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nouearth · 6 months ago

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the boy next door.

pairing. alan ritchson x male reader headcanon.

summary. with his profile brewing in hollywood, projects are consistently lining up for alan, and the last thing he needs is a new roommate getting in the way of his stress. unless, reader finds himself becoming alan's personal stress-ball?

content warning. camboy!au, camboy!reader, top!alan, bottom!reader, food!play (cucumber as dildo), muscle worship, size difference, spitting, oral (r!giving on dildo), dirty talk, verbal, masturbation, alan and reader are roommates.

moving in.

roommate!alan who surprises you with his massive stature when he greets you on move-in day.

it was jaw-dropping. well, almost so. you were luckily aware enough to catch the slack of your jaw from relaxing any further. any second longer, and you would've been hypnotized into submission by the man's brawn physicality; massive chest, bulging arms, and thick fingers—traits you would find yourself drooling about.

"hey, uh... (m/n), right? is that how you say your last name?" "spot on! and... alan. man, your name already sounds like a celebrity, i'm jealous." "haha, hopefully the casting directors feel the same way."

roommate!alan who helps you with your luggages without a single request from your end.

aside from being eye-candy, alan utilized his muscles for the greater good and brought your belongings from the trunk of your car, to the front of your door in a matter of minutes. even when you pleaded him not to, he went on ahead while urging you to take a rest after the long drive across the city.

you complained, though half-heartedly because your ass was sore from driving all day. his massive arms were a distraction as the veins surged through every muscle of fiber like lightning.

"you really didn't need to do all of that—" "hey, you're saving me from shelling out an extra thousand by being my roommate. plus, you seem... normal? that's the least i could do." "normal? pft, i don't know about that. but i will say, your kind gestures have put you on my 'no-kill' list." "let's backpedal a bit. is it too late to kick you out?"

roommate!alan who has already taken a liking towards you in the few hours you two have spent together to unpack.

saying that people 'stared' at alan would be underplaying what they've actually done. it was a daily occurrence to catch people gawking at his stature. whether it was with astonishment, intimidation, lust, or hostility, all eyes were on him, collective eyes and gasps piecing together how a man could look the way he does. some whispered 'steroids', others envied his dedication.

as uncomfortable as it could be at times, he liked the attention knowing he'd be the subject of one's conversation to another friend.

with you, it was no different. he'd caught you several times staring at his arms from across the room. or maybe it was his shoulders? how they perfectly filled his shirt out from seam to seam? either way, you were enchanted, especially when he'd nonchalantly flex his muscles every now and then in hopes he'd catch your eye.

and he could say the same about himself when he'd catch you bent over, ass raised high while you dug inside of your boxes to unpack the remaining decor you had brought with you.

until that moment, he never noticed how much smaller you were compared to his, the top of your head barely meeting his chin if he was to line you up. how much of a desire had awakened to have you in his arms, just to see how you perfectly fit into his body.

getting to know each other.

roommate!alan who has already learned of your habits, likes and dislikes, and hobbies within a few weeks of you moving in.

it was the small stuff that you found yourself gushing over. you two almost always had dinner together on the couch. condiments on the side for you, ketchup over his fries for him.

whether it was homemade or takeout, the best memories being made between the two of you were simply eating in front of the tv and watching alan's roles despite his reluctance.

you would cheer whenever he appeared on the screen, the camera somehow making him seem smaller than he appeared to be in real life. it was impressive, and once again, you found yourself drawn to the sheer size of muscles beside you.

throbbing, even at the simplest touch, as he gave your shoulders squeeze amidst passing by you to collect your plate.

"have to head to bed early. got an audition in the morning." "awesome! was this the one you were telling me about earlier?""yep. i worked with the director once, so fingers crossed?"

roommate!alan who can read your body language early on, and senses that you're hiding something from him.

it was that one question that either turned you into stone, or a babbling buffoon as you would try to avoid the subject.

your occupation.

he didn't know much other than the fact that you worked from home, which was why your bedroom was so intricately set up like a tech start-up.

four different types of cameras, a gaming chair, several monitors for one pc; it was intricate and honestly, alan didn't really understand it.

"so, you don't have to say yes or no, but..." "hm..?""are you a youtuber? like, one of those tech guys who reviews new phones and stuff?""something like that, i guess?" "is it mentally draining?" "more so... physically?"

roommate!alan who asks about your day after coming home from a shoot.

you looked exhausted, drained, wrecked—images of you that he never thought would rile him up. yet, as you groggily came out of your room with flushed skin, and a thirst that needed to be quenched, alan was equally parched just watching you recover your breath in between gulps of water.

cluttered state of mind.

roommate!alan who merely offers you a look of annoyance when you greet him after he arrives home.

you've recognized that look by now, and all you could simply provide was his dinner plate, and a sympathetic pat on the back.

"listen, i know a friend and he has a mutual that can help you—" "not in the mood right now, (m/n).""just trying to help, alan."

roommate!alan who ends the night early, leaving you on the couch with his plate left untouched.

it was awkward, to simply put it. the show you put on happened to be the one he was auditioning for, and then ultimately flunked because he forgot his script. from the corner of your eye, you could see his jaw tightening, straining, fork scraping against the ceramic plate as he pushed the fried rice in a corner, and then eastward, because that corner was empty.

though, is it wrong to say that you found it hot? if only there was a less forward and awkward way of saying, 'hey, i'd love to take your mind off of things right now. let me suck you off.'

secret unlocked.

stressed!alan who spends half-an-hour in the shower contemplating whether this career was worth it.

countless of potential roles never making it pass the call-back stage; he was growing exhausted from it. driving from city to city, filling his car with gas that would amount to nothing in the end. he could only stretch his royalties out for so much longer, and—

no, he wasn't a quitter. the last time he felt like this, the next audition was a success. if predictions are right, he'd consider this madness a sign of luck, at least for the meantime.

stressed!alan who needs something to take out his frustration on.

maybe he should head to the gym? no, he already showered. and it was already getting too late for his liking to drive back and forth at this time, even if he wasn't tired.

at the corner of his eye, his laptop glinted with a sparkle.

some good porn would fix him.

stressed!alan who has one hand down his sweats, and the other calmly scrolling through his favorite cam site.

his lips grew chapped, licking them from time to time as he watched the page load without the decency to sugar-coat its offerings. his sight was immediately assaulted with moving thumbnails of women, and men under the spell of their own lust. some squirmed from the uncontrollable feeling of being filled, while others preferred talking to their patrons, touching themselves to the pixelated smut sent through the chat.

stressed!alan who has you on his mind despite the options to choose from, and he squeezes his large balls in his hand.

the cursor maneuvered respectfully around one performer’s breasts and another’s erection in its journey to the filter list. the drop-down menu pulled open and alan checked off the men within his age range.

with a quick load, the website refreshed with a new assortment of performers, and his cock began to sprout at the moving thumbnails. his hand immediately began to feed his growing bulge with gentle squeezes and rubs as he scrolled what seemed to be endless cycle of camboys.

the sudden warmth of his clothes stuck uncomfortably to his skin. alan removed each article within seconds, yet the flush of his skin remained, ached as it yearned for the physical touch of the seductive men beckoning him.

stressed!alan who felt the world had stopped. the heat frozen in his cheeks, his hands equally mirroring as he hovered over a familiar face. strained, orbs dilated and wandering, and holy shit—so fucking inviting.

it was you.

stressed!alan who watches your stream for a few minutes to decipher if it was truly you before shamelessly stroking his cock after he confirms that it was.

sweat dribbled over your neck and body in diverging streams. your legs were raised on their own accord, thick thighs shaking from the muscles working overdrive to keep you still and perfectly centered before your webcam.

stressed!alan who couldn't believe what he was seeing. it all made sense now, why you were so reluctant to tell what you truly did.

you were a fucking whore. a whore for the internet for everyone to goon to, to cum to. he can imagine it now, how much pleasure you'd given these men as he watched you fuck yourself with a cucumber.

and he was one of them. alan's large cock was manhandled by his hand, stroking sloppily with an ample amount of lube squeezed over the flesh of throbbing muscle.

all those memories of you looking so wrecked came fluttering in. you looked wrecked because you were fucking wrecked.

by a fucking cucumber.

and alan has never been so envious of a vegetable despite eating them on a daily.

you were plunging your tight hole with a long cucumber, slickly lubed from the condom over the girth of the green plant. with every push of your wrist, your legs caved into the pressure to set themselves down, but every time the crown of the plant pressed into your prostate, you were reminded of the viewers who had been donating, their pop-up messages urging you to keep them up 'like a good boy.'

stressed!alan who jerks himself off to the rhythm of your wrist.

every time you sank the thick cucumber inside of you, alan paced himself to match your tempo, plunging himself into his closed fist, mimicking your refusing hole by opening his fingers one-by-one, until he had fully breached through.

stressed!alan who mutters to himself, who mutters words that you couldn't hear because you were busy pleasuring yourself for hundreds of men watching you.

"fuck yeah, take that dick..." "too big for you?""fuck, we'll make it fit."

stressed!alan who imagines himself fucking into you.

he knew his cock was big. he'd been told countless of times, by men and women, and lots of time, they would quit a few minutes in because it was just too much.

but you, he was certain that you were able to take him. because—fuck—alan was bigger than that cucumber you were fucking yourself open with. it needed a glorious amount of lube, like what you had displayed before him, dripping heavily from your abused cavity, but luckily, you had experience in handling big sizes, right?

you'd take him, like the 'good boy' the users were spamming in the chatbox. you'd take him with your eyes forced shut from him stretching you out. from alan's impatience and reluctance to wait for you to adjust to him, because he's fucking furious at you.

why didn't you tell him sooner? why were you hiding this from him? how could you be so selfish and leave him blue-balled whenever you'd come out in those shorts of yours? teasing him with the smallest glimpse of your inner thighs?

if he could ever lay his hands on you, he'd show no mercy. fucking your ass doggy-style till your cheeks clapped. plunging you with his cock as you spread your legs open for him. locking your throat with his arm while he's under you, your back pressed to his chest, rendering you trapped within his embrace. you'd take his cock in every position, in every state, whether you'd like it or not, because you were a good, fucking, boy.

stressed!alan who spits on his cock because you began simultaneously filling your mouth up with a dildo.

spit. god, there was so much spit coming out of your mouth. you loved pushing yourself to the limit, alan could see it. the light leaving your eyes whenever you pushed the dildo a little too far to the back of your throat. that could be his cock, if you let him.

he imagined how warm your mouth would be. how perfectly shaped it's made for his thick, meaty cock. he had the perfect curve to make it a struggle to swallow him down, but like he noticed, you loved a challenge, didn't you?

alan's cock was plump, and beaten red in his hand. noises similar to the sound of you sucking off the dildo were made with his hand, his spit and lube sloshing together in a lewd symphony that could be heard from your room if you'd learn to shut up.

"choke on it, gag on that fucking dick..." "fuck yeah, spit on it.""good fucking boy."

stressed!alan who's nearing his climax from watching you tease the camera with your hole.

you repeated countless of profanities after every plunge of the cucumber flushing deep inside of you. you made sure to buy the girthiest one; they loved seeing your asshole gape at the end of the stream. twisting your wrist, you could feel the subtle ridges of the cucumber, violating your guts with its nature, and it was all-so glorious. the size, the texture, the viewers, the sound of donations coming in, the ‘thank you’ messages after for making them come; you were a true star within this community and it evidently showed when you finally hit your donation goal for the night.

alan fucked his fist, nearly coming to the sight of your gaping hole when you yanked the cucumber out of you like a sword-wielding knight ready to slay a dragon.

it was beautiful, watching you desperately hold onto the physical being of the cucumber, but all there was to it in the end was the memory of its girth. your hole was perfectly molded it, clenching and pursing, blowing fluttering kisses to the camera, to alan.

and if it was up to him, he'd ram his cock into you by now, not letting a second to spare in fucking you until your muscles felt like jelly, because fuck, you were so enticing like this. head lolled back, mouth open with your tongue hanging out as if you had a dripping cock to catch its cum above you.

the sound of donations kept chiming in, and alan knew he wasn't alone in this enchantment.

one more hit to your prostate, and you came undone in seconds. thick spurts of cum shot at your chest from your current position, then at your face when you raised your hips a little higher and pumped your cock with a ravishing fist. the sound of donations rang like a police siren. if you were being profiled for a crime, it was because you couldn’t hold in your cum any longer like one user had begged for you to.

stressed!alan who perfectly aligns his orgasm with yours and blows multiple loads on the screen on his laptop. his moans came out in hushed stutters, countering your choked whimpers that would then break out into begs for cum.

"fuck, fuck, fuck. i need your cum, i need it. give me all of it, fuck. all over my body. in my ass. on my face. i need that load."

his cum came out in thick, pulsating ropes, flying forward to land on the image of you resuming to fuck yourself to your audience's collective orgasm. this time, at a closer view, as you centered the camera to fill the stream with a screenful of ass and a gaping hole. it was your fans' favorite part of the stream, the chat exploding in several fire emojis and astonishment as you showed your pretty insides blooming for thick, endless spunk.

it was hypnotizing, almost as if you were really there before him.

with one hand, alan brought his laptop in between his legs, and smeared his own cum over the blooming resolution of his screen. feigning a breeding, he slides his cock over his cum, over his laptop screen, while you moaned in the background, begging lewdly for cum, to be filled, to be bred, to be dripping, to be fucked, and alan doesn't know what came over him, but another load automatically came out of him like some kind of spell.

"h-holy shit...""fuck, yeah... give me that load, all your load... are my fans breeding me right now?"

alan painted you until you were practically hidden beneath the layers of his orgasm. translucent white blurred the screen, but he could still make out your silhouette. sitting now, exhausted, wrecked, evidently too tired to be bothered to clean up the mess you made on your body.

and just like that, his head felt lighter. all of his worries had left with every dump of load over your pixelated hole, and yours as well, as you leaned back to catch your breath with your eyes closed. his breathing matched the pace of yours, together, collectively, and all he could do was shortly laugh at the situation before him.

roommate!alan who greets you in the morning with a strange smirk as you made yourself breakfast.

"i can see why your job is physically draining now." "hm?" you yawned. "what are you talking—"

roommate!alan who pulls out a cucumber from the fridge, and cuts it into thin slices for his morning smoothie.

"i-i can explain—""you can make it up to me tonight."

he popped a slice into his mouth after.

nouearth. please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works. and if you like this story, please reblog and leave a like!

#alan ritchson x male reader #alan ritchson x reader #alan ritchson x m!reader #alan ritchson x you #alan ritchson x y/n #alan ritchson imagine #x you #x reader #x male reader #male reader #m!reader #✰ : nou.celebs #✰ : nou.alanritchson #nou.fics

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mysterystarz · 7 months ago

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kiss me maybe:

summary: finding a flier for the volleyball's kissing booth was surprising for two reasons. a) kuroo had created one of the worst fliers known to mankind and b) oikawa tooru, the school's resident pretty boy was capitalizing off the rumors surrounding him. still, you couldn't deny your attraction to the setter, and he couldn't hide that you were the only one he wanted to kiss

pairing: oikawa tooru x g!n reader

word count: 12.6k (please give this a chance)

genres + themes: college!au, sort of friends to lovers(?), fluff, angst, kuroo being an occasional menace, iwaizumi being the sexiest friend you can have, kiyoko being an icon, romanticized college experience, oikawa being an idiot but yours

warnings: cursing, a tad suggestive in some parts, absolutely not proofread

a/n: hi there i am back with a long fic. anyways this thing is my lovechild and probs the most fanfic thing ive written. its really just a fluff monster (lol) and i hope you give this a chance <3 also dedicated to @chimielie because her stuff gave me the inspo to write ily lia thank you for being so talented

It was said that Oikawa Tooru’s kisses were mythical.

Some claimed that one press of lips from the kingly setter was like a hit of a drug, sudden in a way that sent you reeling.

To some, his kisses tasted like the finest candy, hand served on an ornate dish.

Most magically, it was claimed that a kiss from Oikawa Tooru could heal even the most broken of hearts. Just one thread through sun bronzed hair could make you forget about the most painful memories.

And of course, like any celebrity would, he knew about each and every rumor.

Naturally, you reckoned you were bound to see the dreaded flier sooner or later. It sat there still, taped onto the tiny bulletin board outside of the Organic Chemistry I room. It was the worst godawful flier you’d ever seen in your life. In front of you was a myriad of colorful borders, and even more whimsical fonts atop of a cardstock page. It seemed to call out to you with its boldness, as if to say “kiss me” with its scrawling typography.

Mystic Kissbooth, it read in an infuriatingly ornate font. Come and kiss your woes away (and kiss ours away too – a mutually beneficial fundraiser!)

“I see you’ve seen our handiwork,” chuckled a voice. You didn’t have to turn around to recognize Kuroo, who simply leaned against the bulletin board in an attempt to catch your expression.

Not that he would. You weren’t going to give him that luxury.

“No wonder it’s such shit,” you laughed, gesturing to the list of names at the bottom, “I’m honestly ashamed to even know you.”

“Hey,” he frowned playfully, ruffling your hair as he began his signature large strides. Curse him and his stupidly long legs. “That was heavily inspired by your Canva templates…..you know….the bad ones.”

You let out a long and dragged out sigh while you followed your best friend (unfortunately) to one of the secluded benches on campus. Beneath the hustle and bustle of students as they sprinted to class, it was almost peaceful to rest your legs for just a moment.

Relaxing onto the bench, you placed your backpack at your side, creating a wedge between you and Kuroo, who’d taken the seat right next to you. He didn’t seem to mind, simply casting a grin in your direction.

For starters, you weren’t sure how to feel about the Canva invasion. Yes, it was a design platform, and yes, you’d tried (and failed sometimes) to create infographics whenever Kuroo needed a helping hand. It was just a tad surprising to discover that Kuroo had drawn his inspiration from your least successful works.

“What’s this whole thing about?” You decided on asking after a lengthy pause. Kuroo cast his gaze to meet your own, his grin almost glued into place.

“Well, not that we’re in any trouble, but the volleyball club could use some funds. We’ve been trying to set up some pretty competitive matches and practice games, but we need the fuel to do it. Oikawa thought this was a great way to make use of all the attention we have.”

“No wonder. He’s probably the most popular one on the team….though Iwaizumi is honestly the one to be looking at.”

“Rude,” Kuroo huffed, “There’s a lot of other people to be interested in, you know.”

“Hopefully you don’t mean yourself,” you chuckled, dodging a playful hit on the arm from Kuroo. “But in all seriousness, a kissing booth?” Kuroo paused for a moment, seemingly mulling over a proper response, when Iwaizumi entered your frame of vision.

There were times you wondered why Iwaizumi Hajime didn’t consider a career in modeling. From where he stood, the sunlight almost seemed to caress his skin, tanned and sun bronzed from a summer spent playing volleyball on the beach. Upon seeing you and Kuroo on the bench, he extended a quick wave before jogging over, arms flexing as he got closer.

“Stop ogling him,” Kuroo smirked, “You could stand to be a bit less obvious.” “Shut up,” you muttered just as Iwaizumi ended his jog to stand in front of you.

“Nice to see you here,” he beamed, his eyes meeting your own, “I barely see you around these days. Did Kuroo scare you away from the club?” “No not at all,” you smiled, moving your backpack to make space for the handsome spiker. Some of the students on the nearby path stopped to turn at the three of you, and Iwaizumi, none-the-wiser, took a swig from his water bottle.

He was never aware of the effect he had on people. That was exactly what contributed to his charm.

“Y/N wanted to know a bit more about the booth,” Kuroo started. “I think you’d explain it better than I could.”

Iwaizumi raised a brow, “It’s just a club fundraiser. I mean, it's the only decent idea that Oikawa’s had in a while.”

“So he really was involved, huh.” You said (more to yourself than anyone else). The two men looked at you confusedly, before Kuroo finally spoke.

“You know, you always seem to get a bit fidgety whenever someone mentions Oikawa. And you always try to be away from him when you come to our practices…were the two of you involved or something? Because if you were, I am honestly offended you didn’t tell me.”

You aggressively shook your head no, warranting a chuckle from Iwaizumi. “Well, if they were, I think it’s had an impact. You start to see him for who he really is.”

The three of you laughed, choosing to enjoy the fresh breeze.

However, even despite the simple beauty of this moment, you couldn’t stop yourself from thinking about the booth.

Oikawa stood at the front of the lecture hall, spinning his pen while meeting the eyes of his teammates. At his side was Kuroo’s flier, whimsically colorful in all the ways a magical kissing booth (like this one) was supposed to be. Iwaizumi sat in the front, close enough for Oikawa to catch the teasingly judgy stares of his best friend while he waited for everyone to settle down.

Finding a free lecture hall had been no problem. All he’d had to do is smile nicely at a few eager students, verify with a few professors, and send a frantic “MEET NOW” to the club group chat.

The real problem was convincing the rest of the team of this idea in the first place.

“Hey guys,” he beamed, putting the flier down on the desk closest to him, “Thanks for showing up on such short notice. You guys are the best.”

“We didn’t come for you,” Makki snickered. “We’re just here to see what crazy justification you have for this.” “Well,” he began, “We’ve been in the spotlight for quite some time now. A lot of us have been featured in the campus newspaper, we’ve made it onto our university’s podcast, and have you even seen the instagram fanpages for us? They’re absolutely insane. So, what better time to take advantage of this?”

“And this has nothing to do at all with the rumors?” A voice asked. Oikawa turned to meet the eyes of Semi Eita, who sat on the left corner closest to the door.

The team laughed as Oikawa shook his head in faux denial. “Absolutely not. Why would I ever do such a thing?”

“Because you're smart!” Oikawa was almost surprised to hear the remark from Bokuto, who sat near Kuroo with his own flier. “And it’s a lot of fun.”

The team murmured their respective agreements before the room fell silent again. Oikawa, ever the opportunist, slid into the silence with an explanation.

“I was thinking we set it up as sort of a de-stress day after midterms. We could get the other clubs to join in their own mini fundraisers…like a carnival of sorts. We’ll set up the booth with colorful signs and posters, and we kiss based on the cash. We can take shifts to make sure the two of us aren’t running the whole show. All proceeds are for our matches and practice games. Sounds good?” “A question. Are you going to make people line up to kiss you?” Matsukawa asked casually.

“You mean us Mattsun. And yeah, a line works just fine.” Oikawa stopped for a moment to admire the unanimous cooperation of his team. “I’ll talk to the other club leaders and see if we can come up with a date. If that’s all the questions you’ve got, I’ll see you at practice tomorrow!”

With this, his team filed out the door. He caught Kuroo animatedly discussing a design to attract customers to their booth with Bokuto, mentioning that he had a friend who’d know just what to do about it. In the midst of his rant, he’d mentioned a name.

Yours. A name he hadn’t realized he missed hearing.

A faint smile crept onto his face at the thought.

Kuroo was a menace. From the minute he’d found you at the library, he’d been nagging you the entire day, practically begging for you to come to their practice.

“Y/N please,” he whined, attempting his own version of a pout, “If you see us, you could help design the poster to attract customers.” “I don’t think you need help with that.” That much was true. Especially with Oikawa headlining the event. They were guaranteed strong profits.

Somehow in the midst of all this pleading, you’d ended up right outside the gym. The sounds of volleyballs hitting the wooden floors resonated off the walls, the sound so clear that you could hear it from your spot near the door.

“You planned this,” you glared, watching Kuroo’s smile twist into one of faux innocence. Bastard.

“What can I say? I am the master of distraction.” He opened the door, swapping his shoes out at the front and walking into the gym to the greetings of his team. You followed closely behind him, carefully striding across the polished wood and shutting the door behind you.

The gym had always been grand. Your university’s colors were plastered onto the bleachers, with a wide curtain separating the different sides of the gym. There was space – so much of it – and the team spread out to practice various skills.

For a brief moment, you allowed yourself the childish awe of standing in a space so big.

“I forgot how long it’s been since you’ve been here,” a voice greeted, “But it’s good to see you Y/N.” You knew that voice. You’d know that voice like the moon knew the stars. You’d know it anywhere.

“Oikawa,” you said, turning to acknowledge the brown-haired setter. “Long time no see.”

As much as you didn’t want to, you drank him in. He seemed to be in high spirits this afternoon, hair artfully tousled in the way he always did, and lips so perfectly smooth that they seemed out of a Chapstick ad.

“You don’t really come around anymore,” He said, taking to walking with you around the gym (much to your own surprise). “I was getting a bit worried actually.”

“What do you mean?” You stared at a spot a bit beyond the setter, watching Bokuto’s cross court spike slam into the floor with dizzying speed.

“Well….we talked a bunch. And you came here at the beginning of the year. You suddenly stopped though….so I wondered if something happened.”

“You noticed?” You scoffed. “I’m surprised you paid attention.”

“Why wouldn’t I pay attention?” Oikawa raised a brow in confusion before suddenly, the answer seemed to smack him in the face. “You’re petty about that?”

“You barely paid me any mind,” was all you said, meeting Oikawa’s warm gaze, “It was like we’d never met at all.”

You’d met Oikawa Tooru on the flight to university. You’d waved your family goodbye at the gate, hugging them tight to your chest and memorizing the feel of them against you.

You walked steadily, pulling your suitcase along as you made your way to the security check in.

“Everything goes in a bag! Belts, shoes, phones! Take off your shoes and step aside. Laptops can stay in your bags! Move along!”

You hauled your suitcase into the bin, placed your phone and wallet beside it and sent it over to the TSA associate, taking a minute to place your jacket and shoes into another bin and sending that over too.

The gray bins were plain, old and rackety and classic, comparable to a washed out 1930’s movie. You trodded through the metal detector, feeling the cold floor through your socks.

When you finally made it through check in, you were met with a TSA associate over your bag, looking straight at you as if you’d committed some heinous crime.

“Excuse me,” the TSA officer asked, gesturing to your bags, “Are these your bags?”

“Yes,” you affirmed, almost nervously. “Is there an issue?”

“You seem to have some liquid above the restricted amount. I’m going to have to take a look.”

For a moment, you were startled. What did you even bring? You’d diligently packed your belongings and made sure everything was secure….surely there had to be some mistake.

Your breath wavered the minute the officer pulled out your favorite body wash.

In the midst of your packing, you’d forgotten you’d slipped it into your carry on.

“Oh.” Your voice shook as you meant the TSA officer’s eyes, “I’m sorry. That’s my favorite one.”

“I’m sorry.” For a moment, it almost seemed like the man had sympathy for you, “But I’m going to have to ask you to pour half of it out. If you refuse that, you’re going to have to give it away.”

Every step towards the outside garbage felt like a punch to the chest. While you kept composed on the outside, pouring away half of your prized wash felt miserable.

A dying rose. A dying star. Something dying slowly and surely inside.

Now you’d have to get another one. Brand new packaging lost to your honest mistake.

This sucked ass.

