. “Girl from the beach.”

“How’re you liking your trip so far?”

“Well, I’ve got this great tour guide. She’s been showing me all the spots,” Steve leans back onto his hands, while you’re laid down fully, peering up at him through your sunglasses. “I think you might know her.”

You grin, butterflies in your stomach. Your hands rest over your tummy, like you’d be able to feel them floating in there. It’s just so easy with him, so natural. You feel like you were always meant to meet each other, it was just a matter of when.

“She sounds familiar,” you play along.

“Yeah. Super kind, works at a cafe, really pretty.”

Really pretty. He’d added it on like a fact, like to him, there’s no questioning that. Your fingertips push against your stomach a little, trying to shoo away the butterflies.

“Pretty, huh?”

Steve’s always thought so, and he didn’t even realize he’d said it until you repeated it back. He doesn’t regret it, though. Because he thinks it every time he looks at you. That you’re pretty.

“Yep. Ringing any bells?”

“I don’t know about that, Steve.”

“I do, honey.”

Your eyes flick between his, his eyes squinted because he’d forgotten his sunglasses, but all you find is that softness that seems to live in the brown of his iris.

He’s looking at your face, at the curve of your mouth and the slope of your nose. It’s getting harder and harder to ignore the way he feels, the way he’s felt. He really fucking likes you.

You breathe in deep and turn your head to face the sky, nervous under his gaze, unsure of how to read things. He’s leaving at the end of summer, and you’ll be here. What if that’ll be all you ever see of him? His couple of months here, and then, the end.

The moment seems to pass, Steve changing the subject to something about a new music release he wondered if you’d listened to.

The feelings linger, though.

Worries shoved down and stomach flutters warded away (mostly), you and Steve talk like friends, which you’d take over strangers any day. It hasn’t been too long, but it’s been long enough that you know each other, that you can talk or be quiet and have it be comfortable.

Eventually, with sunbeams warming your skin and your early shift weighing on you, your eyes grow heavy and you're lulled to sleep by the sound of Steve's voice and the sea.

He’d been telling you a story, something about the first time he’d gone to see Eddie play at the Hideout and how surprised he’d been. When he’s done, he waits for a reply, only to be met with silence.

Peeking over at you, Steve notices your head rolled to the side, your chest rising and falling with steady breaths. As delicately as possible, he reaches over and lifts your sunglasses to find your eyes shut, and he realizes you’ve fallen asleep.

There’s a smile worming its way onto Steve’s face as he pushes your glasses back into place. A smile brought on by how cute he thinks you look right now, pout on your lips and hair messy from the wind.

A smile turning just a little bit lovesick because you feel comfortable enough with him to be asleep right now.

It’s only twenty minutes before you’re blinking your eyes open again, shifting and breathing in deep as you wake up. The breeze has died down, the heat having your forehead a little damp, your body uncomfortably warm.

“Morning, sleepy.”

You groan and turn towards Steve, sitting up and stretching your arms out in front of you before responding. “Hi. Sorry. I didn’t mean to sleep.”

“Don’t apologize. You’ve been working and dragging me around every day. I’d be tired, too.” He’d pulled the cooler to serve as a backrest while you were asleep, you notice. “Good nap, though?”

“Yeah. Guess I needed it.”

You’re feeling warm, almost too warm, so you fan yourself with your hands. Steve notices. “You feel okay?”

“Just warm. Probably shouldn’t have slept in the sun.” You wipe your forehead with the back of your hand, which you’re sure is unappealing, but Steve only seems concerned for you, never judgemental.

He twists to open the cooler set behind him, digging out a can that’d been buried in the ice, condensation dripping from it as he lifts it out and shuts the cooler. Steve scooches himself closer to you on the sand.

“Here,” he uses his free hand to move your hair out of the way, pressing the can to the back of your neck with the other.

Your head tips backwards, the cold can pressed to your heated skin immediately cooling you down, easing your discomfort. Still, you feel warm inside—this time, in a good way—because Steves attentive and so, so sweet.

“Thank you, Stevie. That feels really nice. Maybe you should be a nurse.”

“If nursing equipment was a cooler, maybe,” he chuckles. “That feel better?”

“Mhm. Much.” You’re feeling plenty awake now. Plenty alive. “You know what would feel even better, though?”

“Tell me.”

“A swim.”

Then, you’re pushing yourself up from the ground, sand sticking to your palms, and running towards the water. Tossing the can aside, Steve’s quick to

follow, chasing your laugh, grains kicked up behind his heels.

You’re waist deep in the water by the time he catches up, water shifting around him, warmed by sun rays and refreshing all at once. You twist around to face him, walking yourself backwards into the water slowly, Steve following you the way he seems to do.

He thinks he might go anywhere if you were leading the way.

Eventually, you stop, the water up to your chest now. Steve stands close, within reach, waves licking at his skin. You tilt your head at him, “hi.”

“Hi.” Steve runs his fingertips across the water, but his eyes are on you, how the sun is a halo of light behind you.

“Next on my tour: the ocean,” you hold your arms out, like you’re introducing the water to him. “What do you think?”

“Beats the lake back in Hawkins by a long shot.” Lover’s Lake is fun, but it’s nothing special. Mucky waters and grass rather than sand. But this, here, it feels special. “It’s great.”

“Yay! So, since it’s great, you won’t mind if I do this?”

You’re pushing water at him before he can respond, splashing him and giggling when he faces you, jaw dropped.

“You did not.”

“Figured you wouldn’t mind, since the water’s so nice and everything.” You shrug, “sooo much better than at home-”

You’re cut off by Steve’s retaliation. He’s gentler than you were with it, but you’re sprayed with water all the same and you can’t help but laugh a little.

“Oh, you’re on, Stevie.”

And then, you’re splashing him, and trying to swim away, and he’s chasing you and splashing you back, a mess of laughs and taunts, a play fight that’s free and fun and you don’t remember the last time you’ve felt this way.

It’s not long before Steve catches you, though, long limbs pushing him through the waves until his arms are wrapping themselves around your waist to tug you back to him.

“Gotcha,” he says, his head bent to speak into your ear.

You’re not laughing anymore, your heartbeat picking up in your chest, Steve’s arms seeping warmth into your skin and your stomach. You spin in his grip to face him, but his arms don’t move. “How’re you so fast?”

“I was co-captain of the swim team. We even won trophies and shit.”

“That was an unfair advantage.”

Steve’s hands spread wide, palms on your waist, thumbs dragging over the skin above your bikini bottoms. He sees the way your chest moves with your breaths, quickened and heavy. He’s not playing anymore. Not since he’d gotten the feeling of your skin beneath his hands.

“So, what do I win?”

“A free tour guide?”

“I already have that, honey.”

It’s hit you how close he’s gotten, his nose so close to brushing against yours. It’s like it’d been at the lighthouse, a shift, breaths mingling between your faces, a pull.

“Okay,” you say. You’re not sure if you’d been responding to what he’d said or if you’re answering a question he hasn’t asked out loud.

His eyes search yours, and when you lift your chin for him, he can’t help himself. Steve kisses you for the second time, his fingers digging little indents into your skin, like he’s afraid you’ll pull away.

You don’t think you could even if you wanted to. Instead, your hands find his shoulders, and Steve groans so softly into your mouth. Just from your hands on him.

It grows quicker, a little more heated, your mouths moving, heads tilting, and somehow you end up with your legs around Steve’s waist, one of his arms holding you to him, the opposite hand splayed between your shoulder blades.

The current seems to move with you both, waves hitting your shoulders, dancing around you. They push your bodies closer.

Steve can’t believe he’s kissing you again, he can’t believe he’s got you wrapped around him and your lips on his and that it’s real. That it feels so much like a wave rolling over and crashing, breaking something down, creating room for something more.

He forgets that you’re in public, that there are people around—though, not too many, thanks to the spot you’d chosen—and that time doesn’t simply stop when he kisses you. Because it sort of feels like it does.

The world goes quiet, and all he feels is you, you, you.

This time, when you pull away, after however long has passed, your hands slide from his shoulders down to his arms. You smile at him, almost bashful in a way, a tease still lingering behind it, “was that an okay prize?”

Steve’s got no idea how he’ll go back to Hawkins after this.

It’s been hours since Steve got back to the condo, and he hasn’t been able to stop thinking about you. You’d stayed on the beach until the sun set, and Steve walked you home, and he held your hand just like he did after the lighthouse.

And again, he finds himself reaching for the phone and dialing Robin’s number.

“Robin speaking,” her voice sounds after a couple rings.

“Hey, it’s Steve.”

“Steven! Hi! How’s it going over in beach land?”

He doesn’t even bother with the use of ‘Steven,’ because he’s just relieved to hear her voice, to know that he’ll always have her, to talk to his best friend.

“Yeah, it’s good.” He leans his shoulder against the wall, his free hand scratching lightly at his arm. “Really good. How are you?”

“You worried about me?”

“Rob.” I always worry, is what he means to say. Of course, Robin knows him well enough to know exactly what he means without having to say it.

“I’m good, Steve. Seriously! Except Keith keeps calling me to pick up shifts at Family Video and I don’t even work there anymore!” She huffs, and Steve laughs. “Don’t giggle, dingus. This is a serious problem.”

“Don’t worry, he’ll get bored eventually,” he says. “Why do you think Keith has had like five jobs in the last three years?”

“Whatever. Tell me about what you’ve been up to. Oh! How’s the girl?”

If she were here right now, Steve thinks Robin would be shaking his shoulders, demanding every detail. He’d held off on talking about you fully last time, but now, he needs advice and though Robin technically doesn’t have any experience to help him, she’s the only one he wants to tell right now.

“She’s incredible, Rob. I really like her, think you would, too.”

“Mhm, what happened to ‘it’s just friendly,’ huh?”

“We kissed. Twice, actually.”

“What! Steven, you can’t just drop that on me. What happened? Oh my gosh, is she your girlfriend?”

“Slow down. I’ve only known her for a couple of weeks, okay?” Robin makes a noise on the other end, and Steve can practically see the face she’s making. Something that says ‘whatever.’ “You know the last time I called you? We actually kissed that day, at the lighthouse.”

She gasps, “and you’re only telling me now?”

“Yeah, sorry.”

“Ugh, just keep talking.”

He shakes his head. Steve doesn’t really know how to put everything into words. How he feels, the way things happened. He tries anyway.

“Then today. We hung out at the beach, and we went for a swim, and we were playing around and then we were kissing. I don’t know. I like her a lot and I’m not really sure what to do. Or how she feels.”

“Okay. Okay, tell me about her. About the beach, too.”

“She’s really nice. Like, she says ‘hi’ to everyone when we go places, and she’s been showing me around after she works all morning.” Steve doesn’t realize that there’s a smile spreading over his face the more he talks about you. “It’s just so easy with her. It feels like I’ve known her for years with how we talk and everything. I don’t know. It sounds stupid.”

“It doesn’t sound stupid, Steve,” Robin’s voice is a little softer, like she wants him to know she means that. “And the beach?”

“It’s so great here. I like the atmosphere, the smell of the ocean in the air all the time and the people and even the condo is nice.”

“Can I say something that might scare you?”

“You’ll say it anyways, won’t you?”

“I will. Here it is: you sound really happy there, Steve. Like, happier than I’ve seen you in a long time.”

His stomach twists, almost guilty that he could be so happy someplace where he’d started fresh. Like he’s betraying Hawkins and all of the good that he’d found there, even when so much was bad.

“I really miss you, Rob. I miss everyone.”

“I miss you, too, but that doesn’t mean you can’t be happier where you are.”

Her words sort of punch him in the chest, air sucked from his lungs, his heart feeling heavy in his chest. Because when he thinks about it, like really thinks about it, Steve is happy here. Happy is a big thing.

“When did you become so wise, Buckley?”

“I’ve always been wise, Harrington.”

His head falls against the wall with a small thump, his thoughts weighing him down a little. Steve really likes it here, and he really likes you, and he misses his best friend. He’s not sure where to go from here.

“What am I gonna do?” Steve’s quiet, but Robin hears him.

“You’re gonna do what’ll make you happy, Steve. For once in your life, be selfish, do something for yourself, not anyone else.” Robin knows Steve better than anybody knows him, and she knows why this is hard for him. “You know I’ll always be here. It doesn’t matter where you are. Besides, True Beach isn’t so far. I’ll visit and annoy the shit out of you. Plus, I need to meet this girl. She’s clearly a good one, if she’s got you like this.”

Because she knows him the best, Robin already knows that what he should do is stay. Stay where he sounds happier than ever, unrestrained in a way he never could be in Hawkins. Stay with you, who’s brought it out of him.

“Love you, Rob.”

“I know. Love you, too, dingus.”

Steve’s eyes are stinging, though he’s not really sure why. Maybe he’s overwhelmed with how quickly things can change, sad that this feels a little bit like a goodbye even though he knows it isn’t, maybe even relieved that Robin’s supportive of him no matter what. Maybe it’s everything all at once.

“What about the presents I got you?” He asks.

“Well, Steven, there’s this thing called postal service, where you can put things in the mail.”

Steve laughs welty, eyes misty, grateful for how easily Robin manages to brighten the mood. For the rest of the conversation, he feels a little lighter.

Now he’s just got to tell you how he feels.

It’s crazy how people can take root into your life, plant themselves there and grow like ivy spreading wide over a house until there’s more green than brick.

Steve Harrington proved that when he’d shown up in True Beach mere weeks ago and dug a spot for himself in your life, in your heart. He came barreling in, a stream of sunlight sneaking through a gap in curtains, and you’ve chased the warmth, basked in it as much as you could.

In so little time, Steve’s become one of your absolute favorite people in the world. A stranger to a friend to something toeing the line of so much more. You’ve kissed twice, and it’s been enough to tell you that your feelings are undeniable. They’ve taken root just as he has, buried deep.

With those feelings, though, has come the painful realization that he’s leaving soon.

Last night, after your kiss, you hadn’t been thinking about what would happen next or what it could mean. No, you were blinded by the day of sunlight that is Steve. You’d forgotten that sooner or later, the sun has to set.

Now, it’s your day off and instead of sleeping in, you’ve found yourself overthinking at the lighthouse.

You’re worried about what will happen when Steve goes home, whether you’ll keep in touch, whether he’ll forget about you, if he’ll ever come back. On top of that, you’re worried about your feelings, how strong they’ve grown in a short time, if he, by any chance, feels the same.

Sat on the balcony, chin resting on your bent knees, staring out at the morning sky, all you do is think.

Steve’s conversation with Robin last night was the push that he needed, the reassurance that he can do this and have everything be okay, that he’s allowed to make this decision for himself. That doesn’t make it any less scary, though.

He decides that he has to tell you as soon as he can, while he’s got the momentum to do it.

It’s still early when he heads to the cafe in hopes of finding you, and while the place is open, there’s nobody inside when he walks in. Well, nobody except Macy.

“Hi there, Steve,” she says, a gentle smile on her face.

“Hi, Macy,” Steve then says your name, and Macy’s smile shifts to knowing and fond. “Is she here?”

“She’s not in today, dear. But I have a good idea of where you’ll find her if she isn’t home.”

“I do, too.” The lighthouse. “Thanks, Macy.”

“And Steve?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m happy for you two.”

Macy speaks like she already knows how this will turn out. For the sake of optimism, Steve chooses to nod in thanks and head out. Macy seems like someone who’s right more often than wrong, and he hopes that it works for him this time.

He heads to the lighthouse right away, because he remembers what you’d said about being up there, how it helped you put things into perspective. Plus, he’s got a feeling. That pull to you guiding him.

While Steve feels good about his decision, hopeful, even, he’s still afraid. You might think this is all too soon, too fast. Worse, you might not even feel the same at all. But then, what if the worst doesn’t happen? What if you want him, too?

Those what ifs are enough to take the chance, he thinks.

Steve finds you at the top of the lighthouse, chin propped on your knees, arms wrapped around your bent legs. “Hey, honey. Want some company?”

You lift your head at the sound of his voice, turning to find him standing in the doorway to the balcony with his hands tucked into his pockets, his hair messy from the wind, eyes still a little puffy from sleep. He really is pretty, and you wouldn’t dream of denying his company. Not even when he’s part of your worries.

