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bopbopstyles · 4 years ago

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BEHIND THE BAR

RATING: R/smut (sex, heavy alcohol use, lots of cursing, heavy banter)

WORD COUNT: 17.3k (she long and you may need to read on desktop)

CATEGORIES: bartender!y/n, fratboy!harry

a/n: the long awaited bartender!y/n fic has ARRIVED! thank you to my fabulous anons who dreamt up bartender!y/n and made me fall so in love with her and fratboy!harry’s dynamic that i had to write her. she is tattooed, sassy, and full of spunk and i ADORE her. if you need more of her and harry, check out the inspo tag which has all the discourse. concepts for these two are ALWAYS open. s/o to @harrystylescherry, @stellarboystyles, @harrysclementines, @havethetimeofyourstyles for beta reading and @bfharry for providing harry’s dad joke 😘

“Cheers, Birthday Princess,” you told him, and then you bumped your glass against his, before tipping it back. Harry slammed the glass down on the counter and shook his head as the alcohol coursed through his veins.

Then, he leaned forward on the bar, resting his elbows on the alcohol-covered surface. You tried to keep it clean, but there was no way to keep up with it all. “How about a birthday kiss, Madam Bartender?”

“In your dreams,” you answered, realizing what you had said only after the words left your mouth.

Harry smirked, a dimple poking out. “We’ve already talked about dreams, Y/N. You know you’re already in them, so no need to beg for it.”

Y/N is a bartender and Harry’s obsessed with her

pls reblog and share with your friends 💕

In hindsight, perhaps taking a job as a bartender at the campus bar as a freshman wasn’t your smartest idea. You had to spend most of your weekend nights behind the bar trying to hear orders from slurring frat boys ordering the cheapest beer on tap and got shit tips because apparently your classmates didn’t care about tipping their bartenders. But at the same time, it was a great way to always drink for free and make friends, both with the other bartenders and with students who frequented the bar, as well as the neighborhood regulars earlier in the evening.

The thing you loved most about it, though, was the power you held behind the bar. It was your space, space where you made the rules and could throw out any person who messed with you. Which, as a stunningly gorgeous 21-year-old girl serving alcohol at a popular bar, happened plenty. You and Mike, the bouncer who usually shared shifts with you, had a hand signal that you could give him whenever someone was causing problems, and he would happily come to the bar and throw out whatever obnoxious man was giving you trouble. You frequently considered that Mike actually enjoyed throwing people out of the bar.

It was a Saturday night, the busiest night of the week and nearing one AM. The bar was packed, bodies pushing past one another to get to the bar, girls drumming their fingers on the fake wood counter. Tendrils of your long black hair stuck to the back of your neck, the result of constantly being on the move from the moment the rush hit until the bar closed. A cropped black tank top stuck to your skin, the sliver of skin between the hem of the shirt and the top of your black skinny jeans not enough to keep your body cool. Your ponytail swung back and forth as you moved, winding around Matt, the other bartender tonight, with ease. The two of you usually shared shifts, both being students and having the same availability. Generally, he was a good guy, taking the drunk guys so you didn’t have to deal with them and always making sure people didn’t give you trouble. The one downside to Matt, though, was his frat brothers. They appeared every shift without fail, bringing with them chaos and an inordinate amount of drink orders. They loved to annoy you, asking you the contents of every fancy drink they could think of and asking about your love life.

Tonight, it seemed, was no different.

You noticed the minute they entered the bar, a collection of t-shirts, a couple of jerseys you despised, and a button down shirt or two, all of them talking and yelling at each other. “Matt, your fan club is here!” You called down the bar, and Matt laughed as he grabbed the vodka off the wall to make a drink for two girls that were staring at him with wide eyes.

You grabbed two shot glasses and the handle of tequila from where you’d left it below the bar. “Salt and limes?” You asked the girls who had ordered the shots. They were most definitely not twenty-one, but then again, serving underage college students was how the bar made any business. The girls nodded, and so after you had poured the shots, you grabbed the salt shaker and two cut limes, pressing the limes into the rim of the glasses and pushing all the items across the bar. One of the girls handed you her card and you heard the words “Keep it open!” over Taste by Tyga and Offset that was blaring in the bar. It was your playlist, one that you’d perfectly curated for the bar with input from the other bartenders, and you were pretty proud of it.

After swiping the girl’s card and adding it to the stack of open tabs, you whirled back around to take the next customer. The sight of his brown curly mop and gleaming green eyes made you sigh—it was Harry. He, frankly, was a bit obsessed with you, but he was Matt’s little so you let it slide. Also, Harry’s attention didn’t make your skin crawl, instead it made your belly clench and witty comebacks fall easily from your mouth. The two of you had settled into a consistently flirtatious banter and you didn’t mind it, frankly. Sometimes, it was the highlight of your night.

The first time you ever met Harry, you noticed him long before he finally spoke to you. He was sitting at a booth not too long after your shift started, so it wasn’t super busy yet. He had caught your eye because he wouldn’t stop staring at you and he had a weird bandana wrapped up in his hair. (Or was it even a bandana? Maybe a scarf? You couldn’t be sure.) It wasn’t the creepy kind of stare that made you call the bouncer over, but the kind that made you blush against your every attempt not to. When Matt came in, a bit late as usual, Harry beelined to the bar, sitting down in front of him.

“Y/N, this is Harry,” Matt had said, grabbing the bottle of Jack from the wall and pouring some in a glass, then adding Coke to it before pushing the glass towards Harry. “He’s my little.”

You leaned onto the bar, the surface still dry since it wasn’t packed yet. “I was waiting for you to say hi. Saw you staring for the past fifteen minutes.”

The blush that rose to Harry’s cheeks made you smile at him, and Matt chuckled. “Staring isn’t nice, H.”

“Wasn’t staring,” Harry mumbled. “Just watching you make drinks.”

Your eyebrows lifted. “Have you never seen a bartender before?”

“No, fuck,” he said to himself and you internally grinned at making him a bit embarrassed. He was easy to mess with, especially now that you had confirmed that he had, in fact, been watching you. “You’re just good at it.”

You looked to Matt. “He thinks I make good drinks,” you informed your co-worker. “What do you think, Harry? Am I better than your big?”

Harry could tell he had dug himself into a hole, his eyes sweeping between you and Matt. “I—I don’t know—maybe?” Matt’s eyes widened and Harry stumbled over his words, trying to correct course. “No, no, Matt’s better. Matt is definitely better.”

You leaned forward a bit more, inching closer to Harry. “Thought you said I was good at it?”

You could feel his eyes drift to where your cleavage was exposed from the deep-v of your black t-shirt. “You are.”