You meandered through the security area again, more ghost than person and collected the rest of your belongings. While your voice wavered, you didn’t shed a tear, and simply walked along.

Somehow, in the midst of all your wandering, you ended up in the departure lounge. In front of you were an array of connected seats with their generic cushioning and the customary TV screens telling you what flight was taking off when.

The glass paneled windows to your right showcased the hangar, and from your spot, you could see planes parked out in front. The sun set down in the distance, leaving a watercolor blend of pinks and oranges in its wake.

You could almost call it picturesque.

You leaned your suitcase against a wall for a moment, scanning the lounge for an available corner. Unfortunately, your plane was packed.

The chatter of students was overwhelming, and without a choice, you settled into a seat at the far corner of the lounge next to a pretty-boy who you were certain wouldn't speak to you.

They normally never did. Why should it be any different now? And honestly, you didn’t want to talk.

“This plane is probably fully booked.” A voice (the perfect blend of warm and deep) said. You turned to meet the eyes of said pretty boy, a surprisingly lovely shade of brown. Light and bright and inviting. Almost like a mocha. Or a latte.

“Tell me about it,” you laughed, slightly amused by the novelty of the situation. It wasn’t common for pretty boys to talk to you. Even less common for you to entertain any conversation, especially when you felt the way you did. “When I waved ‘goodbye’ to my family, I wasn’t expecting this much of a crowd to tell them about.”

“Yeah?” Oikawa smiled, the corners of his mouth lifting upwards invitingly. “I was more surprised at the lack of seats.”

“You’d think they’d anticipate a college student stampede.”

Oikawa laughed, the amusement lighting up his whole face. It was a simple laugh — chiming and lovely in the way that all laughs were, but you were certain you’d do anything to hear that again.

His presence had a way of putting you at ease.

The two of you coincidentally had seats right next to each other on the flight. As the plane lifted off, you snapped a picture of the city lights, twinkling their tiny goodbyes as they faded from view.

The cabin’s lights were dimmed, yet even in the haziness, you could make out the features of the boy next to you.

High cheekbones. A defined cupid’s bow. Lips that seemed even softer than the lather of that soap you loved so much.

You’d mourn your soap later. Even if it was an object, your attachment to it simply showed a care for your belongings.

What could be more human than that?

Oikawa turned to you, gaze friendly as the plane began its mounting ascent.

“You know, the TSA can be real dicks sometimes.”

What the fuck. Who was he? A psychic?

“What did they do to you?”

“They made me pour out half my expensive hair gel. I insisted it fit the requirements but they refused to accommodate me. So mean.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at the pout he wore. It seemed even someone as vivacious as Oikawa couldn’t charm himself out of aviation regulations.

Somehow the whole thing made you feel a lot better.

You and Oikawa (Tooru as he later insisted) shared many conversations throughout the flight. Some revolved around human existentialism (with him quoting the “we were infinite” from The Perks of Being a Wallflower). Some revolved around space.

Some even revolved around clubs, with him sharing high school volleyball stories and pledging your university’s team to greatness.

When fatigue finally claimed you, the comfort of his shoulder was unmatched by anything you’d ever felt. He’d extended an invite for you to come and see them practice anytime, and laid his own head atop of yours.

Of course, when you showed up for said practice, so had a bunch of other fans. He’d barely spared you a glance, let alone spoke to you when you’d tried to seek him out.

A grand gym and an even grander boy.

You just avoided him after that.

“Im really sorry about that,” Oikawa said. While his expressions were genuine, you weren’t sure how much you were going to trust it. Certainly, in all the time you’d spent apart, he must have changed at least a bit.

To think he was the exact same boy who you met on the plane would be foolish.

“Yeah, water under the bridge.”

“No, not really.” Oikawa paused to study your expression. Beneath all of your nonchalance was something fragile. Admiration? Loathing? He doubted it. “How long did you plan on avoiding me?”

“As long as I needed to.” You answered matter-of-factly. “Then again, that was when I thought you’d forgotten about me.”

“How could I ever do that?” Oikawa’s expression morphed into a worried one, eyebrows knitted together and mouth downturned as if to say damn that’s an accusation.

“Well-“

“Look I meant to seek you out after that day. I saw you there, wanted to come over, but at that point you’d gone off to continue chatting with Kuroo and met Iwa. And classes exist.”

“Okay. Water under the bridge for real.”

His eyes lit up. “You mean it?”

You nodded in approval, only to be dragged away by Kuroo, who’d suddenly appeared behind you.

“What the fuck?” You yelled, not caring much for your use of profanities. Some of the nearby team members snickered as you were pulled to the corner of the gym, in front of an array of poster boards.

“What?” Kuroo asked, “You and Oikawa seem to be fine now, so I thought I could ask you some questions about stuff that really matters. Namely posters.”

You were met with various shapes and sizes of poster boards. Some were Elmers Tri-Folds. Some were the cheap foam boards you sometimes saw while grocery shopping.

“If you want a design for your freaking booth,” you began, looking at Kuroo, “Give me some time.”

Oikawa was in the podcast studio. The room was secluded, plastered with posters and heart decals of all shapes and colors. Right beside the door was a framed picture of the volleyball team, with their silly faces frozen in motion.

Shimizu Kiyoko walked out from behind the desk, nonchalantly acknowledging Oikawa with a nod. “Oikawa, what can I do for you?”

“Hey,” he winked, unaffected by her lack of reaction, “Have any idea where I can find your host. I’d like her to do me a favor.”

“Advertising.” Kiyoko said bluntly. “I don’t think your booth needs any more attention. Our socials have covered it already.”

“We always love the extra coverage.”

“Doesn’t your friend help with all the designs? I think they’d be the perfect candidate to help with all this.”

“Y/N?” He asked, almost dumbfounded by how obvious that answer was.

“Yes,” Kiyoko smiled. “They’re very nice. I’ve seen you talk a few times, though it honestly seems like they don’t like you very much.”

“Not true.” He huffed.

“Well it makes sense. Especially if the rumors are true.”

People saw Kiyoko’s beauty and shyness and mistook her for a soft and innocent podcast manager.

Anyone who’d dealt with her enough knew she was actually a force to be reckoned with.

“The rumors are whatever you make of them. I’m simply an opportunist.”

Kiyoko chuckled and for a moment, Oikawa felt accomplished. “You don’t need to tell me this. I already know.”

He leaned against the door, and stretched out his arms in front of him before resting them at his sides again. “Would you at least consider telling the main host to help us out?”

Kiyoko shuffled the papers in her hands, before meeting his eyes. “I won’t give any guarantees, but something tells me that if you do set up a de-stress carnival, your club will be the central focus of our broadcast.”

“Thank you!” He beamed, feeling like a weight had been lifted off his chest. “I could kiss you for that.”

“No thank you,” Kiyoko declined, “I’m not interested in confirming the rumors.”

As Oikawa left the studio, Kiyoko walked into the recording room, a tiny smile on her lips.

Your Canva page lay woefully blank before you.

You’d promised Kuroo a design if he gave you time and Kuroo, ever the considerate friend, actually stopped bothering you about the poster. He seemed to trust in Oikawa’s judgment, and it seemed that the rest of the volleyball club did too.

As a token of thanks, you’d come to the library, your brain and Pinterest providing you at least a vague idea of what it was you wanted to do. However, when it came time to put pen to paper (or more fittingly, hand to mousepad), it seemed that your ideas had been wiped clean.

Your disappointment felt like a leaky faucet. Despite the minuteness of the feeling, it seemed to pool the more you thought about the situation. While designing was never an obligation, you owed it to your friends.

You sighed, placing your bag onto the hardwood library table and casting your eyes outside. A slowly setting sun was what greeted you, a medley of pinks and oranges appearing onto a slowly disappearing blue sky.

How cliche. Considering one's disappointments next to a sunset.

“Y/N?” A voice called, almost saccharine in the silence of your surroundings.

And there he was. Draped in the setting sun like a painted figure, cloaked in a veil of sunlight that skimmed his skin like silk. Oikawa’s eyes were almost honey colored in that lighting, and beneath the darkened shelves, he was almost a mystical apparition.

“Oikawa,” was all you said, cursing every possible force for him appearing now, looking like that, when you barely had anything to show for it.

“Kuroo told me you’d offered to help us put together some signs for the de-stress carnival.” Oikawa walked over, stepping away from the sunlight and placing his bag down at your table, opting for a seat across from you. “Which, in case you were wondering, I got approval for. A lot of the other clubs are going to be there.”

“That’s good.” You allowed yourself a glance at him. Your pettiness had all but dissipated, but you were still wary of looking at him for too long. He was like the sun, golden and lustrous and magnetic. You weren’t quite ready to be pulled into his orbit.

“So,” Oikawa said, taking a glance at your computer screen, “Rough designing?”

“Yeah. Inspiration has been hard to find and your club is counting on me.”

“If it means anything to you, we wouldn’t have asked for you to do it if we didn’t believe in you.” You looked up to see Oikawa’s gaze set firmly on your own, as if tracking your expressions. Under his stare, you felt raw. Vulnerable. If you were a cake, and he was cutting you open.

You weren’t sure what to say.

A beat of silence permeated the space between you, and the two of you made no effort to stop it. It was somewhat comforting. Unsaid words of yours were understood by him.

“It feels like a lot of pressure,” you finally admitted, letting out a breath you didn’t even know you were holding. “I want it to be worth your while.”

“Why wouldn’t it be?” Oikawa was closer. His breath was soft, fanning over the side of your cheek like a secret.

“I’m not sure.” Your voice was nothing more than a whisper.

Oikawa paused for a moment, as if contemplating something before decisively placing his hand on top of yours.

For a moment, you were startled by the warmth of his palm, grounding you in some way that didn’t quite make sense to you yet. Something about this was intimate in all the ways it shouldn’t be. Amidst a darkening sky and a slowly dimming library, you could almost consider this clandestine.

You waited for the rustle of a book’s pages or the resounding footsteps of the librarian to break down the moment, but they never came.

Oikawa looked at you, seemingly memorizing your features. He said nothing, but a slight smile appeared on his face the second he spotted a stray lock of hair by your ear. You could feel your face progressively heating with every moment spent in this proximity.

Damn celebrity setters. Damn stupid stupid beautiful men who do this. Damn that Oikawa Tooru.

Gently, as if touching something fragile, Oikawa smoothed down your hair, brushing the tip of your ear with his fingertips. He held your gaze fondly before suddenly, making an incredulous face.

“What the-“ He said, looking at your hair again. “It’s back up again.” He looked at his hands in horror, as if their magic didn’t work. “Damn it, that’s not how that goes.”

You couldn’t stop the laughter from erupting out of you at his antics, You swiftly flattened that pesky strand and looked back at him, feeling the amusement pool in your chest at his dismayed expression.

“Sorry man,” you laughed, syllables coming out breathless, “Sometimes stuff doesn’t go to plan.”

Oikawa seemed like he wanted to melt into the floor, and feeling the need for some fresh air, you dragged him out of the library. Upon leaving the double doors (and air conditioning), you were met by the lit sidewalk and found the wooden benches by the line of trees.

You sat down, gesturing for him to join you.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen this one before,” Oikawa mentioned off-handedly, “I mean I’m here a lot, but I’m not sure when this was put here.”

“It’s been here…?”

Oikawa sighed, tilting his gaze to the now dark sky. “You do have an eye for good things.”

You raised a brow. “What does that even mean?”

“The stuff you make is adorable. And Kuroo’s always said that everywhere he brings us are all places you found.”

“Really?” You leaned your upper body onto the bench. “I didn’t expect credit from him.”

“He cares about you,” Oikawa said. “He gave a lot of shit when he realized that we’d talked on our plane and then not again. But I deserved that.”

“I was petty. But it’s not like I can actually walk up to you.”

“What?” Oikawa seemed puzzled, as if this was something impossible for him to fathom. “Why not? I don’t think I’m that bad.”

“Iwaizumi says otherwise.”

“Mean. But seriously, why?”

You’d forgotten how refreshing Oikawa was. Even though you were sitting on a bench, you felt practically weightless.

“Rumors,” was all you said, gesturing to him.

Understanding seemed to flash into his eyes, and slowly, like connecting pieces of a puzzle, it all fell into place. He paused for a moment before meeting your eyes with a grin.

“You know they’re just rumors right?” He smirked, “I went to a party a while back to kick off club season. There was this one girl who really wasn’t leaving me alone, so I ended up leaving. Turns out she’d told her friends that she and I made out at the party and gave me a whole lot more credit than I was expecting. Not that I mind making out, but I’m picky.”

“Picky how?” You asked, words leaving your mouth before you even had the chance to think them over.

“Picky as in there’s really only one person I’ve even wanted to kiss since I got here but haven’t got the chance to. I’m hoping they come to the booth. Just so I’ll get to know what that’s like.”

You felt a subtle twist of something in your chest, though you weren’t sure what to make of it. Of course he had his eye on somebody. It was bound to happen eventually.

“Why are you making a booth to do mass kissing then?” A valid follow up question. A guy like him could successfully pull whenever he wanted to.

“Because I’m an opportunist,” he sighed, “And I’m not even sure if I can make a move properly. I don’t function like I normally do when they’re around.”

“Of course you can. Anybody would say yes to you, Tooru.”

With this, something in him seemed to snap and he immediately pulled you closer, your faces just an inch apart. His hands were firm around your waist, and the sensation was nearly searing. You could feel everything, from his hands to his breath to even the way his eyes seemed to scan your face.

The way he looked at you now was like worship.

“What are you doing?” You whispered shakily. With him all around you you could barely breathe, let alone think.

“Making a move.” His eyes were on your lips. His hand gently left your waist to skim your arm before placing a hand on your cheek. “May I?”

Your nod was nearly imperceptible before he captured your lips in yours.

Soft, was your first thought as you felt his lips brush yours ever so lightly. You leaned into him, relishing the vaguely sweet taste of strawberry Chapstick on his lips as you swiped your tongue over his lips.

Oikawa Tooru was a mystic. His fingers tangled in your hair and his lips searched for yours as if he was a lost man and you were his savior. He traced the curve of your waist and kissed you passionately, nibbling your lips when you pulled at his shirt.

You could kiss him forever. You moved to nip at the tip of his ear, and his shaky breath had you considering if you should bite down harder. He pulled you back in and you melted into the feel of his lips and hands and the way his touch seemed to awaken something inside you.

The way he held you was reverent.

When you finally split for air, Oikawa held you close, his smile never wavering. He rubbed a thumb across your cheek, and placed a chaste kiss on your forehead.

“That was magical,” you murmured into his shirt, and you couldn’t help but feel the slightest bit happy to hear the laugh you liked so much.

You reckoned you’d be able to put together a solid design after tonight.

Oikawa had a skip in his step the following morning. He’d aced every assessment, finished all his homework, and made major breakthroughs at practice. His sets to Bokuto were so flawless that Bokuto could hardly believe he’d made those shots.

Everyone on the volleyball team was certain that something had happened, but Oikawa refused to let up.

He didn’t kiss and tell after all.

“What is up with you?” Iwaizumi asked good-naturedly, tipping back a water bottle. “You’ve been in a surprisingly good mood all morning.”

“It’s been a good day,” Oikawa smiled, offering no other details while picking up a few stray balls on the court. The gym floor seemed exceptionally shiny today. He’d be sure to thank whoever waxed the floor for their services when he could.

“Something definitely happened.” Kuroo chimed in, scrutinizing Oikawa like he was something under a microscope. “The question is what.”

“Am I not allowed to have good days?”

“No you are,” Kuroo smirked, “But a day this good only happens after a sudden surge in popularity which —last time I checked— didn’t happen, or……did you make some breakthrough?”

“With my sets, yes.”

“No,” Kuroo smiled knowingly. “I’m gonna curse them out for not telling me anything.”

Oikawa hid his surprise with a flash of indifference, though internally he cursed the middle blocker. It seemed that he was just as good at reading people as he was at read blocking.

Iwaizumi caught on almost immediately, casting his eyes to his longtime friend, who all of a sudden, was acting like a deer in headlights. He found it odd that the nature of your relationship with Oikawa had transformed seemingly overnight.

It seemed that you never truly harbored any resentment against him.

Still, he resolved to approach you about it as soon as he could.

The minute that you walked through the gym’s double doors, the entire team thought that they’d summoned you with all the prying they were doing. You hauled something large through the door and placed it against the wall, proud of yourself for the herculean effort it took to bring it through.

The minute he registered your presence, Oikawa’s face looked like a puff of cotton candy. His cheeks were rosy with all the teasing and the memories of last night, and when he saw what it was that you’d leaned against the wall, he thought he should run over and kiss you out of pride.

“Good morning guys,” you beamed, a smile so radiant that Oikawa had suddenly lost all the focus he’d had all morning.

“Morning Y/N,” Iwaizumi greeted, walking over to greet you with a hug and a slight gesture to the object that was now leaning against the wall. “Is this it?”

You nodded excitedly. “I got the inspiration to put it together last night. I think it captures the magic of the booth.”

Iwaizumi leaned to flip over the posterboard and decided that he’d never seen anything more fitting in his entire life.

The sign was a pastel wonder, a pale blue at the bottom and moving to a light pink at the top. Across the poster were small and light volleyballs, somewhat transparent against the background as if the pattern was a part of it. The borders of the poster were filled with various lip prints (and even funnier, some hidden Chapsticks).

The font at the center was a far cry from the scrawling archaic font that Kuroo had used on their initial flyers. It was a simple block font, a shade of pink with a glow filter and a pattern that made it look like a light-up sign on the part that really mattered.

The Volleyball Club presents, the poster read, written in a smaller font. Right below that, the light up letters spelled out The Mystic Kissbooth. Help kiss us to greatness.

The team crowded around the board, marveling at both its quality and its thoughtfulness.

“Y/N….” Bokuto trailed off, his eyes nearly bursting with amazement, “This is crazy!”

“Yeah,” Semi added, “This is ridiculously good. Kuroo, where the hell have you been keeping them.”

Kuroo simply crossed his arms and smiled with pride. He’d always believed in you.

Oikawa stood shell-shocked at your work, feeling all the days of preparation finally coming together. He looked at you and smiled a smile so genuine, you were glad you’d finally pulled through.

You looked to the floor bashfully for a moment before meeting the team’s eyes with renewed confidence. “Thank you. I’m glad to help.”

Iwaizumi stood at your side, smiling fondly at you before turning his gaze to Oikawa. “Hey. Oikawa. What is the deal with the de-stress carnival? When is it, where is it, and where are we setting up?”

Oikawa, still elated, looked around the gym at the team. “If you want details, I think we should call another meeting.”

”That is a great idea,” you chimed in.

“Wanna join?” Oikawa asked (hopefully).

”I’m sorry, I don’t think I can. I’ve got a date with Kiyoko.”

The team went silent. “You have a what?!”

The evening hues only made Kiyoko more beautiful. She was dressed casually, wearing classic blue jeans, a tank top, and a cardigan that only accentuated her figure. When she saw you approaching her, a smile appeared on her face instantaneously.

“Y/N!” She greeted, “It’s good to see you.”

You jogged up to her and pulled her into a friendly hug. “It’s good to see you too!”

You and Kiyoko fell into step naturally, opting to have dinner at one of your favorite places outside of campus. It was a quick walk from where you’d chosen to meet up, and in such good weather, it was a crime not to spend more time together.

“I have a lot to tell you about,” Kiyoko began, “Starting with Oikawa Tooru. He showed up in my room and asked for the host. He’s got to know it’s me right?”

“Yeah,” you nodded, “I know you use a modulator to stay under wraps so people take the podcast seriously, but he’s had a very good track record for being perceptive.”

“That’s a pain” she sighed, “I hope he’s not going to spread it around.”

“He won’t,” you assured her, “Oikawa can understand rumors better than anyone.”

Kiyoko smiled relievedly, though she raised a brow at the mention of rumors. “Are those true?”

You fought the heat that seemed to emerge onto your face the minute she mentioned that. You just hoped it would go unnoticed by her.

Her blue eyes, unfortunately, were just as perceptive as they were pretty.

She smirked, crossing her arms and stopping on the sidewalk path. “When did that happen?”

“Don’t worry about it. Let’s keep walking.” You wish your voice had come out more strongly than a murmur.

“When?”

“Last night.” Damn Kiyoko for getting answers out of you.

“And…?” She raised her brows expectantly.

“Rumors are baseless but I confirm them. He is magical.”

“I ought to say something about that,” she giggled, and you wanted to bury yourself into your hands to avoid her teasing.

“Shush.”

The two of you had a lovely dinner and opted to grab a quick drink from the speciality beverage store next door. Kiyoko grabbed a strawberry milkshake and you opted for a tropical fruit floater that they’d just created. Thanks to Kiyoko, both drinks were on the house.

She nursed the straw between her lips and took a drag of her milkshake before meeting your eyes. “I have some information on the de-stress carnival.”

You urged her to continue, and Kiyoko did.

“Looks like Oikawa and the other members of clubs decided to officially name it the Cool Down Carnival. They’re just going to refer to it as Cool Down for ease. They’re planning to organize it the Saturday after midterms and they’ve been working on concessions like cotton candy, caramel apples, popcorn, and a whole boatload of stuff. Administration is also totally fine with this.”

“Wow,” was all you could say as a response. You were honestly impressed with Oikawa. He put so much thought and care into a silly rumor that had transformed into one of the school’s biggest upcoming events. He was an alchemist of opportunities, taking a rumor of lead and transforming it to gold.

“Yeah,” Kiyoko nodded, “I’ll get social media to cover it for me. So far, nobody doubts that I’m the manager of the ‘Cast, so it should be fairly reasonable for me to do.”

“Out of curiosity, do you know anything about how they’re planning to do the shifts of the booth?”

“All I know for certain is that Oikawa said he probably wasn’t gonna do a headlining shift…or a shift at all. A lot of the other members were perfectly fine with taking this on, but there has been some backlash.”

He was planning on not headlining the booth?

Your heart was suddenly very warm and fuzzy in your chest.

Kiyoko knowingly smiled at you before tipping at the front register and dragging you outside. The breeze was oddly pleasant, something a bit uncommon for this time of year. It was approaching colder weather, but it felt nearly spring-like.

“The weather isn’t making sense,” you said, enjoying the feeling of freedom that came with nighttime out.

“It hasn’t been making sense,” Kiyoko smiled, “We’re anticipating a fresh fair.”

Springs and falls blended together. You found a beautiful leaf on the sidewalk and pressed it to your palm, preserving the feel and look in your memory.

“I’m looking forward to it,” you’d finally tell Kiyoko as you parted ways, meaning each and every word.

When Oikawa had showed up at your doorstep in the morning, your sleep-addled brain could barely fathom the reason as to why he would do such a thing.

That was, until he walked into your room carrying breakfast in a brown bag.

“Good morning Y/N.” He said, voice still slightly raspy from a good night of sleep. (You weren’t going to forget how that sounded forever).

You greeted him with a morning greeting of your own and sat on your bed, stretching your limbs and analyzing the boy who—at this present moment—seemed like the happiest guy on earth.

“Feel free to help yourself,” Oikawa grinned, grabbing a bagel and a pack of cream cheese from the bag. “I have some updates for you.”

“Does it have to do with the Cool Down?” You walked over to the bag and grabbed something you liked from the inside.

“Wow. How did you know about the name?”

“I have my sources,” you winked.

Oikawa simply laughed. “I know it’s Kiyoko dumbass. She’s one of the sneakiest podcast hosts of all time.”

“So you do know.”

“Obviously.” Oikawa lounged on the chair in your corner. “Nobody else is ever working in that office. She should get some people to join her.”

You nodded and shifted to sit next to him on the couch. His warmth was a surprisingly pleasant addition into the morning, and you found yourself leaning into him. He didn’t make any move to stop it, opting to pull you in and place his arm over you.

“We have classes soon,” you said groggily, “But I don’t want to move.”

“We don’t have to right now.”

“Thanks Tooru.”

“Of course, Y/N.” He smiled. “Though we do have an afternoon meeting on how to divide the shifts. I’m not sure what we’re going to be doing about me.”

You suddenly felt a lot more awake. You shifted your weight onto your unsupported arm and looked up at Oikawa. “Are you planning to take a shift?”

Oikawa shifted nervously in his seat. “I’m not sure. I may have to for the sake of demand. Everyone is expecting me to live up to the expectation. I think we would be less successful without my involvement.”

You felt a twist of something. Not jealously, but not comfort either. Something between the two. You rose away from Oikawa, walking over to the opposite side of the room where your bed was and met his eyes.

“Do you really have to?” you asked, feeling partially unfair. There was nothing official between the two of you at the moment, but you’d thought after the kiss two nights ago…..you thought you had a chance.

“I might,” he gulped, “But you know you’re the only one I’ve ever wanted to kiss.”

You sighed exasperatedly. “I know that you came up with this as a business opportunity and because you thought we’d never…get anywhere, but a long shift is going to be a lot of people.”

“I know,” he sighed, meeting your eyes with an expression in his own that looked a lot like sadness. “But the fundraiser might just have to come first for now— no that’s not what I—“

“Please leave,” you said, voice wavering a bit, “I don’t want to deal with the whole priorities thing right now. We can say we kissed once for fun. Headline it if you must. Later Oikawa.”

You turned away from him and walked towards your closet to find appropriate clothes for the day. You couldn’t even stand to look at him right now. Things would become too complicated for you to handle.

“Y/N, I’m really sorry.” Oikawa said from behind you, “That is genuinely not what I meant.”

You turned to face him again, not even able to meet his eyes. “There’s got to be some semblance of truth in what you said earlier. You love your team Oikawa. They are important. I don’t expect you to throw away opportunities for me. We’re not even dating.” You laughed dryly. “I’d like a bit of space. We can talk a bit later.”

Oikawa seemed like he had a lot more to say, but he wordlessly slipped out of the door, leaving your room noticeably empty.

Once he’d left for certain, you collapsed onto the floor and let loose the dam of tears you’d held in for so long.

When Iwaizumi found you in the library, he knew immediately that something was wrong. Your eyes were reddened ever so slightly, covered over by a splash of cold water to the face (most likely), and your usual cheerfulness when you greeted him was a lot less lively.

He took the seat beside you, surprised by your lack of response.

”Hajime,” you said softly, turning over to smile sadly at him, “Good to see you here.”

Correction: something was horrifically wrong.

“What happened?” He asked softly, wondering what was enough to dampen your normally resilient spirit.

“Fucking Oikawa,” you laughed sarcastically, “Look at me saying I’d never get caught up in his web, and then doing exactly that.”

Iwaizumi wrinkled his brow. That day on the bench, he’d known enough to discern that you and Oikawa had some sort of history. That much continued to be made obvious by Oikawa’s constant urge to see you and include you in everything that he and Kuroo didn’t think was important enough to invite you to.

However, he wasn’t sure when you and Oikawa became more than a past set of acquaintances….and that stung a little. He understood your reasoning though. Especially if it was as complicated as you seemed to feel at the moment.