“Hi, Steve. Yeah, sure.”

He takes the few steps over to you, crouching to sit next to you, his shoulder touching yours.

“I went to the cafe to find you,” he says.

“Really?”

“Yeah. Then, you weren’t there, so I figured this would be a good place to look.” He nudges you lightly, “and I found you.”

“You did.”

“I wanted to tell you something, if that’s okay?”

If that’s okay, like you’d ever deny him.

“‘Course it is.”

“Okay,” he takes a big breath, because Steve knows there’s no going back after this. He’ll say it and he won’t take it back. “I really fucking like you. I thought we could be friends after we kissed the first time, like a blip, you know? And if you just wanna be friends, that’s okay. I want you in my life, however that looks. But I’d like you to be more than that ‘cause I have pretty big feelings for you.”

Your chest rises and falls quicker, his words making your heart pump faster, because he wants what you want and he’s telling that to you and it feels so good. Too good.

“Really?”

You turn your head towards him, finding him already facing you, your eyes locking like magnets. He’s smiling so softly at you, nerves and sincerity, patience and fondness. You want to kiss him all over again.

“Cross my heart, honey.”

“I really fucking like you, too, Stevie.”

And just like that Steve knows this was the right call, that you’re the right call, because there’s a sweet, closed-mouthed smile on your face that he put there and it’s all he could ever ask for.

He dips forward to kiss you, once, twice, three times. Small pecks before pulling back.

“What’s gonna happen when you leave?” You ask, worrying out loud, eyes searching his.

“About that,” Steve reaches for your hand, weaving your fingers together and giving it a squeeze. “I love it here. A lot. I feel like I could really belong here, and I have this pretty tour guide to thank for that… Um, I was thinking I’d extend my stay.”

You squeeze his hand back, fluttering in your stomach at the relief of him wanting to stay, at the thought that you’d had a part in that.

You think he could really belong here, too. He’s meant for summer and sand and the sun. Meant for lighthouse sunsets and every season by the ocean. He’s summer in a boy.

“Yeah? For how long?”

“However long you’ll have me.”

Steve wonders if now’s a good time to tell you that he’s fallen in love with more than just True Beach.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞

thank u so so much for reading!!! if u enjoyed, please consider leaving a comment/reblog and letting me know what you thought! it helps and means so much <3

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thefrogdalorian · 1 year ago

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hi spud! i remembered u did requests & was wondering if maybe u could do like a first kiss scenario w din? 🥺 something soft & yearn-y? aha. no worries if u can't but thanks anyways. 🩷

Hello Senna! Thank you so much for your request! Thinking about a first kiss with Din really inspired me (how does he hide his face from you and still kiss you? What leads up to the moment?? so many questions!!) and this was the result. There is plenty of yearning and some softness sprinkled in but a little angst too (very happy ending though aghhhdkgj). Thanks again and really hope you like it!! 🤍

A New Dawn

Din Djarin x GN!Reader

Word Count: 5107

Rating: General

Summary: Travelling through the galaxy with a mysterious nameless and faceless Mandalorian with a reputation as the best bounty hunter in the parsec would probably terrify most people. Instead, over the months you have known Mando, you have discovered his gentler, more affectionate side. Living in such proximity to the man you have an enormous crush on threatens to suffocate you as you determine that he must never find out. But after a job seemingly goes badly wrong on a forest planet, the fear of losing him will perhaps finally be the tipping point for a new dawn in your relationship...

Content Warnings: Kissing, bit of angst when there's brief panic for Din/reader's safety (happy ending though!), allusions to violence (canon-typical, nothing descriptive/graphic).

✯ My Masterlist ✯ Read on AO3 ✯

Upon that fateful day on which you had entered an agreement with a bounty hunter, you had been under no illusions that there would be much unpredictability given his line of work. That there would be periods of isolation when he left you behind in his ship while he went in search of his latest bounty. You could be alone on that ship for weeks; well, save for the big-eared, bug-eyed green baby, whose care you had been entrusted with, by the mysterious man who was your employer. When agreeing to travel with The Mandalorian, you had expected the randomness of the path that you cut through the galaxy, journeying from planet to planet depending on his latest jobs. The anguish that came with wondering where he was and whether the jobs were going well as you sat in the Razor Crest and cared for his child. Despite how much it had bothered you at first, you had gradually become used to such emotions. You expected them.

What you had never expected was the fondness you had developed for the man.

The first few times that Mando had headed off the ship for a job, you had been almost nonchalant about his absence, barely noticing the passage of time. You passed your days playing with The Child when you were not fast asleep in your bunk. But slowly and surely, he had begun to mean something more to you. You noticed it in his absence most of all. The ship felt empty without his deep voice and you missed his calm, reassuring presence.

It was strange really, considering that you had never laid eyes upon him. In fact, you had rarely seen him dressed in anything less than his full armour, complete with all the weapons he attached to himself almost ritualistically, without fail, every single day. Even if you were merely hurtling through hyperspace, he was still armed to the teeth. Mando had explained that weapons were part of his religion and his armour was like a second skin to him. You were curious, but not judgmental, about his way of life. It was vastly different to your own and entirely contradictory to anything you had ever heard about Mandalorians before. Even the scant information you had overheard about the formidable warriors in the miserable Cantina where you had once been employed had never included anything about Mandalorians being forbidden from removing their helmets in the presence of others.

Mando had made it abundantly clear, before you ever stepped foot aboard the Razor Crest, that wearing his helmet was a definitive boundary, never to be questioned or pushed. It was his ultimate line in the sand that you were never to cross. You were respectful of his Creed, asking questions with a curious rather than invasive intention which he seemed to appreciate. In fact, rather than driving a wedge between you, his Way had provoked many thoughtful conversations between the two of you.

There were nights you would sit in the cockpit as the brilliant blue trails of hyperspace surrounded you, bonding over your similar pasts. Sometimes, you would wake up in the bunk underneath the tiny hammock that belonged to The Child with no memory of clambering in the previous night. He never admitted it, but you were almost certain that Mando had carried you there himself, putting his impressive physique to use for something other than hauling bounties back to the Razor Crest.

Amongst it all, you had learned his habits and quirks. You learned the way he liked his caf in the morning. How meticulous he was with polishing his armour until it gleamed so brightly, even in the dark of hyperspace, that you could see every detail of your reflection, right down to your pores. You discovered that he cleaned his weapons, taking them apart and checking every inch of them when he was particularly stressed or his bounties were not as straightforward as he had hoped.

Most of all, you discovered how incredibly kind and caring the man beneath the hard, intimidating armour truly was.

Although he had weapons strapped to every inch of his body, Mando could be impossibly gentle. You had witnessed evidence of his ruthless efficiency when he returned to the ship laden with several bounties. Sometimes alive, sometimes dead, though he usually prevented you from seeing the more grisly sights. Yet the man you saw most often of all, moving around the Razor Crest with you as you hurtled around the galaxy, amongst the stars was different to reconcile with the violent nature of his profession.

It was difficult to believe that the hands that had earned him the reputation as the most formidable bounty hunter in the parsec due to their proficiency in neutralising even elusive targets were the very same hands that were impossibly gentle when placing The Child in his hammock. The same hands that had extinguished countless lives had been used to rock the little one after he awoke from the nightmares that frequently plagued him. Nightmares that plagued Mando, too. But you had never been bold enough to bring up the tossing and turning you had heard from his bunk pretty much every night since you had started travelling with him. Despite the relatively personal conversations and information you had gleaned from him, it still felt a step too far. You didn’t want to cause him to shut down by prying, especially not after he had seemed to become genuinely comfortable in your presence and show you the gentler side of his nature.

You felt so privileged to see such a side to him. It was a side that you had never expected to witness. After all, you had been utterly terrified the first time you encountered him, when he strutted into the run-down Cantina you worked in. He was impossible not to stare at, clad in that unpainted armour that glinted when the light hit it in just the right spot. You had never seen a Mandalorian in the flesh before, but you had heard plenty of legends about them. Mandalorians were famed across the galaxy for their ruthless, lethal accuracy and formidable fighting skills.

That feeling of gratitude had soon developed into something else, though. A feeling that you would class as affection, albeit affection that was veering dangerously close into the territory of a four-letter word that your mind could not even contemplate. A feeling that would be all too dangerous to harbour for a man who you still felt you knew so little about.

You were certain that your feelings for Mando were doing untold damage to your health. Living in such proximity to a man you harboured a devastatingly intense crush towards would one day succeed in suffocating you. Your chest ached whenever he was near, knowing that there was no possibility he could ever reciprocate your feelings. You knew that your love would remain unrequited. Above all, you knew that he must never, ever discover the depths of your affection towards him.

There were more than a few times you had dissolved into tears during a few moments of solitude in the ‘fresher; your salty tears mixing with the hot jets of water from the Razor Crest’s shower. One particular occasion, when your feelings had left you particularly devastated, was the evening when Mando had returned from his latest job, during which he had to terminate the asset after one escape attempt too many. The asset’s termination would result in a lower fee and you knew that was partially the reason for Mando’s frustration. Yet, despite his reputation, you also knew that he did not relish killing bounties, much preferring to lure them back to the ship and freeze them in carbonite. In everything you knew about him, it appeared that Mando did not get a particular thrill from killing people that he, personally, had no qualms with. Although you knew that if anyone ever threatened even one white hair on the wrinkled little head of The Child, Mando would not hesitate to cut them down where they stood.

That evening, The Mandalorian’s exasperation had been evident from the second he had returned to the Razor Crest, ordering you and The Child to hide in the cockpit while he stored the remains so you would not have to witness such a gruesome sight. You knew immediately that the job had not been easy and your heart ached for him. When Mando had given you the all-clear, you had descended the ladder down to the main hull of the ship with shaky hands and legs. Your trembling limbs did not come from the fact you were descending the rungs one-handed and carefully cradling The Child in your other arm, you were well used to that. No, you were dreading seeing Mando so frustrated… because of the way it made you feel. Seeing him so wound up, knowing that you were the one to put his pieces back together in your own subtle way thrilled you. It was a dangerous prospect.

“I take it the job wasn’t successful?” You questioned, tone neutral. You attempted to appear as nonchalant as possible as you handed The Child to him. You hoped that taking the little one in his arms would go some way to calming him down.

“No,” Mando responded, definitively. His tone of voice made it abundantly clear that he did not want to discuss the matter further with you.

“Perhaps I could put The Child to bed, while you take a shower?” You offered, wanting to do anything to soothe his frayed nerves.

Mando shook his head.

“I’ll do it, thanks,” he added gruffly.

You nodded before turning your back and climbing the ladder back up to the cockpit to give them their space. There was hardly any privacy in a ship so compact. Sometimes it could feel slightly claustrophobic aboard the Razor Crest, but you and Mando had worked a pretty good system out by now so you did not feel as though you were constantly on top of each other. You learned that he was a surprisingly patient man and did not express his anger in the way one might have expected from one capable of so much violence.

It was no surprise when you descended the rungs a while later to find him standing in front of the weapons cabinet, broad shoulders tensed as he examined his impressively-stocked armoury. You didn’t say a word, wondering whether he was about to tell you to return to the cockpit and leave him alone. Though you hoped that he would interpret your presence as a comforting one, not an invasive one.

“Could you pass me the cleaning cloth, please?” Mando asked.

“Of course,” you replied, opening the crate where he kept his cleaning equipment. You selected the cloth that you knew he favoured and handed it to him, the corners of your lips curving upwards in a slight, shy smile.

“Thank you,” Mando said appreciatively as his gloved hand rested on your upper arm and squeezed it gently. You sensed that he was thanking you for much more than passing him the cloth. Something about his touch and the way he said it had sickened you to your core.

“I‘m gonna take a shower,” was all you managed to say, before you turned away from him.

You had practically sprinted to the ‘fresher then, needing privacy more than anything as you crumbled. As tears streamed down your cheeks, you tortured yourself over and over asking the same question:

How could a man capable of such violence be so gentle with you?

Your soul was truly tortured by the feelings that you held for this man.

It was that moment you thought of now. A moment amongst many others, as you sat and waited for Mando to return from his latest assignment. You were accustomed to days turning to weeks and weeks even turning to months on the rare occasion. It was a solitary experience, just you and The Child in the Razor Crest. You would not see another life form for weeks. Nor would you speak to anyone other than The Child. You weren't always certain whether he understood you. Mando always left a comlink with you, but it was reachable only by him. It was strictly for emergencies. In all the months that you had travelled with him, it had never once sounded when he was off on a mission. It had led you to wonder whether it even worked at all.

Occasionally, Mando would permit you to leave the ship but on particularly hostile planets, you were confined to the silver hull of his home, with just your ration packs and the mysterious green child for company.

This particular planet was one of such peril. Thus, Mando had forbidden you from leaving the ship. Although you always respected his demands, for The Child’s as much as your own sake, you adored the little guy, the loneliness was beginning to eat into your gut and make you feel grouchy after such a long period of isolation. Mando had told you that he expected the job to last no more than three days, but it was ten since he had crept out in the dead of night, armed to the teeth in pursuit of a crime lord who had made one enemy too many.

As you lay back on the bunk, thinking of the man who had unexpectedly left such a deep impression on your heart, The Child began mewling. You instantly sat up, sighing softly as you reached into his hammock and stroked the end of one of his large green ears between your thumb and forefinger.

“What’s up, buddy?” You questioned, rocking him gently and hoping that you had prevented him from dissolving into gut-wrenching sobs.

The Child just gazed at you with his big brown eyes, expression unreadable.

“Do you want something to eat?” You asked, often knowing that the way to soothe his heart was through his stomach.

The Child finally gave some indication of what was wrong with a small nod and you opened the door to the bunk and made your way towards the fortunately still well-stocked cupboards. Fortunately, Mando was fastidious in always ensuring there was enough food for the two of you. You appreciated that all the more as you gave The Child a bar which he wolfed down in only a couple of bites, despite his tiny frame. He had been fed barely an hour ago, but the little guy had a voracious appetite.

With a newly full stomach, you hoped that the little womp rat would finally get some sleep when you returned him to his hammock. Yet, as you lay back on your own bunk, you found that you could not settle.

Time became an illusion after so many days cooped up in the Razor Crest and despite the late hour, according to your chrono, you found that you were wide awake. There was nothing to do except pace around the Crest.

You must have paced around the Crest enough times to cover the circumference of the planet when you were finally on when a sound caused you to stop in your tracks. It sounded like a faint crackle from where your comlink rested on some crates, forgotten and discarded. Until now. You barely had time to react before it chirped into life, with the sound of a familiar deep voice crackling slightly suddenly blaring from it.

Mando was calling your name.

You darted across the hull and scooped up the comlink from its position on top of the very crate from which you had fished out cleaning supplies. You were startled by the fact that Mando was actually using it.

“It’s Mando,” he panted, tone desperate. “Listen, things aren’t looking good. If I’m not back by sunrise, take The Child and run. Promise me, you’ll get out of there. Promise m–”

Before Mando could finish and much less, could you even respond, the line went dead.

You stood there, startled by the turn of events. Your mind racing with thoughts. Where would you go? Which supplies should you pack? How far away was sunrise from now? Could you even use a blaster to shoot an enemy down, if needed? What were you going to do without Mando? How would you take care of The Child alone?

You wanted to sink to your knees, shout and scream. That was not an option. You knew that you had to keep going. Mando had wanted you to vow to him, which you would have done in a heartbeat had the line not first been cruelly cut. Even if he could not hear you, you still wanted to pledge your word to him.

“I promise I’ll protect The Child, Mando,” you whispered, clutching the comlink to your chest as tears streamed down your cheeks silently and the realisation that you could find yourself alone in the galaxy once more dawned upon you.

You spent the next couple of hours packing and then repacking as many bags as you could manage to carry and pathetically practising gripping a blaster. Mando had demonstrated once or twice, in case you ever found yourself in a bind. You were certainly in one now, but the adrenaline coursing through your body made it near impossible to remember such careful, deliberate instructions. You contemplated the fact that he had chosen you for a reason, to care for The Child. Whatever such a reason was, it seemed futile now. You were in no fit state to care for anyone.