“So which one of us is better?”

“You.”

Matt groaned and you moved away, a triumphant grin on your face. “Not fair,” Matt said. “Harry’s got a crush on you, of course he’d say you’re better!”

Harry choked on his drink and you raised your eyebrows at him. “A crush, huh?”

“Shit,” Matt said. “I wasn’t supposed to say that.”

You bumped your hip against his. “It’s ok, Matty boy. I figured that out when he wouldn’t stop staring at me.”

Harry blushed and you moved away, tending to the other customers at the bar.

That night had begun the back-and-forth between you and Harry, a playful dynamic of flirtation and jokes that usually left you triumphant and Harry blushing at the bar. He kept showing up early and Matt would tell you things like “Oh, he’s just coming by to drop off my charger” or “He just wants to chat.” All of them were excuses for Harry to be in the bar with just you, Matt, and a couple of customers, him having your relatively undivided attention. He’d tell you terrible jokes and ask you questions about your classes or family, most of which you ignored. You never asked him questions back, just let him talk and you listened, although you pretended like you didn’t, because you didn’t want to encourage him.

The truth was, though, you didn’t mind him. You kind of looked forward to those conversations. When he got really drunk he was a bit more annoying, repeating your name until you finally paid attention to him, only for him to say nothing except “You’re cute” or something along those lines. He entertained you, at least, and that was more than could be said for most of the patrons.

Tonight, it seemed, was no different than usual. “Y/N!” He said, shoving himself between two people who had managed to snag one of the green vinyl covered bar stools. His hair was messy, perhaps a bit sweaty, and he was swearing a black t-shirt, a silver chain tucked under his shirt. You could immediately tell he was decently drunk already, based on the glassy expression in his eyes and the grin on his face. “Want to hear a joke?”

You wiped off the bar with the towel over your shoulder before answering him. “Sure.”

“What did the therapist say when a naked man wrapped in cling film went into their office?”

“I don’t know,” you answered, resting your hands on the bar and looking at him dead on. “What did they say?”

Harry was grinning at you, eyes twinkling with mischief. “Clearly I can see your nuts.”

You groaned and Harry just guffawed. “Harry, that was horrible.”

“You just have no sense of humor.”

“Says the guy making jokes like that,” you shot back. “Now, what do you want?”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a black leather wallet. “Five fireball shots.”

You had to take a second before replying because the thought of a fireball shot makes you want to vomit. The combination of the cinnamon flavor and the burn it sent down your throat was one you hated, but it seemed Harry enjoyed it. “Really, Harry? Fireball?”

“What? It’s good!”

You shook your head, but grabbed shot glasses, laying them out in a line on the bar. “You’re insane.” You turned, grabbed the bottle of Fireball, and then returned to him.

“Make it six,” he said, slashing you a smirk.

“If it’s for me I am not drinking it.”

“You’re no fun.”

“I’m plenty of fun,” you told him, cocking your hip. “And I have good taste in alcohol.”

“Y/N, please,” he begged, pouting slightly for you.

Sometimes he was such a child, you thought as you gave in, grabbing another shot glass. “Fine,” you told him. “But this is the only time.” He grinned at you, and you just poured the shots, drawing a line down the glasses with the alcohol.

He snagged one of the shot glasses and you took one at the end. “Cheers,” he said, lifting his shot, and you did the same, knocking the glasses together enough for a clink to ring out.

You tipped the shot back, letting the burn of the cinnamon whiskey fall down your throat. You swallowed, dropped the shot glass to the counter, and looked to Harry. He was grinning, his empty shot glass on the bar. “Satisfied?”

“Very.” Then he picked up the shots, holding them together in his two massive hands, his rings clinking against the glass. You watched him walk away, his shirt disappearing into the throng of people, and then your attention was caught by another patron, asking you for a Long Island iced tea that made you laugh once you had turned away from them.

The night passed with many empty bottles of vodka and gin, the drinks of choice for all the girls who came up to the bar, and you nearly ran out of Budweiser, since it was on tap and the cheapest beer. You were bopping your head along with your playlist, Piece Of Your Heart by MEDUZA ringing through the speakers. The electronic music was supposed to help keep your energy up, but it was three AM and you were beginning to tire, the whiskey and coke you made yourself doing little to keep you going.

People were starting to filter out of the bar, groups heading to get a late night snack or head home. You were thankful for it—if you could start cleaning before official close you would be happy, perhaps being able to get home sooner.

“Can I get another whiskey coke?” You turned and Harry was sitting in a barstool at the bar, right in front of you.

You nodded, grabbing a glass and the handle of whiskey. “Where’d all your friends go?”

“They left.” He drummed his fingers against the wood, the light of the bar catching on the silver of his rings. You were a bit fascinated by them, if you were being honest. Why he wore them, where they came from, what they meant. The same questions rang in your head in reference to the tattoos that littered his arms and peeked out from under his shirt.

“You didn’t go with?” You pushed his drink towards him and returned the jack to its spot on the wall.

He shook his head, taking a sip of the drink you made him. “I was going to wait for Matt.”

You raised your eyebrows and then nodded towards where Matt was leaning over the bar, talking to some girl whose drink had long since been emptied. “I think he’s already got someone waiting for him.”

Harry looked to where Matt was and then shrugged, before turning his gaze back to you. “Guess I’ll just hang out with you, then.”

“Oh really?” You took some empty glasses off the bar where people had left them and dropped them into the bucket under the bar to be taken back to get cleaned.

“You’re more interesting than him anyway.”

You laughed, grabbing an empty shot glass and putting it in the bucket. “And why is that?”

“You’re hot.” He didn’t even pause before he replied.

He licked across his bottom lip after he said it and you couldn’t help but watch the action. It wasn’t like you didn’t know Harry thought you were attractive—you did. It was just that he had never outright told you, or been quite this forward. Usually he was skating around the topic and now that he wasn’t you didn’t quite know what to say. So you said the first thing that popped into your head. “Have you been behind a bar?”

“Only at the house.”

“Your frat house does not count as a bar.”

“I don’t know about that.”

“It is not a bar, Harry.”

“Fine. Then no, I haven’t.”

You took a step away from him and waved your hand at the space. “Would you like to?”

This time, it was him raising his eyebrows at you. “What am I going to be doing?”

“I’ll teach you to make drinks.”

“I know how to make drinks,” he scoffed.

“Jungle juice doesn’t count.”

He huffed and then pushed away from the bar, standing to his full height. “You’re being mean,” he stated, but walked to the end of the bar and came around the side anyways. “It feels so different from back here.”

You turned, one hand on the bar and the other on your hip. “What do you mean?”