“Were you guys dating?”

“No.” You turned to face him in full, and he was struck by the magnitude of just how magnetic you were. Iwaizumi was guilty of being stuck in your orbit. “Just a kiss. Because he sweet talked me into thinking he wanted something.”

“Knowing him, he probably did.” Iwaizumi said, “Oikawa has a tendency to be obsessive to get what he wants, but also be blinded by obligations. This was definitely about him headlining the booth, right?”

You nodded, feeling a sudden tightness in your throat at the thought. You weren’t ready to confront the morning’s events quite yet.

“That dumbass,” Iwaizumi groaned, “If he’d told us that he liked you and had actually managed to make a move we would’ve gladly taken his shift! Who gives a fuck about what the college body wants? Half of them thirst over everyone!” You laughed a bit at the truth of that statement. “Yeah, and Kiyoko told me she was also planning on making a little appearance.”

At this Iwaizumi raised his brow. “Oh that’s about to be carnage.”

“Absolutely,” you giggled, “Who knows? Maybe you’ll be the lucky person.” Iwaizumi laughed, a sound that was low and sweet and comforting. “I think I’ll leave it to some of the other boys. They deserve a chance after all.”

The two of you grinned at the mental imagery of the team fighting for a chance to interact with your beautiful friend, and suddenly, Oikawa’s shittiness seemed like something far less relevant.

Still, even with the humor of the situation came the very uncomfortable realization that you and Oikawa–-whatever you were–-were done if you didn’t come to some consensus.

You shoved your hands into your face, wondering how the hell you’d managed to go from avoidant and unattached to too attached. Maybe the rumors had some merit. A kiss from Oikawa was all that it took to get so jumbled.

Iwaizumi’s warm palm on your back was what brought you back to your senses. He rubbed his slow circles and sat there patiently until you emerged from your cover of shame.

“What am I going to do?” you asked, voice raw and vulnerable and everything you’d rather it not have been.

“Whatever you want to do.” Iwaizumi’s gaze was genuine, soft eyes studying you. “You’re entitled to your own decisions. Kuroo and I would never ditch you for Shitty you know.”

“It’s for the team,” you whispered, feeling tears threatening to spill over your cheeks. Your vision was hazy, and you blinked slowly to clear the water from your eyes. “So then why do I feel like this?”

“Because you care about him, Y/N.” Iwaizumi squeezed your shoulder affectionately, “You and him clearly bonded on some intergalactic level, so having that be suddenly shattered in favor of something seemingly less important is going to feel like shit. In fact, he is the real piece of crap here.” “The team matters.” “The team is all about relationships.” Iwaizumi said firmly. “I have a hunch there’s someone in this tournament that he needs to beat. That’s why he’s been obsessively orchestrating the perfect way to raise money to have a practice match beforehand. Still, I won’t deny it. Oikawa is an idiot for doing this to you. You have all the rights to move on with your life.”

“I think I’m gonna take my space from him for a few days,” you eventually responded. “I think I’ll also not visit the booth. I’ll give Kuroo the sign in advance so he can help with setting up?”

Iwaizumi nodded solemnly. “If that’s what you need to do, I’ll be your number one supporter. I’d still love it if you could stop by though. We love having you around.”

You nodded at him. “I’ll be there for you and Kuroo. Always. And you guys can hang out with me at the Cool Down when you’re off shift.”

“Of course,” Iwaizumi smiled, “For you? Anything.”

“How do you say, ‘I’m angry’ in French?” The ping of the recording microphone tapped on as Oikawa paced quickly around his room.

“Je suis fâché.”

“How do you say, ‘I like to go out with my friends’ in French?” “J’aime sortir avec mes amis.”

“How do you say, ‘I went to my friend’s house’ in French?”

“Je ne veux pas continuer.”

“Oui Monsieur. À Bientôt!” His phone’s recording feature switched off, leaving him in a silent room once again.

He was regretful, so much so that he paced around in his room in the hopes that it would give him some sort of clarity. As much as he wanted to approach you, he knew you weren’t ready to talk to him right now.

“Shittykawa,” he heard from his door, opening with a subtlety and closing with a bang. Classic Iwa move.

He turned to face his best friend, who at this moment, seemed to be quite irritated with him. He could feel the lecture as certain as one could feel a thunderstorm in the air.

Iwaizumi stood, arms crossed in Oikawa’s room, leaning against the wall and pinning him with a look so strong it might as well have been a thumbtack. Oikawa felt rooted in place, and all the words he initially planned on saying left his mouth.

“So Ushijima Wakatoshi happens to be at a school just a bit over,” Iwa started, “I did my research. Why not play a practice match with them to start to see their setting style? Break down their setter, practice receiving from a left-handed person, and maybe we can beat him, right?”

Oikawa sighed, feeling all the fight leave his body. He made his way over to his pale blue rug and sat down. “I know. It’s ridiculous.”

“What’s ridiculous is what you did to Y/N.” Iwaizumi glared at him. “If you’d said something about liking them and actually successfully getting them to like you, then we would’ve been perfectly capable of handling the shifts. Hell, even Kiyoko is coming. That alone will give people incentive to come and kiss us.”

“I made a mistake,” Oikawa cringed. He didn’t even want to think about the morning. What was intended to be a romantic gesture ended up being a horrible memory. His attempts to distract himself were futile, and he couldn’t help but wonder how Iwaizumi had found you. “But they probably don’t want to talk to me.”

Iwaizumi looked at Oikawa sadly. “They’re planning on skipping the booth. They’ve already decided to give their poster to Kuroo so he can help us with set-up. So don’t plan on seeing them.”

He grimaced. “Not coming? Really?”

Iwaizumi nodded. “I was pretty unhappy about it, but we’ve got to give them space to process everything.” The minute you’d smiled at him in the airport, talking about “college stampedes,” Oikawa knew he wanted nothing more but to know you better. He’d thanked every lucky star for the seats you had next to each other and relished every moment spent with you.

He wondered why you avoided him for the next months, always daydreaming about what he’d say to you when you finally reappeared at practices. He’d searched for you in your classes, but he always missed you.

When you walked into the gym on that fateful day, he thought he had a genuine chance. You were perfect. Your thoughts were exquisite, your smile radiant, and everything about you felt right. When he kissed you, he could’ve screamed to the heavens that his heart was yours.

Perhaps that was why his heart seemed to tear a bit at Iwaizumi’s declaration. You wanted to move on from this.

“Oikawa…you can still fix this you know?” Iwaizumi pulled him up from the rug, noting the reignited spark in his eyes. “You should probably get the fair set up, find Y/N, and explain yourself. I’m certain they’ll understand.”

“It’s the least I can do,” he said solemnly, “And if they still decide they want nothing to do with me, at least I did my part.”

You found him at Kuroo’s place at night when you’d stepped through his door uninvited (like you did at times). In your hands was your laptop, a few pencils, and the sign you’d made for the booth. The last thing you’d expected was to see the person you’d been trying so desperately to avoid.

Oikawa, for a moment, looked like he’d seen a ghost. He looked at the door, brown eyes concerned and scanning you as if you’d just walked in through the wall.

Nobody said anything. You stood still, too shell-shocked to process the fact that a night before the Cool Down, Oikawa was spending time with Kuroo. In fact, you could barely believe Kuroo had ever allowed Oikawa into his place in the first place, especially when he knew that you were planning on popping in at some point.

Kuroo’s eyes followed your gaze, finding it landing right on the floor next to Oikawa (as opposed to straight at him).

“Well,” Kuroo began softly, “I didn’t warn either of you.”

“You could have,” you said, looking back at Kuroo, “I would’ve liked to know before I got here.” “But then you would have never showed up.” Oikawa’s voice was clear, slicing through the silence of the room with a blade of decisiveness that you hadn’t heard from him. He looked you over, seemingly analyzing your health since the day he’d fucked up.

“I wasn’t planning on running into you,” you admitted, finding the courage to meet his eyes. “In fact, I was literally just coming to drop off the sign for your booth, talk to my best friend, and then go to bed.”

“Please let me explain myself.” Everything about Oikawa seemed pleading. His face harbored an expression of guilt so boundless that you weren’t sure how to react.

You wordlessly sat down in the corner chair closest to Kuroo’s door, setting your stuff down on the surface closest to it.

“I’m sure Iwaizumi must have told you what it was that we were raising money for.”

You nodded.

“I never had the chance to tell you more about what I struggled with in high school," Oikawa said quietly. “I was surrounded by talented players. Some of them are so talented that I thought I never even stood a chance. I realized at the end of my matches that I deserved to be on the court just as much as anyone else.”

“You’re a damn good setter Oikawa,” Kuroo interjected, “And even Semi admires your sets. He’s from the same school as Ushijima too.”

“Thank you,” Oikawa laughed softly, but even the sound was sad. He turned to meet your eyes. “I was out of line trying to say the volleyball club mattered more to me than what we were getting to be. I was worried they’d be weird at me for flaking, but they’re my team. Iwa told me they’d always have my back. Happy setter happy tosses right?”

You took a moment to process everything that he was saying, ultimately coming to one conclusion. He really did feel bad.

“Why are you so obsessed with having a chance to beat someone you had a rivalry with in highschool?”

Oikawa paused, contemplating your question. His brow was furrowed, and his hands clutched anxiously around nothing, seemingly finding the best words to phrase—whatever it was—that he was feeling.

“It was to give myself the confidence to know I can still beat tough opponents,” he said quietly. “But it was never worth losing you.”

You gently moved onto the floor, kneeling your way over to where Oikawa sat. When your fingertips skimmed his cheek, cool from the fall time air, he seemed fragile.

You gently curved your fingers to tuck a lock of his hair behind his ear. “Are you sure you mean it?”

“Every last word.” Oikawa whispers, and maybe against your better instincts, you pull him into an embrace.

As far as Oikawa was concerned, you weren’t coming to the booth today.

Cool Down’s set up began bright and early, and despite last night’s emotional clarity, Kuroo was still the one who showed up with the sign.

The booth was placed in a central location, but deep enough into the carnival so that after a sweet kiss, everyone could go and support the other clubs. He hadn’t been able to spot Kiyoko quite yet, but he was certain they were bound to cross paths eventually.

He walked across the grassy area where the carnival was being set up, watching the glorious “Cool Down” sign being placed at the front of the admit area. Many sports teams and board members of academic clubs were helping organize their own booths.

“Hey Oikawa! I can put up the banner!” Bokuto shouted from across the field, jogging up to their area with a rolled up “Mystic Kissbooth” backdrop.

“Be careful!” He yelled back, “We can’t have one of our best spikers getting hurt. I need those cross court and straight shots in perfect condition!”

Bokuto grinned so widely that Oikawa couldn’t help but grin back. “You can count on me!”

He took a moment to slouch against the now filled bouncy castle by their stand, clutching his clipboard to his chest. He could practically sense the excitement seeping into the space as the nearby club members set up their stands.

He’d had the opportunity to survey the space beforehand, and was quite pleased with the nearby stations.

The art club created a paint gun bullseye game to win handmade trinkets and jewelry. The president stood proudly at the set up side, excitedly loading up paint into the guns. He could already predict the boyfriends who’d attempt to win there.

To the other side of them was the statistics club’s probability stand. They’d set up numerous games: cards, a wheel, and even ring toss for the chance to win huge prizes. At the present moment, Kuroo was inquiring about the legitimacy of the airpods in one of the member’s hands (and yes—they were legit).

“This is pretty amazing, huh?”

Oikawa snapped out of his reverie, only to see Mattsun sporting his classic smirk. He looked around for Makki, but didn’t find him.

“Yeah,” he admitted, “I’m honestly surprised our little flier accomplished this much.”

“I’m not,” Mattsun chuckled, “You’ve been like this since high school Oikawa. Everyone here is really grateful for the rumors. Speaking of which…think the culprit is going to show up today?”

Oikawa snorted, momentarily horrified at the sound

that escaped him. “That’s ridiculous. I’m not planning on being a headliner. Iwa’s got that covered.”

Makki walked into view just a few moments later, looking thoroughly confused. “Where’s the rest of the team?”

Kuroo walked over at the exact moment, clapping Makki on the back. “We decided to give them a little break, considering they’re going to be doing all the kissing later.”

The group gathered together, and Mattsun pointed to the castle. “Who’s running this thing?”

“Oh it’s just a free fun thing the school is putting up.” Oikawa smacked it for good measure.

“How did midterms even go for you guys?” Kuroo laughed, “I pulled what I wanted in all my classes. Somehow. Orgo was a fucking miracle though. I genuinely thought I failed.”

“I was mostly fine,” Mattsun chuckled, “Though we won’t talk about history. Freaking liberal arts.”

Oikawa’s midterms had gone more or less to plan, but the added emotional stress had made it much more difficult to keep cool.

Standing there in that grassy field, he felt more at peace than he did the rest of the week.

Maybe today would be okay after all.

You and Iwaizumi were in your room trying to devise a plan on how to attend the carnival. The cool wood of your desk hit your wrist as you spread out the makeshift blueprint of the event that Kiyoko had so graciously given you.

Iwaizumi paced along the floor, inspecting outfits that you picked out while you devised a mental list of everywhere you wanted to go to maximize your enjoyment. Economic principles were literally designed off of utility, and you wanted to make sure all your contributions would have the best outcome for the clubs and yourself.

Midterms had been stressful, and while last night’s talk had fixed most of what had contributed to that stress, you still wondered about Oikawa.

Iwaizumi was the event’s new headliner, so what did that mean for Oikawa?

You weren’t sure.

The Saturday morning filled your room with sunshine that was comforting. From your window you were greeted with the multicolored leaves of campus, some floating down leisurely to hit the grass.

Iwaizumi, it seemed, had finally picked your outfit.

“Here,” he gestured, pointing to one of your favorites. “You rock this one.”

“Why thank you,” you smiled, tossing him the blueprint. “I’ve finally figured out the order I’m going to tour the Cool Down.”

Iwaizumi caught the paper in one arm, muscles flexing ever so slightly as he did. You nodded appreciatively. He was going to generate a shit ton of money.

He put a pen between his lips ever so slightly as he read the marks on the page. “Cotton candy. Art booth. Bouncy castle. Stats games. Chemistry lab. Apple dunk to win candy apples. Physics coaster.” He handed the page back. “That’s a pretty solid list. I think you’re missing something though.”

You pulled the pen out of Iwa’s mouth (surprised at your boldness) and smiled gently at him. “I’ll be sure to pop in at some point or be nearby to support you.”

Iwaizumi nodded, “Of course. I just need to beat you at any and all games we visit after my shift.”

You snickered. “Not a chance.”

Iwaizumi simply smirked in response.

“Hey, I need two tickets!” A student hollered to her assistant, who at the present moment, was working on acquiring more admit tickets from the roll they’d customized for the event. “We have quite the line here.”

“I’m working on it!” The assistant hollered back, jogging over with the entire row.

The line for the Cool Down was large, and you were thankful you’d had the foresight to arrive early enough to avoid a majority of the crowd. Being friends with Iwa had its perks too–the minute that the admitting team had spotted him, they’d immediately ushered you to the front so you were in a position to visit him later.

Soon enough, you were at the front of the line.

“Well hello there friend of Iwaizumi,” the girl at the front smiled, “How many tickets do you need?” “Just one,” you said, surprised at the lack of prompt to pay the entrance fee. “What about the entrance fee?”

“Oh, Iwaizumi took care of that already,” the assistant grinned, handing you a beautifully designed cardstock ticket and tying a wristband around your wrist. “So you can walk straight in.”

You smiled graciously at the duo. “Wow. I’ll go find him and pay him back. Thank you guys.”

Stepping around the ticket distribution center, you walked straight through the decorated entrance area and walked in.

For a moment, you were awestruck. The usually empty grass fields were filled to the brim with activity. All around you were the booths of various clubs, all with lines to try them out. You could smell the sweet and tart scent of caramel apples in the distance, and saw a couple trying out the physics club’s make-shift coaster with a cotton candy in their hands.

The late afternoon was brisk and fresh, and you felt the possibilities of the evening unfurl around you. As the sky darkened its hues, the fair would begin to light up from the fixtures that trimmed everyone’s areas. Everything, from the food areas, to even the Mystic Kissbooth would create a movie-like scene.

You decided right there and then that the Cool Down was the best fair you’d ever attended. You’d never seen anything as well thought out as what you saw today.

You made your way to the popcorn area, finding new booths that you hadn’t seen on the blueprint. In front of you was a simple dart-throw, with the guarantee of winning a special edition Cool Down shirt if you hit within a certain range.

This was intriguing.

“Hi there,” you said quietly, walking up to the booth. “Can I give this a whirl?” The booth’s president looked up at you shocked for a moment before nodding.

“Of course!” He said excitedly, elbowing his shift mate. “Y/L/N Y/N, right? We are huge fans of your work. Kuroo has told us so so much about you!”

“My work?” You asked curiously as they pressed a dart into your palm. “Like my fliers?” “Hell yeah,” the president grinned. “Pay if you win okay? I honestly want you to get our design out of it. We were inspired a bit by your Mystic Kissbooth sign.”

In the spirit of good fun, you aimed the dart as best as you could, so surprised when you hit a spot very close to the bulls-eye.

“Hey!” you shouted excitedly, “I actually got in range!” The president smiled excitedly. “Amazing! What’s your shirt size?” You told him your size, tucking a good amount of money into the jar. As soon as the soft shirt fabric hit your hands, you were immediately overcome with a sense of pride. The design was beautiful and simple, capturing the essence in the fair in just an image.

“You’re the design club?” You grinned, “This is amazing!” “Ah thank you,” the president said bashfully, “It’s an honor to get a compliment from you. You’re more than welcome to join us. Canva art is still art we love.”

“I’ll be sure to consider it!” You waved goodbye to the design booth as you made your way deeper into the fair, a t-shirt in hand.

“Hey there! Want a chance to win a cool plushie? Come right over!” You turned your head to be met with the sewing club with something that looked a lot like “Bop-It” set up with sheets of papers next to them. Out of sheer curiosity you made your way to the booth, finding a larger crowd than you anticipated. “Okay,” one of the members began, “Here is how this works. You and your competitor will receive a pre-programmed Bop-It machine. Follow the color scheme as closely as you can and note the last color in each sequence on your sheet. If you don’t mess up before your partner, you win ANY handmade plush of your choice!” In front of you, you spotted a couple tucking money into the jar and competing against one another. The round was quick, ending when someone clicked the wrong color. The handmade plushie of the winner was adorable.

Somehow, all your observations had led you to the front of the line.

“Hello,” a student smiled, “Do you have a competitor with you?” You were about to share a response when you heard a voice behind you. “Yeah, they do. I’d like to play please.” You were pleasantly surprised to find Kiyoko grinning as she tucked a hefty amount into the jar. The student at the front seemed enamored, and so did the entire line.

“Shimizu Kiyoko is here…” they all whispered.

“Hey Kiyoko,” you smiled, placing your own money in the jar. “Planning to beat me?”

“Of course.” She grinned mischievously, “I ran a volleyball team. I am competitive enough to beat you.”

The game began as soon as the students got a grip of themselves. You frantically hit the colors and noted them down, only to tie with Kiyoko. You’d both walked away with adorable plushies, though Kiyoko had forcibly had to ensure that they didn’t hand her an extra.

“I’m glad to run into you,” you smiled, walking with her further into the grass. “I had no idea what time you were planning to get here.”

“I’m glad I found you.” Her smile was infectious, and soon enough, you stood in front of a candy apple stand.

“Are you planning to visit the booth?” You asked her, watching her pay for her apple.

“Yeah,” she smiled, “Oikawa begged me to cover, so I was feeling nice. Though he’s been sulking lately.” You raised a brow. When you saw him last night, you could feel his fatigue. You felt the stress melt out of him when you pulled him in for a hug, but you hadn’t realized the extent of his distress.

“He hasn’t kissed today at all,” she smiled knowingly, “I think he’s saving an appearance for a special someone.” “He’s….not headlining?” You were shocked. After everything, it seemed that he really meant what he said.

“Nope,” Kiyoko wiped some caramel from her lips. “And the booth’s sales have been spectacular.”

Standing there in the field, you were hit with the intense urge to see him. “Go,” Kiyoko smiled, “They’ve been waiting for you to show up.” “We’ll catch up.” You smiled as you took off in a jog towards the booth. The wind swept your cheeks as you ran, and you could see the evening sun dip into different colors. Beautiful, you thought, feeling the adrenaline pump through your veins.

He really had meant everything. You needed to see him.

When you arrived at the booth, you were shocked at the line. So many students lined up, money in hand as they waited for their chance to kiss a volleyball player. You were shocked to see the crowd, watching someone hand Semi a particularly large bill before leaning in for a kiss.

You surveyed the booth for Oikawa, but you couldn’t find him anywhere. You couldn’t stop the thrum of your heart in your chest from overpowering your senses. Where was he? What if you were too late? At that particular moment, Oikawa walked out from behind the stand, putting some Chapstick onto his lips. And then, he saw you.

You stood in line, a large bill in hand and an expression that seemed almost desperate. Oikawa has never seen anyone look more perfect than you did right now. You held a handmade plushie and a shirt, lips flushed from biting them.

You met his eyes, feeling your heart shock at the sensation. There he was.

Before you even had a chance to think about what you were doing, you ran out of line to him, shoving the bill into his hands.

“Tooru,” you said breathlessly, looking at him with an expression he’d never seen before. “Kiyoko told me you weren’t headlining. I was afraid I wasn’t going to find you. I’m sorry for not trusting you.” Oikawa could hardly hide his shock as the words tumbled from your lips. He studied your cheeks, and smoothed out your wind mused hair with a soft smile. “Hey, it’s alright.” You exhaled, looking at him like he strung the stars. “I thought I wouldn’t make it in time.” Oikawa simply grinned before pulling you in for a passionate kiss.

This was different from the last time you kissed. He cupped your face softly and wrapped his other arm around your waist, tracing a small heart into your back. You could feel the curve of his lips as he kissed you softly, pulling you deeper when you smiled back into it. Everything about this was soft, almost loving. It felt like a truce. It felt like a confession.

It felt better than both of those things. When you finally split for air, his smile was nearly blinding. He looked at you like you were a poet and he was your poetry, a product of your purest affections.

“Go out with me sometime?” He looked nervous, standing there like he hadn’t just kissed you like you were the most special person in the universe.

“Of course,” you grinned, pulling him down for another kiss.

if you got this far, thank you for reading <3!!

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red-riot-unbreakable-heart · 1 month ago

Text

Shoto Todoroki x Reader | First Kiss ❄️��💋 PART 6

Part 1: Linked Here | Part 2: Linked Here | Part 3: Linked Here | Part 4: Linked Here | Part 5: Linked Here

Fandom: My Hero Academia

Ship: Shoto Todoroki x Fem Reader! 💋

Genre: Fluff, Romance, S*xual Tension, Smut

🚫🔞THIS IS AN ADULT BLOG CONTAINING EXPLICIT CONTENT. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, A18+ ONLY.🔞🚫

CW: MDNI!, A18+, kissing, romance, sexual tension, spicy scenes, lemon, hand job, boobs, penetrative sex

Link to My Master List

🐳🐢😎❤️

Shoto’s POV

The ripe morning sun casts generous rays across Shoto’s bare chest. It’s a delightful sensation to wake up to – enjoyably warm on his pale, bare skin. He stretches and flexes his arms and legs, feeling like a cat in a sun puddle.

He holds up a hand to cast a shadow over his eyes, squinting in the bright light. He feels like he can’t quite wake up all the way. His head feels cloudy and a bit off. Huh, that’s annoying. But the bed is warm and his feet are sandy. Where is he? Oh, yes – now he remembers. The Todoroki family’s vacation home in Furuzamami beach.

He stretches again and rolls onto his side. The site that meets his two-toned eyes nearly takes his breath away. Y/N is sprawled out on the bed next to him, looking sexy and carefree in a comfy, oversized t-shirt. She’s curled on her side, the t-shirt creeping up to reveal a bare, suntanned thigh.

“Is it morning already?” She complains loudly, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes.

Shoto chuckles softly and reaches out so he can wrap her in his arms. “Yes, it’s morning. But you can sleep in if you’d like. We don’t have anywhere we need to be.” He rubs his hands soothingly along her sides, appreciating her curves.

Mischievously, he slides his hands down to find the hem of her shirt where it rests at her thighs. He plays with the fabric for a moment before slipping his hands underneath the shirt and sliding his hands up, up, up. He feels along the curve of her hip and, fuck, she’s not wearing any underwear. He moves his hands up further to cup her bare breasts beneath the tee.

“Mmmm, Sho.” She sighs as he begins to play with her nipples. She leans back into him, enjoying the erotic touch. Her eyes are closed and there’s a gentle smile on her lips. He modulates the temperature of his hands, teasing her with hot and cold finger tips. She moans as he pinches and rolls at her sensitive buds, arching her back into him sensuously. She sighs in time with his touches, finally moaning out: “Fuck me, Sho.”

Shoto’s more than happy to comply. He removes his hands from her breasts so he can roughly push down his boxer shorts. His thick, hard cock springs free – ready for action.

He hastily pushes up her nightshirt and it bunches around her stomach, the fabric creasing as he pulls her hips towards him. He bends around her from behind – the perfect big spoon. Finally, he uses his hand to guide his dick into her, her juicy pussy pulling his cockhead in greedily as they bask in the morning sunshine.

“Sho!” She groans out, unhappy with how slowly he’s moving. He grins into her shoulder, taking his time. He sheathes himself in her, inch by glorious inch, reveling in the way that her breath hitches with each gentle push. When he finally bottoms out, he’s holding onto her hips for dear life. The sensation of being fully connected with her, fully inside her beautiful pussy – it’s too much for his brain to comprehend.

He tries to keep his thrusts slow and even, he really does. But the delicious feeling of her gummy walls around his hardness is too much to resist. Her pussy tugs and pulls on him in the most delightful way. Before he knows it his hips are pistoning wildly and he’s fucking into her with the force of a man chasing release.

She’s making the most beautiful, sinful noises as he pounds into her pussy. It’s when she starts calling out his name that he truly goes into overdrive. He slides his hands back up to grasp at her breasts and she moans in response, her slick pussy twitching around him at the contact.

“Holy Fuck.” He manages to breathe out between thrusts as he feels an orgasm begin to roll throughout his body and down his cock. He cums hard, pumping her full of his sticky release. Her pussy milks him hungrily and she cries out as she feels ropes of hot, thick cum hit her deep inside. He vaguely wonders if he should have worn a condom, but he’s too blissed out to care. He can’t decide where to hold her as he cums – his hands traveling along her thighs hips, and breasts as he fucks up into her. Finally, Shoto sighs, exhausted, as he comes down off of his high. He continues to thrust loosely into her as her pussy squeezes out every drop of his baby batter.