The guilt threatened to overwhelm you as you spent a few precious minutes watching The Child sleep, blissfully unaware of the anguished state his caregiver was currently in. Your heart ached for him. The bond he shared with Mando was something beyond words and you knew he would be devastated. How could you manage to take care of a distraught child and keep him safe from the same evil forces that had taken his father?

You checked your chrono, heart sinking as you realised how close sunrise now was. Your heart thundered in your ears as you ascended the ladder for what was almost certainly the last time, your head peeking over the floor of the cockpit as you saw the pitch blackness of night gradually giving way to the lighter shade of blue that indicated that sunrise was imminent. As soon as the sky was flecked with oranges and pinks, you knew you had to obey Mando’s command and leave.

You imagined him, frightened and injured, stumbling his way through the thick trees you could just about see from the cockpit, desperately fighting to return to you. You willed him on, hoping against all odds that he would make it back to you, safe and sound. You would berate him for putting himself into such a dangerous position. Then, you would piece him back together and prepare him to do it all over again. You were hopelessly devoted to him. Now, such devotion had placed you in this position. Alone, once again.

Alas, despite a valiant effort, Mando's return was not to be. He had tried his best, but it was not good enough. When the sky blazed brilliant bronze, you knew it was time to go.

You descended the rungs for the last time, bidding a silent farewell to the ship where you had found so much happiness with such an unlikely companion and his even unlikelier son. You felt a lump in your throat, your eyes filling with tears as the finality of the moment dawned on you. Then, you exhaled and pushed your shoulders back, imagining yourself wearing armour like Mando. You had to do it, for him. You had to grant his dying wish. You had to be brave for The Child.

You were only two paces from the bunk when you heard it. The unmistakable whirring of the Razor Crest’s door opening. It was a sound that usually signified Mando's return. This time, though, it signified your imminent demise.

You were frozen to the spot, then. You were certain that the forces that had gotten to Mando were now here to finish you and The Child off, too. You contemplated reaching for the blaster that was in the bags just a few steps away, but you knew it was futile, given your inexperience. The forces that had murdered your Mandalorian would make short work of someone as inept as you. The best you could do was give yourself up, so that The Child may live. Hopefully, he would be undetected in his bunk, sleeping soundly despite the bloodshed just a few paces away.

You shut your eyes and thought of Mando, wondering if you were about to join him. You braced yourself for a blaster shot that never came. For it was not the alien sounds of a mysterious, threatening entity that your ears detected emanating approaching your position. No, it was not that at all.

Instead, you stood there, aghast as the familiar heavy, even thuds and slight clinking of armour echoed with every step up the ramp of the Razor Crest. The reassuring sound finally reached through your frayed nerves and your eyes flew open as you spun around in disbelief. This was not the end. There was no threat. Instead, there was an instantly familiar sound, one that you had feared you would never hear again. The noise signalled to you that somehow, against all odds, he had returned to you.

“Mando?” You questioned, momentarily terrified that an enemy holding a blaster would appear into view behind him.

“Sorry about that,” Mando huffed and you realised that particular fear was unfounded. “Job got a bit messier than I anticipated.”

The only indication of the gravity of his situation that had necessitated his desperate message was the evidence of numerous blaster shots that his armour had clearly taken, given the black marks on its otherwise pristine surface. The corners of your lips curled up in a knowing smirk. You knew he would spend most of your journey to the next planet cleaning every single plate with painstaking attention to detail.

“But th-the you used the comlink?” You stuttered, aghast at his sudden appearance in the Razor Crest.

“I did,” he confirmed. “And were you about to leave?” Mando asked as he entered the ship and approached you. You were unable to reply with words, suddenly feeling incredibly choked up. You nodded and gestured towards the bags you had hurriedly packed.

“Good,” Mando nodded approvingly.

��I thought you were…” you shook your head, unable to finish that sentence and vocalise the dark places your mind had travelled.

“Dead.” Mando finished for you.

You nodded again. You would almost be amused by his familiar bluntness were you not still so shocked by his presence.

“I had sharper reflexes,” he shrugged cockily, a simple explanation for events that you were sure were far more complex than he was letting on.

“I thought I was alone. I thought I… I thought I’d have to leave here and never see you again,” you stammered, voice cracking at the thought. “Did you at least complete the job?”

“Yes,” Mando nodded. “Proof of termination was sufficient and I acquired it,” he explained, deep voice slightly hoarse thanks to the force that he had undoubtedly exerted in completing such a perilous job.

“I don’t know if I want to kill you, or kiss you right now,” you sighed, shaking your head in disbelief at his accomplishment. Then, the realisation that you had finally given voice to your most intimate thoughts dawned on you. You clapped your hand over your mouth, eyes widening in horror. You were utterly mortified.

Mando was unmoving, which only added to your panic. You noticed the way his hands clenched into fists briefly and he sighed deeply. Then he tilted his head slightly and unclenched his fists.

“Close your eyes,” Mando commanded.

Although his voice was quiet, something about the way he said it struck fear into your heart. There was a darkness to his voice, to his tone that terrified you. You were certain that he was going to punish you for such a remark. You had always been slightly afraid of him despite the gentleness he had shown you. Now, it appeared that those lingering fears were well-founded. He was probably disgusted by you. He had taken you in when you were at your lowest, given you a job, a bunk and a purpose.

Yet, he had unknowingly given you so much more than that. It didn’t matter anymore, though. Especially not now that you had let your feelings get the better of you. You were convinced that he was going to kick you out, convinced that there was absolutely no possibility that he reciprocated your feelings for him. Mando hated you. You were certain of that.

“Mando, I’m sorry. I didn’t mea–” you stammered, eyes still widened in horror.

The presence of soft leather against your skin abruptly cut your frantic apologies off, mid-utterance. His glove was warm across your forehead, nose and cheeks as his hand dwarfed your features. The loss of vision that came with his gloved hand covering your eyes stopped all coherent thoughts in your brain. The hiss of his helmet depressurising, a sound you had previously heard only through the door of the ‘fresher, made your heart quicken until it was beating with alarming speed. Then, the feeling of his soft lips moving gently against yours caused it to stop completely.

You were struck by two things. Firstly, the fact that the man you had been certain was dead, was not only very much alive but was presently moving his lips against yours. Secondly, underneath his helmet, Mando apparently kept a moustache. You could feel the bristles of his facial hair tickling slightly as his lips claimed yours in a tender kiss.

You were certain that your heart was going to give out if your knees did not first, momentarily fearful that you would send the pair of you crashing in a tangle of limbs to the hard, metallic surface of the Razor Crest’s floor with a thud. Fortunately, you happened to be kissing the most formidable bounty hunter in the parsec, who soon wrapped his spare arm around your waist and demonstrated, in the way that he held you, all the strength and certainty that had gained him such a reputation. You smirked against his lips as the hand that was not currently covering your eyes trailed up your back, travelling across your body over the coat that you had pulled on in preparation for your imminent departure from the Razor Crest.

The movement of your lips together was electrifying. It confirmed that the connection you were certain had been building between the two of you was real. It felt so natural, as though you had always been destined to be pulled into each other’s orbits in this way. You felt chills traverse your skin as your brain perceived the scent of his glove, given its proximity to your nose. At once, you could smell the story of his perilous brush with death. There was the distinctive smoky scent of explosions, the sharp metallic smell from his ever-steady grip on his blaster, the earthy undertones – no doubt thanks to days of traipsing through undergrowth, – the musky smell that was unmistakably masculine, unmistakably him and finally, the faint hints of leather. As you registered each scent, you were reminded, once again, of the lethality this man was capable of. A man who was currently kissing you with such fondness and affection.

When your lungs started to burn – from the exhilaration or oxygen deprivation, you weren’t sure – Mando finally pulled away, leaving you breathless and dizzy from the events which had just transpired between the two of you. You smiled and bit your lip in glee, as the realisation of the monumental shift in your relationship that had just occurred hit you. You hoped it had not been a one-off, a fleeting moment of carelessness on his part that he would come to regret.

“You couldn’t kill me anyway,” Mando whispered, his breath hot against the shell of your ear. You were stunned. Clearly, that was not the case. This had been a deliberate, measured action on his part.

Then, the tell-tale hissing sound indicated that Mando had replaced his helmet. You couldn’t help the fact that your heart dropped a little at the sound. After all, despite how much you respected his devotion to The Way, there was always a simmering curiosity about his appearance. Especially having just kissed him. You could still feel the slight scratchiness that lingered on your skin from the bristles of his facial hair, a ghost of the kiss you had just shared; a reminder that it had happened.

Mando removed his hand from your eyes and you mourned the loss of contact, having relished the way that his hand had engulfed your face with its enormous size as it drowned your features. He always seemed to be everywhere, a looming presence over you.

“Mando, I –” you began, but he raised the same gloved hand that had just rested against your forehead, cutting you off once again.

“My name is Din,” he said quietly before he lowered his hand again.

“Oh,” you breathed, stunned that he had entrusted you with such a precious piece of information.

Although, given the fact that he had just kissed you, perhaps it was a logical step. Nevertheless, you appreciated the fact that you finally had a name to put to the deep voice you adored. Din, not Mando, was the man who had just stolen all rational thought from your mind with the gentle touch of his lips.

You smiled then, the first genuine smile that had graced your features since Din had left the Razor Crest ten days previously. Only a few minutes ago, you had feared that he would never return. Now, just when you had been certain your life with him was over, it appeared that it was just beginning.

As the sun rose over the Razor Crest, still surrounded by the trees of the forest planet you had been certain would be the location of an ending, it was clear that a new dawn was here for you and Din. A beginning was upon you, the start of something beautiful.

It was the first kiss you had shared with Din. But you were certain that it would not be your last.

#din djarin fic #din djarin fanfiction #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #the mandalorian x reader #mando x reader #mando x you #pedro pascal characters #my fics #inbox #request #suresnips

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ticklishshenanigansau · 8 months ago

Text

LaughterLand - Chapter 4: Plants

(story by Mod Secret, art by Mod Secret)

It was completely identical to the vine Papyrus had been looking at earlier. A light pastel green color with a feather-like tip, and sprouting several more smaller leaves that also resembled feathers. What Papyrus couldn't quite figure out was how it managed to get between his toes. What was even crazier was he swore he could feel it … moving?

"Okay, it's just a plant," Sans breathed out, sounding relieved, obviously grateful that it wasn't one of the Ghost Children come back to surprise them.

"Very strange," Papyrus continued to stare down at the vine as he shook it from his toes.

"What is?" Sans inquired.

"Nothing…," Papyrus replied abruptly. The last thing he wanted Sans to think was that he thought a plant was moving on its own. He shrugged it off, turning back towards his brother.

"I guess I'm still a little shaken u—hahahahaha!" Papyrus's voice raised in volume as he was overcome by giggles again.

"Pap! What are you doing?" Sans harshly whispered, fearing the worst from his brother's loud outburst.

"My-My tohohoes!!" Papyrus could once again feel his toes being tickled, he quickly turned back around to see what was happening.

"S-Sohohomething’s tickling my…." The tickling stopped the moment Papyrus looked down. The lifeless vine was once again weaved between his second and big toes.

"What the...?" Papyrus stared down at the vine, again perplexed. He knew for a fact that he had shaken it out so it wouldn't continue to pester him, and this time he knew for sure that something had been wriggling in between his toes.

"Pap, stop clowning around." Sans half-glared at his brother, clearly not amused by his shenanigans. "Get that thing outta here, we have to be quiet."

"Sans, I'm not doing anything." Papyrus turned back to Sans, trying to sound convincing. "Something was honestly ti—HEEHEEHEEHEE!!"

Papyrus quickly turned back, just in time to see the vine stop wiggling itself and drop to the ground to play dead. Papyrus's eyes widened, not entirely convinced about what he had just seen.

"Sans...?" Papyrus warily called to his brother, not taking his eyes off of the vine.

"Papyrus," Sans groaned, sounding frustrated. "Do you really expect me to believe that that plant just came to life and started tickling your toes?"

While Sans continued to stare out from behind the giant fan leaf, Papyrus could think of only one way to prove to Sans that he wasn't joking. He quickly grabbed ahold of the vine and placed it near his brother's feet. To his amazement, the vine wasted no time slithering towards Sans's toes and weaving its feather-like tip between them.

"Papyrus, we have to stay quiet," Sans continued. "You never know what's gonna—AGH! Ahahaha!!" Sans immediately jerked his foot back and swung himself around. "Whoa! Hold on! What the...?!"

Having gotten both brothers’ attention, the tip of the vine rose up on its own, meeting them both at eye level. It's feather-like tip waved back and forth, almost looking like a puppy wagging its tail. And although neither brother could believe what they were seeing, the two of them swore it was making some kind of animal noise. Sounding almost like a cat's purr.

"Pap...?" Sans sat looking wide-eyed at the sentient plant.

"Yes, Sans?" Papyrus replied, not taking his eyes off of it either.

"You're … seeing what I'm seeing right?" Sans spared a short glance at his brother, just enough to notice him nodding in response.

For a moment the vine did nothing but continue to purr and wave its feather-tip back and forth. Then, very slowly and cautiously, it started slithering towards the skeletons. It seemed to be curious.

"Oh no you don't!" Sans immediately blocked it off from Papyrus by getting in between the two of them. He wasn't about to take any chances with this … whatever it was.

"Sans, what are you doing?" Papyrus asked with a tone of concern.

"Back up, feather-face," Sans demanded. "Believe me, I know enough not to trust plants with a mind of their own."

The vine stopped moving just as Sans intervened. It tilted itself, seemingly to try to look over at Papyrus, before slinking downwards appearing to be sad. It started to turn to slither away, Papyrus couldn't help but feel sorry for it.

"Sans, you hurt its feelings," he berated his brother.

"Papyrus, remember the last time we tried to make 'new friends’?" Sans looked back at him sternly. "Now we've got two bratty Ghost Kids who wanna tickle us to death, and possibly chew on our bones for dessert."

"Well, I suppose...," Papyrus answered, looking back at the drooping plant, still slowly slinking off. "But those were two ghosts, Sans, this one's a plant. How much worse could it be?"

"Bro…," Sans replied with a deadpan expression. "It was literally just after our toes."

"Well … maybe it just needs a friend," Papyrus insisted. "Goodness knows we could certainly use one of those right now." Papyrus suddenly gasped, a brilliant idea popping into his head. "What if this vine could possibly tell us the way to get home?! I'm gonna go ask him!" Papyrus hastily pushed past Sans, despite his brother's best efforts to stop him, and moved towards the vine.

"Pap! No! Wait!"

It was too late. Papyrus followed after the vine, gently tapping it on the head.

"Hold on, just a minute," Papyrus said.

The vine stopped to face Papyrus, curiously rising up even further to make eye contact.

"Please forgive my brother's rudeness, we've had kind of a strange day."

"Pfft! Rudeness…." Sans rolled his eyes, grumbling to himself.

"But please do not despair," Papyrus went on. "We wish to extend our hands in friendship!" Papyrus looked back at Sans, who was stubbornly crossing his arms. "Well … at least I do!" Papyrus held out his hand towards the vine, half-expecting a kind of handshake in return.

The vine tilted its feather-tip to look down at Papyrus's hand, then back up at Papyrus again. It seemed so utterly confused by this gesture at first, but slowly coiled itself around his hand. Papyrus graciously shook his hand up and down, taking the makeshift handshake.

"There! See? Now we're friends!" Papyrus grinned as the vine released his hand to stare at him once more.

"Pretty sure that's not how friendship works, Pap," Sans replied snarkily.

Papyrus turned back to shoot Sans a dirty look but was suddenly distracted by the vine nuzzling into his cheekbone.

"Nyeh-heh-heh!" Papyrus giggled as he nuzzled it back, patting it on the head affectionately. "I don't know Sans, it seems pretty friendly to me!" Papyrus scratched the top of the vine, tickling under its 'chin’, cooing at it as if it were a pet.

"Yes you are! Yes you are such an adorable little creeping plant!"

The vine gave a playful sounding little 'grr' and began brushing its feather tip back and forth against Papyrus's chin, making him giggle.