“Dunno. Feel…powerful, I guess.”

You nodded, knowing exactly what he meant. “So, Mr. Bartender, what do you want to make first?”

Harry considered his options, looking around the bar and taking in the options in front of him. He looked a bit overwhelmed, if you were honest. You glanced around, checking on how busy it was, and you were thankful that it was pretty much empty, so no one would probably be bothering you and Harry. “I’ve always wanted to make an Old Fashioned.”

“Can do,” you answered, grabbing the proper glass from the shelf, and a bottle of your favorite bourbon, setting both on the counter in front of you. “Do you know what’s in one?” He shook his head, a slight blush on his cheeks, and you smiled to yourself. He could be so goddamned cute sometimes. “It’s whiskey, bitters, and a bit of sugar. Do you know how to muddle?” He shook his head again, and you nodded, grabbing the rest of the supplies you would need.

You spread it out in front of you, popping a sugar cube in the old fashioned glass. “So this is the bitters we’re going to use,” you informed him, passing him the bottle of Angostura bitters. “Put two dashes of that in the glass over the sugar.”

“What the fuck is a ‘dash’?”

“A bit,” you told him. “Just do it.”

He did as you asked, tapping bitters into the glass. “Is that enough?”

You nodded, and then grabbed the soda gun and pressed the button for water, adding a bit to the glass. Then, you passed him the muddler, which got very little use at this bar. In fact, you hadn’t made an Old Fashioned in ages—it wasn’t exactly the drink of choice for most college-aged people. “Now, you’re going to muddle this—like mix them together, crushing the sugar.”

“Why does mixology have the weirdest terms?” He said under his breath and you snorted. He did as you said, listening to your instructions, crushing the sugar and mixing it with the bitters in the glass, the sugar dissolving in the glass.

“Good. Now you add the ice.”

You pulled back the top of the cooler that held the ice, and Harry grinned as he picked up some with the scooper and filled the glass with it. “Always wanted to do that.”

“And now you have.” You shut the top of the cooler and passed him the bourbon and a jigger. “An ounce and a half of bourbon,” you informed him.

He reached over and took the bottle and jigger, and his close proximity made you inhale. You could smell cologne, a bit of sweat from the party he was at earlier, and a trace of smoke as he moved. The scent had your spine straightening, your mind just as muddled as the contents of the glass. How did he smell so good? He was a college boy. Who gave him the right to be so goddamned attractive and smell this delicious? His long hair, the length not quite reaching his shoulders but close, swung slightly in your face as he pulled away, the tips of his curls brushing against your cheek. He was so close that if he turned his head, your lips would meet.

You tried not to think about that.

But he lingered close to you as he poured the bourbon in the jigger, your sides nearly touching, just half a step away from one another. If the music hadn’t been playing, you probably would’ve been able to hear him breathe and he could’ve heard your breath hitch when his bicep flexed as he held the bourbon. Your eyes trailed over the tattoos on his arms, dancing over the ship and the rose at his elbow, all the way down to the anchor at his wrist.

“Now you’re the one watching me.”

Your eyes snapped up to his, where he was looking at you, smirking. “Pour the shot in, Harry.”

He looked back to the jigger he was holding, and tipped it into the glass, the amber liquid dropping through the glass. You handed him the stirrer and he twirled it in the glass, before setting it back down on the bar. The sound of his rings hitting the glass sounded in your ears as he grasped the drink, bringing it to his lips.

His eyes were on yours as he tipped it back slightly, letting the alcohol pass between his lips. You tried not to focus on his Adam’s apple bobbing as he sipped. When he lowered the glass, his tongue darted out, wetting his bottom lip, and it made you tug your own into your mouth softly. Then you asked, “How is it?”

With his gaze trained on your mouth, he answered, “Delicious.”

“Y/N!” Your head bounced up to see Mike darting his head inside. “Time for close.”

You looked up at the clock on the wall and realized he was right—more time had passed than you realized. “Shit—yeah, sorry Mike. Matt,” you called down the bar to your co-worker who was very caught up in his flirtation. “Will you kick all of these people out for me?”

“Even me?” Harry asked and you roll your eyes at him.

“You can stay,” you told him and he gave you a smile, taking another sip of his drink. “As long as you help me clean up.”

While Matt kicked the remaining stragglers out, making sure the ones that are too drunk get in an Uber, you and Harry cleaned up. He helped you flip chairs on top of tables and pick up the glasses littered across surfaces, even in the bathroom. You filled the bin with the glasses and took them into the kitchen, filling the industrial dishwasher to the brim. He even took a rag and wiped down the tables, singing along to the Tame Impala you’d turned on and finishing off his Old Fashioned. You put the bitters away and the remnants of the drink he had made, and toss some lime rinds into the trash, wiping off the last bit of the bar.

“I’m going to head out,” Matt called to you from the door. He’s got his arm wrapped around the girl’s shoulders, a wide smile on both of their faces. “You good, H?”

Harry nodded. “Yeah, I’m going to walk Y/N home.”

This was news to you. “I drove,” you replied.

“Then can I snag a ride?” He asked, and you shrugged. It wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. Also, the idea of making him walk didn’t sound like a good idea, even though the frat house wasn’t too far from the bar.

“Sure.” You grabbed your purse and leather jacket from where you’d stashed them under the bar, and pulled them on. “C’mon, let’s go.”

You waved goodbye to Mike, who was left to lock up, and walked around back to where your car was parked. It was a must have for you, not wanting to walk home at four in the morning after a long night of working. Plus, you never drank much while you worked—all you had had was that disgusting Fireball shot earlier in the night and a whiskey coke throughout the evening. Harry followed behind you, his hands in his pockets as he walked, the faint light from the street lamp illuminating the sidewalk leading to the parking lot.

“It’s dark,” he said when you turned into the lot.

You unlocked your car and turned to look at him. “It’s four AM. Of course it’s dark.”

He moved towards the car, pulling open the passenger side door. “No, I just mean that it’s dark for you to be walking to your car alone.”

“Oh.” You tossed your purse into the backseat and slid into the driver’s side, flipping on the ignition. “Matt or Mike walk me to my car most nights.”

His long legs ended up a bit cramped in the passenger seat of your car and it made the corner of your mouth turn up. “Good,” is all he said before pulling on the seatbelt and clicking it. You reversed out of the spot, your phone automatically connecting to the Bluetooth as you flipped on your turn signal. “That’s the wrong way.”

You turned and looked at him. “Don’t you live at the house?”

He shook his head though. “No, I’ve got an apartment with some brothers on the West side of campus. Take a left here.”

You absorb this information and switch the turn signal. “Why don’t you live there? I thought most people did.”