When he’s finished, he leans to rest his head on her perfectly shaped shoulder as they both try to catch their breath. He leaves his dick inside of her, letting his spent cock twitch with overstimulation as she shifts against it, still horny. He kisses at her neck lazily, his hands still massaging at her perfect breasts. Fuck does he love those breasts.

“Oh my God, Sho. That was amazing. Can you - ”

But whatever she was going to ask for, Shoto will never find out. He wakes up in his dorm bed, startled and breathing heavily. It’s the middle of the night and the room is filled to the brim with a thick darkness.

He looks around for a moment, confused as to why you’re not here with him. He quickly comes to his senses and realizes it was all a dream. He sighs in frustration, feeling how his boxers are sticky and wet. His dick is sticking to the thin grey fabric greedily, still half hard from his provocative dream.

Shoto’s been having wet dreams for years now, but he never stops getting embarrassed about it. He climbs off of his sleeping palette and strips down to survey the damage. Soooo yeah. This was a particularly intense dream. His dick and upper thighs are absolutely covered in a sheen of warm, sticky cum. Ugh. He grabs a towel from his dresser and uses it to wipe himself down. He feels a mess, and thinks it might be good to go and take a shower. He’s already half-hard again just thinking about his dream. He re-plays the bits and pieces he can remember in his mind – laying with you naked, relaxed. The stretch of your silky pussy wrapped tight around his cock. The sun beating down on his skin as he fucks into you. He thinks that it might be good to go jerk off in the shower where clean up will be easy.

Yeah, that’s what he’ll do. Better to go work it out of his system rather than wake up covered in cum for a second time that night. He wraps himself in a towel and grabs his shower things, walking to the common bathroom so he can take care of business (aka pleasuring himself to his nighttime fantasies of you).

He sets his things on the shower stall hook and starts up the hot water. It’s still early in the morning, so he can take his time without worrying about anyone else walking in. He slings his towel over the top of the shower stall and steps inside, flipping the lock on the stall door soundly closed.

He lets the hot water run down his back, breathing deeply as he lets his muscles relax. He lets his mind wander back to how it felt to be inside your dream pussy. His cock jumps to life. He reaches down and starts to stroke at it, gasping at the pleasure that runs through his body in waves. Fuck.

It doesn’t take long for him to cum for the second time that night, leaving him sleepy and loose-limbed. Jeez, he wants you so bad. He rinses himself off under the hot water and his hormone-fueled brain makes him wonder…if he asked if he can make love to you, would you say yes?

He shakes the thought from his head, water flying off of his two-toned hair as he turns the squeaky nob of the shower to the off position. The cool night air hits his wet body and causes a shiver to run through him. He bundles himself into his towel and hurries back to his dorm room, dripping all the way.

He slips into a clean pair of boxers and towels off his hair before tucking himself back into his soft sheets. The expensive linens are smooth and comfortable across his skin, but he finds himself longing for the comfort of your tall puffy bed. He wishes he were wrapped up in your silly girly comforter, covered in stuffed animals. He’d much rather be sleeping next to you. It’s crazy how safe and at ease you make him feel. He can’t recall the last time that he felt such a sense of wholeness, of belonging.

As he slips back into an easy sleep, he imagines that he’s nestled in between you and your Squirtle plush, not a care in the world.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Back to Y/N’s POV

Friday morning rolls around faster than you’d expect. The school’s schedule has allotted you all a rare three day weekend, so it’s not surprising that Mr. Aizawa is taking advantage of the extra time to participate in an underground Pro Hero team-up. That’s the kind of person he is – constantly moving, always keeping busy and looking for ways to serve those around him.

When Mr. Aizawa leaves campus early Friday morning, it’s predictably with little fanfare. He sends you all an email of his approximate schedule alongside the other teachers’ contact info “for emergencies.”

Class – I’ll be gone Friday through Sunday on a mission. While I’m gone, Class B’s homeroom teacher Vlad King will be in charge in my place. You can reach out to him should any issues arise. Don’t embarrass me. – Aizawa

You shut your laptop and look up at your friends. “Mr. Aizawa’s starting to get sappy or something. Last time he went out of town, he didn’t send us an email.”

Mina and Toru are sitting cross-legged on your bed, surrounded by hastily scribbled hot pink post-it notes. Toru has her dry erase board balanced across her knees as she rattles off names and assignments to Mina, who copies them down onto her post-it notes. They’re writing out everyone’s party planning tasks on the tiny slips of paper. You and Monoma lounge on your floor and review the battle plan intended to distract Vlad King.

“I wonder if Mr. Aizawa’s even, like, truly going on a mission.” Mina says thoughtfully, folding a post-it note in half and scribbling a name on top.

“What do you mean?” Questions Toru as she crosses something off the dry erase board.

“What if he has a secret girlfriend!” Mina squeals, throwing her hands up in the air and sending post-it’s flying around the bedspread. “Maybe he’s sneaking off for a romantic rendezvous…or a passionate love making session in a secret cabin.”

“You’ve been reading too many romance novels.” You say to her, ever the skeptic when it comes to your teacher’s insanely classified private life.

“Also ew! I don’t even want to imagine Mr. Aizawa having sex.” Toru sounds like she’s wrinkling her nose in disgust, but you’ll never truly know the expressions that cross her invisible face.

“What are you even saying?” Monoma pipes in from beside you. “Aizawa definitely fucks.”

You all turn to stare at him in disbelief.

“Excuse me!?” You cry out in surprise, breaking the stunned silence. Monoma smiles smugly.

“Eraserhead is one fine piece of ass! I would totally hit that. If I were, like, 30. And if I didn’t already have my heart set on a certain grumpy, purple haired god.” His eyes twinkle and he looks dreamily up at the ceiling.

“You so have a type.” Toru says flatly, throwing one of your plushies down at Monoma to wipe the faraway expression off of his face. “You like the dark, broody, emo ones.”

“Bingo!” Monoma snaps his fingers and grins at Toru. “You’re absolutely right. There’s something about a bad boy that just has me down bad.”

“Would you even consider Shinsou a ‘bad boy?’” You stifle a giggle. “He’s more of a sleepy boy than anything.”

“What can I say…I like them baggy eyed.” Monoma waggles his eyebrows at you all. He traces his fingers beneath his eyes, referencing the dark bruised under eye shadows that Shinsou and Aizawa have in common. “An exhausted caked up guy is my dream.”

You all burst out laughing. It’s nice - hanging out with Monoma like this. He is a natural fit for your group. You wonder if after the party you’ll continue to see each other in this capacity. It wouldn’t be so bad expanding your group of 3 to 4.

“All right.” Toru clears her throat when the giggles die down. “We have everyone’s assignments all figured out. Let’s go deliver them.” You all get to your feet and divide up the post-it notes between you. “We have 10 hours to get this all figured out. We’ll need a flawless execution to pull off the greatest secret party the UA dorms have ever seen!”

“The only secret party.” You correct her, laughing as you stuff folded post-its into your pockets. “Or, the first secret party at least. Hopefully we can throw more.”

“That’s the spirit!” Mina punches the sky gleefully. You’re all a little giddy and hopeful – if the 4 of you can pull this off, you can do anything. “Now let’s get going!”

You all dash out into the hallways and begin slipping notes under your classmate’s doors. Everyone who showed interest in the party has an assignment. Everyone in the class is sort-of on board. Except for Katsuki. No one felt like getting yelled at so you’re leaving it to Izuku to casually mention it to him right before everyone arrives. Mina will deal with him if you need be.

You flick the first post-it under Izuku Midoriya’s door. He, Ochaco and Tsu are in charge of paper goods and flatware. They’ll be making their way down to the local convenience store shortly to pick up standard paper plates, party napkins and red solo cups.

“So how’s the plan to distract Mr. King coming along, Toru?” You ask curiously. Toru has been in charge of your distraction strategy. She’s been up late the past few nights working out the kinks on her white board.

“Oh – I forgot to update you both! Obviously Mineta is the key to our distraction plan. But Monoma figured out a genius way to buy us even more time!” She grins at Neito, who practically glows at the praise.

“I asked Mei Hatsume if she’d be interested in getting involved. She said she can add some gadgets to our plan to give Mr. King quite a bit of trouble. Nothing dangerous of course – I love my teacher. But with Hatsume involved, we can level up our whole plan and add in just the right amount of chaos.” His smile is wide, a light touch of his usual insanity shines through.

“What are her terms?” Mina asks, a bit cynical. “What does she want in exchange for her help and resources?”

Monoma’s bright smile glints in the florescent hallway light. “That’s the thing! When I visited her in the Support Course workshop I really sold the whole thing as a challenge of her skills and wits. She doesn’t want anything in exchange; she just wants to use it as an opportunity for creative problem solving. Also, she said she’d like to see how her “babies” hold up against a real Pro Hero.”

“Huh that…oddly makes sense.” You say, unbelieving that this whole thing is coming together so nicely. “She’s crazy talented. That was super smart to ask her.”

“Careful, Y/N – don’t go stroking Neito’s ego too much. You know how cocky he can get!” Mina laughs as Neito basks in your praise.

“I mean…we all know that he’d rather get something else stroked!” Toru shrieks out a laugh pointing at Hitoshi’s room as they walk by.

Monoma’s face goes red. “Shut up!” But he laughs along. He flips Toru off as she shoots a post-it under another door.

Suddenly, there’s a creaking noise from behind your group. Your heads whip around to see a sleepy looking Hitoshi Shinsou emerging from his bedroom. He’s wearing a pair of purple plaid pajama pants and an oversized grey t-shirt. His purple hair is rumpled and stuck up oddly on one side, clearly fresh from sleep. He blinks blearily at you all.

“Hey.” His voice is husky, tinged with exhaustion. “I heard about the party. Anything I can help with?”

Mina strides backwards on her heels, eyes alight with mischief. “Actually – we still need a good playlist! Maybe you could collab with Neito and put something together?”

Shinsou nods, stifling a yawn. “Yeah, for sure. I’m going to shower and workout a bit, then I have some time at 11. Does that work for you Nei?”

You can’t help the way a smile tugs on the corners of your mouth as Shinsou uses an affectionate little nickname for Monoma. You turn to see how Neito’s handling all this. He’s clearly struggling to keep his composure, as he’s covering his mouth with his hand and trying to look thoughtful.

“Yes, that works. I’ve been thinking a mix of modern pop with some 80s synth sprinkled in would be a good fit for the evening’s festivities.” He says from behind his hand.

This brings a smile out of Hitoshi, who seems a bit more awake and alert now. “That sounds like a great starting place. Meet me back here and we’ll work through it, ‘kay?”

“Sounds great.” Neito says flatly, trying to seem a bit aloof. You nearly breakout in a fit of giggles– Neito trying to act “subtle” is about as ridiculous to watch as an ostrich skateboarding.

“Cool. See you soon.” Hitoshi gives you, Mina and Toru a nod. “Excited for the big shindig tonight. Is there a dress code?”

“Keep it classy and casual. But also wear something hot.” Mina says waggling her eyebrows. “We’re playing spin the bottle. So if there’s someone you wanna kiss, you should dress up to get his or her attention.”

Hitoshi quirks an eyebrow at this. “Spin the bottle? I feel like I saw that on an old cheesy American movie from the 80s or 90s.”

“The very same!” Mina says smoothly. “Can we count on your participation?”

Hitoshi snorts a laugh. “Put me down as a tentative maybe. I’ll need to see who’s all participating before I commit to making a fool of myself.”

Mina nods approvingly. “A tentative maybe is a good start. Keep in mind that the four of us will definitely be partaking. So that’s 4 sexy potential kiss candidates on the docket already.” God, she’s laying it on thick. Monoma’s face is so red it’s practically glowing under the fluorescents. “You really can’t lose.” She adds, eyes shimmering.

Hitoshi’s pale skin flushes for a brief moment as his eyes dart between the four of you before landing briefly on Monoma. “Good to know.”

“Alright, we’ve gotta get going!” Toru pushes at Mina to clear your crew out of the hallway. “Lots to do and so little time!”

“Good luck with everything today. See you all later.” Hitoshi waves as he retreats back into his dark room. “Oh, and Neito – I’ll start a joint Spotify list between the two of us.” He flashes one final, small grin and then he’s gone to gather his shower things. Neito swoons back into your shoulder.

“God, the things I’d do to that boy. So fuckin’ cute and sleepy.” He mumbles out as you hit the stairwell, off to another floor.

“I think you may actually have a chance there, Neito.” You say, delivering a flick to his forehead to bring him back to reality. “He blushed a lil when we mentioned Spin the Bottle.”

“I dunno, Y/N. Maybe he wants to kiss me, you or Mina!” Toru teases, running down 3 steps at a time as Neito pretends to chase her to the next floor.

“No! His beautiful sleepy ass belongs to me!” Neito cackles as he swipes out a hand to catch Toru, but she’s too quick. She slithers out the door to the next level of dorm rooms and the three of you follow gleefully.

“It really is all coming together, isn’t it?” Mina says, almost pensively. “Our big, ambitious dream. The party. The friends. The kissing.” You all giggle as you slip more post-it notes under your classmate’s doors. “What could go wrong?”

After the note distribution is complete, you leave your friends with a wave. Everyone is taking a quick break to work on his or her respective party projects and to pick out outfits. You plan to meet up again in a few hours for final preparations and to kick off Operation: Distract Mr. Vlad King! before sunset.

You have a bit of precious time to yourself so you decide to knock on Shoto’s door. You know from a brief good morning text exchange that he’s decided to spend the day studying up until the party, so there’s a good chance he’s in his dorm room.

He opens the door after the second knock. Like Hitoshi, he’s wearing comfy clothes. You’re surprised to see that his sweat pants are Best Jeanist branded merchandise. They have the Pro Hero’s logo printed in a pattern across the hems. He’s got a charcoal colored fitted t-shirt on – you’re pleased to see it leaves nothing to the imagination. The shirt hugs his frame tightly, his rippling muscles forming hard planes beneath the thin fabric.

“I wasn’t expecting to see you so early.” Shoto says in surprise, his face folding into an easy soft smile.

“I have 20 minutes before I need to meet up with some of our classmates to work on decorations for tonight.” You say, pushing past him to enter the dorm room before anyone on the floor can see. “Thought I might come by and put you to good use.”

“Put me to good use… decorating?” Shoto asks, confused. His brow is furrowed as he tries to think back to when you may have mentioned needing help with the party décor. He closes the door soundly behind you and locks it. You glance around and smile at the sunlight streaming in across his room. A few textbooks and notepads are strewn across the floor next to his flat mattress.

“Mmm, no. I’d like to put you to good use giving me an orgasm.” You smile slyly and bat your eyes up at him. The thrill of your party planning going well is making you bold.

His face heats up as the implication of your previous statement hits him. “Oh!”

“I mean, if you’re for that! I don’t want to interrupt your studying if you’ve hit a good groove. I want you to be the best hero you can be, obviously.” You quickly backtrack.

He smiles as he leans down to capture your lips in a light kiss. “I’ve hit a good stopping point, for now. I was working on English.”

“Ah, yeah I did that homework last night. It’s brutal.” You sympathize, glancing over at his English textbook with trepidation.

“I think I’m getting pretty good at it.” He shrugs, stepping away from you. “Actually…I can think of a fun way that we can keep studying together while we get you off. If you’re up for the challenge, of course.”

Your ears perk up. “Oh, I am always up for a challenge Shoto Todoroki.” The use of his full name makes him smile wider. It’s sweet how soft he is for the simple things.

Shoto leans down and clears his books off his sleeping pallet. “For the next 20 minutes, everything we say needs to be in English. Until I make you cum, at least.”

“Deal.”

He sits down on the mattress, palming at his crotch lightly. He adjusts his package to a more comfortable position as he feels himself start to get hard. “Get over here.” He says in English, his accent formal and perfect. No surprise there. It sends a thrill up your spine to hear him speak to you in a different language.

You saunter over to him, pulling your shirt over your head easily. You reach behind your back and unclip your bra, letting it drop to the floor.

“Someone’s eager.” Shoto jokes, but his teasing turns to a gasp as you straddle him and line your core up to where you assume his half-hard dick rests.

“Pop quiz.” You say, your English a little rough around the edges, but passable. “What are these called in English?” You grasp your bare breasts, one in each hand. You squish them a bit and give Shoto a full view, your nipples perking up in the breezy air of the room. He stares at them in wonder, leaning forward so he can wrap his arms around your back and pull you closer. He latches his mouth onto your left breast, sucking at it thoughtfully before responding.

“Tits. Boobs. Breasts. God…yours are perfect.” He rattles off in seamless English. He rolls his tongue around your nipple before gently sucking on the hardened tip. You groan under the intensity of his mouth, flaring your hips so you can grind down into him.

“Are you going to cum like this? Just from my mouth on your breasts?” Shoto questions when he comes up for air. He uses his other hand to tweak your neglected right nipple.

“M-maybe.” You stutter out in English as you start to grind on his hardening dick. His sweatpants are so soft and provide just the right amount of friction under your clit. You praise the Best Jeanist merch manufactures for chosing such a plush fabric.

“Mmm…good.” Shoto brings his mouth back down to latch onto one of your nipples and he plays you like a violin. Your breath hitches as you sing his praises and feel yourself get closer to your release. Ugh, you don’t want to come so quickly though. An idea strikes you.

“Take off your pants. But leave the underwear.” You say softly. Shoto’s eyes fly up from your boobs and meet yours. He looks as if you’ve made his day.

Shoto does as he’s told, moving you carefully off of him so he can strip. He’s wearing a thin pair of black boxers that hug his muscular thighs in the most delightful way. His dick is clearly hard - a rigid outline beneath the breathable fabric. You lick your lips with satisfaction, appreciating the way you can practically see him pulsing – eager for your touch.

You strip off your own pants, popping the button to your jeans and shimmying out of them. The time for grace and decorum is behind the two of you – right now you just want to do filthy, dirty things to Shoto and that hard cock of his.

Shoto looks up at you like you’re some kind of lovely teenage dream, his eyes glimmering as he takes you in. Your naked breasts bounce as you finally kick your feet out of your jeans. You’re wearing a cute pair of navy blue panties with the tiniest bow on the front. His jaw goes slack at the sight.

“I want to sit on that hard dick.” You say under your breath, moving to straddle Shoto once again. He seems to come back to himself a bit at the words. He looks up at you, a roguish smile playing at his lips as he adjusts himself, a strong hand stroking over his underwear.

“That wasn’t in English. Try again.” He holds up a hand, keeping you from wrapping yourself around him. You stamp your foot lightly in frustration, trying to search for the right English words through your cloudy, horny brain.

“Let me ride you.” You finally manage to translate in your head – short, sweet, to the point. Shoto opens his arms and invites you in, and you happily put yourself back in his lap. You lower yourself back on top of him. Without the extra layer of pants, you can feel so much more against your pussy. His hands fly to your hips and he begins to bounce you up and down on his clothed cock. You mewl unabashedly, enjoying the friction and the sensation of his dexterous fingers tweaking at your sensitive breasts.

“Feels…so…hard.” Basic English. Despite your brevity, you perfectly get the point across as you roll your hips so you can put more pressure on your clit.

You wrap your legs around his torso and your arms around his neck. He buries his face in your shoulder and lightly sucks on your delicate skin. “I might cum.” Shoto mumbles into your neck, gasping for breath. This spurs you on, pushing you over the edge. Your orgasm hits you with a shower of sparks in your pussy. It’s an absolute explosion in your cute little panties. You cry out, head back and eyes rolling as you feel the wetness pool between your folds, Shoto’s hard cock throbbing below the thin layers of underwear between you.

Shoto keeps his eyes glued to your features as you cum, as if he’s trying to commit your O-face to memory. He kisses your collarbone as you come down from your high, smiling smugly now that he’s pulled another orgasm out of you. You’re both overly hot and covered in sweat. You pull your hair out of your face and suck in a sharp breath as traces his hand up and down your back slowly.

“Can we stop using English now?” You ask in your native tongue, too exhausted to keep up the constant stream of translation.

“You’re allowed.” He says, shifting you off of his lap and onto the mattress next to him. “I’m surprised you kept it up for as long as you did.”

“You say that like I’m bad at English. I’ve had just as much practice in school as you have.”

Shoto casts his gaze to the side guiltily. “I may have had a slight advantage. My dad got me an English tutor when I started speaking. It’s basically native to me at this point.”

Oh, right. Shoto’s family is rich and his dad is Endeavor. Sometimes you forget that you grew up in completely different worlds.

“Well, it was a great challenge. I like seeing that side of you. It’s a little kinky.” You grin, pinching his soft cheek affectionately.

“What do you mean ‘kinky?’” He asks, frowning as he thinks back to the encounter you’ve just had.

“Like when you told me I had to play by your rules or you wouldn’t let me get on top of you…that was pretty hot. I kinda like it when you tell me what to do sometimes.” You say, a little embarrassed at the admission. Shoto think about this for a bit, mulling over your words.

“I’ll note that.” He smiles at you and leans back into his mattress. He’s shiny with sweat, his muscular chest glistening before you – he looks like some sort of ancient Greek god bathed in olive oil. Your eyes shoot down to his boxers where he’s still clearly hard, a tiny stain of pre-cum turning his underwear dark where the fabric rubs against the head of his dick. You’re struck with an idea.

“Hey Shoto…can you take off your underwear for me?”

He looks at you with bright eyes, clearly thrilled at the prospect. “Anytime you ask. Literally anytime, anywhere.”

“Hmmm…anytime, anywhere? What about in the teacher’s lounge? Or in the crowded cafeteria?” You joke, watching eagerly as he thumbs the waistband of his boxers.

“I mean it when I say I’d get arrested for public indecency for you.” He’s smiling so openly at you in that special way he does. You wonder for a moment if he means it…can the two of you get away with a fun sexy encounter somewhere semi-public? You’ve never thought of yourself as a voyeur, but with Shoto everything is hot and exciting.

He slides his boxers off and his cock springs free – hard and pulsing with need.

“You look so good, Shoto.” You can’t take your eyes off of his dick – it’s practically calling your name. “Stay there on the mattress.” You say, motioning for him to stay seated. You clamor onto the bedroll in your socks, stepping clumsily on the soft fabric. You plop yourself down behind him and bracket his body between your legs, scooting forward so that his back falls against your chest. You lean forward and kiss the defined planes of his trapezius muscles and feel him quiver beneath the touch. He’s so much taller than you, so you need to crane your neck to touch your lips to the smooth skin of his shoulder.

“Let’s try something new.” You say softly. “Would you be cool with that?”

Shoto turns his head a bit so he can glance down at you through the corners of his eyes. “If it’s with you? Yes, I’m cool with it.”

You feel your chest get all warm and fuzzy at the words.

“Alright – as always, tell me if you need to stop or take a break. And tell me if you don’t like something.” You say, sliding your hands around him to hug him at the middle. His bare back presses against your breasts, squishing them. You use your fingertips to blindly trace his toned chest and you hear his breath hitch as your fingers slide deftly down to his stomach. It’s a delicate dance – you want him to feel your desire for him through your fingertips alone before you even touch his cock.

You tease him and explore him, letting him relax some of his weight back into you as he leans into each touch. You’re sure this is the first time Shoto has been allowed to just…be. You can’t see his face but you know his eyes are likely blissed out and unfocused as you slither a hand down his stomach and across to one of his muscular thighs. You splay your fingers wide, squeezing at the taught muscle of his leg.

“You want me to touch you, Shoto?” You whisper, drawing your fingertips lightly up his inner thigh and towards his balls. “I can, if you’d like.”

Shoto mumbles something unintelligible in response.

“I’m gonna need you to use your words, sweetheart.” You coo, throwing in a term of endearment to see how he’ll react.

“Oh, God. Yes, please touch me.” He groans, his voice a bit louder than before. His body quivers and shudders underneath you as you draw your delicate touch up to his cock and wrap your fingers around it. He drops his head back onto your shoulder at the contact, and you make a mental note to sit against a wall for some back support next time you decide to do this.

You slowly start to pump at his cock with your right hand; each motion is gentle and leisurely. With your left, you trace stars into the sensitive skin just beneath his belly button.

“You know, I had a dream about you last night.” Shoto says through gritted teeth as you pump at him.

“Oh yeah? What kind of dream?” This surprises you – your stomach prickles with the thrill of it. Shoto Todoroki had a dream about you!?

“It was…ah!” He can’t get out a complete thought as your hands are doing too good a job. You slow your pace so he can finish his sentence. “…It was a sexual dream.”

“Is that right?” Your grinning wide, ecstatic that Shoto wants you so badly he’s dreaming about you. You want to press further, but you know that Shoto is close to release and you want to help him get there.

“Fuck, Y/N. Just like that.” He mumbles out as you pick up the pace a tiny bit. You pump at him the way he showed you, focusing on the head. You bring your left hand down to play with his balls a bit and he practically cries out your name.

“Shhh, Shoto.” You giggle. “We can’t get caught.” But you lean into his pleasure, playing with his balls and stroking his cock until he all but explodes in your hand.

“I’m gonna cum, Y/N.” He pants out, voice low and thick with arousal. “You drive me…so crazy.” You smile and spread light kisses across his back and shoulders, all the while keeping your strokes even and focused. Finally, it’s too much for poor Shoto and he cums hard in your hand. You feel it spool through him, a powerful spark that rolls through his hips and out his cock. His body quakes lightly as he orgasms, thick white cum bubbling out of his dick and pooling in your fist as you continue to pleasure him. “A-ah!” He whimpers in ecstasy, his eyes falling shut as he continues to lean into you. You continue to indulge him, making sure to get every last bit of bliss out of him before you release his exhausted dick.

You press more kisses to his back, letting him slowly come back to himself. He sits up gradually, and pulls himself up from the mattress so he can clean off the thick layer of cum that’s covering his lap. He strides over to his dresser to grab towels for you both and you’re graced with an incredible view of Shoto Todoroki’s bare ass. It’s the cutest butt in the world – it looks slappable and juicy and you want to squeal with how hot he looks from the back. But you refrain.

A moment later, Shoto is naked and kneeling at your feet. He uses a towel to carefully wipe his ejaculate from your fingers before looking up at you with brilliant mismatched eyes.

“The things you do to me, Y/N.” He says in wonder, slowly rising from the ground so he can plant a kiss on your forehead on his way to deposit the sticky towel in his hamper. He grabs two pairs of clean boxers from his dresser. He tosses one to you before pulling on the other pair.

“What are these for?” You ask blankly, staring at the “Wash Hero!” brand boxer shorts.

“Oh. Well.” Shoto looks at you nervously. “I read that when girls get turned on and orgasm, they can get really wet. I thought maybe you’d want to borrow a pair of underwear to change into before you go.” You almost forgot how through Shoto could be with his research. “You don’t have to wear them – I just thought it might be more comfortable.”