"Nyeheeheeheehee! Aww! Ahahaha! S-See Sahahans? It's friehehendly! Heeheehee!" Papyrus couldn't help but scrunch up as the vine continued to tease at his chin.

"I think you got the 'creeping' part right," Sans scoffed. He never did like to admit to Papyrus when he was wrong. Especially when he was only trying to look out for him. But looking at Papyrus playing with his new 'friend’, even Sans had to admit that he was glad to see Papyrus finally having some fun in this nightmare world.

"Heeheehee! O-Okahahay, okay!" Papyrus gingerly tried to push the vine away, having had enough of the teasing. "Thahahat's enough. Y-You-hahaha! You can stahahap now! Heeheehee!!" But despite his best efforts, the vine refused to stop tickling. In fact it was moving on from brushing against Papyrus's chin, to brushing along his neck and cheekbones.

Sans could immediately tell that something was up. First by noticing Papyrus starting to struggle with the vines 'playfulness', then by noticing the forest around them starting to shift. Little by little Sans began to notice more and more feather-tipped vines starting to surround them. But that wasn't all, all of a sudden Sans was noticing various other plants and flowerbeds that he knew were not there just a minute ago. Were they all alive? They seemed to be attracted to the sound of Papyrus's laughter, for Sans began to notice that the louder Pap's giggling got, the closer the plant life seemed to creep in.

"Um … Papyrus?" Sans spoke in a low tone, almost afraid to spook the plant life into moving too quickly. "Pap...? We should probably go now."

But Papyrus couldn't hear him, he was still struggling with the feather-vine, trying hard to push it away or block it from going after his neck.

"Aaagh!! Ahahaha!! Nyeheeheehee! A-Alrihihight!" he frantically giggled, finally gripping onto the vine with both hands and holding it away from him.

"Pap...?" Sans started to slowly move towards his brother. Immediately aware that the other plants were starting to slowly follow him, getting uncomfortably close.

"Phew! Oh … no offense … little one…," Papyrus tried to apologize through catching his breath. "I've just … been tickled quite enough … for one day...."

"Papyrus...?"

By the time Papyrus finally noticed Sans, he had finally looked up to realize that almost every flower, feather-vine, and extraordinary-looking manner of plant was staring intensely at the two of them.

"Oh! Um...." Papyrus timidly looked between the multitudes of feather-vines that were looming overhead, and the little one still in his hands. "Does this … nice little one belong to you?" He grinned cheekily.

WHOOSH!

Before the skeletons could even grasp what just hit them, they were grabbed and bound tightly by all of the feather-vines. Each one grabbing onto a limb and a torso.

"Hey! Hey! HEY!" Sans yelled out trying to break free. "Papyrus! PAP?!" He looked around trying to find his brother, horrified to find him being held captive by the strange vines. "Let him go!" Sans instinctively tried to reach for him, but found himself in the exact same position. Arms and legs spread out with no chance of squirming away.

"Pap!" Sans called out. "You speak … weird plant! Tell them to let us go!"

"Oh! Right! Right!" Papyrus, in his panic, had nearly forgotten his friendship with the playful plant. He cleared his throat hoping to communicate clearly with the wild vines.

"Um … greetings … greenery!" he began hesitantly. "We are newcomers in your world, and were hoping that you could point us towards the way home!" The plant life didn't move, seeming to want to hear more before making any sudden decisions.

"Um … n-not that your land isn't … beautiful, of course!" Papyrus stammered, fearing to have offended them somehow. "But, it's really really important that my brother and I find a way to get back to the Underground. So … would you be so kind as to … perhaps … assist us?"

A moment passed … then another … were they thinking about it? Sans was getting more and more anxious waiting for them to respond. Impulsively he started squirming and pulling hard on his feathered restraints.

"Ugh! Come on!" Sans growled. "Make up your minds or let us go already!"

Out of nowhere, Sans suddenly heard Papyrus's high-pitched squeal as he started to squirm himself. "Pap! What's wrong?"

"My-My tohohoes!" Papyrus shrieked. "They're tihihihickling!! Nyeheeheeheehee!! Stahahahap it!! Ahahaha!!"

Sans looked down to see two feather vines wriggling in between both sets of his brother's toes. Sans pulled even harder at the vines, trying to get to Papyrus.

"Leave him alone!" Sans snapped angrily. "Let him go or else—Aaagh! Ahahahaha! Nohohoho! Wahahait!"

Sans felt the creeping feather vines start brushing along both sides of his ribcage. He started thrashing even harder trying to escape.

"Oh nonononohohoho!!" Sans harsh tone quickly gave way to even more hysterical laughter. "Nahahahat again!! Ahahahaha!!"

Papyrus started screeching even harder once he felt two more feather vines start creeping up towards his knees and just below his ribcage.

"WAHAHAHAHA!! NOHOHO!! STAHAHAP!!! NYEHEEHEEHEEHEE!! I-I-I THOHOHOHOUGHT WE WERE FRIEHEHEHENDS!! AAAAHAHAHA!!"

"Papyruhuhuhuhus!!" Sans attempted to sound cross with his brother, but it was difficult to speak through his laughter. "I-I tohohohold you—AAH!! Ahahahahaha!!! I just—AAAHAHAHA!! I knehehew they were trohohohohouble!! Ahahahahahaha!!"

"EEEEEEEHEEHEEHEEHEE!!!" Papyrus let out another high-pitched squeal as even more feather-vines began brushing along his cheekbones. "HAHAHAHA—HOW WAHAHAS I S-SUPPOSED TO KNOHOHOHOW?!" Despite being mercilessly tickled, Papyrus still tried to continue the argument with Sans.

"GAH! Aheeheeheehee!!" Sans could feel more feather-vines coming after his feet. They brushed up against the sides trying to get to the bottom of his soles. Sans's voice pitched up into frantic giggling. He didn't dare try to stamp his feet around for fear of the vines getting to their destination.

"Heeheeheehee!! A-Ahahahahall you h-hahahad to do wahahahas just—AGHAHAHA!! Just l-lihihihisten to meheeheehee!!" Sans shot back.

"AAAAHAHAHA!! LET ME GOHOHOHO!!" Papyrus pleaded as he felt even more vines start to brush beneath his knees. He hiked up his knees as best he could, trying to protect them. "PLEHEHEASE STAHAHAP!! THIHIHIHIS—THIS IS AHAHAHAWFUL!!"

As his feet began to lightly stomp back and forth, he was unaware of just how close he was to the other vines who were attacking his toes. It wasn't until he felt the soft bristles flatten beneath his left foot, did he realize that he had accidentally stepped on one of them. The vines that were holding him let out a noise that sounded like a frightened 'yelp’, suddenly releasing Papyrus and skittering away.

Papyrus landed with a loud thud onto another, much more colorful plant. Thankfully this plant was about as soft as a pile of fluff, so no harm came to the younger skeleton. For a moment, Papyrus just laid there, catching his breath and trying to process what had just happened. He finally snapped out of it once he heard Sans starting to shriek with giggles.

"YEEEEHEEHEEHEE!! Nononono!! Stahahap!! Gehehet away from my fohohohoot!!"

Papyrus shook the dizziness from his head, preparing to leap into action to save his brother. "Hold on, Sans! I'm coming!"

But the moment Papyrus tried to spring to his feet, he suddenly found that the plant he had fallen in had wrapped part of its greenery around his arms and ankles, keeping him restrained once again.

"What?! Oh, not again!" Papyrus yanked and pulled at the strange plant, hoping to break himself out of its grip. But, much like the feather-vines, this plant was also much stronger than it seemed.

"Come on! Let … me … go!" Papyrus strained and struggled, but it only made the plant hold on tighter.

Papyrus stopped fighting to get a closer look at just what he was dealing with. Other than its bright rainbow of pastel colors and its gigantic size, it seemed to be just an ordinary fern bush. Only the leaves on this particular one seemed to be a lot softer … feather soft as a matter of fact.

"Oh no…." Papyrus gulped. "P-Please … please don't tell me it's THAT kind of Feather Fern...."

In an instant Papyrus was completely overwhelmed with all of the different colored foliage. Every soft blade was brushing and bristling into a different ticklish spot and not letting up for a moment. Papyrus threw his head back cackling wildly as he felt the soft leaves tickling at his neck, underarms, spine, knees, and feet all at once.

"NYAAAAHAHAHA!! NOHOHOHO!! NOOO!! L-LEHEHET ME GOHOHO!! NYAHAHAHAHA!! PLE-PLEHEHEASE!! T-TOO-TOOHOOHOO MUHUHUHUCH!!"

Sans let out a panicked gasp as he felt the two vines that were tickling his ribcage suddenly start to climb up higher.

"Ahahahaha!! Nonononono! Stahahahap!!" he pleaded with the vines, as they slowly brushed their way up his ribcage, making sure to tickle every inch as slowly as they went. "N-Nohohoho! Wahahait!! What—Ahahaha!! Whahahat are you dohohohoing?! Ahahahahaaa!!"

Sans did not like the answer. He let out a horrified gasp as the vines began brushing their soft and delicate feathers along the inside of Sans's underarms.

"NAHAHAHAHAHA!!! AAAHAHAHA!! STAHAHAP IT!! NOHOHOHO!! NOT—NAHAHAT THEHEHEHERE!!"

Sans writhed and thrashed around as best he could, anything to alleviate the awful ticklish torment of one of his worst spots. But nothing could be done to help him. Despite his best efforts, the vines holding him in place were way stronger than he could ever hope to overcome. Leaving him totally exposed and vulnerable to every little flick, bristle, and brush that the feathers had to offer.

"NOHOHO!! PLEHEHEASE!! PLEHEHEASE STAHAHAP!!!" Sans desperately begged as tears began to gather in the corners of his sockets. "I-EEEHEEHEEHEE!! I CAHAHAN'T!!! I CAN'T TAHAHAKE IT!!!"

Papyrus could barely manage to kick his feet out as he struggled against the feather fern's grip. He tried desperately to stomp his feet down on the plant just as he had done before to break free. But it seemed like the plants had gotten on to him, because they were now making an obvious effort to avoid being stepped on.

"EEEHEEHEEHEEHEE!!! PLEHEHEASE!! PLEASE HAVE MEHEHEHERCY!!" Papyrus squealed. He could feel several more soft and tickly branches working their way under his battle body. They twisted and brushed around and between his ribcage.

"YAAAHAHAHAHA!! NOHOHO!! NOHOHOHO FAHAHAIR!! AHAHAHA!!" Papyrus threw his head back laughing, which just invoked even more blades to attack his exposed neck. He silently squealed and scrunched up only managing to choke out a hiccup or two.

The ferns then decided to up the ante, sending a smaller bit of foliage up towards Papyrus's face. It bristled and brushed its soft leaves against his cheekbones and under his chin. Truthfully, Papyrus was so wrapped up in dealing with the attacks on his much more vulnerable areas, that he almost didn't even notice.

"PLEHEHEHEASE!!" he begged after a deep and shaky breath in. "PLEHEHEASE!! PLEHEHEHEASE!! N-NOHOHO MORE!! NO MOHOHORE TIHIHIHICKLING!!"

It wasn't until the smaller foliage started brushing up against Papyrus's nasal cavity did he really start to panic again.

"NO WAHAHAHAIT!!" he shrieked, trying to shake his head back and forth. "HAHAHA!! NOHOHO NOT THAHAT!! I-I CAHAHAN'T—AH-AHAHA-CHOOHOOHOO!!"

As hard as Papyrus struggled, he couldn't escape the miniature blades from bristling around and inside his nasal cavity. It was already a hopeless case trying to stop himself from repeatedly inhaling due to the rest of the fern's merciless tickling.

"HEEHEEHEEHEE!! N-NAHAHA-CHOO!! ST-STAHAHAP!! AH-AHAHA-CHOOHOO!! WAHAHAIT—CHOO!! AHAHAHA!! IT-IHIHIT'S SOHOHOHO HAHA-CHOO!! SOHOHO BAHAHAHAD!!! HA-CHOOOHOOHOO!!"

He sputtered and thrashed, tears flying in every direction, as the unbearable tingling in his nose made him a sneezing, screaming, laughing, mess!

Sans wasn't faring much better, he almost didn't have anymore strength left to tug at his arms. So as the feather-vines continued to drill and swirl around in his underarms, Sans's body was reduced to spasmic shaking and jolting. He was nearly paralyzed from laughter.

"PLEHEHEHEA....!!" he choked out, falling into silent laughter. The best he could hope for in terms of movement was opening and closing his fists while his feet shook back and forth. But nothing could distract him from the feathers' cruel playtime.

Suddenly there was a sharp jerking movement that briefly shook the vines, along with Sans in their clutches. The tickling came to an abrupt stop, and Sans wasted no time inhaling some much needed breath fast and hard. He coughed and sputtered from the force of oxygen hitting the back of his throat, but was so beyond grateful to get a moment's rest from the torment.

"Oh … oh … stars…," he gasped. "P.… Please … let me ... go now."

And almost immediately after hearing this, the vines holding onto his ankles released him. The remaining vines holding onto his arms and torso began lifting Sans off the ground, gently hovering him above the grass. Sans quickly started kicking and thrashing his feet around, fearing what sick plans this pile of pastel greenery might have in store for him.

"Ugh! Come on!" he fiercely growled, tugging with all his might. "Let me go! Put me down you giant pile of weeds!"

Sans found himself hovering above a flower bed. The flowers inhabiting it were a group of tulips, all colored bright red and violet. True to the strange nature of this forest, these flowers seemed to be alive. The tulips were bouncing up and down, almost looking like they were trying to jump up from the ground they were stuck in.

But looking closer, Sans could see that they weren't bouncing to try and escape, they were bouncing to try and get to him. The vines were dangling him over this bed of flowers, similar to how a mother bird would dangle a worm over its nest of bouncing hatchlings. To Sans's horror, this was not without reason either. Looking closer, he found these tulips to be … literal two-lips. On the end of each of the little flowers' petals were a pair of kissing lips, all reaching for Sans's feet!

"Oh no!" Sans cried, kicking harder than ever. "Oh nononononono! No! Don't you dare! Don't you even think about it! No!"

Sans’s pleas went unattended, the vines lowered his kicking feet down to the bed of tulips. The kissing flowers wasted no time. One by one, they peppered Sans's feet and toes with endless smooches, getting each toe around and in between. Not neglecting to kiss along his soles as well as the balls of his feet.

"Gaaagh!! Ahahahaha!! No! Nohohohoho!! Stahahap it!!" Sans shrieked. It wasn't nearly as bad at the assault on his underarms, but Sans certainly didn't expect it to tickle THIS badly.

"Plehehehease!! Plehehase get off!! Gehehet off meheeheehee!! Nohohohoho!!" Sans let out an ear-piercing squeal as one particular little tulip started digging in between the space of his baby toe.

Sans desperately tried more kicking and squirming about, hoping that something would deter his new little attackers. But the more he moved his feet, the more he seemed to run into a new group of tulips wanting to tickle him even more. Those that he did manage to kick didn't even respond and just kept on kissing, as if they were completely immune to physical harm.

The vines saw their opportunity to drag more laughter out of him and once again resumed tickling and brushing along his underarms.

"AAAAAHAHAHAHA!!!" Sans let out a full-blown scream. Fresh panic and hysteria jolting through his bones again. "NOHOHOHO!! NOHOHOHOHO PLEHEHEASE!! NOT BOTH!! NAHAHAT BOHOHOHOTH!!! AHAHAHAHA!!"

"HAHA-CHOOHOOHOO!! PLHEHEHEASE!!! AHAHAHA-CHOO!!" Papyrus's face grew bright orange as more and more tears streamed down his cheekbones. Partially from the laughter and also due to the rapid sneezing.

The miniature foliage stopped momentarily, as if to give Papyrus a break. He shook his head rapidly, trying to get the last of the tingles out of his nose. The rest of the tickling all over his body didn't yet subside, but Papyrus took in an enormous breath of air and held it in tight. He wasn't sure yet just what he was trying to accomplish, but he knew that he didn't want to risk inhaling more of the smaller branches and enduring another sneeze-attack.