“I like the privacy, I guess. When you live with all your brothers, they tend to know every bit of your business.” He was looking out the front windshield and you did the same, eyes on the dark streets in front of you. Being this close to him in the car had your body temperature spiking a bit, although you wouldn’t have admitted that to anyone. Harry was just the boy who flirted with you every chance he got and was Matt’s little. He was just someone to entertain you on slow nights or when you were stressed. Right?

“Take a left at the light,” he said, breaking you out of your trance. You flicked on your turn signal and eased into the turn lane, swinging your car onto a side street. “I’m having a birthday party next weekend at the house if you want to come,” he suddenly said.

Your eyes bounced to Harry, who wasn’t looking at you, his palms resting on his knees. You could sense the tension in his body—was he nervous? Did you make him nervous? “Is it your 21st?”

He quirked a smile at that. “How’d you know?”

“Well, you’re a junior. I just assumed.” Matt also might’ve mentioned it once or twice, but you didn’t tell Harry that.

A blush crept across his cheeks. “I—uh—it’s on Saturday at nine. We’re hitting the bars after, but the thing at the house is just going to be brothers and drinks and some music. Pretty low-key, I think.”

“I’ve got work,” you told him. “But I’ll try and stop by before my shift. I’m not supposed to be there until ten.”

He nodded quickly and you tried not to think about the fact that Matt was never going to let you live this down. What were you even doing, saying yes to Harry? You weren’t even interested in him. He was just a boy to flirt with, someone who told you bad jokes and ordered Fireball shots. “It’s right up here,” he said, pointing to a house off to the right.

You slowed the car in front of a one-story bungalow, a couple of cars in the driveway and lawn chairs on the front lawn. “You live in a house?”

“Somehow it was actually cheaper,” he explained, unbuckling his seatbelt. “Plus, kind of nice not having people complaining about the noise.”

The area was definitely still on campus, but you didn’t know anyone who lived over here. “Are your neighbors all students too?”

He nodded. “Some other brothers have a place a couple houses down, there’s a house of Pi Phis over there. But yeah, it’s all students. On game days it’s a fucking mess.”

You put the car in park, and turned off the ignition. “I can imagine.” Harry didn’t make any moves to get out of the car, just sitting there staring at the dashboard of your old Toyota, his hands fidgeting on his thighs. “Harry?”

“Fuck,” he exhaled, catching his bottom lip in his teeth. “I...” Then he glanced over at you, and under the dim streetlamp you could see the expression in his eyes. It’s one you knew well. It’s the look he gave you when you wore your favorite lace bodysuit that was conservative enough to wear out, or when you gave him just as flirtatious of a comeback as the one he served you.

Then, all of a sudden he was moving towards you, his hand curving around the back of your neck and pulling you towards him. It was awkward, the seatbelt holding back your shoulder, but it didn’t stop you from leaning towards him, meeting him halfway. His lips tasted like bourbon and bitters, a trace of Fireball when you nibbled on his bottom lip that was just tucked between his teeth. He was sweet with an edge of fire, and when he tilted his chin slightly to change the angle, rotating his head just enough to kiss you deeper, you knew you were fucked.

For so long, you had been trying to keep him at a distance. Just let him exist as a flirtation, nothing more than that. You’d ignored the thoughts that blazed through your mind when you were drunk with your friends and saw him at a party, his lips on some girl, and you wondered what they would taste like on yours. Now that he was kissing you and you knew what they tasted like, there was no way you would be able to forget.

Especially the way his fingers threaded through your hair, his rings cool against your warm scalp. How he tugged on your lip with his teeth and you let out a soft whine, pulling him closer by the neck of his shirt. The fact that it was nearing four thirty in the morning and you were in your car making out, your seatbelt still on, didn’t seem to matter. The exhaustion that had been all-consuming earlier was gone, your body rushing with adrenaline from the feeling of his mouth tucked against yours, his hands on your skin and the way his lips searched for yours when you pulled away for air.

“I should go home,” you said, breathing heavily as you moved back into your seat.

Harry was looking at you intensely, his lips slick from your saliva, his cheeks flushed from kissing you. His hands still lingered on your neck and hip, and you weren’t ready for him to let go. However, you needed sleep, otherwise the rest of the day was not going to be pretty. You had a paper due on Tuesday you had to write and if that didn’t happen this afternoon after you slept you were fucked. “Yeah,” he finally answered, pulling away. “It’s late.” He shuffled in the seat, turning to push open the door. “Get home safe, okay?”

You nodded, and with one lingering look at you, Harry slid out of the car and shut the door behind him. Under the dim lights you watched him walk to his front door, pulling open the screen door and unlocking it. Once he was inside, you finally turned back on your car and put it in drive, peeling away from the curb without a glance back.

On Tuesday, you were knee-deep in edits for your paper when your phone screen lit up with a text. Despite the fact that you told yourself you would be ignoring any notifications that flashed across your screen, you were intrigued by this message because it was from a number you didn’t recognize. So you leaned back in the uncomfortable wooden chair you were sitting in (chosen to make sure you stayed awake) and grabbed your phone.

The sight of the message made you choke on air.

Hey, Y/N, this is Harry. Matt gave me your number, I hope that’s ok?

That was it. The whole message. What the fuck were you supposed to do with that? “Fuck,” you muttered to yourself, because now you couldn’t ignore it. You had your read receipts on, something you turned on one time when you were breaking up with an ex and wanted him to know that you were ignoring his messages on purpose, and never turned off. So now Harry knew you had read his message.

So you typed back, hey! what’s up?

The typing dots appeared and you had the sudden urge to throw your phone halfway across the room as you waited for his reply. But you didn’t, because Harry’s text popped through before you could take any actions to make it seem as though you weren’t staring at your phone waiting for his text.

Just wanted to say thanks for the ride home on Saturday. Then, in a separate message, Also, the invite for my birthday party still stands, but no pressure.

You nibbled on the edge of your thumb nail, your other thumb poised over the screen as you considered what to reply. You decided on coy. i'll see how it goes :) you wrote out, and then thumbs up reacted to his thank you text.

Looking forward to it is what he replied with, and that felt like the end of the conversation, so you locked your phone, turned it on Do Not Disturb, and tried to re-focus on the paper open on your computer screen.

It took everything in your body not to check your phone a couple more times, just to see if he’d kept the conversation going. You had no idea what to say to him—he was the one who texted you in the first place. It seemed like his job to keep the conversation going, not yours. So you let the conversation linger, not even saving his number in your phone.