He’s got a point. You’re sure you can make it back to your dorm room in your soaking panties, but the alternative Shoto’s offering up is a bit irresistible. You’re tired from the orgasm and you have so much more to get done before the party tonight. It would be nice to just slip on a pair of his boxers and move onto your next task without needing to worry about an underwear crisis.

“I’ll give you some privacy.” Shoto says awkwardly, turning away. You laugh, quickly swapping out your panties for his thick black boxers. He’s so much bigger than you; you thought that the fabric would be loose around your middle. Instead, the waistband is a bit tight and digs into your waist. You realize then how slim and tapered Shoto’s body is – how his thin waist nips in. His body is different and lacks the slight hip curves that you possess. You grab your bra and clip it back into place.

“What do you think?” You signal him to turn back around and he peeks over his shoulder. “Does your underwear look good on me?”

Shoto turns around fully and scans you head to toe with his intense gaze. “I didn’t realize I’d get turned on so much by seeing you in my clothes.” He says a bit flatly. “I’m going to need to do some thinking about this.”

“Well, I hate to ‘cum and go’ but I really should be getting onto my next party planning chore.” You laugh at your own pun, and after a moment Shoto chuckles too.

“You’re sure you can’t stay for a bit longer? I can make us tea.” Shoto says, gesturing at a small stack of fancy tea boxes resting on top of his dresser.

“No – but thank you, though! Will I see you at the party later?” You pull your shirt on over your head and flail your arms around until they catch in the sleeves.

“You think I’d miss a plan you’d masterminded? No way.” He says as he affectionately kisses your cheek.

“Can I get a rain check on post-coital tea and cuddling?” You ask, hastily hopping into your jeans.

“Anytime you want.” Shoto smiles at you serenely and pulls you in so he can plant a kiss on your cheek. “Also, Ashido has me helping Ida move around the common room furniture this afternoon.”

“Oh, right. You’ve been given a party chore as well!” You laugh, searching for where you’ve left your shoes. You see your panties on the floor and quickly scoop them up.

“I’m doing laundry in a bit, you can leave that in my hamper.” Shoto offers, reaching down to re-make his bed.

“Really? Shoto you’re the best!” You ruffle his hair as you toss your sticky underwear into the black fabric hamper across the room. Then you turn and inspect yourself in the mirror that hangs on the back of his door. You’re looking a bit rumpled, but nothing a shower and an outfit change can’t fix. “You gonna keep studying?”

Shoto looks at the stacks of books littering his room and makes a face. “I don’t know that I can go back to learning after that good a distraction. I might just get going on my laundry and chores for the week.”

“Very fair. But please don’t let me ruin your academic pursuits.” You pull the dorm door open quietly and take a quick look outside. Coast is clear. “See you later, sweetheart.”

You leave Shoto standing in his room in nothing but his underwear, blushing furiously as you sprint down the hall cackling softly.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It’s 10:59am when Neito stands outside of Hitoshi’s door, hand primed to knock. He checks his phone repeatedly until it’s eleven o’clock on the dot. He doesn’t want to seem too eager.

Hitoshi opens the door and smiles at him warmly. He’s wearing a pair of loose purple athletic shorts and a baggy black tee. He’s still toweling his wild hair, clearly fresh out of the shower. It takes all of Neito’s resolve not to lean in and smell the fresh shampoo scent that’s rolling off of Hitoshi’s body in sweet waves. He wishes he could press himself against his friend’s chest and breathe his aroma in deeply.

“Hey.” Shinsou says, stepping aside to let Neito into his room.

“How was your workout?” Monoma asks curiously, letting his mind run wild as he pictures Hitoshi shirtless. Hitoshi flexing his sweaty biceps. Hitoshi using the leg press machine with defined calves. Hitoshi bending him across the lifting bench aaaand –

“It was alright.” Hitoshi answers evenly, closing the dorm door behind them. “The gym was pretty crowded, so I mostly just did some pull ups and core training. You really should start coming with me more often.” He makes a face. “I don’t really like working out alone, it makes me self-conscious.”

Neito totally gets where he’s coming from – working out alone in a crowded gym of upperclassmen has always made his skin crawl. He hates the feeling of being judged and wondering if he’s doing something wrong or foolish in front of all the older students. To be fair, he has hit the gym with Hitoshi a few times before. But Shinsou is so goddamn hot when he lifts – his biceps have grown so much since the beginning of the year, and he grunts lightly when he gets into his reps. It’s practically sinful, and Neito feels guilty for thirsting over his unwitting friend during those workouts. So he pulled back a little. Hearing that Hitoshi is self-conscious to workout alone makes him feel a bit bad though – surely he can keep it in his pants for a weekly gym session? For Hitoshi’s sake?

“Yeah…maybe we go together next week? My Tuesday morning is pretty free.”

Hitoshi smiles at him, a soft angelic upturn of his lips. God, he’s beautiful. “Sounds like a plan.”

Neito drops himself down into one of Hitoshi’s comfy beanbag chairs and takes in the room – the décor is simple and sleek. He’s been to Hitoshi’s room quite a few times, but he is always impressed with the way his friend manages to keep everything so neat despite their wild class schedules.

Everything is black, grey and modern. Utilitarian Ikea furniture, a dark grey bedspread, a few framed black and white band photos. Everything in Hitoshi’s room is a bit muted, making his wild purple hair stand out no matter where he sits.

Monoma and Shinsou are both known for being intense in their own ways. But when its just the two of them hanging, they are both able to chill tf out. There’s no one to perform for, no classmates or teachers to impress. They don’t need to put on brave faces in front of each other. And that is maybe one of the things Neito loves most about their relationship – when he’s around Hitoshi, he can just be himself.

He’s shaken from his quiet thoughts when Hitoshi flops down on the floor next to him, holding his thick gaming laptop.

“Alright, I’ve got a solid start to the playlist. Take a look so far?” Hitoshi passes Neito his laptop. Monoma scrolls thorough the song selections and nods approvingly at the choices before adding on some of his own. One of the things that initially brought them together was their shared taste in music. Their friendship had started a bit rocky at first – Monoma overbearing and forcing Hitoshi to hang out with him, and Hitoshi convinced that he “wasn’t in the hero course to make friends.” After bonding during a few rough training sessions and late nights spent studying their way through classic rock albums, they had become inseparable. They had the kind of friendship where they truly matched each other’s freak.

“As always, you have great taste.” Neito says as he adds a few more songs in that compliment Hitoshi’s picks.

The voice quirk hero smiles at the compliment and shifts a bit closer to Neito so he can watch over his shoulder. Neito can feel Hitoshi’s hot breath lingering near his neck and nearly shivers at the closeness. He forces himself to concentrate on the task at hand, and not to turn his head towards Hitoshi’s lovely face.

“We literally have the same taste.” Hitoshi says softly, rolling his eyes. “We should really start expanding our sonic repertoire. Let’s go into town next weekend and grab something new from the record store.” Neito bites back a feral desire to say “It’s a date!” Instead, he nods. He’s thrilled that within the course of ten minutes, Hitoshi has set two intimate hangouts on the calendar for the following week.

Hitoshi really must value him as a friend to want to see him so much and that’s thrilling, of course. But part of Neito also wonders if Hitoshi also wants something more than friendship?

The two get along so easily and have so much in common, it is one of the strongest friendships that Neito has ever had. And it’s for that reason that he’s afraid to make a move and ruin things between them. A good friend is hard to come by, especially when you have such a…precocious personality. Especially when your quirk is so unique.

Neito darts a glance at Hitoshi. He has often mused that in the grand scheme of the Pro-Hero world, he and Hitoshi would likely be relegated to “side character” status. But he thinks that together, they could really be something great.

They spend a few minutes quibbling over song choices and the order of things. Hitoshi thinks they should start the evening with some slower paced tunes to ease the crowd into the party, while Neito feels that a few fast songs will start off the evening with a bang. They continue to prune and rearrange the playlist until they have something they are both satisfied with.

“What should we call it?” Neito finally works up the courage to turn to look fully at his friend and is disappointed that Hitoshi has shifted back into his own beanbag chair, further away.

“Well I’ve been thinking…strategically we shouldn’t call it ‘Party Playlist’ because that’s too obvious. What if we get caught by the teachers and need to deny our involvement? We need a playlist name that won’t seem too obvious.”

Neito laughs with glee – they are both taking this way too seriously. But that’s one of the things he likes about Hitoshi – he has a flair for the dramatic.

Neito pulls up a new tab on Hitoshi’s computer and logs onto an AI bot page. He quickly types in “Dramatic Illicit Activity Spotify Playlist Names” and a list populates. Hitoshi barks out a low, gravely laughs and starts to read some aloud.

“Okay I love ‘Whispers of the Forbidden’ and ‘Undercover Affairs.’ Definitely on the nose.”

Neito wrinkles his nose at the next few options. “Why are these all so romantic? ‘Veiled Desires’? ‘Stolen Moments?’ jeez.”

“Well.” Hitoshi says flatly. “Isn’t there going to be some weird kissing game at this party? Kind of makes sense I guess.”

Neito’s heart rate spikes at the mention of kissing. Hitoshi doesn’t seem to notice his sudden discomfort.

“Oh there’s a dramatic one…let’s call the playlist ‘Cloak and Dagger Melodies.’ And we can add a photo of a rose on a piano or something stupid. No one would ever guess that this is for a party.”

“Hitoshi. My dude.” Neito says dryly as he types in the name of the playlist. “Say that in a totally insane chain of events the UA faculty find this playlist with that weirdass name with a dramatic romance novel level image accompanying it. They’re going to think we have some weird 18th century vampire romance going on between the two of us.”

At this, Hitoshi throws back his head and laughs deeply. It’s one of those rumbling, full body laughs that leaves you gasping for breath and makes your stomach hurt afterwards. After a moment of surprise, Neito can’t help but join in. He loves Hitoshi’s gravely, deep laugh. He loves even more that he’s able to draw it out of his purple haired classmate.

“I like that.” Hitoshi wheezes out, finally able to breathe again. “You know what, I hope the faculty finds our party playlist. And I pray that it causes them concern because they think that Neito Monoma and Hitoshi Shinsou have some spooky vampire romance going on, centered around creating dramatic 80s Spotify playlists together. Some couples write love letters. We create curated passionate listening experiences.”

This statement forces them both into a fit of giggles again, and Neito feels like he just might die at the thought of creating couples playlists with Hitoshi. He knows his friend is joking, but he feels his heart flutter at the feel of it. Neito and Hitoshi. Romantic playlist vampires. Hearts stitched together by Spotify’s “Create a Jam” option.

“So what do you think about this…kissing thing?” Hitoshi asks him slowly, and Neito feels the blood in his veins run cold. Shit. Is Hitoshi onto him? Could he know about how Neito made a deal with the girls in Class A – that he’s helping with the party in order to get a chance to play Spin The Bottle with Hitoshi?

Admittedly, Neito had started to help the girls out of pure selfishness. Sure, he had felt bad for ruining the girls’ first party. But ultimately he had apologized and offered to help out if it meant that he could have a chance at smooching his beloved purple haired hero in training. Unexpectedly, the more he collaborated with the Class 1A ladies on their party planning, the more he felt himself having a change of heart.

As it turns out, Mina, Toru and Y/N are fun and chill and meshed really well with Neito’s dramatic, whimsical personality. They are easy to talk to, and they genuinely seem to like having him around. The unexpected friendships he’s formed while planning this party are invaluable to him in a way he can’t quite explain. Even if Neito doesn’t get to kiss Hitoshi, he thinks that involving himself with the illicit party planning committee has been worth the risk. He has more friends now. Friends who accept him as he is.

He takes a deep breath. “What do you mean?” He fires back at Hitoshi, trying to turn around the conversation on his friend. He tries to keep his tone casual.

Hitoshi blinks, and then leans back into his beanbag chair and stares up at the ceiling. “I was wondering if you’re going to participate.”

“Oh.” Neito quickly realizes that Hitoshi’s participation in the game was never a given, so he has to do some convincing to keep his kissing scheme on track. “Yeah, I was thinking about it. It could be fun. I don’t really see a downside to it, to be honest.”

Hitoshi hums in response, still staring up at the ceiling.

“What about you?” Neito presses, searching Shinsou’s face for any hint of what he’s thinking.

“I dunno. It certainly could be interesting.” Hitoshi shifts into a more comfortable position in the bean bag, then glances at Neito through the corners of his eyes. “Have you ever…kissed anyone before?”

The question takes Neito by surprise. He answers instantly, honestly. “No, I haven’t.”

“Hm.” Hitoshi grunts neutrally. He still doesn’t display any emotion. “I guess this game is an easy way to get your first kiss out of the way. Unless you get someone you don’t like. Or if you get embarrassed kissing in front of all your classmates.”

“Oh. I didn’t really think of that.” Truly, Neito hadn’t really factored in that most of Classes A and B will be in attendance at this event. This whole time he had a one track mind focused on creating an opportunity where he and Hitoshi would be squashed together in a potentially romantic way.

“Yeah. If it were me, I’d want my first kiss to be in private.” Hitoshi says thoughtfully, turning his face back to the sky.

“You’ve kissed someone before?” The words tumble from Neito’s mouth before he can stop them, an almost accusatory twinge in his voice.

Hitoshi sort of…smirks at this. “I’ve had a few kisses, yeah.”

“Are you kissing anyone currently?” Neito can’t help himself. He cringes at his words.

“Well, seeing as no one’s attached to my lips right now…”

“You know what I mean.” Neito snaps. He’s quickly digging a hole for himself.

“No, I’m not currently seeing anyone.” Hitoshi snorts. “But I have had a few kisses. I didn’t mean to make you self conscious since you haven’t had a kiss yet.” His apology is sincere. Neito feels relief flow through him as he realizes that Hitoshi thinks he’s jealous because he hasn’t had his first kiss yet. Hitoshi doesn’t realize Neito is jealous of whoever has kissed Hitoshi. He decides to play into the misunderstanding.

“Maybe this Spin the Bottle game is exactly what I need to get my first kiss out of the way then, yeah? Any tips for me?”

Hitoshi turns his head so he can fully look at Neito. The sharp attention of Hitoshi’s dark gaze practically gives Neito a hard on, and he shifts the laptop a bit to cover his pants.

“Don’t put so much pressure on it, Nei. Anyone would be lucky to get to kiss you.”

Neito feels his cheeks heat up in a blush at the compliment.

Hitoshi notices his discomfort. “Listen…I’ll play, too. If it would help. I’ll cheer you on.”

Neito nods gratefully and they get back to chatting music. It’s infuriating how in some moments, Hitoshi seems kind of in to him. But then others, he’s clearly just trying to be a good friend. Can there ever be more than friendship between them? Neito prays that Mina will be able to pull through her part of their bargain. If the bottle lands on Hitoshi during Spin The Bottle, there are two options – either Hitoshi will kiss him and make it clear that he’s interested, or he’ll laugh it off and tell Neito to re-spin.

Neito takes a deep, calming breath as Hitoshi rattles off some facts about 80s New Wave music.

All will be revealed later that night at the party. All he has to do is wait.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You get back to your dorm a little worse for wear – your legs are still a bit shaky from your mid-morning romp, and you’re covered in sweat. Your hair is an absolute mess. You still have a few “party chores” left to execute. You and the girls have purchased black vinyl tablecloths from the local convenience store, and you need to cut them to size and tape them into the windows to black out the light. You don’t want any passersby looking up into the dorm building and catching sight of a raucous unsanctioned party. You also have a few sets of streamers that need to be hung.

You quickly change into a pair of sweatpants and gather the necessary supplies, digging through your desk drawer to find a sharp pair of scissors and your tape.

Your phone buzzes on your bed and you look up – is it Shoto? Or maybe the Secret Party Planning Committee (which has now been expanded to include You, Mina, Toru, Neito, Mineta, and Mei Hatsume – a bizarre group, for sure!).

You grab your phone and flip it over so you can see the screen.

Oh – it’s Honenuki!

Honenuki: Hey Y/N, how’s it going?

Y/N: I’m good! Just getting some decorations together for tonight. Hbu?

Honenuki: That sounds dope – I’m so excited for the party! Anything I can help with?

Y/N: If you could bring a snack like chips or pretzels that would be super helpful!

Honenuki: Awesome, will do! QQ – is there a dress code?

Y/N: Nope – just wear what makes you feel comfortable!

Honenuki: Any idea what you’ll be wearing?

Y/N: Not sure yet – maybe a skirt or something like that? You know, party clothes.

Honenuki: I bet you’ll look cute no matter what you decide to wear. See you later!

You put the phone back down on your bed, a blush creeping up into your cheeks. What an odd thing for him to say? Is he…flirting with you? Nah, Honenuki is just super cool and chill, he probably was just paying you a nice compliment to keep your spirits high. Right?

But there’s no time to worry about this – you’ve got work to do! You quickly grab your things and make a beeline for the common area. Your arms are full of party supplies and your mood is high after your half hour spent with Todoroki. This is really turning out to be the best day – you can’t wait for the party!

A few students are hitting the books in the common room, but easily come to your aid when they see you enter the space with hands full of streamers and tape. Tokoyami offers to hang up the streamers with the help of Dark Shadow, and you gratefully accept the help. You didn’t realize how high the ceilings are, so you’re appreciative of Dark Shadow’s ability to reach the rafters.

You get to work measuring and cutting the vinyl tablecloths to fit the common room’s many windows. Shoji joins you and lends a few hands. Between you, Shoji and Tokoyami, your preparation is done within an hour.

“Dang – thanks guys! That was a lot of work!” You wipe the sweat off of your forehead and admire the common area. It’s strange to see the windows covered in black vinyl during midday – the afternoon light shines through the hangings in a strange, muted way. Between that and the red yellow and blue streamers winding around the room – the common area looks like a particularly festive haunted house.

“Perfect for revelry in the dark.” Tokoyami intones passionately as he takes in the results of your labor.

“Yeah, that’s the spirit!” You say weakly. Tokoyami is so nice and a great friend, but sometimes he can be a little spooky. You aren’t quite sure what to make of his comments sometimes.

“This looks great, Y/N. We’ll see you later for the party – I’m going to go finish up my homework ahead of time.” Shoji says, strolling off to his dorm room. “See you all later!”

You leave as well, ready for a much-deserved shower and hour of primping.

As you get back to your dorm room for the second time today, your phone buzzes and this time it really is Shoto.

Shoto: Y/N – look what came in the mail.

He’s attached a picture. You smile as you click open the image.

It’s…a selfie!? It’s an image of Shoto’s cute face squished against a fuzzy blue stuffed animal. He’s got that characteristic soft smile as he looks at the mid-sized blue whale plush excitedly.

Y/N: OMG!! Who is this!?

Shoto: It’s a plush I ordered online. I want to start a collection like yours. This one is a whale from a company called Jelly Cat.

Y/N: SHOTO!! It’s so cute omg – just like you!!

Y/N: What are you going to name it!?

Shoto: What do you mean

Y/N: You need to give it a name. Like…something that matches its energy I guess?

Shoto: Squirtle

Y/N: Nope.

Shoto: How about Kuchihiro?

Y/N: Oh yes. That’s funny.

Shoto: Glad you approve

Y/N: Where will he live?

A second image pops up on your screen almost instantly. You click it to expand the picture on your phone screen. It’s another pic of the whale plush – Kuchihiro – perched on top of Shoto’s bed roll and pillows. It lists to the side a bit and stares at the camera with blank, embroidered inky eyes. It’s adorable.

Shoto: He wants to be your friend.

Y/N: Tell him I’ll need to come visit him soon.

Shoto: He asked if you’d like to have a slumber party soon. He said you can bring Squirtle.

Y/N: Squirtle and I are in. We can see if Kuchihiro is cool enough for Squirtle Squad membership.

Shoto: I can guarantee that he qualifies for Squirtle Squad membership.

A new image comes through and you open it – you laugh so hard at the visual you almost fall over. Shoto’s taken another selfie with the whale plush, but this time – they are BOTH WEARING SUNGLASSES!!! Shoto has somehow acquired garishly sharp old lady sunglasses that resemble the glasses worn by Squirtle in the Pokémon TV show. His dedication to this bit is truly unmatched. You use your fingers to zoom in on the image – Shoto and the whale have identical blank expressions as they both “stare” into the camera lens. It’s hilarious and iconic and one again you’re surprised by Shoto’s sense of humor. You’re laughing so hard you can barely type out a text reply.

Y/N: SHOTO I CANNOT

Y/N: I AM LAUGHING SO HARD IM LOSING MY MIND

Y/N: YOU ARE PERFECT AND HILARIOUS AND I NEED YOU TO NEVER CHANGE

In response, Shoto sends though four emojis: A Whale. A Turtle. The Smiley Face With Sunglasses.

And a heart.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Dusk is setting in, the sun slipping low beneath the dorm buildings of UA. The trees surrounding the campus rustle with a light breeze, and the energy around the school is one of calm.

A ragtag group of students has gathered in the center of the academic quad, shoes squelching in the dewy grass. They surround the school’s singular flagpole, which stands thirty feet high and is anchored to the ground with concrete. All of the flags have been retired for the evening so it stands empty, looking like a tall sewing needle against the fabric of the star-strewn evening sky.

Mina, ever the leader, stands with her hands on her hips as she looks up at the tall pole that marks the center of campus.

“Alright, team. It’s now or never. Is everyone ready?”

You, Toru and Neito cheer quietly. Mineta looks up at the flagpole apprehensively.

“I’m not so sure about this.” He mutters, his lisp prominent.

“Well it’s too late to back out now!” Mina says, slapping him lightly on the back. But then she pivots to a kinder approach. “Listen, Hatsume’s plan is way better than the one we originally discussed. She’s got a bunch of gadgets and gizmos that are going to make this much safer and take the strain off of you.”

Mineta gulps, his eyes never leaving the pole.

“Speaking of Hatsume – where is she?” You ask, looking around the quad searchingly.

“She said she’d be here.” Neito shrugs. “Probably wanted to make a grand entrance with one of her support items.”

He’s absolutely right. Moments later, a loud mechanical roar hits your ears.

“Didn’t you tell her to be discreet!?” Toru shrieks at Neito over the sound of whirring engines.

“You can’t put limits on artistry!” Neito calls out as he covers his ears to shield them from the noise that’s growing louder by the second. Seconds later, the source of the sonic barrage appears. And, yes, it’s Hatsume. She’s jetting towards you all on her insanely large metallic antigravity boots.

“Didn’t she damage those during the Sports Festival?” You yell over the din. “I don’t remember them being so goddamn loud!”

The roar of the boot motors hit a crescendo as Mei Hatsume hovers above you all. Her pink hair shines in the light of the rapidly rising moon. She’s wearing her usual bright goggles as well as a wild grin. She leans forward to smack at a button on the side of her boot and they seem to shut down. She plummets to the ground but lands soundly on the balls of her feet. A large bag of loot is flung over her right shoulder. She looks like some kind of bizarre cross between Inspector Gadget and Santa Claus.

She spreads her left arm wide. “Ta-dah! Newly functional anti-gravity boots by me, Mei Hatsume!”

You all stand there looking at her, stunned. Finally, you break the silence.

“Hatsume…your flying looked great but those boots are loud AF. This is a secret operation.”

“Eh, I’m still working out the kinks on these babies.” She knocks at them with her fist and a hollow sound reverberates into the night. The key to being a good designer is to just keep pushing through, even when there are challenges! And the challenge right now is dampening the sound.” She kicks off the boots and you’re surprised to see she’s wearing comfortable sneakers underneath. She tosses her loot bag to the ground and you all eye it curiously. “I am sorry about all the noise, though. But I tracked all the teachers and no one is in the dorm area right now, so there was little risk of me using the loud boots.”

“…you tracked the teachers?” Toru says weakly. “Does that mean you…?”

“Yup! I currently have all of the on-campus staff tagged with secret GPS tracking chips!” Hatsume says proudly. “I thought this little plan of yours could be the perfect time to test out my new discreet tracing system.”

“Hatsume…I’m pretty sure that’s illegal.” You say. She’s so crazy. This is insane. You’re all going to get caught and expelled for invasion of privacy or something.

“It’s all in the name of learning!” She says vividly as she starts to dig through her bag. “Alright – where’s the little grape one?”

“I have a name!” Mineta pipes up, despite his clear fear of Hatsume and her bag of tricks. She looks over at him and her eyes glint. “It you didn’t have such great tits, I wouldn’t have agreed to this.” He stares at Hatsume’s ample chest and Mina delivers a sharp smack to the back of his head. His grape-ball-hair thingies bounce with the impact and he wines in pain.

“Do you want me to do this for you or not!?” He cries out, rubbing at the back of his head irritably.

“We already made a deal. Be respectful to Hatsume or the deal’s off. We can figure something else out.” You bluff, glaring down at the little creep.

He leers up at you. “Fine. But just know I can taste your lips already.” He runs his tongue along his mouth in a disgusting gesture.

“Oh, I don’t care what he says!” Hatsume says excitedly as she starts to pull various devices and gadgets out from her bag. “As long as he lets me test out my babies on him, it doesn’t matter!”

Mineta’s eyes bulge with nerves and you pat him on the head soothingly. “Nothing bad’s gonna happen. She’s going to follow our plan and then after a while Mr. Vlad King will rescue you.” Your hand bounces back as you pat his bouncy purple hair (?).

“Ugh.” Minetta makes a face of disgust as he looks between Hatsume, her bag of tricks, and the tall AF flagpole. “You’d better come through on your end of the deal here, Y/N. No kiss, no diversion.”

“I know, I know.” You roll your eyes and cock your hip to the side. “You do this for us, and I’ll give you the best little smooch of your creepy little life.” Apparently, that’s all that needed to be said. Mineta shuts up and the two of you watch as Neito, Toru and Mina hilariously attempt to help Hatsume set up all her contraptions and tools.

“Question for you, Grape Juice.” You throw in his hero name to be nice. “Why’d you pick me? For this kiss exchange, I mean.”

Minetta seems surprised by this question. “I thought it was obvious. It’s because you’re the nicest. Duh.” He scratches absentmindedly at his chin as the two of you watch the chaotic scene before you. Everyone in the group has the potential to be a great hero…and yet, they are each so silly and dramatic. You smile at them fondly as they toss around stray tools and gears, trying to support Hatsume as best they can.

“You think…I’m the nicest.” You say slowly, rolling the idea around your mind.

“Mina is hot, but she’s too demanding most of the time. Toru is overly dramatic. There’s no chance in hell that either of them would give me so much as a side-glance, let alone a kiss, if I asked. And then there’s you – you’re always nice and trying to be my friend even though I can be a huge pain in the ass. I dunno…I just had a feeling that you’d say yes if I asked for a kiss.” He doesn’t look at you as he says this. He keeps watching the chaos unfold as Hatsume throws a screwdriver at Neito’s face. The Phantom Thief expertly dodges, but starts squabbling with Mei as he gestures wildly at all of her gear.