"MMMMMNNHMMHMMHMM!!" Papyrus screeched through muffled laughter as the assault on his tickle spots continued. It was still unbearable feeling the soft blades of the feather fern exploring his toes, ribs, and knees, but he tried to keep holding it in.

The smaller foliage once again tried to brush inside Papyrus's nasal cavity, eliciting tiny squeals and whimpers from the skeleton. He desperately wished that he could swat at the blades invading his face, but he remained restrained and totally at its mercy.

Once the tiny blade realized that it wasn't getting any more sneezes out of him, it tried even harder. Back and forth, up and down, it swirled and mercilessly teased along the inside of Papyrus's nose. Tears streamed like tiny waterfalls down Papyrus's cheeks. He bucked and thrashed hard, feeling the insane tingling sensation overwhelm his nasal cavity. It was all-consuming, as his cheekbones puffed out more and more, he knew he couldn't hold it in any longer.

"AAAHAHAHAHA-CHOOOOOOHOOHOO!!"

The sneeze rocked Papyrus's entire body. It was so hard and so brutal, that it flung his entire body a couple of feet forward and ripped him out of the grasp of the feather fern.

Papyrus took a sharp and shaky inhale of breath as he steadied himself. Realizing he was on all fours and could move his limbs freely, he looked behind him to see the angry feather fern reaching and grasping for him.

Papyrus immediately backed away and got to his still-shaking feet. Breathing fast and heavy, he quickly looked around for Sans. His jaw dropped once he saw the state his brother was in. Dangling above kissing tulips while the feather-vines went after his underarms, Sans looked like a helpless laughter-ridden mess! Papyrus readied himself.

"Hang on Sans!" he called "Here I—"

CHOMP!

It was almost comedic at this point just how much Papyrus was being stopped from getting to his brother.

Another gigantic plant, one with an enormous open mouth, lunged for Papyrus, scooping him up in its jaws. Papyrus screamed in terror, not reacting fast enough before the humongous plant once again had him incapacitated.

Papyrus's head and feet were the only parts of his body sticking out from the corners of this plant's mouth, allowing Papyrus to get a better look at it. From its shape and mannerisms, it seemed to be a giant Venus Flytrap plant, and Papyrus was its next meal!

"AAGH! NO!" Papyrus cried out. "Let me go! I have to get to Sans!!" Papyrus tried to will his body to move. But the inside of the Venus Flytrap's mouth was a sticky sort of substance, and there was little Papyrus could do to get unstuck from it.

"Let go!" Papyrus demanded. "The Great Papyrus is not plant food! Put me down!"

The Flytrap grumbled very loudly, Papyrus could feel his whole body vibrating with the sound effect. Suddenly, he felt something start poking at his ribs.

"AAAGH! What is that??" He shrieked in terror. "What's going on??"

Like the majority of the plants in this forest, this plant had a few more odd tricks up its sleeve. Inside the mouth of this Venus Flytrap were hundreds of tiny wriggling little tendrils, all of which saw Papyrus as their next means of prey.

Shortly after one, there came another tendril who found fascination with his ribs. Papyrus yelped and tried once again to hold his breath. But it didn't last long as more and more wriggling tendrils started coming after his knees and underarms.

"EEEK! ...GRR!! N-NO! NONONO—AGH!" Papyrus's head flopped back and forth, his toes curling in and out trying to distract himself. But once two little tendrils found their way around his hips, it was over.

"NYAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHA!!" Papyrus screamed so loudly that it echoed throughout the forest, causing some birds to fly away.

"NOHOHOHOHOHO!! OH PLEHEHEHEASE!! PLEHEHEASE NOHOHOHO!!! OHOHOHO MY GAHAHAHASH!!!"

He couldn't even hope to thrash around being helplessly stuck to the bottom of the mouth. With more and more tendrils starting to tease and explore every part of his body, Papyrus had no choice but to lay there and take it.

"AHAHAHAHA!! NOHOHOHO DOHOHON'T!! AHAHAHA!! M-MAHAHAKE IT STAHAHAHAP!! PLEHEHEASE!! SOMEBODY—HEEHEEHEEHEE!! HEHEHEHEHELP!!!"

As free falling tears escaped Sans's eye sockets, he managed to glance up at Papyrus once he had heard him start screaming. He couldn't believe what he was seeing and was wondering if he was starting to get delirious. He couldn't even muster the energy to kick at the still-kissing tulips anymore, and just kept dangling there shaking with laughter. It felt so hopeless, everything in this cursed forest was out to tickle them to death! What could they possibly do to save themselves?

Suddenly a deep and anger-filled roar pierced through the forest and shook the trees. It was so loud and came out of nowhere that for a moment, everything froze in fear. All of the plants ceased their tickling onslaught. Even the tendrils in the Venus Flytrap were still, and at last the brothers got a moment to breathe. After finally collecting himself, Sans looked around to try and find the source of their supposed rescue, only to be met with flashes of light, claws, and fur.

THUD!

Sans was abruptly dropped onto the forest floor, and Papyrus followed right beside him. Instinctively, they crawled towards each other and held onto each other in fear. Neither one could figure out just what was happening, until their eyes came to focus on the unbelievable events unfolding before them.

Animals! Creatures of all different shapes and colors were attacking the plant-life. Claws dug up the flower beds, strong and jagged teeth were tearing into the vines and cutting down the Venus Flytrap. Even wings the size of cars were flapping hard and blowing away the various other flora and vegetation that was creeping in for more.

Before Sans and Papyrus could get a good look at just what these mystery animals looked like, they suddenly felt soft hands gripping onto their arms from above them. They let out surprised yelps as they were promptly hoisted into the air and were being carried up into the trees. From above, the brothers could see the remains of the attacking plants as nothing more than shredded pastel colors and feathers.

After what felt like only a few moments, the brothers were dropped off into a different part of the forest. This place had a lot more trees, but absolutely no extra plant-life anywhere in sight. It was a lot more open, and at last, Sans and Papyrus were able to return their breathing to normal.

"Pap…," Sans said at last. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah…," Papyrus answered. "I think so … but … what on earth was all of THAT?"

"No idea," Sans replied, shaking his head. "But … it would be great … if it never … EVER happened again.”

Papyrus wiped the sweat from his forehead and rubbed the last of the tears from his eye sockets. "Wowie … it was a good thing those … creatures … showed up when they did." Papyrus struggled to find the words to describe just who it was that had saved them.

Right on cue, there was a chittering sound, followed by a soft thud as one of the animals had landed on the tree branch just above them.

"Look Sans! It's a cute little monkey!" Papyrus exclaimed. "Oh thank you, thank you, THANK YOU for getting us out of there!"

Sans also began to intensely rub at his eye sockets, his sight was practically blurry from all of the crying he had done. While he wasn't looking, he could hear more and more sounds of these 'monkeys' appearing in the branches all around them.

"Wowie!" exclaimed Papyrus. "Just look at all of you! You have our deepest gratitude, new friends!"

As Sans turned his gaze towards the trees, his soul seemed to stop. His metaphoric blood ran cold and he froze. These weren't just ordinary monkeys the two of them were looking at. These monkeys each had six arms, sporting 30 fingers on a singular animal. But what made Sans even more frightened, was the fact that every single one of them was looking down on the two of them, and were grinning ear to ear.

#Tickletober #Tickletober2024 #Undertale #LaughterLand Story #Sans #Papyrus

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weird-is-life · 2 years ago

Note

Hi Love! You Spencer fics give me life btw, Okay, so idk if you've seen NCIS,but there is this goth character named Abby and she is like a forensic scientist . I would love to see Spencer (maybe later seasons) having to work with a reader like Abby. Opposites attract kind of thing / love at first sight/mutual pining .

Hiii, thank u so much for this request. I am sooooooo sorry, that this took me like 2 months to write 😭I hope this isn't too bad (1k) warnings: talk of bombs, fluff

Sometimes you think, that Spencer likes you, like more than just a friend. It's always when you catch him staring lovesick at you or hear him giggle at your stupid science jokes. It makes your heart swell everytime.

But you stop daydreaming about this, when the reality sets in and you realise the big difference between the two of you. Like there's just no way Spencer likes you the way you like him.

You two are complete opposites. Well, that's not entirely true. You and Spencer share love for science and solving things, which is exactly why you are both at the FBI. But other than this, you don't think, that you have much in common.

Your thinking about Spencer is cut short, because there's a literal bomb being placed in front of you. The team is working on a local case. There's a very dangerous bomber, which they are trying to catch.

Your task is to analyse the bomb as best as you can, even the tiniest detail can help the team. It's not often you get to work with the team, especially this close, so you want to do good and not mess it up.

You put on your favourite band and closely study the bomb. As you bop your head to the blasting music, you write down everything that seams important, even the stuff that is not so important, down.

You work fast and in like 2 hours, you are done and happy with you analysis. You sent a text to Penelope, she is usually the one that comes for the papers and you like her, she is a total sweetheart everytime she comes to your lab.

You don't expect her to come right away, so you don't turn the music down even one bit. Honestly, a big mistake from your part.

It's not Penelope, who comes to grab the analysis papers and also it's not later, it's right away. Spencer was basically pushed towards the elevator to go to your lab by Penelope. Of course, she knows that you two fancy each other (she thinks you'll be the cutest couple) and she's decided, that she's going to get you together, whatever it takes. Even if it means dragging Spencer towards you.

Spencer finds your lab easily, he's been here too many times. But he's never heard the music playing so loud. You don't even hear the door opening or him coming inside. He only gets your attention when he carefully puts his hand on your shoulder as to not scare you, which goes totally the wrong way.

You flinch so hard and jump away from him instantly, that you almost fall on the floor, not to mention the curse words slipping out of your mouth.

"I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to scare you," Spencer worriedly apologises.

"Doctor Reid, you scared me," you say with a surprise, you definitely weren't expecting him here. You lower the volume of the music.

"I'm sorry, I called out your name, but I think it was too loud," he explains, stepping from one foot to another.

"It's okay, it's my fault. I put it way too loud. It's just...It's my favourite band," you grin sheepishly at him. Your pink blush in contrast with the black lipstick and eyeliner.

"Really? Have they been your favourite band for long now?" Spencer asks, giving you a small smile.

"Gosh, for so long, I don't even know. Maybe since I've discovered how much I love music," you must have been a kid then, when you found you passion for music, " what about you Dr. Reid, what's your favourite band?"

"Spencer, please call me Spencer," it's his turn to blush again, when he says it. You always call him dr. Reid and even if he knows you are joking, he prefers you calling him Spencer, " a-and I don't really have a favourite band or-or a song."

"What? What do you mean?"

"I just don't really know any music, maybe just some classical," he shrugs his shoulders, " I know, it's bad." He adds when he sees your wide eyes.

"Oh my god, this is actually a crime," you dramatically say, " I would gladly give you some recommendations, but I think time isn't on our side right now." You don't think Spencer would like your kind of taste of music, metal probably isn't his type, but you could definitely look something up for him.

Spencer would like that, like a lot. But yeah, he can't waste time by chatting with you, when there's a serial bomber in the streets.

He really wants to tho, I mean he wouldn't say no to spending time with you, maybe it would give him an actual chance with you. So with these kind of thoughts, he does something very, almost too brave.

"How about over a coffee?" he nervously blurts out and you don't quite know if you've heard right or your imagination is playing tricks on you.

"Over a coffee?"

"O-or tea, whatever you drink...."he adds, words stammering.

"Sure," you agree and give him the nicest smile you can do.

"R-really?" Spencer isn't expecting you to agree, he thinks, you are way out of his league, too pretty to even talk to him.

"Definitely, I'd love that," you reassure him and before you know it, these words escape your mouth, " it's a date, then."

Your dread goes away, when Spencer returns your shy smile and states," can't wait for it, I'll text you, yeah?" He starts to slowly back out of the lab.

"Okay," you giggle, because you realise, that he is forgetting the one thing he came here for, " don't you want the analysis of the bomb?"

"Ohhh," his cheeks go red again," right." He quickly comes back for it and heads for the door. At the door he looks at you for one last time and accidentally walks with his shoulder into the edge of the door.

You can't help but to giggle some more as he embarrassingly laughs and leaves your lab.

In your happy mood, you put the music back on and start thinking of the right songs for Spencer.

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid #spencer reid x fem!reader

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theflirtmeister · 1 year ago

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Give me that dad bod adam. Pretty please with a cherry on top

sorry if u wanted porn, instead u got adam reflecting on getting older and being a dad

It takes a good ten minutes before Adam gives up and balls up his skinny jeans, tossing them into the growing pile of clothes to donate. There’s no way in hell that he will ever get back into these, not with all the diets or pound-of-flesh-traps in the world.

He is officially too old for skinny jeans.

God. When did this happen? It feels like he blinked one day as a scrawny twenty-something, and woke up in an adult body, with wrinkles and hair growing in weird places and a shoulder that hurts in the winter. Who is that man, with laughter lines and eye creases? When did he get here? Adam never thought he’d make it past thirty.

“How is the wardrobe decluttering going?” Lawrence asks from the doorway.

He looks as handsome as ever, with hair slightly grey, which drives Adam completely crazy. Adam doesn’t know how Lawrence’s patients cope, he’d be throwing himself across the room at Dr Gordon, cancer or no cancer.

“I don’t fit into any of my clothes,” Adam says despondently, “I’m going to turn up to the new house in just my underwear.”

Lawrence steps into the room and wraps his arms around Adam, pressing a kiss to his temples. “A very nice image, however.” He says. “I’ll have to buy you a whole new wardrobe.”

“My sugar daddy,” Adam says, batting his eyelashes at Lawrence. “Can I have a pony too?”

“Whatever you want,” Lawrence promises. “I’ll even get you a Malibu Barbie.”

Adam fake gasps in delight, and they both end up snorting with laughter. Adam wriggles out of Lawrence’s grasp to pick up another shirt from the pile and hold it up against himself. It’s black, with a picture of a cat skeleton licking an ice cream that he thinks he may have shoplifted from Hot Topic. He doesn’t even know why he still has it.

“Too short?” Adam asks, not even bothering to try it on.

“Diana seems to have cultivated a wardrobe entirely of crop tops.” Lawrence says in the voice of a man who has seen his little girl grow up before his eyes. “She’s refusing to get rid of any of them.”

“Are you scarred for life?” Adam teases, throwing the shirt onto the donate pile.

“She wants her belly button pierced.” Lawrence blurts out, sounding horrified. “Alison didn’t even blink when Diana brought it up in front of us - an actual piercing Adam.”

“She has her ears pierced,” Adam shrugs. “And I remember someone enjoying my tongue piercing when I still had it.”

“That’s different, and you know it,” Lawrence says warningly, sitting down on the edge of the bed. “I don’t want her doing anything like that to her body before she’s eighteen.”

“Why are you such a square?” Adam says, nudging Lawrence’s good leg with his foot. “You’ll just make her rebel and go to some dodgy guy's basement to get it done.”

Lawrence shudders. “Is that how you got your piercings?”

“You going to judge me if I did?” Adam quirks his eyebrow.

“Yes.” Lawrence says firmly, and Adam rolls his eyes.

“You’re such a Dad.” He says, picking up another shirt to try on, this one a baby blue button-up from Target. He thinks he might have bought it for one of Lawrence’s award ceremonies - can definitely remember Lawrence tearing it off him in the cab ride home.

“Not to burst your bubble,” Lawrence says, watching as Adam pulls off his shirt, exposing the curve of his stomach, the dark hair of his happy trail. Adam feels like he should put on a show, hum some strip-tease music. “But you are also a Dad too.”

“Step Dad.” Adam corrects, then pauses. “Fuck. I’m a stepdad.”

“A handsome one at that,” Lawrence says, not looking at Adam’s face. “Seducing all the parents at school pick up.”

Adam places his hands on his hips and studies Lawrence. Lawrence is tracking Adam’s body with his eyes, carving him up like a piece of meat. It makes the back of Adam’s neck go hot, that they’re still into each other, that they still make each other’s hearts and other organs flutter.

They’re probably going to be fucking in the nursing home, sneaking into each other’s rooms with their Zimmer frames. Diana’s going to have a nightmare on her hands, Adam thinks to himself smugly. Serves her right for all the crop tops and piercings.