When Saturday rolled around, you considered for a long time whether or not you were going to go to Harry’s birthday party. Matt had texted you too, combining the text with a notice that he wasn’t working that night and Lucy was covering his shift, which meant you were going to be doing all the heavy lifting. Lucy was a freshman, new to bartending, and most definitely was hired so she would be ready to replace you when you graduated next year. The fact that Matt texted you told you that Harry must really want you to come, even if it was just for a bit.

So you turned on your getting ready playlist and grabbed your favorite bodysuit—it was long sleeved and high necked with a mesh leopard print, meaning that when you wore your black bralette underneath it, it would show through. It was enough to get eyes on you (you could neither confirm nor deny if you specifically meant Harry’s eyes), but not too much that you felt completely exposed, thanks to the long sleeves. You grabbed your black jeans, even though in an ideal world you would’ve chosen your leather skirt instead, but the last thing you wanted was alcohol stuck to your legs all night or some asshole seeing up your skirt when you bent over for ice.

You kept your makeup simple, but in line with the outfit—a light smokey eye, eyeliner, and a tinge of a deep red to your lips. Rhea, your roommate, let you use her dry shampoo, so you sprayed it at your roots, giving your day-old hair some revival. With a pair of gold hoops and a pep talk, you were ready, your phone and wallet slipped into the pocket of your trusty leather jacket.

You had never been to a frat house when you couldn’t hear the music pounding from outside. But as you walked up the grassy front lawn to the KDR house, it seemed quiet—all the lights on, even. You rapped on the door twice, running your hand through your hair as you waited for the door to open. When it did, a guy was standing there who you were pretty sure you recognized from the bar—he was close with Matt and Harry, you thought.

“You’re the bartender, Y/N!” He said, pointing at you with his index finger, lifting it from the red solo cup he held in his hand.

“I am,” you replied. “Harry and Matt invited me.”

“Yeah, I know,” he said, and you tried not to read into that too much. “Come on in, I’m Caleb, Harry’s little.” And that, you realized, was why he was always hanging out with Harry and Matt. You followed Caleb down the hall, which had composite photos on the wall going back to the 70s and 80s. It was weird being inside the house with all the lights on, because you could actually see everything for the first time. You saw what was usually a coat room and discovered it was actually a study of sorts, bookshelves with textbooks and random course books lining the shelves and a couple of old leather chairs in the corner that you usually stashed your jacket on.

He turned into the long living room and kitchen, which was where most of the parties happened in their house, and you were met by a pong table and a collection of boys, many of whom you recognized from the bar. Your eyes scanned over the group, and you found that you were, unsurprisingly, one of four girls in attendance. The others were next to brothers, an arm slung around their shoulders. You found Matt and Harry easily in the crowd, Matt saying something to Harry with his palm pressed to Harry’s chest, his other hand gripping a can of Natty Light. How he could drink such watered down piss while being a bartender you didn’t know and you quickly decided you would be ragging on him for it the next time you worked together.

“Bartender girl!” One of the guys called out, and that made Harry and Matt’s heads immediately swivel towards where you were standing. The discomfort that had been lingering was suddenly there in full force. You hated being the center of attention, something most people never expected since you thrived at the bar. The key part of being a bartender, though, was you had the bar between you and the patrons. It was a safety net, something that gave you power and confidence. Without it, though, you felt naked in a situation like this.

The sight of a tiara on Harry’s head, though, immediately made you feel more at ease. The words Birthday Princess were printed on the tiara in bright pink writing, and the sight of it resting in Harry’s hair brought a smile to your face.

Matt immediately broke into a grin and widened his arms, which you rolled your eyes at. “Y/N! You made it!”

You walked over to him, having nothing else to do, but didn’t give him a hug. “Barely. I can’t stay long—I’m supposed to be there at 10 so Lucy doesn’t kill someone with her heavy handed pouring.”

He chuckled, and then gave Harry a clap on the back. “I’m going to go check on the beer. Have fun, H.”

It left you and Harry alone—or as alone as you could be in a crowded room. Your eyes roamed his body, the black silky shirt drawing in your eyes, white stitching that spelled out his last name on the chest, the way it was unbuttoned low. It was the first time you’d been able to see his tattoos—the edges of what seemed to be wings on his collarbones that you wanted to see the rest of, and a silver chain with a cross hanging on it lying on his chest. You could feel his eyes on you too, and steeled yourself under his gaze, trying to remain confident as you stood in front of him.

“Nice tiara,” you said, breaking the silence.

He blushed, reflexively reaching up to touch it. “I was hoping you didn’t notice.”

“It’s literally a bright pink tiara on your head, Harry, how could I not notice?”

“Matt and Caleb made me wear it. My other little, Tyler, bought it and insisted.”

“Can’t let the family down?” You said, the corners of his lips lifting.

“Guess not.” A silence fell between you again and you busied yourself by investigating the space you were in. The worn couches on the wall, a massive dining table with alcohol covering it, dishes in the sink and a stack of red solo cups on the counter. It seemed like exactly what you would expect from a fraternity house, even if there wasn’t a party going on. Finally, he cleared his throat and thickly asked you, “Want to play pong?”

You blinked, not expecting the question, but shrugged. “Sure.”

“I’ll drink any you don’t want to,” he said.

“Why? Think I’m not any good?”

“No—I just—you drove, right?” He was stumbling over his words and it made you give him a small smile. You decided to be a bit of a tease, and brushed your fingers over the stitches on his shirt, just to mess with his brain a bit.

“I did,” you answered. “But I don’t think I’ll be drinking too much.”

His eyes widened a tad and you watched as he swallowed, Adam’s apple bobbing. “Let’s see your skills, then,” he finally said and you followed him over the table, where they were setting up for another round. He set down his cup on the side of the table and you fiddled with the cups, making the lines straighter. “Ready?” He asked you, his body shifting closer to yours. There was just a hair of space between your hips and you sucked in a breath before nodding.

You hadn’t thought this through, you quickly realized, because pong meant that there was barely any space between the two of you, and he kept brushing against your back and arm as he moved around. When he passed you the ball his fingers touched yours and your eyes would flit to his, only to find his green irises looking right back. The scent of his cologne and the alcohol on his breath wrapped around you when he laughed close to your ear, the contact of his skin on yours when he gave you a high five and lightly gripped your hand for just a beat too long sent shivers down your spine. When he picked up a cup to drink from it, you watched as his lips—the ones you had kissed exactly a week ago—wrapped around the rim and the beer slid down his throat. You were actively trying not to think about kissing down the column of his neck as you looked back to your cups on the other side of the table.