“Oh.” You don’t know what to say. You never imagined that Minoru Mineta of all people could be touched by kindness. He can be such a creepy asshole most of the time. “That’s…oddly sweet?” You rub your arms in discomfort.

“Forget I said anything.” Mineta looks your way and shrugs. “To be completely honest, the reason I chose you is because I’m a depraved horny dude and you’re an easy mark.”

“That sounds more like the Mineta I know.” You say, rolling your eyes. “Come on, let’s get this over with.” You march towards your bickering friends and pull up your shirtsleeves.

It takes a good twenty minutes to assemble all of the devices properly.

“Alright, grape boy! Get on in.” Hatsume smiles widely as she holds up a small Minetta-sized harness. The pop off hero in training gives her a look of terror.

“How do I know that thing is safe? It looks like it’s made of old frayed rope.” Minetta eyes the harness uncertainly.

“It’s made of state-of-the-art synthetic dyneema. The strongest material in the world. It will keep you from falling and won’t tare apart – no matter how rough things get. I only made it look like cheap rope to keep up our ruse.” Her eyes are wild and remind you of that crazy look Neito is known to have. “Vlad King will take one look at this harness and he’ll assume another student tied you up. A student with less…sophisticated…knowledge of support items.”

Minetta reluctantly takes the harness and steps into it, buttoning it closed across his chest. You let out a low whistle – the strappy outfit really makes it look like someone’s haphazardly tied him up. Hatsume is a genius.

“Okay now for the next part – I’m going to clip you to this drone baby and it will take you up to the top of the flagpole. Then I’ll release all of my other magnetic babies and they will follow you up. Once everything is secured on the flagpole, I’ll go sit in one of the trees and remotely operate everything.”

“That’s where I come in!” Neito says excitedly. “Kendo and I will go and frantically flag down Mr. Vlad King while he’s on his patrol. We’ll tell him to come quick and help Mineta. We’ll say that it looks like one of the upperclassmen got fed up with his pervy ways and decided to string him up on the flagpole to teach him a lesson. A nasty trick!”

“And as soon as Mr. King tries to rescue Mineta…boom.” Hatsume pulls up an iPad and opens an app that floods the screen with digital buttons and controls. “I’ll battle him with my babies and see how long my support items can stand up to a Pro Hero.” She cackles delightedly. You once again wonder if you’re all taking this way too far.

“I feel like you’re forgetting that I’m going to be up there!” Mineta calls out nervously. “What if your support shit hurts me?”

“Don’t worry. I’ll manually operate everything so you stay safe. And I’ll even let you down once I’ve had my fun!” Hatsume hoots as she hits a bunch of buttons on her device. Instantly, the support items littering the ground clatter to life. Shiny metallic objects with tiny arms and spikes and claws begin to rise off the ground – some begin to hover, others rise up on tiny mechanical legs.

“This is so creepy!” Mineta wails as the wave of tiny drones and gadgets begin to circle around the flagpole’s base. You all ignore him.

“I can guarantee you one hour of distraction.” Hatsume laughs, a bit unhinged. “Two hours if Mr. King doesn’t call for backup.”

“Hatsume, I know I asked for your expertise here – but I’m a little disheartened in how much you’re underestimating my teacher.” Neito says a bit stiffly. “He’s a Pro Hero. It should take him all of ten minutes to defeat a few flying toasters and save a boy strung up a flagpole.”

“Ha. That’s where you’re wrong, blondie. After you told me that Vlad King would be involved, I modified these babies with his quirk and fighting style in mind. A good support item designer should always construct her devices to suit the situation at hand!” Monoma still seems unconvinced, but its too late now. You all just need to trust in Hatsume’s mad scientist capabilities.

“How are you going to avoid being caught?” Toru asks Hatsume nervously.

“Oh, I’ve got a nifty little cloaking device baby that will help me blend into the trees. No one will ever see me. Once the teachers rescue Mineta, I’ll disappear back to the dorms.” She wiggles her hands in front of her face in an attempt at looking spooky. Instead, with her wide eyes and stretched grin, she looks a little deranged. “Oh! But you’ll need to take my antigravity boots back with you and stash them away for the night.”

“What!?” Mina looks at her incredulously. “They’re not a part of the plan? Why’d you even bring them then?”

“I needed to fit in a quick test flight today – plus they looked super cool when I was flying in, right?”

You all nod weakly, eager to take a break from her chaos. You reach down and scoop an antigravity boot into your arms. It’s heavy as hell. Toru grabs the other boot and her legs buckle a bit under its weight, her pants bend tellingly at the knee.

“We should really get going, guys.” Mina says, checking her phone for the time. “Everyone will be arriving soon!”

“Alright, you ready Mineta?” You ask your classmate. His face is pale white as he looks up the tall flagpole, but you can tell he’s already committed himself to this task. And to receive your kiss.

“I can just taste your lips already.” He says, but the jibe is half-hearted. Hatsume clips a carabineer to his harness and attaches the other end to one of her drones. An instant later, Mineta is lifted off the ground and rapidly rising into the air. Using the controls on her iPad, Hatsume guides the drone up, up, up and to the top of the flagpole.

The little perv reaches out and grabs the top of the flagpole with little effort. Mineta looks down at you all and flashes a quick thumbs up. He grabs a few purple balls from his head and uses them to secure his body to the pole. Once he’s safely fastened, he waves.

“Alright Mineta!” Neito calls up to him, cupping your hands around his mouth to project his voice. “You know the plan! When you see Kendo start to run over from the dorms with Mr. King, start yelling for help. Once Mr. King tries to get you down, Hatsume will activate all of the booby trap drones she’s assembled on the flag pole.”

Mineta nods and gives another thumbs up to indicate his alignment.

“Hatsume – you ready?” You turn to the support course prodigy, her boot weighing heavily in your arms.

“Yes, ma’am!” Hatsume gives you a big thumbs up as well. “Let’s do this!” She hustles off to her hiding place in a nearby tree. You watch as she pulls herself up into its branches with surprising strength. She pulls out her iPad and hits a few buttons before her form disappears into the leaves like a chameleon. Must be that cloaking device she mentioned.

“Alright everyone.” You flash a grin at your friends. “Let’s pull off the craziest secret party the school dorms have ever seen.”

End of Chapter 6

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Links To All The Previous Parts:

Part 1: Linked Here

Part 2: Linked Here

Part 3: Linked Here

Part 4: Linked Here

Part 5: Linked Here

My Master List

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Author Notes:

OH YES I FINALLY DID IT I FINALLY POSTED PART 6!!! I hope it lived up to expectations! We are really building up to the party scenes now, aren't we!? I feel like every chapter I say you're gonna see the party + spin the bottle next but then I come up with a ton of other ideas and characters and exposition that I want to throw in along the way! I really love Hitoshi and Monoma so yup, they are getting a little fun sexy storyline in Shoto's First Kiss! There is another couple pairing I'm going to give special treatment to as well, but you're gonna need to wait and see for that one...Anyways! I hope you liked this latest installment and that it was satisfying after the long wait! I am going through a really crazy health thing right now and have spent the past 3 months poked and prodded with needles and wedged in MRI machines so this story hasn't been my top priority. However, it has been a lovely reprieve! Please comment if you liked it - my partner and I love reading through everyone's goofy comments and they make us smile! Anyways, until next time! Sending good vibes to all!

XOXO,

❤️ Red Riot Unbreakable Heart

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❄️🔥THE ICYTHOTS🔥❄️

Want to join or be removed from the tag list - let me know! Once again, this is an ADULT ONLY blog. The IcyThot club is exclusively dedicated to the Shoto's First Kiss series and will only include A18+. Do not request to be added unless you are over 18. If your blog is ageless/your age isn't listed in the bio you cannot be an IcyThot member! I'm also adding the "sexual content" label/tags.

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scaranarav neogogori stoat-a10 instabull abrielletargaryen toriiee holographicage v1ben

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enlightenedrobot · 11 months ago

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Other Characters you can legally use for your Mickey Mouse project

Mickey Mouse is in the public domain, as is Minnie Mouse and Peg-leg Pete. There's some caveats to that, and I talk about that more in this other post, but for now, let's talk about other characters who you can also use to fill out the cast.

These characters should all be in the public domain, though some characters still have treademarks. I'll get into how to use them safely as we go. Anyways, let's start.

Other Disney Characters

Disney obvciously doesn't advertise this, but there's actually quite a few Disney originals who've actually been in the public domain for a while.

The Mad Doctor never had it's copyright renewed, and so it's very technically the first Mickey Mouse cartoon to enter the public domain. Keep in mind, the version of Pluto featured in the short isn't in the domain just yet, but the Doctor himself is free to use.

What's funny is that Disney would later use a version of Doctor for Epic Mickey. Obviously don't use that version of the character.

Aside from the Mad Doctor, we also have Oswald and Ortensia

Yeah, as it turns out, Oswald's been in the public domain for quite a while, but he's still trademarked by Disney. Easy recommendation... use the original "fat" design of the character and have him go by Lucky.

But before Oswald, we have the Alice Comedies

Everything about the Alice Comedies is Public Domain for a long time, and the Disney corporation very rarely acknowlege these characters existence. Which is a shame because These shorts were some of the first shorts Walt ever produced, and they have the unique gimmick of featuring a live action girl in an animated world.

Everybody already knows about Oswald, but nobody talks about Oswald and Mickey's older brother from these shorts, Julius the Cat

Like... yeah no, it didn't all start with a mouse. Or a rabbit. It started with a cat.

Foxy and Milton Mouse

Both Foxy (top) and Milton (bottom, pictured with his girlfriend Rita Mouse) were characters created by Warner Brothers and Van Beuren respectively to cash in on Mickey's success, and both characters are also in the public domain.

In fact, all Van Beuren cartoons are apparently in the public domain, and I encourage you to find their cartoons and use them as you please.

Fleischer Characters

Betty Boop is probably in the Public Domain, but there's a few caveats with this. From what I can tell, the name Betty Boop is trademarked, but the character herself isn't. Most of the old Betty Cartoons are free to use, but newer incarnations, including the versions used in 1985's The Romance of Betty Boop and 1989's The Betty Boop Movie Mystery are still very much under copyright.

To avoid any legal trouble, I have two big recommendations. Although everybody remembers Betty as having Black hair, in one of the few early instances of Betty being shown in color, she's actually depicted as Redhead.

This is Betty Boop in 1934's Poor Cinderella, and her hair color is pretty clearly red.

The other option is to just make her black.

Though there's been some debate as to whether Betty Boop was intentionally modeled after Esther Lee Jones or not, there's still no denying the influence of Jazz on the character. Betty Boop is a Jazz singer and is often depicted dancing to Cab Calloway. Hell, the Betty Boop musical features Jasmine Amy Rogers as the titular character.

Betty Boop aside, there's an entire world of defunct Betty Boop characters who are definately public domain, including Bimbo and Koko the Clown.

Next year, Popeye's also gonna enter the Domain. So keep an eye out for him too.

Anyways, these are my picks, but obviously this list isn't meant to be comprehensive. There's a ton of old cartoon characters out there who can be freely reinterpreted into newer works. Feel free to add your own favorite public domain cartoon to the list.

#Mickey Mouse #Public Domain #Betty Boop #Koko the Clown #Foxy #Milton Mouse #The Mad Doctor #Oswald the Lucky Rabbit #Alice Comedies #Disney #Walt Disney #Max Fleischer #Warner Brothers.#Cartoons #Animation #Editorial

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sepherinaspoppies · 29 days ago

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New Girl (Modern! Aegon x Aemond x Roommate! Reader)

warnings: voyeurism, threesome, modern incest, blowjob, and many more when I release it lol.

Summary: To save money, you decide to move in with two complete strange guys from a Facebook ad. Unknowingly, one of them is a very well known pornstar and his younger brother, an erotic audiobook narrator from one of your favorite smutty books. What happens when you accidentally find out their hidden– shared secret?

Sneak Peek!

You knew it was wrong, very wrong for you to click on something so private. If the situation was reversed, and Aegon had borrowed your laptop, you wouldn’t want him to deep dive into your personal files. Not that there was anything lewd in your laptop, maybe one picture of yourself in your bikini when you first visited the Dornish beaches, but that was it.

But what was in front of you, called you out like a moth to a flame.

So you silently said to yourself: ‘fuck it’– and clicked on the little blue folder. Instantly so, your jaw cast open and your eyes almost bulged out of your eye sockets at what you saw. A list of multiple pornographic videos of Aegon splayed across the screen. You knew he was a pornstar, and his videos were all over the internet; but why did he have them saved to his laptop?

Perhaps as backup?

However, a hard drive was a better option to save his work.

You randomly clicked on one video before you made sure to lower the volume and the brightness of the screen. That’s when you saw a close up of Aegon and his curved–hard dick, you assumed he was adjusting the lens and you were right as he walked out of frame, revealing a black haired woman on her knees with another guy’s dick in her mouth.

Oh Seven Hells. This was a threesome!

But who was the other guy? You could only see from his chest down, his face out of frame. Though, he looked very well endowed as the woman sucked less than half of his length down her throat.

“Take more of his cock, darling. There’s plenty of room down your pretty throat to fit ten inches.”

Fuck, fuck, fuck!

You watched amazed as the woman seemed to comply with Aegon's orders and took the guy’s dick further down her throat, slowly and vehemently. The guy cradled the back of her head, fucking her at a languid pace until that pace began quickening ardently and you could hear the woman’s cries and gags as she struggled to take all of him.

This continued for a few more minutes until the guy tugged her head away from his dick, giving her no time to relax her rapid breathing, and between him and Aegon they positioned her into all fours.

Aegon thrusted into her without any warning or hesitation, bestowing many harsh slaps to her ass that even you could see his hand prints from the other end of the screen.

The mysterious guy crawled in front of her, his dick still very hard as he pointed his swollen, red tip to the bottom of her lip, smearing what looked to be pre-cum. For the first time, you heard the guy moan, and you swore you recognized those moans from somewhere.

You looked closely at the screen, at the guy; until you made out a dragon tattoo sketched on the guy’s left thigh. You knew that tattoo all too well. And who that tattoo belonged to.

Aemond fucking Targaryen.

-----

this is for kinktober and might be more than one part!

let me know if y'all wanna be tagged in the full fic by commenting down below :))))

#aemond targaryen x reader #aegon ii targaryen #aegon ii x reader #yes im feral #cause why not???#lol #sepherina’s writing updates

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sturnioz · 1 month ago

Note

Wait I need to know how you see confident!reader and fratboy!chris first interaction‼️

you needed a new supplier—and you needed one bad.

your previous one, once reliable and always putting you at the top of their priority list, had left town; dropped out of university, packed up their shit and left town without a word, chasing some dream in a place far from here. it was a fucking joke.

you were pissed, as many of the others were too, and the urgent need for a high gnaws at you as a constant reminder as you move through the sea of bodies within the unfamiliar frat house, your nose wrinkling at the thick scent of sweat, cheap cologne and fruity perfumes.

you clutch a red solo cup in hand, the alcohol sloshing inside with each step, a temporary distraction as you search for your friend who had invited you in the first place, trying to find her bleached blonde head in the crowd.

when you finally spot her, she's leaning against the wall, her body angled toward a guy. she bites her bottom lip, fluttering her lashes at him as he speaks, completely captivated. he licks his lips, smirking, and he raises his eyebrow as he pulls a joint from his pocket and tucks it between her breasts in her dress, his fingertips grazing her skin, sending an surge of protectiveness through you.

your brows furrow at the sight and you move forwards, the sound of your platform block heels tapping against the floorboards as you make your way over, wrapping your talon-like nails around her arm to draw her attention away from him.

"everything okay?" you ask, your voice steady but laced with concern as your eyes dart to the guy for a moment, giving him a pointed once-over before returning to your friend. "are you okay?"

"yes!" she giggles drunkenly, her eyes sparkling as she wraps her arm arounds yours. "this is chris — he's the dealer everyone keeps talking about!"

dealer? that catches your attention, piquing your curiosity as you take a more scrutinizing look at him, but your eyebrow arches in scepticism as you notice how he sizes you up, head tilting tightly, a smarmy grin stretching across his lips.

"what are you looking at?" you challenge, your irritation bubbling, unable to hold back.

"you." chris replies, his smirk widening with amusement swimming in his gaze. "you need a new supplier or somethin', kid?"

your eyebrow arches again, "who are you calling 'kid'?"

chris leans back against the wall, a flicker of annoyance crossing his features as his tongue rolls across his teeth, almost as if he's weighing your words. he then sniffs, the action a clear indication that he's taken something previously. "s'what is it that y'want? got weed, coke, pills, m—"

"pretty bold of you to assume that i'll even buy from you in the first place," you cut him off, noting the way his nostrils flare at your challenge, and a smile dances on your lips. "what? not used to being rejected?"

"rejected," he echoes with a breathy laugh, scratching at his jaw in mock contemplation. "s'funny 'cos uh... you're still here," his gaze locks onto yours. "you got that look in your eye too, y'know. obviously want somethin'... 'n right now, it seems like m'your best shot, yeah? 'cos your friend told me all about your lil' dealer runnin' off."

you cast a sidelong glance at your friend, who beams at you, her intoxication evident as she sways slightly. you can't blame her — she's just as frustrated about the disappearing dealer too.

turning your attention back to chris, you find him grinning as if he holds some secret power over you.. you can't help but laugh.

"you do realise that you're not the only dealer on campus, right?"

"known to be the best one," he replies quick, his voice dripping with confidence as he leans in slightly.

"i've only ever heard of you today," you point out, a smirk slipping across your face as you catch the twitch of his jaw, his eyes darkening with irritation. "so, you can't be that good.. kid."

#ᯓ꒰asks꒱#ᯓ꒰anon꒱#☆ fratboy!chris #☆ confident!reader #☆ fratboy!chris x confident!reader #★ ⋮ sturniolo hours !#★ ⋮ chris hours !

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hanniebaeee · 2 months ago

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Don't be shy

Hyunjin x shy fem!reader

Warnings: Kissing

Genre: Fluff, established relationship

Summary: You desperately need a bathroom break during a road trip with your boyfriend, Hyunjin. But you're in the middle of nowhere. Hyunjin wants to help, but he's such a tease!

You glance out the window, your eyes taking in the scenery - the empty stretch of road and the towering trees on both sides, and the beautiful sunset casting an orange glow over everything. Normally, this is everything you'd be gushing over. You love forests and sunsets and road trips. But right now, your mind is far from admiring anything.

Your boyfriend, Hyunjin, is focused on the road, whistling casually as he drove. You are quite a new couple. You've known Hyunjin for a while, you two were friends before you started dating a couple of months ago. So yeah, brand new.

You shift in your seat for what feels like the hundredth time in the past hour, trying to ignore the growing discomfort in your bladder. You and Hyunjin have been driving for a while, and there hasn’t been a rest stop in sight for miles. You desperately need to pee and are on the verge of bursting. And the last thing you want is to admit this to him.

It's silly really. Everyone pees. Obviously. But you're still so ridiculously shy around Hyunjin, and what's he going to do when there's nothing around? You're literally in the middle of nowhere.

Hyunjin, however, is far too sharp to miss your constant fidgeting.

"Why do you keep squirming like that?" He asks, his voice curious as his eyes flicks over to you before returning to the road.

You flush as you stutter and try to act normal. You turn your head to look out the window, desperately trying to think of an excuse.

"It’s nothing," you mumble, hoping he’ll let it go.

But of course, this is Hyunjin. He doesn't let anything go just like that. You can just feel his eyes on you.

"Nothing? Babe, you’ve been moving around like that for the past thirty minutes."

You bite your lip, feeling embarrassed. Of all the things you didn’t want to bring up on your first ever road trip with your new, incredibly beautiful boyfriend, this is definitely at the top of the list.

And when Hyunjin is on a mission, he doesn't give up at any cost. He leans closer, a smirk slowly spreading across his lips as he looks at you.

"You look like you’re hiding something," he teases, his voice low. "Wanna tell me what it is?"

Your cheeks burn, and you quickly shake your head, trying to laugh it off.

"Hyunjin, stop," you mutter.

Hyunjin raises an eyebrow, that smirk growing wider as he looks at you.

"Really?" His purs. "Liar."

He casually places a hand on your thigh. Bad move.

"Come on baby, tell me."

His fingers graze your skin lightly, and you squirm even more, partly from the pressure in your bladder and partly from his sudden touch.

You bite your poor bottom lip again, harder and clench your fists in your lap.

"I-I really need to pee," you admit in a small voice.

Hyunjin’s reaction is exactly what you thought it would be. He laughs, giving your thigh a gentle squeeze.

"You’ve been holding it in this whole time?" he asks, clearly surprised.

"Stop laughing!" you whine, pouting at him. "It’s not funny!"

"It is kinda funny," Hyunjin says, giving you a smug smirk. "Baby, why didn’t you say anything?"

"There’s nowhere to stop, Hyunjinne! What was I supposed to do?"

Hyunjin glances out at the empty stretch of road, the dense forest on either side, and then back at you with a glint in his eye that immediately makes you nervous.

You raise an eyebrow at him.

"What?" You ask warily.

Without another word, Hyunjin smoothly pulls the car over to the side of the road. He puts the car in park, turning to you fully, his smirk now downright devilish.

"Guess you’re gonna have to go in the woods," he says simply, his eyes gleaming.

Your jaw drops, and you stare at him in disbelief.

"Are you serious?" You manage, glancing at the darkness within the cluster of tall trees.

He tilts his head and leans in closer, his lips hovering just inches from yours.

"What, too shy to go pee in the forest?" he asks, his voice low and husky. "Or do you need me to come with you and hold your hand?"

"Hyunjin! Not funny!" You say, shoving him away and it has him falling back, laughing.

He presses a quick kiss to your forehead.

"Just messing with you, babe," he says. "But seriously, if you gotta go, just go. It’s not a big deal."

You cross your arms over your chest, feeling both flustered and frustrated.

"Is that even allowed? What if someone comes by?" You ask nervously.

He smirks again, and whispers, "We’re in the middle of nowhere. No one’s coming, baby. It’s just you and me."

You stare at him, gulping.

"Besides, people do it all the time. What do you think hikers and campers do?" He says with a shrug.

You huff, knowing that you don’t really have a choice.

"Fine," you mutter, opening the door slowly.

Hyunjin steps out too, leaning against the car, arms folded against his chest. You take a few steps towards the woods and turn back to say, "No peeking."

Hyunjin gives you a wicked smile, his eyes glinting with mischief.

"Wouldn’t dream of it," he chuckles, holding his hands up in mock surrender.

He's enjoying this way too much.

With one last look at him, you make your way into the trees, feeling his eyes on you the whole time. You turn around one last time, unable to resist.

"Close your ears, too!"

Hyunjin bursts out laughing, his voice echoing through the trees.

"Close my ears?" he repeats, still chuckling. "Are you serious?"

You give him a glare, and say,"Yes!"

He grins, then dramatically slaps his hands over his ears.

"Alright, ears closed! Go do your thing."

Rolling your eyes, you disappear into the trees, heart pounding. You do your business quickly and when you return to the car, cheeks flushed, Hyunjin is watching you like you're the most interesting thing in the world.

You slide into your seat quietly and rub some sanitizer on your hands. And pull on your seat belt. All while he watches with a smirk on his face.

"Feel better?" he asks.

You avoid his gaze.

"Shut up," you mumble, though you can’t stop the little smile on your lips.

"You’re so cute when you’re embarrassed, you know that?" His words send a shiver down your spine.

"Stop!!" You say, shaking your head.

And then he does something that catches you completely off guard. His lips find your neck, pressing a lingering kiss just below your ear. You gasp, as his lips trail lightly along your neck, his breath hot against your neck.

“Jinnie…” you whisper.

His hand slides up your thigh, his fingers curling gently around your waist as he kisses you, his lips moving so slow and sensually with yours.

He pulls back just enough to gaze at you and you give him a questioning look.

“What?” he asks, his voice, teasing. “Just couldn’t help myself.”

He leans back, his hand resting on your thigh again.

"Next time, don’t be so shy," he says, his voice still flirty. "I don’t mind stopping whenever you need me to."

"I’ll keep that in mind." You say with a smile, and your cheeks are a cute pink which he just loves.

With a sweet smile, Hyunjin starts the car again. And as the road stretches out before you once more, you feel a lot more comfortable, and maybe a little less shy.

#skz #stray kids #hyunjin #hwang hyunjin #hyunjin fluff #hyunjin x y/n #hyunjin x you #hyunjin x reader #skz fluff #skz x reader

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throwaway-yandere · 10 months ago

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His Version Of You [Yan!Kaveh & Yan!Veritas Ratio/Reader]

a/n: tis another solid “twas a crack idea but I made it too serious” fic. kavetham rivalry is overrated af, KaTio is the way to go /j. when you finish it, can you answer the poll at the bottom on who you would pick between these two? bless you.

unreliable synopsis: When one grieves, sometimes it is best not to be reminded of who you're grieving for. Especially not by fighting over a recreation of their heart and soul. [based on @2broschlininahotub & @meimeimeirin's request]

content warnings/tags: [light yandere vs yandere]/[implied poly!yandere/reader] fic, geniuses who can't take a W, au shenanigans, the girlies love to bicker it’s their love native language

"What were you thinking, you idiot?! Thank my reflexes that I caught the statue beforehand or else I would have to explain what a monumental mistake that is. Just use your common sense for once, will you?!"

"Please— I don't want to hear that from YOU of all people! This is MY stone. Stop acting like you actually care. You took us away from my world! You're the one who's too obsessed with researching it! It's like a damn test subject and not a companion to you!"

"That's because it is, you fucking oaf!"

"YOU'RE THE ONE GIVING ME FALSE HOPE THAT IT'S A LIVING BEING!!!"

Veritas stood with his arms crossed, eyebrows scrunched and his frown the deepest Kaveh had ever seen. The architect, absolutely baffled at his experiment partner's harsh evaluation, felt his eyes dampening. His bumping of the sculpture was pure accident, but Veritas' sharp tongue cut deep into Kaveh's pride. Even the most understanding of men would find his tone abrasive.

Getting riled up…Over a damn statue.

"Just because it's alive, doesn't mean it's a companion. And just because it is a test subject, doesn't mean you can just near-topple it as you damn please."

The arguments subsided. They exchanged long looks as they tried to figure out how the "little dispute" had come dangerously close to abusive. With his anger gradually fading, Kaveh was the one to take the first initiative. Kaveh steeled himself. The architect's shoulders dropped, and his expression softened. Jaded.

"Veritas... I'm sorry. As much as this statue… means… to me, I shouldn't have yelled at you. I-I was just upset, you're aware that I've been working all afternoon polishing the statue and I took that anger out on you. I'm sorry." Kaveh said.

"Right." Veritas closed his eyes. "Apology accepted. I understand that you're visibly distressed, but I will not tolerate low-quality work."