“Parents can’t keep their hands off me,” Adam says, tossing the blue shirt back onto the pile. “Especially this really hot guy, with blonde hair and a prosthetic foot.”

“Oh yeah?” Lawrence says, finally looking up at Adam. “Thinking about having an affair?”

“He has no idea what’s coming to him,” Adam smirks. He steps forward, and Lawrence spreads his legs so that Adam can fit neatly between them. “Think he can handle it?”

“He’s had some practice,” Lawrence says, hooking his thumbs into Adam’s underwear. “Spent most of his forties sleeping with the most gorgeous man in the world.”

“Is that right?” Adam runs his hands through Lawrence’s hair. “Sounds like a good time to me.”

Lawrence tugs Adam closer, pressing a kiss to his stomach. His mouth tickles, making Adam shiver, so Lawrence repeats the actions until Adam is squirming. He might be too old to ever get ID’d again, but he's not so old that he doesn’t turn into a mess when Lawrence touches him.

“Beautiful,” Lawrence whispers against his skin. “I’m so lucky.”

“Such a fucking idiot,” Adam says fondly, ducking his head down to kiss Lawrence. “God I love you.”

He wants this, forever. He wants to be old with Lawrence, wants to see how life spills out for them. He wants to get fat with Lawrence on good food and wine, and spends hours in bed together, re-acquainting their bodies. He wants to organise their pain medication in one of those fancy boxes that have the days of the week on them, and be lectured by Lawrence when he forgets to take his tablets.

“I love you too,” Lawrence grins, and drags Adam down on top of him, both of them giggling like teenagers.

#ANSWERED #Nice Anon #chainshipping #chainshipping fic #saw fic #adam faulkner stanheight x lawrence gordon #i love them so fucking MUCH

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jesse-pinko · 2 years ago

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Can I just say I relate to Chuck McGill so much? It’s so sad, cause while, yes, he is a shitty brother, as far as morality goes, he’s doing better than most characters in brba/bcs. His primary sin, which he identifies, is being unlikable. Jimmy has a lot of pathos, but the fact is the character of Saul Goodman gained enough popularity to get his own show because he’s funny & charismatic.

We see this too with Lalo, who is popular with fans despite being pretty much just, “a soulless pig.” Gus & Mike are liked for their cool professionalism; Jesse & Nacho are both great, but they both get a lot of mileage out of be young & good looking. Shit, I know you don’t like him, but even Walter has a certain magnetism. He’s an abusive monster, but he’s intense & passionate, which clearly draws a lot of people in.

Chuck doesn’t have any of this. He’s not exiting, cool, or particularly charming in any way. He’s not the sort of character who gets “fans.” I’ve never seen anyone geek out over him the way they do for the rest of these guys. He’s shrill & fussy & demanding; made even worse by his condition. And ultimately, these qualities are what make people dislike him.

It doesn’t matter how desperately Chuck tries to be good (though I think his moral framework is very flawed) because people will never love him the way they love Jimmy. And that resentment destroys their relationship, the only true love & dedication he had in his life, but I can still deeply emphasize with that resentment.

Accepting that it doesn’t matter how good you try to be, cause that’s not what people care about, is so painful. & then accepting that you just don’t have it. That you’re not the sort of person who makes friends easily. That you’re not easy to love. That people will prefer actual monsters over you. It’s so heartbreaking, & it’s definitely made infinitely worse by mental illness. Poor Chuck man. :(

anyway srry this so long, u don’t have to respond to it, i just was struck by chuck. also, i know this was a shallow read of those other characters, i was just trying to make point lol

Sorry to get back to you so late when you put your whole pussy into this ask but bc of that I knew I would have to wholeass my pussying as well and I just haven’t had the time as of late 😭🐈 but fr as someone diagnosed w BPD I always saw too much of myself in Chuck to fully hate him, but also, that’s kind of why I hated him, bc seeing your worst attributes laid on screen and read for filth doesn’t exactly make for an objective viewing experience. What a lot of neurotypicals don’t get ab Chuck’s character is that he doesn’t resent Jimmy in spite of Jimmy tending to him so diligently, but because of it, at least partially. Chuck does not feel that he deserves to be loved and cared for, he doesn’t feel like his emotions and his love are worth anything because his parents loved Jimmy best and Rebecca (he thinks) loved Jimmy best and everyone loves Jimmy best bc of Jimmy’s personality, whereas Chuck has only ever been lauded for his intellect. So it feels unsafe for him to be so dependent on another person’s genuine love, he feels unsafe being cared for, because Chuck feels incredibly threatened by any sort of change or anything that doesn’t align w the world as he’s come to perceive it, hence his “allergy” to electricity, an allegorical stand-in for modernity and progress. And so being cared for w/out that sense of worth that he hinged entirely on his career makes Chuck feel not just impotent, but like he owes Jimmy. Chuck feels as though he and Jimmy are now on unequal footing, bc while Jimmy still has his charisma, his “value”, Chuck no longer has a distinguished law career. And Chuck can’t owe Jimmy anything because he has to feel superior to Jimmy in some respect or he’s worthless, because no matter what Jimmy does he will always be loved, he will always have worth, as Chuck sees it, and Chuck derives all of his self-worth from his law career and his sense of moral superiority. Chuck knows he’s “different”, but his proficiency as a lawyer let him believe that maybe “different” is for the best, maybe other people are the ones doing something wrong, maybe he isn’t missing anything that other people have but has something that other people don’t. And it’s not Jimmy’s fault that other people like him better, that their parents loved him more, that Chuck associates his brother with that feeling of worthlessness, but if Chuck can vilify his brother, then he can justify that ugly, misplaced hatred he feels toward the person he owes the most to. And the idea of Jimmy becoming a lawyer, of taking the one thing Chuck had going for him, is unbearable, intolerable. Obviously I’m not a psychologist, I can’t do an official diagnosis of a tv show character, but it is pretty common conjecture within the fanbase that Chuck is somewhere on the autism spectrum. He’s averse to change, he experiences sensory overload, he struggles with social cues, he has niche interests that he is knowledgeable about to a very precise degree, and he has a very, very strong sense of justice. It’s not fair that Jimmy gets to become a lawyer when that was the only thing Chuck had going for him, it’s not fair that everyone loves Jimmy and not Chuck when Jimmy is a conman who stole from their sweet father and Chuck tries so, so hard to be good, to adhere to society’s moral standards as strictly and literally as possible. It’s not fair.

#rip a bitchy king #chuck mcgill #jimmy mcgill #better call saul #bcs

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javierduffy · 6 months ago

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Hellooooo !! You mentioned in the tags of your latest post that you were willing to talk about your process if anyone asked and I am asking!!

It looks so good so I'd love to hear the process and thoughts behind it as someone who hasn't really touched digital painting before :3:3

- Oizys-Mutt

hi oizy :] sory for taking so long to get to this i honestly posted it and then i was like *windows shut down sfx* LOL so i never really felt prepared to answer until neow … not that i super feel like it now since its been so long since o posted the piece ;__; anyway !!! tjank u for asking about it first of all that’s so sweet ure always my biggest supporter </3 thank u ure so darling.

as for the idea behind the piece, i often like to think about how javier and kieran interact when they’re away from prying eyes. of course, i think that they leave camp together as often as they can (as unsuspiciously as possible .. if that’s possible at all) and progressively more and more as the gang falls apart and they know in their hearts that they’re about to lose each other, but because kieran and javier are both desperate lovers, i think they’re always finding romance the moment they think god is so merciful as to look the other way. this is to say, once javier feels as though there are enough leaves, brush, wildlife between he and his family, he rushes to yank kieran’s hand from branwen’s reins to hold. javier loves like a starved man, a one who has formerly been fed grapes and steak from the soft, gentle hands of a house servant, so a one whom knows what it is like to be full— it’s like it’s killing him to live with the grief of lovelessness. and kieran is a man who loves like a starved man who has never had a full meal in his life— he has no idea what it’s like to have a full belly, and he yearns in a way that hollows his chest out as though his heart has never beat once in his life. you put these two together and it’s almost as if lust and gluttony were the same, as if their clothed bodies, separated by the birdth of an entire foot, were forever eloped, connected, full, satisfied. like to merely touch one another is the same as to make love. so when they feel free, finally, away from the shackle of known perception- to be known, to be seen, to be rejected- they CANNOT be apart. it’s like javier can’t breathe if his atoms are not warmed by any of kieran’s that are adjacent. as i said, the moment the sun feels warmer on their skin than curious eyes, they’re intertwined. as simply as possible. every horse ride, trip to town, walk down the riverbank, every breath they take, it’s theirs. plural. so … uhhhmmm … at length, i think they’re always touching :] ! uhm. in not so many words. so it’s often that they will be seen on the road, in the woods, the creaks of their saddles speaking wordless ‘i love you’s as their intertwined hands next to the revolvers in their holsters convince strangers that the tree line opposite the lovers is suddenly quite worth watching instead. sorry. i just wrote a novel. thank you so much for indulging me i have so many feelings about them ;__;

hooonestly i don’t ever have much commentary on the process of the art itself, its moreso my thots behind the horse riding date LOL uhhhmm but since ure curious abt the art i can ramble abt that a bit :] for that piece specifically i really felt like painting for no reason in particular, but ive really felt burnt out on colouring, so i went with the process of .. reverse rendering ? if we want to call it that ? where u render the shadows in monochrome and then use white space as ur lighting and fiddle with the colours after the fact. i’m still not good at this process … at all ! it’s confusing to me ! but i’m more likely to do what i want with the piece, or at least a little more than i would otherwise, because im simply skipping the step that i Don’t want to do. it’s a long story as to why art, and certain aspects of it, is SO hard for me to do, but in short, i’m relearning how to enjoy it as an act after severely burning myself out on it due to setting absurd expectations for myself :] so im just going with my gut ! which … unfortunately does not leave much room for me to explain my process to you ! i’m sorry !!!!

#thank u so much for sending me asks and always rbing my stuff with so much commentary and enthusiasm it truly means the world to me u have n #o idea. genuinely.#i struggle a lot and i won’t get into it but ure kindness gives me something to focus on and it encourages me to keep doing things i love #and by extension that encourages me to ……… stay alive #i know that’s so heavy and don’t feel responsible or anything but i want u to know that ur love for what i do is so very special to me right #now :’] i will always hold all ur comments so dear. i go back and look at them often so even if they stopped i think they’ll help me for a l #ong time. so thank u. i know it’s so cheesy to lore dump on an ask abt gay cowboys but man. i can’t help it #anyway. thanks. thank u. i’m so happy to be able to have a reason to ramble. even tho i do it Way too much for whatever the question is LOL #oizys-the-mutt #oizy my beloved #rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #i’ll tag them .. why not #kieran duffy #javier escuella #javieran #mi amors #text #ask #hero's yelling at folks again #hero's talking to himself again

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mochidom · 2 months ago

Text

Parent Duty (2) (St. Fiore)

Masterpost here!

Unlike the sheer chaos that was unfolding in other dorms, Malachi Mikazuchi’s move-in was…efficient.

“You know, most parents cry when they’re dropping them off their kid,” Malachi commented, watching as his mother placed the last of his folded clothes into the wardrobe. “You’re being really calm about this.”

Kagura Mikazuchi looked over at him, confused. “Would you rather I make a scene?”

Malachi shrugged. “No, I was just passing a comment..”

It wasn’t that his mother was emotionless. Quite the opposite—Kagura was a woman with a lot of emotions, way too many if you asked Malachi but most of the time those feelings were buried under a poker face that had terrified half of Fiore.

Kagura pushed shut the door of the closet before turning back to her son. “This is the start of your next chapter. I expect you to carry yourself with discipline and strength.”

“Of course.”

“Don’t engage in unnecessary fights.” They both knew he wouldn’t but she probably needed this speech more than him. His mother was very talkative when she was overwhelmed.

“I heard you.” he continued. “I promise I’ll be good.”

She looked at him for a minute and ruffled his hair, smiling softly. “Then I suppose I will take my leave. Lock the door after me.”

She already had a foot out of the door when she turned and walked back to him “ I know you dislike displays of affection but I love you, child.” And she hugged him.

His mother had never been shy with praise and words of endearment but he could count on his hands the number of times they hugged after he turned 7 years old. He knew the reason behind that was his aversion to touch and he wondered for the first time if this was something she wished she could’ve done more. If she wished she could have adopted someone else who would let her take on the role of mother completely. He couldn’t change the past but he guessed he could make the future better.

He hugged her back. “I love you too, mom. I’ll miss you.”

She nodded and she left immediately, not letting him see her face.

Yeah. She was definitely going to cry the whole way back home.

The Raml name was now synonymous with royalty. Or at least it was in Alvarez.

Here in Fiore, it might as well be synonymous with big piece of shit. Al Arra Raml had arrived in St. Fiore five hours ago and had gotten more side eyes and muttered insults thrown her way than she had in her entire life,

“Ugh, I can’t believe your father is sending us here for school.” Beau Myuh complained from her left, juggling with the luggage he had shrunk the size of. “Everyone apparently hates us here and the food is D-I-S-G-U-S-T-I-N-G.”

Al Arra sighed, adjusting her mask while flicking a strand of hair over her shoulder. She couldn’t say anything since she also didn’t know why her father, Ajeel Raml, the emperor of Alvarez would send his only daughter to school in the kingdom he was in a war against not so long ago. He did say something about relations between kingdoms, not that she was listening to him.

Brandish Myuh smacked her son behind the head. “ What did I say about shrinking clothes ? They’re going to be all wrinkled when they’re back to their normal size.”

“Was the smack necessary ?” he grumbled, though he still changed the luggage back to their original size.

“Auntie Bran, do we really have to stay here ? Is Alvarez Institute not good enough?”

“You know it is, sweetheart. I also don’t know why your father has decided to send you so far. “ She whined. “ And the fact that he sent me to this stinking territory to drop you off. Oh, he’s going to hear about it when I return. I mean if you hate your daughter, why do I have to do with that. Am I right ?”

She must’ve seen the look on Al's face since she made the world’s worst effort to be comforting. She went to sit down in the closet where Aran had taken residence since their arrival. “ I’m sure he has his reasons, my love.”

The effort lasted all of 30 seconds and Brandish Myuh was in the doorway, sunglasses on her nose.

“Okay, I’m leaving now.” She announced. “ Beau, you steer clear of Lucy’s son, I don’t want his bad behaviour to leech on you.”

Al Arra thought about telling her that her son was the one with the bad behaviour but Brandish had already left.

“I hope you don’t like this dress.” Beau said, holding a shredded dress from the newly normal sized luggage.

“This is literally going to be the worst year ever..”

#fairy tail #fairies heirs #fairy tail next generation #fairy tail next gen #st.fiore #al arra raml #beau myuh #Malachi mikazuchi

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nerdby · 1 year ago

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I’m not talking about the comics, that’s why I only referred to it as the mcu. And I have seen eternals, that’s why I didn’t list him in the characters with Valkyrie. I’m trying to point out the nuances u missed and instead of understanding a different perspective, u spew defensiveness and reduce my point down to something trivial. You can personally go around saying it’s biphobic, but I do not think it is, and have my reasons and arg as previously listed. It’s another perspective very worth noting, and that your view isn’t the ultimate objectively correct view.

Okay, I'm gonna go a bit off topic and I don't expect you to read any of it because you've already made up your mind about me, but here we fucking go.

I understand your perspective. I just disagree with it. Because, personally, I think even mentioning that Loki is bisexual is a HUGE fucking deal. I don't need to see him make out with a dude in order to feel validated, okay? I grew up in the 1990s when movies involving queer characters were considered adult films that were not suitable for children or teenagers. They were R-rated simply because the main characters were queer. No one talked about sexuality unless it was point out how sinful it was and we did not even breathe the words gender unless someone was pregnant. Bisexuality was a footnote in the pages of books on LGBT rights.