“Can I get gentlemen’s?” You asked and next to you, Harry nodded, agreeing with your decision to re-rack. The guys playing you quickly reshuffled your cups and you dropped the beer-covered ball into a cup of water to your right. When you picked up the ball and rolled it between your fingers, you decided to tease Harry a bit more, because it was your favorite pastime. You offered the ball to him, clasped between your thumb and forefinger, and looked him dead in the eyes. “Blow on it for good luck?”

His eyes widened, but then a cocky grin drifted across his cheeks. He leaned in and blew softly on the white pong ball, his pupils dark and focused on yours. Then, at a volume only you could hear, he whispered, “Sure you don’t want me to blow something else?”

Rather than give him the satisfaction of knowing he had your pulse stuttering, you licked your lips and replied with, “Let’s see if you’re so cocky when I’m on my knees.” You turned back to the cups and with ease, you threw the ball as it sank into a cup. You peeked a glance up at Harry, only to find him already staring at you, blinking in rapid succession. “Your turn, Styles.” You grabbed the other ball and pressed it to the stitching on his chest and his lips quirked up, snatching the ball from your grasp.

“Kiss for good luck?” Your eyebrows lifted at his words and he was smiling at you, a cocky gaze fixed on you.

“In your dreams,” you answered with an eye roll.

“Oh, baby, you’re already in them,” he whispered as he tossed the ball. It hit the rim of your one remaining cup before falling in perfectly.

His words rang loudly in your ears as Harry raised his arms above his head in success, ignoring the words he just had said to you. You, however, couldn’t say the same. They were running through your head on a loop. He dreamt about you? You wanted to know more, wanted to know every bit of his dreams, what they looked like and what you did in them.

At the sound of your name you blinked, pushing yourself out of your daydreams. “Yeah?”

It was Harry, his palm resting on your lower back and burning the skin with his touch. “It’s almost ten.”

“Fuck,” you breathed out, pulling your phone from your jacket. “I—shit I have to go. Sorry.”

He shook his head. “S’fine. I’ll walk you to the door.”

You waved goodbye to your opponents and some of the other boys you had been introduced to. Harry’s hand left your body as you both walked, and you couldn’t help but be disappointed. “Happy Birthday, by the way,” you said as you turned into the hallway, the chatter of the boys over the music fading a bit.

Harry dug his hands into his pockets and smiled at you. “Thank you. And thanks for coming. It—it was nice, having you here.”

The softness in his tone was in direct conflict with the banter at the pong table, but you didn’t mind. You kind of liked that the two of you had this duality, the ability to go each direction. “I had fun.” You pulled your car keys out of your pocket and turned the knob on the door. “I’ll have a birthday Fireball shot waiting with your name on it, Birthday Princess.”

That made his smile turn into a grin, his dimples popping out as you stepped across the threshold and onto the front porch. “Looking forward to it, love.”

As you walked away, you tried not to let his term of endearment fill your every thought, but it was hard, especially when you looked back and he was standing in the doorway, watching you walk to your car. You exhaled and opened the driver’s side door, realizing that you had dug yourself into quite the mess with this boy.

You had been watching the door out of the corner of your eye all night, waiting for Harry and all of his friends to arrive. Lucy had noticed and pestered you about it, but you hadn’t given in. You didn’t feel like the entire bar staff knowing your personal business—Matt was plenty. You busied yourself by serving patrons, making an absurd number of vodka tonics (which you despised, but you had found freshman girls preferred them to gin, for some reason) and opening bottle after bottle of beer.

You were humming along to Broken Clocks by SZA when the door opened and your name was called over the bar, Matt’s voice booming in the space. “Y/N, I need a shot for the birthday boy!” Harry was standing next to him, Matt’s arm thrown over his shoulder, a grin on his face.

You turned and quickly queued In Da Club by 50 Cent, before grabbing the bottle of Fireball off the shelf. When you turned back to the bar, Harry was standing in front of you, the Birthday Princess tiara unfortunately absent. “Where’s your crown, Birthday Princess?” You asked, pouring the dark liquid into a shot glass for him.

“It’s a tiara, Y/N,” he corrected, snatching the shot. “And Caleb accidentally broke it.” You could tell by the twinkle in his eyes and the color in his cheeks that he was more than a few drinks in, no doubt doing shots with the rest of the party before hitting the bars.

“Good to know,” you answered, and just because he was so goddamned cute, you grabbed another shot glass and poured yourself a shot of Fireball.

“Takin’ a shot with me?”

“It’s your birthday, isn’t it?”

Harry was about to say something when the music changed and he let out a cheer, Matt and Caleb and another boy, who you assumed was Tyler, pounded on the bar on either side of him. Then, they began to sing and you could help but guffaw.

“Go, go, go, go go, go, go, shawty/It's your birthday/We gon' party like it's yo birthday/We gon' sip Bacardi like it's your birthday/And you know we don't give a fuck/It's not your birthday!” They sang, and you couldn’t help but join in at the end.

“Shots, shots, shots!” Matt cheered, and Harry lifted his shot glass, raising his eyebrow at you.

“In your dreams,” you answered, realizing what you had said only after the words left your mouth.

Harry smirked, a dimple poking out. “We’ve already talked about dreams, Y/N. You know you’re already in them, so no need to beg for it.”

You rolled your eyes at him and pushed lightly on his cheek, a pout settling onto his lips. “Shut up, Styles.”

“Meanie,” he said, moving back to rest normally against the bar. “You have to be nice to the birthday boy, didn’t you hear?”

“Not if he’s a prick,” you informed him, resting your hands on the lip of the bar and locking your elbows, leaning slightly forward. “Now, do you guys want anything else, or are you just going to annoy me all night?”

“Four whiskey cokes,” Matt told you. “And make ‘em strong.”

Throughout the night, their group achieved higher and higher levels of drunkenness. They started singing a Cheetah Girls song in their corner booth, much to your enjoyment, and Matt got on the table, something Mike only allowed because he was an employee, and made the entire bar sing Harry Birthday to Harry. When Mamma Mia came on, Tyler—who you were increasingly discovering was pure chaos in a body, perhaps even more chaotic than Harry and Matt combined—tried to start a conga line through the bar. Not only was he stopped by Mike, but also by the sheer number of people packed into the space.

Meanwhile, you were left behind the bar, fielding drink requests and racking up students’ credit cards with drinks they probably would forget ordering in the morning. You even had one Beer Baptism, an exciting element of the night, when some hockey player informed you he has drank every beer on tap, meaning he had achieved his Beer Baptism status. Harry and Matt lost their shit in the corner when you announced it and rang the bell over the bar, before grabbing two full pints of the hockey player’s requested beer of choice—Budweiser, for some fucking reason—and poured it over his head.