As Kaveh was about to get defensive, Veritas placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Which is to say, take a rest, Kaveh. Work when you can guarantee peak performance." Veritas sighed. "Rest. Pompom has already prepared your bed for you."

Kaveh cast his gaze down on the floor, wearing a feeble smile. Though their list of grievances from the past days was enough to fill two pages, Veritas is steeped in cunning. He knew exactly how to plaster Kaveh's impulse.

"Right… I'm just tired."

"Precisely. The faster the progress, the greater the chance of errors." Veritas smiled back, although looking less sincere as Kaveh's. "Take a rest, Kaveh."

With a murmur, Kaveh got up and dusted off his pants from the metamorphic rock that had been sandpapered. People aren't made to stay cooped up inside all the time. He took one last look at the project before heading out for the night, noting that while the foundation was in place, work still needed to be done before they could decide on the final look. If he could just make the hands softer-looking…

"Kaveh…" Veritas chimed, warning with his arms crossed.

"Right, right!" Kaveh laughed nervously, still slightly vexed by the reproach. "Maybe I'm getting too brave at night, I don't know why I'm boldly thinking of trying my hand at smoothening the statue again."

"I'd consider you more weak-hearted than stouthearted," Veritas dusted Kaveh's shoulders off. "And do try to keep yourself clean."

"I'm too tired to run a shower…"

Veritas sighed loudly.

The both of them had decided to leave the studio with a degree of finality. Hunched over, the kidnapped architect left to take his well-deserved slumber while the doctor decided that a warm bath would benefit him more. The night "concludes", or so Kaveh thought.

Looking back, these two are the most unlikely friends to exist, are they not? A professor slash doctor of the Intelligentsia Guild and the architect "Light of the Kshahwerar" collaborating over a glorified arts and crafts project. To truly understand this bizarreness, it is wise to look back to its beginning.

In his quest to rid the galaxy of a disease he dubbed "ignorance", Dr. Veritas Ratio sallied forth to practice his preachings. Even joined the Astral Express at some point, but it was only in this instance did he found companionship with an extremely empathetic individual.

And their first meeting was not a decent starting point.

Veritas set out on his umpteenth assignment handed out by the Express. He was sent to explore the dangerous land formations of Sumeru with the trailblazer. Every extended curve revealed pyramids and sand, and Veritas kept Stelle close by using her straps as a leash. Nevertheless, when they accidentally entered an unstable domain, his disgruntled complaints ceased. Deciding it would be best for only one to investigate further, Veritas volunteered.

There was just one discernible light path inside the mostly collapsing structure. Yet, every step he took was curiously inaudible, and when he reached the Apex, he met the sight of blonde hair.

Enter: Kaveh.

"You get what I mean right? It feels like my problems just keep piling up and up, like an impossible mountain. There's never anyone who would listen to me complain, but you…" The words that fell from the stranger's lips were sweeter than honey as he waxed poetic. "You're always here to listen. And it makes me feel so much less alone. Thank you…"

The blonde man had his cheek against a large rectangular rock, caressing it appreciatingly. His eyelids were lowered and his cheeks were puffy. Whether he cried beforehand or was merely exhausted cannot be assessed from Veritas' distance from him.

February 5, ████.

Kaveh had recently lost his lover that day. They died due to an unforeseen heart attack, which pains him more since his darling had always been healthy. Since his "delam" has passed away, he has been inconsolable. He refused to part with any possessions they left. No matter how many of their fellow archeologists begged for (Y/n)'s notes, he barked with gritted teeth that his mind would not change.

… How ironic that he used to call his lover "my heart" when the very same organ was the cause of death.

Neither wine nor friends can get a reaction out of him. The best he could do to continue living was to focus on his work and his young mentees. (Y/n) always wanted to be a teacher but couldn't because of their daytime job, so Kaveh fulfilled their dreams instead.

That includes continuing their research on the strange rock they had found in the desert.

Kaveh remained hotly bent on preserving everything they loved. Despite its unconventional and jagged appearance, the rock struck him as the most beautiful thing he had seen in a long while. Its lack of clear patterns didn't matter; it stood tall, capturing his fascination. It had ended his slump and had become an integral part of him. This hyperfixation had not gone unnoticed by Lesser Lord Kusanali, but when she visited him, she… strangely endorsed of his newfound lunacy. She knew something he did not.

Something about the rock… felt so similar to his deceased "delam".

The doctor, lacking any context for the sight before him, raised an eyebrow. His duty may be to educate others, but this was beyond help. A pell-mell of incoherent ramblings filled the room with the hither and thither of blonde hair to match. But this was the first person he encountered in Teyvat. And he was determined to get any info out of him.

"Excuse me."

The blonde man blinked repeatedly, eyes going wide at the sight of Veritas approaching.

"I'm Dr. Veri—"

"T-This isn't what it looks like!!!" The blonde freaked out. "This is– It's just! This rock, it has sentimental value and–"

"…" Veritas drawled. "Riiiight. I'm… Dr. Veritas Ratio. I'm not of this world— I believe my companions and I are what you refer to as Descenders. We wish to collect petrology info for databank purposes. May you offer assistance?"

Kaveh did not know what to say. But by instincts, he knew something was not entirely right with this man.

He'd be right. Veritas wasn't there specifically for rocks. He's just, crudely put, nosy.

"And I am supposed to blindly believe any stranger who wears such a strange getup?" Kaveh stood up and protectively hid the rock behind him. "Sorry, I kindly refuse. And I am not equipped to help either."

Veritas smirked and cracked some knuckles with his left thumb.

There was a damn good reason why Stelle was left behind. On the entrance of the gate laid an inscription that roughly translates to the words "adepti" and "tribute". His intellect in this linguistics may be rusty, but it is not incorrect.

He had an inkling that the rock this peculiar blonde was obsessing over was imbued with a sliver of ambuscade soul who took arms against the worst opponents imaginable.

A "yaksha", if you were a Liyue local.

Veritas was by no means unmindful of Kaveh's obsession. He held his tongue, assessing that to set a quarrel with an unpredictable variable would prolong his journey. There was no profit to be had in angering an unreadable man.

"Well then, if I can't take that rock within reason…"

Dr. Ratio opened his book.

…

"… Long story short, that's why this chick is all wrapped up like a present."

Through brute force, both Stelle and Veritas managed to drop both Kaveh and the rock inside the Express, to the surprise of many. They were initially sent to only survey Teyvat (which meant Veritas positively lied to Kaveh earlier). No one expected an angry Sumeru man to "visit."

"I-I am not a chick! I am a man! I'm Kaveh— an architect!!!" The self-proclaimed man wriggled around the trailblazer's yellow ropes, looking pale as he stared at the unfamiliar faces and scenery before him. "H-Hey!!! Unhand me at once!!!"

"Oh, you're not a girl? You're pretty, though."

"I should've known you would bring something peculiar on board, Dr. Ratio, I just didn't expect it to be a weird human-sized rock..." Said the red-haired lady. "But anyways, you, Sir Kaveh, have quite a remarkable sense of fashion."

"I haven't seen any guy wear earrings that big before…" The grey-haired girl said with grabby hands.

"Please don't try to yank it off him," the brown-haired man sighed and pulled her back with his cane.

Kaveh was a little taken aback by the diversity of tongues in front of him. It was clear based on their accents that they didn't quite come from the same world, yet they communicate as near-family.

"Do all Teyvat people have rocks for friends or is it just you?" A strawberry-haired young lady asked as she approached the rock, which set Kaveh in an even more panicked frenzy when she attempted to poke it.

"N-NO!!! DON'T!!!"

March flinched at his sudden scream and nearly fell had Stelle not caught her.

"Yeah, March, be respectful, you never know if that's the love of his life or something like that," said Stelle.

Kaveh's eyes widened. "You… How did you just understand me better than my friends…?"

The room went quiet. Dan Heng glanced at Veritas, who pretended not to notice him. Mentioning romance near him had always been a dangerous move. Veritas' face crumpled slightly.

There were scars in his own heart he had yet to patch up, and he needed no reminder that he was procrastinating.

Dan Heng cleared his throat.

"It's bad news to have Stelle be the only one who "gets you" if you consider yourself of sane mind." Dan Heng spoke. "But then again, you remind me of Argenti…"

"Where did you find this man, Doctor?" Welt digressed, concerned as he towered above the tied Kaveh. The older man doesn't have objections to his (kidnapped) presence. He can tell by the look on both Kaveh and Veritas' faces that neither was a man with no substance, and the latter saw to exploit the former.

Veritas only shrugged and jabbed his thumb in Stelle's general direction. "Assistant…"

"On it." Stelle saluted solemnly. "We found him in a pyramid. The doctor thought he would be a worthy individual to study if we wish to understand the culture behind one of the seven nations. Since Mister Yang told us to befriend important people–"

"Since when was kidnapping synonymous with befriending?"

"–this is Ratio's candidate."

"That is correct, and he's not just any other person. I have seen him in the Guild's Persons of Interest. He is Kaveh, the light of the Kshahrewar," Veritas claimed. "A certified scholar of the Akademiya and the face for the Darshan he was an alumnus of."

The Express quietly signaled shock over Ratio's interest in the man.

Kaveh slunk back, defeated. When there's little progress, a man naturally turns restive. Kaveh no longer had much to fear in his life. The worst had already come to pass, and the world became mere static noise. He had no hope of escaping soon, not when he saw his homeworld's true "sky". Or at least, back then, he thought it was one. The world he knew was a mere tapestry of ████…

…

"Not that there aren't enough rooms in the Express, but why bring him and the rock here?" Himeko paused to take a sip of her piping hot coffee. "Isn't it a bit, I don't know, overkill?"

"It's because that pyramid is no place to cultivate a living species, and there's no better–... lab assistant... than this man before us." Dr. Ratio looked at the man on the floor.

Dan Heng tried not to comment on how sad his tone was when Veritas referred to Kaveh as a "lab assistant". He knew what had happened to Ratio, but it was not the right time or place.

"What do you mean by living?" Himeko asked.

"That rock has adeptal power within it that we can awaken. That is, if he'd help us make his little rock come to life."

With his words, he moved the unweariable Kaveh to act complacent.

Kaveh felt as though the floor caved beneath him. An unholy mixture of disbelief, awe, and joy swirled within his already jetlagged mind. The fact of the matter was, despite being incredibly unstable, he was lucid enough to know that a miracle was possible.

"What…?"

"It's been a month since that whole debacle," Veritas muttered to himself as he flicked the wrist that held his book away from the bathtub's bubbly waters. "I suppose I was harsh to the poor man. But is that treatment not at all deserved?"

Over time, Veritas grew to like Kaveh, especially after knowing he was tutoring young aspiring architects free of charge. Still, Kaveh's strangely compliant behavior does not deviate from his first impression. His empty eyes were enough sign that Kaveh lived through emotionally draining struggles and came out with few real friends. He lost his raison d'etre, that's why he willingly threw his life in Teyvat away.

… In Kaveh's words, he only wished for a "vacation". If his prize was to go elsewhither with a satisfying result, then he's not opposed to (getting kidnapped) a new "collaboration".

The doctor can't say no to it either.

Deep down, prodigy genius Veritas couldn't deny the harsh truth: witnessing that pitiful man finding solace in an inanimate object was a stark reminder that he harbored the same "illness".

Hence, Veritas offered consistent "insults" to the brightest of Kshashrewar, and each time, Kaveh took the opportunity to improve. Veritas considered it a necessary evil. But even after surpassing those challenges, Kaveh was helpless to overcome the deep emptiness that persisted in his soul.

Kaveh never really spoke about who his previous lover was. All everyone knew was that he lovingly called them "delam"– his heart. They didn't want to bring him more pain by even asking a simple question like delam's real name.

A huge mistake later on.

"... Tch," Veritas grunted, his eyebrows furrowing sadly. The thought of his last love affairs had soured his mood.

Veritas stood from his bath, drying himself and wrapping a towel on his lower half.

… He likely won't sleep tonight.

Forgetting his agreement to continue the project tomorrow morning, he unlocked the door to the studio room Himeko lent them. He left trails of his wet footsteps. His wavy hair also remained damp, but he could not care much for it. Veritas will dress himself up later. Just a towel will suffice for now.

"Sculpting…"

Veritas laughed to himself as he took some tools off the table.

"Wasn't this your pastime and not mine—" he closed his eyes, muttering the next words with a teasingly melancholic tilt. "Assistant (L/n)?"

His grip on the chisel tightened, painting his knuckles white.

Professor (Y/n) (L/n).

The person responsible for the Council of Mundanites' existence. Their name rarely escapes his lips, treating their memory like a curse. Just exhaling the thought of them out of his system makes him nauseous. As if the air inside him gets knocked out. His eyes would flutter shut, no different from a dying man who held weakly holds on. Veritas hated this anguish. The doctor hated this vicious seemingly never-ending cycle called "grief".

"(Y/n)…" Ratio muttered. "Your face is still etched in my mind. What more do I need to eradicate these… unnecessary burdens?"

He could practically hear them laugh beside him.

Haha, please. You think about me so much that you consider me burdensome? Oh, you dork! If you loved me so much, you should've written a love letter.

"You absolute ignoramus," Veritas laughed softly. "You cannot discredit my efforts, though, can you?"

"My dearest…" He breathed out in pain once more. "My most wonderful partner. The best teaching assistant I ever had. You…"

… Never loved him back.

Dr. Veritas Ratio was no idiot. He despised any form of delusion. Throughout his life, he had been a tyrannical figure who pursued truth and not stagnant idolatry for every "patient". But when an immovable force meets an unstoppable object, would you consider him a tamed emperor?

Professor (L/n) was the first person he met who brazenly called themselves a "mundanite". A true mediocre. And they were beautiful at their very core.

Not free of sin, but free of hubris.

Molded as a genius since birth, the very foundations of (L/n)'s philosophies dismantled Ratio. (L/n) admired geniuses like Herta, but never romanticized the notion of natural-born wits. They always strived to eradicate their own "ignorance". But even when they are more knowledgeable than they let on, (L/n) never boasts. This behavior provides no benefit in an academically competitive field. Nothing confused the irrefutable prodigy like their longtime academic partner.

Geniuses— Masters— when I achieve great things, I don't want to have silly titles before my name. It's so… rigid, don't you think so, Veritas?

I wouldn't know.

Ha! Of course, you wouldn't. You've lived your entire life as one. But level with me for a second. Wouldn't life be less boring if…

He raised the chisel.

… we never stopped considering ourselves as mere beginners? Isn't there more joy to being a mundane with untapped potential than a stiff jack of all trades? C'mon, Veritas. Doesn't the idea that there's always more to explore make this vast world seem less dull?

Veritas bit his lip. Tears were threatening to spill.

February 5, ████.

It was Dr. Veritas Ratio's fault that they died that day. He thought (L/n) was capable of handling an extremely dangerous laboratory mishap. They were not. Despite his assistant's years of experience, every man is an unsuspecting fledgling in the face of death. It does not discriminate between the mediocre and the brightest.

That's absurd, (L/n). What is the point of learning if not for its mastery?

"Assistant… Let me offer this final tribute so that you can finally s-stop… haunting… me."

But they will never stop. Their last long exchange repeated in his head throughout the night. No matter how many times he hammered, the clanging sound did not drown out the voices in his head. The words mocked him, over and over, and over.

I'm sorry Veritas…

Why are you apologizing?

… I'm afraid I just don't see you that way. I'm just an ordinary person, and I doubt I could ever genuinely return the love of someone as brilliant as you. I'm afraid your affection might be akin to caring for a pet, and I can't find it in myself to figure out how to respond in kind.

… That's not true. You cannot simply decline my confession with a lukewarm excuse—

I'm afraid I'm just an ordinary college professor with no PhDs. I will have to reject your love. I'm so sorry.

But why?!

"(Y/n)… The one person I can never grasp…" Veritas muttered as he looked at the finished piece. "Here you are... Created by my own hands..."

Beautiful. Not a single doubt that it was carved in their likeness. The (Y/n) he knew was a professor who loved their teaching job, but wished they were more of an adventurer. Secretly, (Y/n) wanted to be an archeologist, and perhaps that's one of the reasons why Veritas let the mysterious rock formation inside the Express. Maybe if they continued living, they would've liked this gesture.

Ha… As if.

Veritas—

W-What aspect must I improve on? To dismiss me so impatiently— do I lack the charm? I can always learn to suit your tastes. Don't tell such a bold lie. I highly doubt that it is due to my academic performance. There's another man you've wasted your affections on, is there?!

Veritas, please…

Enough! Enough with these lies and tell me! J-Just… Just tell me, (Y/n)!

He's tired. Veritas just wanted to hold them again. He just wanted to "fix" their hair- tucking his golden hairpin to subconsciously teach their associates and students that Professor (L/n) was his. He missed the way he would hide (L/n)'s lab coat just so he could make them wear his as he left for the day. He missed secretly leaving small love confessions on their class grade spreadsheets, add/drop forms, and even their private online journals so he would read messages about how they must've caught a computer virus. He missed teasing them when they hadn't got a clue that he was unserious. He missed hearing (L/n) whine. He missed the way it made him warm.

He missed the warmth.

"Stop..."

He missed you.

"Stop this..."

And he continues to miss his (Y/n) so much.

"Please..."

It's unbearable.

There is no one else.

Yes, there is! I refuse to believe it! It's your recent lab partner, isn't it!? The man everyone has fallen for— you have taken a liking to him more than me, the person who has been with you all this time!!! You… You ungrateful!—

Veritas is so, so tired and more chipped than the rock he had worked on… Unlike the statue, he cannot tangibly pick up the pieces (L/n) that broke him in. There's only a hollow void of what could've been.

Why... Why did they have to reject him? If they hadn't rejected him, he wouldn't have coldly assigned (Y/n) to deal with the containment breach alone. He would've thought it through. He would've realized he was plagued with ignorance. He would've changed so many things that February 5th.

But that's all there was to it. Just "would have"s, not "have done"s.

Ngh–?! Why… did you... slap me…?

Veritas, maybe you should stop and look down and listen to us common-minded folks for once in your life! The simple fact is that you're just so out of reach. How can you love me, when you don't even understand me, Genius Ratio? How can you confess when you don't know what it's like to work for the knowledge you have? How can you love a "mundanite" like me?

… (Y/n)… T-That's simply untrue, and you are aware of that...

It's morning, an appropriate time to head back to his guest room.

When he was certain that he was alone, Veritas finally allowed himself to cry.

"There's no mistake that we both are- were idiots. We both failed to see that I'm a mundanite, just like you."

In contrast to his former roommate, Kaveh is an early riser. Not exactly a morning person, but a man of discipline nonetheless. Perhaps the concluded argument last night made his rise more motivating. He had no qualms with getting out of bed, heading straight to take a shower before drinking coffee with Himeko.

The morning was wordless but calm.

Whatever happened after he reentered the studio, however, was the exact opposite.

"Delam…?" Kaveh knelt with both knees down on the floor, shocked.

"Is that you…? Delam… Delam!!!"

You tilted your head.

Delam. That was the first word you've heard upon your birth or "rebirth", depending on whose narrative was at play. You first rose from your slumber much like an earth's crust would give way to a volcano. Warmth seeped from your chest and then throughout your body, filling you with life and newfound nerves. But no one was around. You had been observing the fading trail of wet footsteps, yet lacked the courage to leave the room.

Veritas was right. The rock does have life. And you have been awakened.

You looked human. You move human.

But you do not sound human.

"Delam! I-I can't believe this!"

For words fail.

「… Who are you?」

After all, since when can statues speak?

With unsteady legs, he attempted to approach your nearly nude figure. The sheet they used to keep out dust was the only cover you had. He pulled you in when he got close enough, and you wanted to squeak when he rested his nose on your shoulder. His breath tickled hot. However, his warm tears helped you to accept the melancholic reality.

"Delam! D-Delam, my sweetheart, my (Y-(Y/n)… A-Ah… Ah…"

Kaveh pulled back only to kiss your forehead. He was warm. You are not. Despite the fabrics he wore, you can feel his heat against your "skin". His heart was beating. Such an organ does not exist inside of you.

"(Y/n), my (Y/n)…" He gasped out between peppered kisses on your neck. "Mine… My heart has returned to me. Can you hear it too? It's beating again… It beats… I never thought I'd hear my heart again since you've been gone…"

His words made little sense to you, but you knew he liked your form. Kaveh's fingers traced around you, loving each inch, whether it was curved flesh or bone-like sharpness— he didn't care for he knew it was his (Y/n) (L/n).

He's so colorful. Reds, yellows, oranges, and even hints of blues and greens. It made you silently conscious about how you were a boring dull gray.

Warm, like the sun.

「… Baobei?」

"My (Y/n)… D-Delam…" Kaveh pressed his forehead against yours, your lips nearly touching.

You wiped his tears away.

Was that your name? (Y/n)…?

"Kaveh, what the hell are you doing?!"

The blonde man momentarily stopped cradling you out of shock.

This new man was all purples, blue, gold, and small taints of cyan and red. The expression he wore made you believe he might be covetous beyond mankind. There's a level of gluttonous greed in his anger that makes even the earth like yourself phased.

「… Who is he…?」

Both of them feel familiar to you, but you do not know why.

"Veritas!" Kaveh's eyes widened. "A miracle just happened— delam— they're—!"

"Put (Y/n) down this instant!!!"

Kaveh blinked.

"What… What did you say?"

"I said put them down, damn it! Who the hell are you, touching them so carelessly like they're yours?!"

Kaveh's eyebrows furrowed.

"How do you know that name?!" Kaveh yelled. "How did you know who (Y/n) is!?"

The doctor was equally confused.

Why would the ignorance-prone Kaveh know the name of his deceased love too?

Veritas has not talked about his old assistant to any breathing being for a long time. Talking felt like admitting that they were gone for good. But in this case, it produces a contrary result.

"Why the fuck wouldn't I?!"

"I don't know— maybe because you're not from Teyvat?!"

"What are you on, you imbecile?! Can you stop defiling them with your filthy hands?!" Veritas scowled and summoned his book. "Hands. Off."

The warning only made Kaveh even more possessive. He gently pushed you behind his back, glaring at him.

"No."

"Kaveh, you pestilence ridden—!!!"

"No, not until you tell me why the hell you know the name of my fiance!"

Veritas' heart sank.

… Fiance?

No… No, no way.

What's happening? How would that make sense?!

(Y/n) is his. Why should you belong to Kaveh?

"Are… are you insane?!" Veritas screamed. "I should've—"

"What?! Threw me off the Express?! I dare you!!!" Kaveh glared. "You knew you couldn't win against me alone, that's why your best bet was to knock me out— and you know it."

"Ngh."

Neither of them realized the greater reason as to why they knew the "same" person. The doctor may have jumped through various universes, but he had not done enough to notice a key factor.

There they were, claiming to love the image behind their animated statue— when they didn't know what it was they cried for.

"Just answer the question: who is (Y/n) to you?" Kaveh grumbled.

Somehow, he was far more frightening when his voice was calm and low.

The usually diplomatic architect materialized his weapon out of thin air.

"Go on. Tell me."

The doctor stiffened. There was no way Veritas was losing this argument.

It's unethical. Wholly unethical to appeal to pathos in this manner. To weave tales for his benefit.

But the end justifies the means.

Veritas flashed you a guilt-ridden expression…

Before he said the biggest lie known only to himself.

"Professor (Y/n) (L/n) is MY dead lover, and I molded the statue based on their appearance last night!" Veritas yanked a fistful of Kaveh's shirt and brought him closer. "So why are you claiming them as YOURS?!"

…

The sound of a cane hitting the floor stopped all hell from possibly breaking loose.

Welt Yang had one foot inside the room and one out the door. He wore a knowing and empathetic look. The others were behind him, looking particularly shaken up.

This screaming match was the worst the two ever had.

"Kaveh, Dr. Ratio, enough." He calmly spoke up. "I think I understand the confusion."

"Allow me to explain…"

"I'm surprised you have no comments on their flower-bespangled clothes, yet…"

"The aesthetic is... tasteful. I like the headdress."

"Of course, you like the crown of laurel…"

"However–"

"Oh Lord Kusanali, here we go…"

Upon Welt's intervention, every piece started to fit together. The explanation was a frustratingly simple but difficult truth. (Y/n) (L/n) was not just one entity in the vast universe— there are inevitable variations.

The two eventually calmed down as they heard both sides. Veritas' (Y/n), who Kaveh later refers to as an "expy" as a placeholder name, was a professor— while Kaveh's "delam" was an archeologist. Almost the same, but not a complete copy-paste.

You, however, they are unsure of. No one knows yet if you do carry (Y/n)'s soul or if you're a mere replica. Veritas is working on the hypothesis that you were an adeptal tool who aided in freeing the vigilant yaksha from a malevolent Sumeru God.

But those bits of info doesn't matter in the end. Why?

Because they both love "you" deeply.

And these intelligent men can "learn" how to share.

"Are you not tired? Perhaps it is time I take over. Only a fool would work when completely drained." Dr. Ratio then added. "Does it not fall in my skilled hands to weave such clothing for them now? Even better than mere fabric, I'm willing to handle clay and mold it around their bo—"

"Considering how many fools can also calculate and perhaps wear an asbestos mask as a quirky character trait, it is surprising that the fool in front of me thinks he can show proficiency over a tedious task." Kaveh raised an eyebrow, seething at the thought of Veritas' unfair perverted touch lingering on your body, again.

"I think you are experiencing what is known as the Dunning-Kruger effect, as Mister Yang calls it." He added.

Veritas scoffed.

They may be revered both as geniuses in their fields, but they're reduced to kindergarten-like rivals when it comes to you. Their first order of business after another truce was to provide your clothes. Fortunately, Stelle's fashion sense was more unisex than anticipated so you borrowed hers in the meantime.

While you sat on the sofa with the bubbly March 7th, the two started planning your wardrobe. Kaveh returned later on the same evening with the most… floral clothes much to Veritas' dismay.

He missed seeing his version of (Y/n) who wore classic academic styles, not— whatever this was.

"It is mere confidence; no other variable is at play. The fool in question is the artisan responsible for the expeditious sculpting of the aforementioned statue within a singular nocturnal interval. A fact that eludes your appreciation, my less-than-appreciative and unskilled interlocutor."

Kaveh momentarily had the face of a man unpracticed in speech. People often forget that he majored in STEM, not HUMSS. Though he had some essay-based minors in his first & second years, he lacked preparation for Veritas' otherworldly vocabulary. Kaveh would whet his greatsword if Veritas said something bluntly deprecating.

Still, he can't deny that it was through Veritas' handiwork that made your hands as soft as Kaveh wanted them to be. And that secretly pisses him off.

You tilted your head.

Somehow, your creators are arguing again.

"Are you threatening to rob me of the joys I have toiled nights for just to sate your shortlived desires, Veritas?" Kaveh rebuked him sternly. "I didn't know you were kind of a brat."

"I am only offering a hand. But it's clear that you are projecting onto me."