That is why shows like Glee and movies like I Now Pronounce You Chuck & Larry were once considered groundbreaking, and why I personally love them. Granted Chuck & Larry would literally have no story if they had acknowledged bisexuality in the first place, but the thing is that bisexuality was too edgy for cinema back then. It would have made the movie less marketable because it would have alienated both biphobia queer people and cishet people. So when that movie was released and there was positive, laid back, funny representation of queer people -- representation that didn't paint queer people as pedophiles or murderers -- that's why me and my queer friends were ecstatic. Because even though the premise was flawed, it was a step in the right direction because it helped normalize queerness.

That's why I'm over the fucking moon just to see Loki come out even if he's in a straight-passing relationship. Especially because like I said, the MCU is currently under Disney's control and until the 2010's Disney has been notorious for only putting out queer-coded villains. Since Loki is a hero by the end of season two, that is a BIG fucking deal especially to queer people my age.

It doesn't matter whether or not you're talking about the comics, though, because like or not the MCU would NOT exist if it weren't for the comics that had been leftist reading material since 1941. So they are 100% relevant to this conversation.

The Sylki ship really upsets antis: People who think that just because something is taboo that makes it bad when in reality it's just a nod to the comics that the Loki series is based on. Specifically the 2011 arc Thor: Journey Into Mystery.

And bisexuals and queer people in general are not monoliths. We're gonna disagree on stuff. I've known I was bisexual since I was nine years old. I know from real life experience that bisexuals don't fall in love with everyone within a ten foot radius. Which is something I have been accused of in real life by insecure dumbasses. So, yes, I probably have some trauma I need to work through regarding that and if you've never encountered that kind of biphobia in real life then you are very lucky. That's why the idea of people perpetuating that myth is upsetting for me. That's not something I like to advertise because I think there is nothing stupider someone could do than advertise their triggers to an entire platform full of trolls, bigots, and bullies.

But I have nothing against Lokius shippers themselves. They can ship whoever they want -- that's the entire point of fanfictions and fan art and blah blah blah.

I don't seek out their blogs and harass them because of the ships they like. Or dislike.

When I see content I disagree with I just keep right scrolling and stay out of the comments so I don't say anything stupid or impulsive and start arguments like a petty child. This, however, is MY blog and I'm not going to censor myself for anyone. I'm allowed to say that something upsets me.

Now, I'm going to ask that you either stop sending me asks or else block me before I block you. Because this conversation has triggered my PTSD, and I'm not in the mood to continue it.

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yieldtotemptation · 3 years ago

Text

DEBUT ft. Kazuha

kazuha x male reader smut

7k words

Lights illuminate the stage.

Your eyes meet.

Kazuha starts to move.

And you swear to yourself, you've never seen anything sexier in your life.

"Baby!" Kazuha shouts from the other end of the hallway, bursting into a full sprint towards you the moment she spots you.

"Is that the world-famous Kazuha of Le Sserafim?" You grin, bracing yourself for her, opening your arms as Kazuha launches herself at you, trusting you implicitly to catch her.

She falls into your embrace, throwing herself around you, wrapping her legs around your waist and arms around your neck. You spin her around, sharing in her excitement, her joy, a perfect moment with a perfect girl.

You stop your rotations, holding her up in the air, leaving both of you panting for breath. Kazuha nestles her face into your neck, a pleasant hum against your skin as she makes herself comfortable in her favourite place - your arms.

She spends several moments there, and even though your arms start to tire, you hold onto her as if your life depended on it - and in a way, it does. It feels so right to have her like this - your bodies interlocked, her warm breath on your neck, her heart beating against your chest, and the floral scent of whatever hair product she uses permeating your senses and clouding your mind with thoughts of only Kazuha.

Eventually, she loosens herself from you, legs unravelling themselves from your back, and she slides back down to the ground. She's tall enough that it's barely a drop for her, easily finding her footing while her hands remain clasped behind your neck.

She looks up at you, studying your face, the harsh lighting of the hallway hitting her brown eyes, turning them into golden pools of honey. A thought occurs to her, and you watch as her face transforms - her brows furrow, her lips purse.

"Wait - how did you get back here?"

You shrug, putting on your most innocent-looking poker face. She has a point - after the performance you had snuck your way out of the crowd and into the backstage area. It had taken a lot of fast-talking, and maybe a bit of breaking and entering, but getting to hold Kazuha like this made it worth the risk.

You decide that it would be best if she didn't get involved in any criminal activities on her first day of being an idol, and give her a noncommittal answer - "I have my ways. Besides, how else was I supposed to give you these?"

You take your hand off her back, showing her the carefully curated bouquet of flowers you brought for her, each bearing a different meaning - tulips for love, peonies for luck, and daffodils for new beginnings.

You can tell she's not entirely convinced, but she still excitedly takes the flowers out of your hands, bringing them to her nose to take in their aroma.

"Mmm, these are gorgeous," Kazuha says, deciding to drop the issue and simply be happy that you're here. "Let's move past the part where I pretend you got here without breaking any laws and skip straight to the part where you kiss me."

"Deal," you reply, moving in for the kiss - only, before you even get the chance to take Kazuha's feathery lips with your own, you're rudely interrupted by the sound of approaching footsteps.

"In here - quick!"

Your eyes snap open the instant you hear their approach, but Kazuha's already ahead of you. She grabs your wrist, pulling you out of the hallway and through the closest doorway, dragging you inside an empty dressing room and shutting the door behind her.

She lets go of your wrist once you're both inside, hurriedly closing and locking the door behind her after she enters. She presses her ear to the door, trying to hear any noise from the other side. It takes several tense, quiet seconds before Kazuha is satisfied that the coast is clear, breathing a sigh of relief and slumping back against the door.

It takes one look at your face and she starts laughing, a contagious laugh that you can't help but join in, the two of you giggling like schoolchildren skipping class and up to no good. It's rather appropriate that Kazuha is wearing something like a school uniform - from her neutral grey skirt, showing off just the right amount of thigh to send your heart racing, to her neatly buttoned blouse and Windsor-knotted tie.

"That was close," Kazuha says. "In hindsight, probably not a good idea to start making out in an open hallway."

You take a seat opposite her on the counter of one of the make-up stations, leaning against the backlit vanity mirror. "It would be a fairly interesting bit of news if we did get caught."

"God, could you imagine the headlines? Newly debuted idol already caught in a dating scandal."

"I'm sure they would come up with something spicier than that," you say. "Like - Le Sserafim's Kazuha seduces incredibly handsome guy into backstage tryst."

Your boastfulness earns you an eyeroll from Kazuha, but she still rewards you with another of her pretty laughs that makes your heart soar. "Backstage tryst? Is that what this is? And here I thought you came all this way to cheer me on."

"Among other things…"

"Is that so," Kazuha smiles, making her way across the room and over to you. She takes your left hand into both of hers, idly running her thumbs over your knuckles, her subtle way of suggesting that you make your move.

It’s an impossible to not fall in love with her all over again. You haven’t even been together for a long time - you can still remember the day where out of nowhere a Japanese ballerina pirouetted into your life, immediately taking your heart with just her smile, her eyes, and her laughter. But most of all, it was the moment you saw her perform for the first time that changed everything for you - seeing her confidence, her charisma, getting to see her do what she does best - that made you fall head over heels for her.

"If I remember correctly,” Kazuha says, somewhat shyly, “I think you were about to kiss me..."

"I think you’re right," you answer, placing your hands on her waist and pulling her close to you, taking her feathery lips with your own, meeting her in a kiss that is at once fiery and intense. It takes little prompting for Kazuha to start kissing you back - her tongue pushes forward, parting your lips, searching your mouth for its partner.

You breathe her in - flavours of strawberries and cinnamon on your tongue, the taste accompanied by her moans into your mouth. Your kiss rapidly heats up - her hands move to your chest, taking handfuls of your t-shirt in her grasp, holding you against her, close enough that she can feel you begin to stir against her centre.

Mere seconds pass and you're losing yourself in her kiss, overwhelmed by the rush of having your girlfriend's body so close to you. Like always, just as it has been from the very start of your relationship, things quickly become as hot and passionate as Kazuha herself.

It doesn't take long for your burgeoning arousal to become too difficult for both of you to ignore, and you can feel Kazuha's lips turn upwards into a smile against your own.

"Lucky me," she says between kisses, letting her hand wander downwards to trace the outline of your hardness poking through your pants. You can't hold back the grunt that leaves your lips as her fingers grope through the fabric on either side of your length - the feeling alone is enough to already have you throbbing under her touch. “You really are excited to see me, aren’t you?

"I have to take my chances where I can get them," you manage to say. "Now that you are a famous idol and all, who knows when you'll have time for me?"

"Oh, I could always make some time for my number one fan."

You smirk to yourself as you begin a path of kisses from her cheek and down her jawline. Kazuha tilts her head upwards as your lips get lower, helping you find the curve of her neck.

"You looked so good out there today," you say, as you reach for Kazuha's tie and start to unloosen its knot.

"T-thank you," Kazuha sighs, her eyes still shut, letting herself embrace the feeling of your lips against her skin. "I mean - I think I did fine…"

“Better than fine,” you whisper nonchalantly, paying attention to her sighs as your kisses venture further down her body.

“Yes, but -”

Kazuha’s hands grip around your shoulders, and you lift your head from her neck, meeting her eyes and seeing a strained expression on her face. You can see the thoughts racing through her head, you can read her mind in an instant - it was one of the things you loved about her, how unashamedly she wore her emotions on her sleeve.

"I just - I don’t know. What if I messed up some of the choreo and didn't even notice? We did a Q&A after - oh God, what if I said something wrong but my Korean wasn't good enough to tell? What if -"

"Kazuha - breathe." You interrupt her - knowing full well that she could talk for hours without even needing to stop for a breath if you let her, especially when she gave into her perfectionist tendencies and started looking for flaws in her own performances.

Kazuha stops herself, closing her eyes for a beat and inhaling deeply. She holds the breath, before letting out her stresses and anxiety with a long exhale. "Right - yes, you're right. I know you're right. Sorry, I'll stop ruining the mood."

"It's okay," you chuckle to yourself, now having completely loosened her tie and unbuttoned her collar, opening more surface area for you to explore. You keep your hands on her blouse, moving forward to kiss her neck again, only -

"But -"

"Kazuha," you whisper into her neck, trying to soothe her with your words and kisses, returning your lips to the wonderful slope of her shoulder, while your fingers work on the remainder of her buttons.

"I just - are you sure it was okay?"

"Okay?!" You exclaim, loud enough that Kazuha shushes you. "Zuha, you were fucking amazing!"

"You're just saying that because you have to."

"I'm saying it because I mean it." You halt your kisses across her collarbone, turning to stare straight into Kazuha's eyes, making sure she sees how much you mean the words coming from your mouth. "They're going to love it. Thousands - millions - of people are going to watch you and they'll fall in love with you the moment they see you on stage."

A slight blush colours Kazuha's face, and she replies in a soft voice, "you're the only one I really want to fall in love with me."

"Oh, we're far past that - I fell in love with you at first sight," you say. "But it's only a matter of time before everyone else gets to see the same amazing girl that I am lucky to be around every day."

You undo another button on her blouse and suddenly feel the need to clarify yourself.

"Well, maybe not all of the same things that I get to see."

The top half of her blouse undone, you kiss your way down her chest, down the left side of her body, causing Kazuha's body to quiver as your lips get closer and closer to her heartbeat.

“Baby,” Kazuha says, her voice tinted with lust and mischief, “seeing as you say I did so well, maybe I deserve some sort of reward?”

"Way ahead of you," you respond, as the last button of her blouse comes undone, and with a single, clean motion, you untuck her shirt from her skirt, and part both sides to reveal the flawless, vanilla-white skin beneath.

Your eyes are instantly drawn to her abdomen, admiring the wonderful tightness of her well-sculpted abs - the type of midsection that most would die for, built specifically to be put on display and shown off. You place your palm flat against her stomach, drawing a sharp inhale from her as you feel her muscles tense against your fingertips.

You drag your fingers up her body, past her cute bellybutton and over the defined ridges and valleys of her abs, ending your trail at the lining of her bra. You're at once thankful for the zipper at the front of the black sports bra, easily unzipped and pulled down, setting two perfectly shaped mounds free.

Her bra still remains underneath her breasts, not completely unzipped, serving their purpose and pushing her small, perky breasts up, providing enough lift to give even her tiny buds an enticing cleavage, presenting the lovely pair on a platter for you. You don't waste a single second, moving in close, dipping your head down and taking a rosy nipple into your lips, feeling the texture of her taut nipple against your tongue.

"Oh - oh - God yes," Kazuha purrs, her voice barely above a whisper, finally able to let go of her worries and think only of the pleasure you’re making her feel. She bites her lip as you take hold of her free breast with your other hand, squeezing and massaging her, rolling the stiffened tip between your thumb and your forefinger.

You give both her breasts your equal and undivided attention, taking turns with the magnificent pair, teasing her hard buds with swipes of your tongue and playful nips of your teeth. Kazuha pushes her chest forward and into your mouth, lifting her head and letting out a long, low moan as you squeeze and suck on her small, round breasts, covering her nipples with a translucent gloss of your saliva.

You gleefully spend your time in the midst of her soft flesh, sucking and licking her sensitive buds, ravishing her body with your mouth, cherishing her every sigh and exclamation that leaves her pretty lips.

You can feel her get hotter, needier, her moans turning sultry and lustful. Reluctantly, you tear your lips away from her chest, rising from your seat on the make-up counter and to your feet. She follows along with your movements - you spin her around, switching places with her, letting her sit on the surface of the counter in front of you and lean back against the mirror behind her. You slide down her body, returning your lips and tongue to her skin, mapping out a journey all the way from her chest and down to her centre.

"You worked so hard tonight - relax and let me take care of you."

"O-okay." Kazuha breathes, her abs flexing against your lips as you continue your fervent path down her body and past her navel. "Take care of me, baby."

You sink to your knees, taking her legs into your arms and spreading them apart, dutifully taking your position on the floor before her, ready to worship at the altar of Kazuha. Carefully, you unzip the side of her skirt, letting the unneeded item of clothing fall to the ground, granting you a full view of her long, unbelievably sexy legs.

Kazuha knows you all too well, knows your love for her slim, fit body, chiselled through years of pursuing perfection as a ballerina, and she knows exactly where your first port of call will be - her thighs.

You dive into the most delicious part of her body, kissing her thick, toned thighs, savouring the feeling of the soft, creamy-white skin against your lips. Her muscles tense under your touch, goose bumps prickling up to meet you as you taste the salty-sweet flavour of the sweat still lingering long after her performance.

You indulge yourself in her, marking her with your tongue, your teeth, your lips, doing your best to leave no inch of her wondrous thighs neglected. She moans as you get closer to her centre, and she tries to shift her body, angling her hips and urging you, urging your lips higher up her thigh, pleading with her body for you to take her womanhood with your tongue.

"Baby," Kazuha whimpers, hands reaching down, pawing for the back of your head. "Baby, please."

As much as you don't want to leave her thighs, you know you're running short on time, reminding yourself that this was all about taking care of her.

You let your hands travel up the back of her legs, reaching under her to take two handfuls of her juicy ass. You can barely fit her cheeks, already squished against the counter surface, into your hands. She raises her hips slightly, allowing you access to the waistband of her black panties, letting you drag the cotton pair, already damp with her arousal, all the way down her legs and off her feet, leaving her bare, naked pussy exposed and on display for you.

Kazuha's hand finds the back of your head, threading her fingers through your hair, pulling you towards the glistening, pink lips of her pussy. You start off slow, reintroducing your tongue to her pussy with a long, slow lick, receiving your answer from Kazuha in the form of a soft, wordless moan.

"How did it feel?" You ask, taking your time, teasing Kazuha's pussy with agonisingly slow licks. "How did it feel to have all those eyes on you?"

"So - so good," Kazuha whispers, whether in response to your question or your slurps, you don't care, your only concern is the heat of her pussy against your lips.

"I wonder what they would all think if they could see you now. If only they knew just how horny you really are."

The only response she can muster is another moan - she's so hot, so wet for you, her juices freely flowing into your mouth, letting you drink in her bittersweet nectar. She squirms and writhes on your tongue, completely at the mercy of your long, slow licks along her folds, each time drawing a new gasp from her mouth, forming a beautiful melody of moans for your ears only.