After three, the bar had started to empty out, but the four musketeers in the corner were still going strong. Harry kept coming up to you and asking for a shot of this or such and such drink, and even requested to make an Old Fashioned behind the bar again. You told him he was too drunk to make it right, but next time he could. Every time he came up he offered some sexual innuendo or bad joke, a lingering touch on your hand when you passed him his drink, or a wink that left u scowling at him. He even unbuttoned his shirt a few more buttons so by the time it was just him and his lineage in the corner, it was barely even on him. The whole idea of “No shoes, no shirt, no service” was quickly becoming a possible line you could use, especially when he kicked his feet up on the table and Caleb was trying to grab at his boots and pull them off, much to your amusement.

At 3:45, there were no patrons left except for the booth full of boys, so you had Lucy start cleaning up while you grabbed a beer—your first drink of the night other than the shot you did with Harry—and walked over to the boys. Harry was on the end, since he kept on coming and going from the booth, his knees spread wide and one arm slung over the back of the seat. At the sight of you approaching, he straightened up and set his drink down on the table.

“Hey,” he said, drawing out the Y as you slid in next to him, his arm falling easily around your shoulders.

“Hello,” you answered, nudging his knee with yours. “You’re man spreading all over my booth, Styles.”

Tyler snorted and Harry shifted, pulling his knees in closer together. “Didn’t know it was your booth.”

“I work here, you know.”

“I noticed,” he answered, tongue running over his lip as he looked at you. “I like this top you’ve got on.”

You sipped on your beer before replying, “It’s a bodysuit, actually.”

“So I’ve got a genuine question,” Matt said, leaning in towards you from across the table. “How do you pee with that on?”

“It’s got snaps on the crotch.” For some reason Tyler and Caleb blush at the word crotch and it makes you smile internally. “Can be a bitch to take on and off, though.”

“Huh.” Matt leaned his cheek on his palm. “I never fully understood the appeal.”

“Well,” you said, placing your beer on the table. “They tuck into pants and skirts so there’s smooth lines. But also it kind of feels like you’re wearing lingerie.”

That had all the boys blushing, including Harry, who said, “So that’s like lingerie to you?”

You glanced down at the lace long-sleeved bodysuit you wore and shrugged. “Guess so.”

“I always thought lingerie involved less material, not full on sleeves.”

You mulled this over, and decided to push his buttons a bit more. “So is a babydoll not considered lingerie to you?”

His eyebrows scrunched up and if you were being honest, the expression was positively adorable. You wondered if it was the face he gave when he couldn’t figure out a math problem or was looking at IKEA instructions. “The fuck’s a babydoll?”

“Other than a pet name?” You threw back and Harry quirked a smile. “It’s like a…sexy nightgown, I guess you could say.”

“Sexy nightgown.” Harry stated, mulling over the thought in his head, and you watched as he brushed a hand through his hair, considering the concept. “And that would have more material than what you’re wearing right now?”

You shrugged and took another sip of your beer. “Arguably.”

“Then yeah, I guess that’s still considered lingerie. A sexy nightgown, huh?” He blew out a breath of air and looked to the boys across the booth from you. “Damn, the girls I’ve been seeing have been holding out on me.”

The boys laughed, but you wanted Harry’s attention back on you. Maybe it was the close proximity of his body or the smell of his cologne that overwhelmed your senses, or the way you could see the butterfly tattoo on his abdomen and the low rise of his incredibly tight skinny jeans, but you wanted him. Badly.

So you reached down and placed a hand on his thigh, high enough to make his breath catch but not too high where you were actually touching him. Just close enough to make him consider the prospect. “You’ve been picking the wrong girls, then,” you said, the words low in your chest and Harry’s eyes were on you in an instant. Immediately there was movement on the other side of the booth, Tyler, Caleb and Matt sliding out one by one. “Leaving, boys?”

Matt nodded. “H?”

Harry’s eyes hadn’t left your face and the weight of his gaze had your heart pumping a mile a minute. “I think I’m going to stay.”

His fingers moved from the booth seat next to him to cover your hand that rested on his thigh, slowly inching it up his pant leg. “I’ll take him home,” you said, glancing back to Matt. “I’ll let you know when he’s home, okay?”

Matt gave Harry another look, and then nodded, obviously trusting you to take care of his friend. “Let me know if you need anything.” With that, he turned away, waving to Lucy and giving Mike a slap on the back on his way out.

Your attention turned back to Harry, who had somehow slid closer to you on the seat. “What was all that talk about lingerie, hmm?” He asked, the hand that rested next to your shoulder moving to rub the top of your arm, heat surging through your veins at his touch. “You always chew me out for sayin’ shit to you, and then you go and say that. In front of my friends, no less.”

You drummed your fingers on his inner thigh and caught the way he swallowed thickly at the feeling. “I wanted to see what you’d say, I guess.”

“And?”

“I now know you’ve never seen a babydoll. Or nearly enough lingerie.”

He sucked in a breath and then leaned his head down, his lips brushing against your earlobe. “Is that your way of asking me if I’d like to see your collection?”

Your heartbeat was thudding in your ears as he grazed your hair with his nose, eyes fluttering shut at the feeling. He had your insides moving in circles like they were on a merry-go-round, consumed in nothing but him. Slowly, you lifted your leg closest to his so it hooked over his knee, tugging yourself closer to him. “Perhaps.”

Under the low lights of the bar, the green of his eyes twinkled at you, your coyness making him grab at your knee, kneading his thumb into your skin over your jeans. “You told Matt you’d take me home.”

“I did.”

“What’s the likelihood we could change the destination on that ride home?”

Your hand moved from his thigh to his torso, skittering over his shirt and tucking against his exposed skin, his butterfly tattoo flexing under your touch. “I could be convinced. What did you have in mind?”

“Your place,” he said, hand squeezing your knee tightly when you scratched his skin softly. “Fuck, Y/N.”

“You’re drunk,” you told him simply.

With a combination of tenderness and need that had you desperate for him, he nudged your temple with his nose and said, “I won’t be in the morning.”

“Is that right?” The feeling of his breath in your ear made you grab at his side, pulling at his skin with your hand, wanting just to feel him in some way. You were sober and yet he had you feeling drunk, drunk on need and desire. “Then come on, Birthday Princess.”

The wood of your front door slammed against your back the second you shut the door behind you, Harry’s body pinning you to the door. His hands tugged on your hips and your hands were in his hair and the sounds falling from your mouth were positively sinful. The way he pulled on your bottom lip and sucked on it, making you press up into his body, hands tugging at his shirt, how his hands fell to your ass and squeezed, you squeaking into his mouth. How he lifted one of your legs and hooked it around his hips, allowing your centers to meet, and he shakily exhaled. It was consuming, kissing Harry, trying to keep track of what he was doing and then finally giving up and just losing yourself in him, in the way he touched you and made your entire body erupt in flames.