「You two–. 」

You tried to cut in, but can't utter a word…

"I'm not projecting! I know that once you prove you can make clothes, you'll kick me out of the Express, that's just the kind of man you are! Manipulative, arrogant—"

"And you're insecure. There is no more loathsome creature than a man who does not acknowledge his own hubris and repeats his mistakes."

「Master Veritas, Master Kaveh—. 」

You loathed to watch them fight for another round of meaningless squabbles. Why weren't you blessed with speech?

"Is that so? Do you seriously subscribe to that belief?"

"Why, of course."

"You should listen to better men than yourself, then."

"Oh c'mon, knock it off!!!" March cut in, giving them both a light smack with Veritas' book. "Can't you get along better? Your little darling looks upset!!!"

The two halted. She was right, you weren't comfortable. Veritas cleared his throat awkwardly while Kaveh looked down, both apologetic.

"See, Kaveh? Your persistence caused this."

"How is it MY fault?"

"I'm merely stating that the lack of options is bound to make them uneasy." Veritas deadpanned and handed you an IPC magazine he had been trying to get you to browse. "Why don't you pick to your liking? Don't worry about expenses. I have it covered."

"What?! Do you want them to wear those un-stylish clothes? Please, you just want to have them wear your brand!"

"Don't project your carnal possessiveness as my own." Veritas scoffed. But Kaveh was right. He missed seeing his (Y/n) wear his lab coat.

"Oh really?! Fine then! Let's ask (Y/n) what they really think!"

March sighed. "Guys, I think you're forgetting that you're fighting over clothes—"

But they didn't hear her. Nothing else mattered to those two except you. And you alone.

Their partner.

Their heart.

Their reason for living.

Hence, they yelled in unison.

"Who do you prefer, assistant? Him or me?!"

"Who do you prefer, delam? Him or me?!"

Taglist: @vennnnn-diagram, @meimeimeirin, @korianne, @prophecy-harmony, @shellofthewell, @sagekun,

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novaursa · 2 months ago

Note

Hi how are you doing? ☺️

Can you write a fem!targaryen x gwayne ( I love your fic on him 👉🏼👈🏼)

She’s the favorite children of Alicent, she was raised to believed in the seven and she’s very closed to aegon, she’s the only one who understand him.

When Her father wanted to marry her to Jace, Alicent see that as an insult coz he’s a bastard and decided to send her to Oldtown? And she started to become really close to her uncle Gwayne and when they come back to king’s landing people can see that they are too closed to be only niece and uncle.

But she denied everything (except Aegon because he’s okay with that nothing can shook him) and then she goes to pray in the sanctuary? Alicent and Otto are here to talk to her but like in a corner and they see Gwayne walking to her. Gwayne see them and decided to take her in front of them and the seven to make sure that they understand that she is his 👀

Of Gods and Blood

- Summary: Your mother, Alicent, sent you to Oldtown, to protect you from Rhaenyra's whims. Only for you to find comfort in your uncle’s arms.

- Paring - niece!reader/Gwanye Hightower

- Note: For more of my works, visit my blog. The list is pinned to the top. The requests are closed!

- Rating: Explicit 18+

- Word count: 5 000+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @deniixlovezelda @duck-duck-goose2 @aadu2173 @holdingforgeneralhugs

- A/N: I had to change a little your plot near the end, to make the events more believe, both narrative and character wise.

You stand in the gardens of the Hightower, the sea breeze from the Whispering Sound tugging at the edges of your cloak. The sky is a soft hue of orange and pink, the sun dipping below the horizon, casting long shadows across the ancient stones of Oldtown. The citadel bells ring in the distance, a sound that has become familiar in the months you’ve been here, far from the intrigues and dangers of King’s Landing. You draw in a breath, the salt air filling your lungs, yet your thoughts are not with the peace of the evening but with your brother, Aegon.

It is impossible not to miss him. From the time you were children, you were the only one who could reach him, the only one who could calm his tempestuous spirit. You understood him, even when others dismissed him as a drunkard or worse. You knew there was more to Aegon than his vices—there was a vulnerability, a deep-seated fear that he hid behind a facade of indifference and revelry. You were his confidante, the only one he trusted, the only one who could see the pain he masked with wine and women.

You wonder how he fares now, with you so far away. Does he still find solace in the bottom of a cup, or has he found some other way to numb the loneliness that gnaws at him? You worry, your heart aching with the absence of his presence, the way only a sibling can. You can picture him so clearly in your mind—his silver hair falling into his eyes, the way he would smirk when he was up to mischief, the rare moments when he would look at you with something close to gratitude. He never said it aloud, but you knew he appreciated you, perhaps even loved you in his own way.

But now you are here, in Oldtown, at the behest of your mother. You know why she sent you away, why she took her favorite child from the court. The memory of the conversation still haunts you, the way her face had paled when your father, King Viserys, had suggested you might be betrothed to Prince Jacaerys Velaryon. A match with the heir to Dragonstone would have been advantageous in the eyes of many, but not to your mother.

"Rhaenyra’s bastard," she had hissed when the two of you were alone. The horror in her voice was felt, as though the very idea of it sickened her. "I will not have you thrown to the wolves, not to her spawn. You are a trueborn daughter of House Targaryen, not some piece to be traded for peace."

You had not argued with her. How could you? She had always protected you, always made sure you were safe from the machinations of the court. And so, you had been sent to Oldtown, to the heart of House Hightower, where Rhaenyra’s reach could not extend, where you would be under the watchful eye of your uncle, Gwayne Hightower.

As if summoned by your thoughts, you hear the familiar sound of his footsteps approaching. You do not turn, not yet. Instead, you continue to gaze out over the water, allowing the moment to stretch out between you. When he reaches your side, he does not speak at first. The silence is comfortable, a sign of the ease that has developed between you.

“Do you miss it?” Gwayne finally asks, his voice low, almost hesitant.

“King’s Landing?” you reply, your tone contemplative. “At times. But it is more the people I miss than the place itself.”

“Aegon?” he guesses, and you nod.

“He’s reckless, foolish even,” you say, “but he’s my brother. I can’t help but worry for him.”

Gwayne’s hand brushes yours, a brief touch that sends a ripple of warmth through you. It’s not the first time his touch has lingered, but tonight it feels different—charged, somehow, with an emotion you dare not name.

“He’s strong in his own way,” Gwayne says, his voice reassuring. “He’ll endure, as we all must.”

You turn to look at him then, really look at him. His face is handsome, with the sharp features of the Hightower lineage, but there’s something more in his gaze tonight, something that makes your heart skip a beat. You see concern there, yes, but also something deeper, something that mirrors the turmoil in your own soul.

“And what of you, Uncle?” you ask softly. “Do you miss the court?”

His lips quirk into a small smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “There are some things I miss, but others… I think I prefer the peace of Oldtown.”

You realize then that he, too, is far from everything he knows, from the power and influence he once wielded in King’s Landing. Here, he is just another nobleman, albeit one with more authority than most. Perhaps that is why the two of you have grown so close in these months, both of you displaced, both of you adjusting to a life far removed from the one you were born into.

The breeze shifts, and you shiver slightly as the night begins to cool. Gwayne notices and, without a word, removes his cloak and drapes it over your shoulders. His hands linger on the fabric, his fingers brushing your skin. You feel a flush rise in your cheeks, your pulse quickening at the contact.

“Thank you,” you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper.

He doesn’t step back, doesn’t create the distance that propriety would normally dictate. Instead, he remains close, his eyes searching yours. “You’re not just my niece,” he says, his voice rough, as though he’s struggling to find the right words. “You’re… you’re someone I care about. Deeply.”

Your breath catches, and for a moment, you are unsure how to respond. This is dangerous territory, you know, but the warmth in his gaze, the way he’s looking at you as though you are the only person in the world, makes it impossible to retreat.

“I care about you too, Gwayne,” you admit, your heart pounding in your chest. The truth of it hangs between you, heavy and undeniable.

His hand lifts, cupping your cheek, his thumb brushing your skin in a tender caress. “We can’t…,” he begins, but the words trail off, unfinished, as though he can’t bring himself to complete the thought.

You don’t know who moves first, whether it’s you or him, but suddenly the distance between you is gone, and his lips are on yours. The kiss is soft at first, tentative, as though both of you are afraid of what this might mean, but then it deepens, becomes something more as you both give in to the feelings that have been simmering beneath the surface for so long.

When you finally pull back, you are breathless, your thoughts a whirlwind of emotion. You search his eyes, looking for any sign of regret, but all you see is the same longing that you feel.

“This…,” you start, but he silences you with another kiss, as though to say that words aren’t necessary, that whatever this is between you, it’s something that needs no explanation.In that moment, with the night closing in around you and the weight of your family’s legacy far behind, you allow yourself to feel something other than duty, something other than the constant pressure to be what everyone expects you to be.

You allow yourself to feel desire, and in Gwayne’s arms, you find a sense of belonging that you hadn’t realized you were missing until now.

The wind tugs at your hair as you ride through the streets of King’s Landing, the noise of the bustling city swirling around you. It has been so long since you’ve seen the Red Keep’s towering spires that the sight of them, rising in the distance, feels almost surreal. The journey from Oldtown has been long, but you’ve barely felt the weariness, not with Gwayne at your side.

You sit in front of him on his horse, his strong arms wrapped around you as he holds the reins. The warmth of his body pressed against yours is a comfort amidst the cold and chaos of the capital, a quiet reminder that even in the midst of war and uncertainty, you are not alone. You lean back slightly, feeling the rise and fall of his chest with every breath, and you can’t help the small smile that tugs at your lips.

Gwayne notices, his voice a low rumble in your ear. “What’s that smile for, sweet niece?”

“Just thinking,” you reply, turning your head slightly so you can see him, “that I never imagined I’d return to King’s Landing like this.”

His expression softens as he looks down at you, one hand leaving the reins to brush a strand of silver hair from your face. “It’s a different city now, I think. The shadows feel longer, the tension thicker.”

You nod, your gaze shifting back to the streets. The people watch you as you pass, their eyes curious, some wary. You’re not sure if they recognize you or if they’re merely fascinated by the arrival of the Hightower forces, but there’s a murmur that follows you, whispers passing from one mouth to another like the wind.

The Hightower banners flap in the breeze, their green and white coloring stark against the duller hues of the capital. Soldiers march behind you, the sound of their armor clinking in rhythm with the horse’s hooves. There’s a grimness to it all, an unspoken acknowledgment of the battles that lie ahead. But it’s the whispers, the way people’s eyes linger on you and Gwayne, that you notice most.

You can almost hear what they’re saying—speculation and gossip about the nature of your relationship with your uncle. In Oldtown, the walls of the Hightower had protected you from such talk, but here, in the crowded streets of King’s Landing, there is no hiding from the scrutiny of the court and the common folk alike.

“Princess,” you hear someone mutter as you pass. “And her uncle?”

Another voice, this one sharp with curiosity, follows. “Isn’t she King Aegon’s sister? What’s she doing on his horse?”

You glance up at Gwayne, who seems to have noticed the murmurs as well. His jaw is tight, his grip on the reins just a bit firmer than before. It’s not anger you see in him, but something more protective, as though he’s ready to defend you against any slight, no matter how small.

“Let them talk,” you say softly, reaching up to place your hand over his. “It doesn’t matter.”

His eyes meet yours, and for a moment, it’s as though the world around you fades, leaving just the two of you. “It doesn’t,” he agrees, his voice low but firm. “But I hate that they’re looking at you like that, as if they have any right to judge.”

You squeeze his hand, a silent reassurance that you are not afraid of the whispers. In truth, a part of you is almost defiant, as if daring them to say more, to challenge what you’ve found with Gwayne. You’ve spent so much of your life doing what others expected, living up to the roles assigned to you. Now, for the first time, you’re following your own heart, no matter where it leads.

The Red Keep looms ahead, its stone walls imposing as ever. You can already feel the weight of the court’s eyes, the inevitable judgment that will come once you pass through those gates. The memory of your last days here comes back to you—your mother’s frantic insistence that you leave, the way she’d spoken of Rhaenyra’s children with such disgust. You wonder how she’ll react when she sees you with Gwayne, when she hears the whispers that have already begun to spread like wildfire through the city.

As you approach the entrance to the Keep, you feel Gwayne’s arm tighten around you, a silent promise of support. “We’ll face them as one,” he murmurs, and you know he means it.

The gates open before you, the sounds of the city fading as you enter the courtyard. The Hightower soldiers fan out, their disciplined ranks a stark contrast to the chaos of the streets outside. You dismount, Gwayne’s hand steadying you as you step onto the cobblestones. He’s at your side the moment your feet touch the ground, his presence a reassuring constant.

A group of courtiers is already gathering, their eyes wide with surprise and curiosity. You recognize a few of them—faces that once looked upon you with respect or envy. Now, their gazes are harder to read, filled with questions they dare not voice aloud.

You hear a soft gasp from the crowd as you take Gwayne’s arm, a gesture that would have seemed perfectly innocent were it not for the intimacy in the way your fingers linger on his sleeve. The whispers start again, a low hum that grows louder as more people filter into the courtyard.

“Isn’t that the Dowager Queen’s daughter?”

“They say she’s been in Oldtown for months. Why has she returned now?”

“Look at the way she’s holding on to him. There’s something more between them, I’d wager.”

You lift your chin, meeting their stares with a calm you don’t entirely feel. Beside you, Gwayne is the picture of composure, his expression revealing nothing of the emotions that must be roiling within him.

A familiar figure emerges from the entrance to the Keep—your mother, Dowager Queen Alicent. She looks regal as ever, her face composed, though you notice the slight furrow of her brow as she takes in the sight of you with Gwayne. There’s a flicker of something in her eyes—relief, perhaps, at seeing you again, but also concern, as though she already suspects what the whispers are saying.

“Mother,” you greet her as you step forward, releasing Gwayne’s arm with a reluctant sense of propriety.

“Daughter,” she replies, her voice cool but tinged with warmth. Her gaze flickers to Gwayne, her eyes narrowing slightly. “I did not expect to see you return with your uncle.”

“I wished to be with my family,” you say simply, your tone carefully measured.

Alicent’s eyes search yours, looking for something you’re not ready to reveal. “And you’ve chosen to return at a time of great unrest,” she observes, her voice soft enough that only you and Gwayne can hear. “But I’m glad you are here, truly.”

She doesn’t say more, but you know there will be questions later, in the privacy of her chambers, where she’ll expect answers about your time in Oldtown and what, exactly, has brought you back to King’s Landing now. But for now, she extends her hand to you, a gesture of welcome.

As you take it, you feel the eyes of the court upon you, feel the tension that thrums beneath the surface. Gwayne steps back, just slightly, as though to give you space, but you can still feel the warmth of his presence beside you. It’s a comfort, even as the whispers continue, the court already weaving their tales about the Princess and her uncle.

But you don’t let it bother you. Let them talk, you think, because no matter what they say, no matter the rumors that will no doubt spread, you know where you stand. You know what you’ve found with Gwayne, and you are not ashamed.

Together, you and your uncle follow the Dowager Queen into the Red Keep, the heavy doors closing behind you with a resounding thud. The halls are as grand as you remember, yet somehow smaller, as if the world beyond them has grown larger in your absence.

The whispers will follow you here, you know, but as you walk beside Gwayne, you feel a sense of resolve settle over you. You’ve returned to a city at war, to a family divided, but you are not the same girl who left. You’ve found strength in yourself, and in Gwayne, and you are ready to face whatever comes next.

The council chamber is dimly lit, the tall windows shielded by thick curtains that block out the midday sun. A fire burns low in the hearth, but the air is cold, heavy with the tension that seems to permeate every corner of the Red Keep these days. Alicent Hightower stands by the window, her hands clasped tightly together, her gaze distant as she stares out over the city. The rumors have reached her ears—whispers of impropriety, of a scandal that could bring ruin upon the family she has fought so hard to protect.

Behind her, Otto Hightower paces, his face a mask of calculated concern. The Hand of the King is rarely rattled, but the news has clearly unsettled him. His normally shrewd eyes are narrowed, his thoughts racing as he contemplates the implications of what he’s heard.

“I do not believe it,” Alicent says finally, her voice strained but firm. “She is my daughter, Father. She would not… she could not be so reckless.”

Otto stops his pacing, turning to face his daughter. “The court is filled with idle tongues, Alicent. But where there is smoke, there is often fire. We cannot afford to ignore this.”

Before Alicent can respond, the door to the chamber swings open, and Aegon saunters in, his tunic half-laced, a goblet of wine already in hand despite the early hour. He looks as though he’s just risen from bed, his silver hair tousled, his expression one of lazy amusement.

“Mother, Grandsire,” he greets them, his tone light, almost mocking. He takes a long sip from his goblet before sprawling into a chair by the fire, stretching out as if he hasn’t a care in the world.

Alicent’s lips thin as she looks at her eldest son, but it’s Otto who speaks first. “Aegon,” he says sharply, “this is no time for your usual games. Have you heard the rumors?”

Aegon raises an eyebrow, the corners of his mouth twitching into a smirk. “About my sweet sister and our dear uncle? Of course I have. Everyone’s talking about it. I’m surprised it took this long for you two to catch on.”

Alicent flinches at his words, her face paling. “Aegon, please,” she says, her voice trembling slightly. “You must tell us the truth. Is there any merit to these rumors? Has your sister…?”

Aegon laughs, a low, careless sound that grates on both Alicent’s and Otto’s nerves. “Oh, it’s true, Mother. They’re quite the pair, those two. Didn’t you notice how close they were when they arrived? Or were you too busy trying to figure out how to win this blasted war?”

Otto steps forward, his voice cold as ice. “And how would you know this, Aegon? What proof do you have?”

Aegon looks up at his grandfather, his smirk widening. “Because I’ve been in contact with her, of course. My sweet sister’s been writing to me. She’s quite… explicit in her letters.”

The color drains from Alicent’s face, and she sways slightly, as if the very ground beneath her has shifted. “No,” she whispers, shaking her head. “No, she wouldn’t…”

Aegon shrugs, taking another sip of his wine, clearly enjoying the discomfort he’s causing. “Believe what you will, Mother, but you’ve always known she was different. Maybe that’s why you sent her away in the first place, hmm? To keep her from the likes of Jacaerys, but also to keep her away from prying eyes. But now she’s back, and well… it seems she’s found comfort in Uncle Gwayne.”

Alicent stares at her son, her heart pounding in her chest. The thought of her daughter—the one she has always favored, the one she has tried to protect above all others—being involved in something so scandalous is too much to bear.

“Aegon,” Otto says, his tone warning, “this is no laughing matter. This could destroy our house’s reputation, especially now when we can afford no more divisions. You must be mistaken.”

Aegon leans back in his chair, looking at the two of them with a mixture of amusement and exasperation. “You two really need to relax. So what if they’re lovers? We’ve got bigger problems to deal with than who’s warming whose bed. Besides, isn’t that what you wanted? For her to stay loyal to the family? At least she’s with one of our own and not off consorting with the enemy.”

Alicent presses a hand to her temple, trying to steady herself. She cannot allow herself to believe this—she must speak with her daughter, must hear the truth from her own lips. But the thought of that conversation, of what it might reveal, fills her with dread.

Otto, on the other hand, is already thinking ahead, his mind racing through the potential consequences. “This cannot be allowed to continue,” he says, more to himself than to anyone else. “We must act quickly, quietly, before the situation escalates. We need to speak with her.”

Aegon lets out a derisive snort, raising his goblet in a mocking toast. “Good luck with that. She’s always been headstrong, you know. But by all means, go ahead. I’m sure she’ll be thrilled to have a little chat about her personal life with you two.”

Alicent and Otto exchange a look, both of them realizing the gravity of the situation. They must tread carefully, for the sake of their family and their house, but they cannot ignore what is happening.

Aegon watches them, a sly smile playing on his lips as he lounges in his chair, utterly undisturbed by the storm he’s just unleashed. “Good luck,” he says again, his voice dripping with mockery. “You’re going to need it.”

As he takes another leisurely sip of his wine, Alicent turns away, her mind already on the difficult conversation that lies ahead, while Otto considers the best approach to take with his granddaughter. They know that whatever happens next, it will not be easy.

And Aegon? He simply reclines in his chair, pleased to have stirred the pot, content to watch the drama unfold around him, utterly unconcerned by the turmoil he’s just caused.

The Sept is quiet, the flickering candles casting a soft glow over the statues of the Seven. You kneel before the Mother, your hands clasped tightly together as you pray for guidance, for strength. The silence of the sacred space surrounds you, offering a moment of peace amid the turmoil that has settled over your life since returning to King’s Landing. The scent of incense lingers in the air, and you inhale deeply, trying to calm your racing thoughts.

You pray for your family, for the war that looms on the horizon, for the safety of those you love. But most of all, you pray for clarity—clarity about your feelings for Gwayne, about the path you should take now that everything has become so complicated. The Sept has always been a place of solace for you, a place where you could find peace in the embrace of the gods, but today, your mind refuses to settle.

The sound of footsteps echoes in the empty space, and you open your eyes, turning slightly to see Gwayne approaching. His expression is unreadable, his eyes dark and intent as he strides toward you. There is something about his presence that makes your heart race, something that makes you forget the sanctity of the place where you kneel.

“Gwayne,” you whisper, your voice barely above a breath. “What are you doing here?”He doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, he reaches out, his fingers gently brushing against your cheek as he tilts your face up to meet his gaze. “I came to make a statement,” he says, his voice low and rough, sending a shiver down your spine.

“A statement?” you repeat, confusion swirling in your mind. “To the gods?”

His lips curve into a slow, deliberate smile. “To the gods,” he murmurs, “and to anyone else who might doubt where you belong.”

Before you can respond, his lips capture yours in a fierce, possessive kiss. You gasp against his mouth, but the sound is swallowed by the intensity of the kiss. His hands move to your shoulders, pulling you up from your kneeling position so that you are standing before him. The softness of your prayers is forgotten, replaced by the heat that surges between you.

“Gwayne,” you manage to murmur between kisses, your voice trembling with a mixture of desire and confusion. “What are you doing?”

His response is a low growl as his lips move down your neck, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses along your skin. “I’m making a statement,” he says again, his breath warm against your ear. “I’m showing the gods, and anyone else who might doubt it, that you are mine.”

The words send a thrill through you, a heady mixture of fear and desire. There is no hesitation in his actions, no sign of doubt. He pulls you closer, his hands moving to the ties of your dress, fingers deftly undoing them as he kisses you deeply, passionately.

You feel the cool air against your skin as your dress falls away, leaving you bare before him. Gwayne’s eyes darken with lust as he takes in the sight of you, and then his mouth is on yours again, hungry and demanding. You respond with equal fervor, your hands working at the fastenings of his tunic, needing to feel his skin against yours, to lose yourself in him.

He lifts you effortlessly, your legs wrapping around his waist as he presses you against one of the stone pillars of the Sept. The sensation of his body against yours, the way he holds you as though you are the most precious thing in the world, drives all rational thought from your mind. There is only him, only the fire that burns between you.

When he enters you, it is swift, his movements driven by a need so powerful it leaves you breathless. You moan softly, your fingers digging into his shoulders as you cling to him, the sensation of him filling you overwhelming and utterly intoxicating. Gwayne sets a fast, demanding rhythm, his thrusts deep and sure, each one sending waves of pleasure crashing through you.

Your name falls from his lips like a prayer, mingling with your own breathless gasps as you lose yourself in the feeling of him inside you. There is something almost sacred in the way he moves, something that speaks of more than just physical desire. It is a claiming, a vow, as if with every thrust he is binding you to him in a way that goes beyond mere flesh.

Your climax builds quickly, the intensity of your passion driving you both to the edge. You can feel him trembling against you, the tension in his body a mirror of your own. And then, with a final, shuddering thrust, you both find release, your cries mingling with his in the silence of the Sept.

For a moment, there is nothing but the sound of your breathing, the two of you still joined, still lost in the aftermath of your passion. But then you hear it—the sharp intake of breath, the horrified gasp that shatters the silence.

You turn your head, your heart plummeting as you see them standing at the entrance to the Sept: your mother, Dowager Queen Alicent, and your grandsire, Otto Hightower. Their faces are pale with shock, their eyes wide as they take in the sight of you and Gwayne, still joined, still locked in the aftermath of your lovemaking.

Gwayne doesn’t move. He doesn’t flinch or try to separate from you. Instead, he turns his head to meet their gaze, his expression calm, almost defiant. He holds you even closer, his grip on your waist tightening as if to say that he will not be ashamed, that he will not hide what has just happened.

Alicent’s hand flies to her mouth, her eyes filling with tears as she takes a step back, unable to process what she’s seeing. Otto’s face is a mask of cold fury, his eyes narrowing as he looks between you and Gwayne, understanding dawning in his gaze.

You realize, in that moment, that this was Gwayne’s intention all along. He didn’t come to the Sept for the gods. He came here to make a statement, to show your family, the court, and even the gods themselves that you belong to him, and that he will not allow anyone to take you from him.

The weight of that realization settles over you, but it is not fear that you feel. Instead, it is a strange sense of certainty, a feeling that despite the scandal, despite the consequences that are sure to follow, you are exactly where you are meant to be.

Gwayne’s eyes meet yours, and there is a question there, a silent inquiry if you regret this, if you wish to be released. But you shake your head, your own resolve hardening. You lift your chin, your gaze steady as you look at your mother, at your grandsire.

Alicent takes another step back, her voice trembling as she whispers, “What have you done?”

But you do not answer. Gwayne is still inside you, still holding you close, and you know that whatever happens next, whatever judgment they pass, it will not change what you feel, what you have chosen.

Otto’s voice is cold as ice when he finally speaks. “This will have consequences,” he says, his tone filled with a warning that sends a chill down your spine. “You have made a grave mistake.”

Gwayne’s grip on you tightens just slightly, but his gaze doesn’t waver. “The only mistake,” he says quietly, “would have been letting her go.”

Alicent turns away, unable to bear the sight any longer, her hand still pressed to her mouth to stifle her sobs. Otto stares at you both for a long moment, his expression unreadable, before he finally turns to leave, his cloak swirling around him as he exits the Sept, leaving you and Gwayne alone once more.

The silence that follows is heavy, filled with the weight of what has just transpired. But as Gwayne gently lowers you back to the ground, as he pulls you close, his breath warm against your ear, you feel a strange sense of peace.

“I am yours,” you whisper, and he nods, his lips brushing against your temple.

“And I am yours,” he replies, his voice filled with a quiet intensity.

And with that, you know that whatever comes next, whatever trials you may face, you will face them together. For Gwayne has made his statement—to the gods, to your family, and to you. You are his, and he is yours, and no force in this world or the next will tear you apart.

#house of the dragon #hotd x female reader #hotd #hotd x you #hotd x y/n #hotd x reader #gwayne x you #gwayne x reader #gwayne x y/n #gwayne hightower

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