You spend precious seconds covering her pussy whole, lathering her wet, moist flesh with a mixture of your saliva and her own juices, before turning your attention to the peak of her mound, capturing her stiffened clit between your lips.

"Mmmmmph, yesssss!" Kazuha hisses at the first swirl of your tongue around her clit, dissolving into a puddle of desperate mewls as you pepper the stiff bud with quick, light swipes. "Just like that, baby - just what I needed."

You form a tight seal around her clit with your lips, sucking in her engorged mound, doubling your efforts on her pussy, breathing in her warmth. She grinds her pussy against you, pressing herself against your tongue, yearning for more and more pleasure.

“Oh, fuck!” Kazuha exclaims. Each lick draws a new note of pleasure from her lips and causes her to tighten her grip onto the back of your head, to the point where her fingers dig themselves into your scalp.

You don’t slow down your efforts, dedicating yourself solely to the task of eating out your perfect, fit girlfriend’s juice, dripping pussy, using your carnal knowledge of her body - the ins and outs of what makes her scream your name, knowing the exact rhythm of licks and sucks to send her careening over the edge.

It's not long before your exploits on her pussy and the pleasure coursing through her fit, tight body become too much for Kazuha to bear - her legs close in on either side of you, folding themselves behind your neck, pulling you deeper into her warmth, while her firm thighs clamp down on either side of your face like earmuffs, trapping you between their juicy goodness.

Your hands return to her generous cheeks, holding onto the ripe flesh for your dear life. She buries you between her thighs, smothering your face against her mound, leaving you with only the intoxicating heat of her pussy to fill your lungs with. You don't care - couldn't think of any better way to go - forgoing your need for air and focusing solely on your hunger for her, letting it consume you as you inhale deeply from her pussy.

"Right there, baby - oh God - yes - yes! OH - FUH-!"

Kazuha manages to catch herself before her moans turn into screams, muffling herself with her free hand, as her body explodes with pleasure. She falls forward, bracing herself on your head and folding her body over, rocking her swollen pussy against your face and shaking her hips uncontrollably against your lips.

A flood of juices streams out of her and into your mouth, and despite your every effort to eagerly lap up her precious nectar, you're unable to stem the steady flow from her orgasm that stains your nose, cheeks, and lips - escaping from the corners of your mouth and running down your chin. You don't let up on your frantic licking, maintaining your pace on her clit, determined to see her orgasm to the end.

"So good," Kazuha sighs, her body twitching in the aftermath of her orgasm onto your face, "so - so - so good."

Kazuha keeps you trapped between her legs as her orgasm dies on your chin, her hips spasming against you, her wet lips quivering against your mouth. You stay like that for a little too long, to the point where you start to feel light-headed. It’s just when you’re about to tap out that her hold on you thankfully loosens, allowing you to take a much-needed gasp of air.

You both take your time to recover, sharing nothing but panting breaths. You slip out from under her, wiping the remnants of her juices off her mouth, and rise to your feet.

You look down at Kazuha, trembling atop the table, cradling herself as she takes the time to compose herself from her momentous orgasm. Despite how dishevelled she looks - her silky, dark hair in tangles, sweat matting strands to her face, and her clothes in complete disarray, exposing her firm, tight body in its full, glorious nudity - she still looks every bit of the angelic ballerina as she was the first time you met her. She avoids your eyes as you gaze down at her, missing your smile as you see her cheeks turn a bright red, flush with embarrassment at having so easily and so quickly lost herself over to her own orgasm.

"That was - that was too good," Kazuha finally says.

You nod in agreement, as Kazuha wearily slides herself off the counter, standing to meet you on her own feet, shaking off the fatigue from her orgasm. She places one hand on your chest and sneaks her other hand south, gripping your length through your pants. She massages you over the thin fabric, a knowing smile on her face, clearly pleased with herself as she uses her expert fingers to force a groan from your throat.

"I want you," she breathes into the small space between your two bodies, a distance that is rapidly closing as your cock strains against the front of your pants. "I want you inside me - please."

"Are you sure you have time?" You manage to say, more out of courtesy than concern - you’re keenly aware of how close you are, can feel your inner desires screaming for release.

"Do you really think I would leave you this hard? That would be too cruel."

She works efficiently - holding eye contact with you the entire time her fingers go to work - first on your belt buckle, then the clasp of your pants, and finally the zip. The deftness of her fingers, the wicked grin on her face, and the delight in her eyes the moment she frees your cock from its cotton prison - it's all a show of pure, wanton lust.

"Besides," Kazuha says, "I can't think of a better way to end a perfect day than having my boyfriend fill me."

You match her grin and give her your instructions. "Turn around and bend over."

Kazuha obediently complies, gently pushing you back, giving her enough space to turn away from you and bend forward. She keeps your cock in her hand as she does, slowly pumping you as she assumes position, while using her free hand to brace herself against the mirror.

You stare down at her exposed ass, pointed upwards into the air, presenting herself for your viewing. It seems unfair that someone so fit and athletic could have an ass so perfect and juicy, so plump and round and soft. If Kazuha's thighs are your favourite part of her wonderland of a body, then her bountiful ass comes in a close second.

"Ready?"

You nod, and let her lead the dance, let her adjust the angle of your shaft, lining up the tip of your cock against her drenched lips. She lets your cock hang suspended, barely kissing her folds, each slight brush of your head against her wetness sending tingles up your spine.

Her eyes remain on you through the reflection, watching you, making sure your gaze is on her face as she eases herself onto you, at first grinding her hips softly, bathing your cock in her juices, before finally pulling your cock forward and sinking you into her.

You groan as she lets go of your cock and pushes her hips back against you, sliding her wet, slick pussy down onto your cock and into her body with a soft, smooth stroke. There was nothing quite like entering Kazuha for the first time, that split second where the initial inch of your cock goes from naked and exposed to suddenly being swallowed whole and surrounded by warmth, drowning you with a divine sensation like no other.

"You feel so good inside me, baby," Kazuha whimpers as your cock breaches her entrance. Her pussy is just as tight as the rest of her - walls clenching around your cock, stretching and moulding around your length and allowing you to penetrate her fully. “So - so big... So right...”

It's with a satisfied sigh that your hips meet, you both take a breath to savour in the moment, to bask in the feeling of Kazuha's fit, young body impaled on your cock.

"Do it, baby," Kazuha sighs, rolling her hips back against your waist, her juices spilling freely onto your crotch. "Give it to me, please."

At least for tonight, her wish is your command - you decide to take it slow at first, drawing your hips back and sliding your length out from her body. Through the mirror you can see Kazuha's eyes closed shut, biting her lip, absorbed entirely in the motions of your cock inside of her. You relish in the sight of her, in the sight of seeing someone so elegantly beautiful wracked by such fervent pleasure. You watch her closely, purposefully slowing your exit, inching yourself out until only the head of your cock remains on the precipice of her entrance, before suddenly spearing your cock forward and right back into her warm, inviting pussy.

"OH!" Her mouth opens wide as you fill her once again, thrusting back into her, eliciting a strained moan from her. You build your pace - exiting and entering her again, and again, and again - finding your rhythm, fucking out of her gasps and moans and sighs, leaving her to brace herself against the mirror as your thrusts become harder and faster.

You're not sure where to look at this point - her whole body is rocked with each solid pump; her face a mixture of torrid emotions, her small breasts bouncing up and down, and her round cheeks shaking with each clash of your hips, making her back arch into the loveliest of curves.

You hold onto her full hips as your cock disappears between her ass cheeks and into her tight pussy over and over, each time soaking your shaft in a new sheen of her juices.

Kazuha quickly finds her own tempo, matching your every stroke, rolling her hips back onto you as you enter her, exponentially increasing the pleasure for both of you, using the pressure of her walls around your cock to their fullest extent.

"You're so big - so thick," Kazuha gasps, her voice filling the room with moans, her calls for more - her calls for you. "You’re stretching me out so good, baby."

You fuck Kazuha to a steady beat, neither increasing or decreasing in your speed, rather in the force of your thrusts, each hard thrust into her body accompanied by a loud slap of skin to skin, fucking her further into the mirror and against her own reflection.

"Look at yourself, Kazuha," you say, "look at how much you love this, how much you love my cock."

"Y-yes!" Kazuha gasps, eyes struggling to stay open to watch her own reflection getting fucked, "I love fucking your cock so - God - damn - much!"

You lose yourself over to her, over to the addictive feeling of her intense, wet cunt clenching around you. You double your efforts - intent on giving her the fucking she deserved, rewarding her hard work with the cock she craved so badly.

You can feel it, see the tell-tale signs of Kazuha's fast approaching orgasm, and know you're following her closely behind. You read her body - read the slope of her back, the tensing of her muscles, and the tightening of her hot pussy around your cock

"Wait," she says, stopping your frantic fucking, just as you were on the cusp of your climax. "Not like this - not yet. I want to see you - I want to watch you as you fuck me."

You don't respond, you don't need to - you're far more than willing to give her what she desired, sliding yourself out of her completely, groaning as your cock leaves the warm embrace of her pussy. You take a step back, giving Kazuha her space to move.

She's so graceful, easily manoeuvring herself around you, flipping herself over and pressing her back up and against the mirror. She smooths her hair out of her face, deftly tying the long strands into a neat bun, making sure you can see her lovely face in its entirety, can see her warm, golden-brown pools looking up at you.

She returns her hand to the base of your cock, lightly wrapping her delicate fingers around your shaft, still slick and wet with her juices, and guides you forward into her welcoming entrance.

Kazuha keeps you locked in her passionate gaze, ensuring you see her desire, her lust, her affection for you - sharing with you the intimate moment when her eyes going wide and her pussy pulls your cock deep into her.

There's nothing left to say, nothing left to do except take her by the hips and slowly resume your thrusts in and out of her - no words, only the sounds of your grunts harmonising with her moans, mixed with the clapping of skin to skin as you bury yourself within her over and over again.

You find your pace once more, both of you easily falling back into the throes of your passionate fucking. You know you're not going to last long like this - you were already on the edge before, and you have no reason to hold back now, especially with Kazuha writhing around in pleasure beneath you.

"This feels so right," Kazuha sighs, groaning out the last word as you plunge back into her pussy. “Just like that... Make me feel it baby - give me what I need...”

You remain mesmerised by Kazuha's face as you fuck her - her cheeks a vibrant red, her brows furrowed, her eyes half lidded, her teeth sinking into her bottom lip - captivated in seeing the girl you love so much lost in the feeling of your cock filling her whole. Small moans escape past her lips - breathless, airy gasps - as she fights to maintain control of her own body, but ultimately fails to stem the intense pleasure coursing through every fibre of her being.

"Yes, baby!" Her lip escapes the hold of her teeth, and her mouth opens into a wide 'o', exhaling a long, pleasant moan. "I'm so close - just - need - to - !"

Her thighs close in on either side of you, pulling your hips into her with the strength of her legs, forcing you into a violent thrust deep inside her pussy. She lets out a cry of pleasure as your cock sinks into her, and all of a sudden, all at once, her entire body tenses around you.

Hands turn into vices, thighs crush into your sides, heels lock behind you, and her walls - her pussy - smothers your cock, suffocating your length in its warmth, drowning it in a waterfall of her juices.

"So - so - so - SO - GOOD!" Kazuha's voice bounces off the walls, to the point that all you feel, all you see, and all you hear is her - the stunning, perfect angel turned into a slave to her own ecstasy. She clenches her eyes shut, giving up the losing battle and lets her orgasm overcome her completely, giving herself over to her pleasure, to every quiver and shake and tremble of her body around your cock.

You can spend an eternity watching her like this, can't possibly imagine anything you'd rather be doing, but your own self-control is quickly unravelling, and the divine feeling of her slick warmth wrapped around your cock has you dead set on a collision course with your own climax.

It's then that Kazuha's eyes flitter open and you're met with the heat of her lustful gaze, needing you, begging you to join her in her bliss. She loosens her legs around you and shifts herself upwards so she's seated upright, meeting you at eye-level, locking her gaze with yours while giving you ample room to find your orgasm in her hot, tight body.

"Make love to me, baby," she whispers, her low, husky, tone pleasantly vibrating through your eardrums. "Look me in the eyes and make love to me like this."

You wordlessly obey her, answering her pleas with long, slow thrusts, relishing every inch of her walls, so hot around your length, letting her heavenly body swallow your cock whole. She responds in kind, her mouth ajar, unable to stop her deep moans from escaping her each time you fill her with your cock.

You savour her - how her entire body tenses and heaves with each thrust, how her small breasts bounce in time with your pumps, how her stiff nipples flick up and down in tandem, how her abs so tight and well-muscled clench and flex in anticipation of your hips meeting.

"Inside me - please," Kazuha says, her whispers becoming begs, "I’m yours - my body - my pussy - all yours - baby!"

There's nothing else you can do but hold on - grip into Kazuha's perfect hips, dig your fingers into her juicy ass - let the feeling of being inside her overtake you as you give her exactly what she wanted - what she craved. Warmth, softness, wetness is all you know, surrounding your pulsating cock as it fires stream after stream of your thick, creamy load into Kazuha's hot cunt, filling her needy pussy to the brim.

She holds herself tight against you, stiff, bare nipples pressed flush against your chest, nails clawing hungrily at your back, lips whispering sweet nothings into your ear. You're barely conscious of the fact that you're still thrusting into her, caught under the spell of Kazuha's walls clenching and squeezing around your shaft, milking you for every last drop of cum you have in you, making sure that she is made whole.

You let the moment meet its natural end, slowing your motions, bringing yourself to a stop inside her, until the two of you are nothing more than two entwined lovers, bathed in the warm afterglow of sex. You start to pull back, to untangle yourself from her, but she holds you tight, keeping you against her.

"Baby," she whispers into your ear, "just a little longer. Let me feel like this for just a little longer."

You echo the sentiment, letting your forehead rest against hers, breathing in her air, filling your lungs with her exhalations of satisfaction, the two of you simply content to remain in each other’s arms. Time passes, time that you're both well aware you don't have, but there was next to nothing that could take you out of this moment regardless.

"That was…" Kazuha is the first to break the silence, relaxing her grip from your neck, her palms finding your cheeks, cradling your face in her hands, stroking your jawline with her thumb.

"Yeah," is all you can really muster in response, both lacking the words and not needing them to describe the thing you share.

You capture her lips, kissing her, feeling their cushiony softness against your own, before parting just as quickly as you began, knowing that it would be improper to take up even more of her time. She's reluctant to let you go, even as you slide out of her, backing away and freeing your cock from the clutching grasp of her pussy.

You can't stop the mix of your cum and her juices that follows after your exit, streaming out from her formerly cock-stuffed opening and down the thighs that you loved so much, landing in a pool on the counter between her legs.

"You should go," you say, regretting the words as soon as they leave our mouth.

"But I -"

"I've taken up too much of your time already," you say, "they're probably all waiting."

You step back from her, giving her the appropriate room and taking her by the hand to help her to her feet.

With stunning efficiency, she clothes herself, first picking up her skirt and zipping it back over her cum-drenched thighs, smoothening out the creases. Her blouse returns in a similar fashion, easily buttoned back up and tucked into her skirt, followed by her tie, quickly knotted and fastened in place around her neck.

If you didn't know better, you would think that she had just come off the stage, a theory that would be supported by how out of breath she was.

You pick up her discarded panties from the ground, offering the cotton pair, damp and stained from the build up to your fucking, back to her to complete her outfit.

"Hold onto them for me," she says, now properly prepared to face whatever waited for her on the outside. She turns away from you, but stops just before making her way for the door. "Do you think they'll notice?"

Your eyes follow down her body, past the hem of her skirt, to spot the unmistakeable glaze of cum lining the inside of her thigh. You look back up at her with a raised eyebrow. "They just might."

She laughs at that, a pretty sound reserved only for you. "Maybe it could pass for sweat? Or a trick of the light? Or maybe they’ll just have to wonder who owns this newly debuted idol's pussy."

She relishes your stunned silence at her filthy proposition, and before you even have time to blink, she steals a chaste kiss from your lips.

"Wish me luck?"

"Go get 'em, Kazuha."

#kpop smut #le sserafim smut #kazuha smut #male reader

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