“Jump,” he said, pulling at your other thigh and you did so immediately, not even wasting a beat before hooking your ankles around his hips and letting him grind into you.

You let out a wanton moan at the feeling of the friction from your jeans meeting and rubbing into you, and from the way his breath caught, you knew he was just as affected as you were. His necklace swung on its chain as he pulled away and sucked a line of kisses down your neck, just as you had thought about doing to him earlier. When he prodded at your pulse point with his teeth and then licked over the spot you tugged on his hair, his name a broken whimper on your lips.

Hands met skin, both of you needing more and more. You pushed at his shirt, the predominantly unbuttoned garment falling easily from his shoulders and pooling at his elbows. The fresh skin served as an opportunity, and you took it, bending your head and licking across his collarbones, his head tipping back at the feeling. You sucked a mark onto the protruding bone, right over the wing of one of his swallows, and blew on it when you were done, Harry hissing above you.

From the way his fingers were digging into your jeans and you were panting in his hold, you knew that if you didn’t slow things down they were going to get out of hand—and quickly. So you lightly pushed at his shoulders, his gaze bouncing up to your eyes. “We should stop,” you mumbled, sucking in air finally. “Just—just sleep for now. Yeah?”

“‘m feeling more sober now,” he said, diving back into your neck, but you pulled on his hair, hauling him away.

“I had to literally help you walk to my car.”

He pouted at you. “That was a weak moment.”

But you shook your head at him, having none of it. “I want you at full capacity,” you told him, and his jaw dropped slightly, just enough to part his lips and you to press a finger into the space. His teeth tugged on your nail and finger pad, eyes on yours. “Want you fully sober so I can see what I’ve been waiting for.” Then you dropped your finger from his lips and ran it along his jawline, watching his eyes try to take in every one of your motions. “Plus, I want you to be able to remember my lingerie collection when I model it for you.”

When Harry groaned, it was deep and unrestrained, a demand from the most feral part of him. His head dropped to your chest and you pushed through his locks, his panting breath on your skin through your bodysuit. “I’m not gonna be able to sleep with that image running through my head.”

You rested your hands on his shoulders and pressed down on them so you could unhook your ankles and drop to the floor. “I think you’ll manage. Now, c’mon, let’s get ready for bed.”

His fingers threaded through yours as you pulled him through your apartment, thankful Rhea was spending the night at her boyfriend’s so she wouldn’t be awoken from the giggles that left your mouth when Harry tripped over your shoes and the corner of your bookcase in the living room. You led him to your bedroom and left the door open, walking over to your dresser, kicking off your booties on your way. “Are you going to take this off?” His fingers graced over the top of your shoulder and you inhaled sharply.

“Yes.” You unhooked your hoop earrings and dropped them into your jewelry box. “Is that a problem?”

“Slightly,” he answered, fingers trailing down your arm. “I was hoping to do that myself.”

You turned around so he was facing you, eyes blown out in desire and cheeks flushed from the copious amounts of alcohol he had consumed that night. “Then do it.”

His tongue darted out quickly, licking the center of his lips, and then he smiled at you, a boyish look of delight. “Is this my birthday gift?” Fingers brushed the top of your jeans and you nodded. “Goddamn, aren’t I lucky.” He popped the button and drew your zipper down, eyes fluttering to yours to make sure you were okay as he moved his hands to your hips, pushing the material down. “Holy fuck,” he suddenly breathed out and you glanced down.

The tattoo on your left hip had caught his attention, his palm resting just above where it started, his eyes trained on the ink on your skin. “What? You’ve got plenty of them.”

A chuckle left his mouth, and then he just shook his head. “You keep on surprising me.” His fingers crept down your skin, brushing against the chrysanthemums that covered from where your bodysuit sat on the rise of your hips to a bit down your thigh. “Does it mean anything?”

You nodded slowly. “It was my grandmother’s favorite flower.”

He must have noticed your word choice, because he quietly said, “I’m sorry,” before bending down and kissing over your tattoo. You inhaled sharply and watched as he tugged your jeans the rest of the way down your legs. Once you’d stepped out of them, he rose back to full height. “Can I take this thing off?” He asked, pulling softly on the hem of your bodysuit.

“Yes.”

“Snaps, hmm?” He ducked his head and you widened your legs enough for him to be able to tuck his hand between your legs. The pads of his fingers brushed over your clit and you couldn’t help the whimper that felt from your lips, the sound of it making Harry smile. “I can feel you.” He pressed lightly to your center through the two layers of material and you gripped the dresser you were leaning against.

You hadn’t been this wet, this in need of someone in such an all consuming way, in ages. Most people would have probably been embarrassed, but you just nodded, affirming his statement. Yes, you were wet, and yes it was all for him.

In a flourish, he gripped your bodysuit where the snaps laid and pulled, the sound of the fastenings coming undone cascading through your silent room. “Convenient,” he muttered to himself. Then, his hands pushed the mesh fabric up, revealing your black lace thong and the stretch of your bare stomach. “You know,” he said, squeezing at the curve of your torso, “I quite liked this thing. All that mesh. Could see your bra all night and it drove me fucking crazy just having to watch and not be able to touch you.”

When he pushed it above your breasts, revealing your lacy bralette, you lifted your arms and let him pull it over your head, the fabric falling to the ground. “Well, now you can,” you informed him.

The gaze he fixed you made your skin tingle. Without another beat, his hands were on your breasts, fingers brushing across your skin and then dipping into the material. With your breasts exposed, he whispered your name, forgotten on his tongue when he leaned in and fastened his lips to your nipple, the skin hardening immediately from the wetness on his tongue.

Curses left your mouth in a string, hands tugging on his hair as he prodded at your skin. He didn’t linger there though, seeming to be too focused on the greater task, because he lifted his head from your chest after a minute or so. And then his hands were at your back, unhooking your bralette and pulling it from your body, revealing your nearly fully naked body to him. His thumbs brushed over the solar system tattooed on your ribcage and you shuddered at the feeling.

“You’re so fucking gorgeous,” he mumbled, eyes taking you in. “Good god.”

The heat that rushed to your cheeks you couldn’t stop, so instead you distracted yourself with teasing him. “Take your shirt off.” His eyebrows raised, but he followed your directions, unbuttoning the final button and pulling the material off of his shoulders. As he was about to drop it to the ground you stopped him, taking the fabric in your hands. He watched in fascination as you pulled it over your shoulders, buttoned the middle two buttons, and then looked up at him. The shirt covered most of your ass, the tops of your thighs and your tattoo exposed.

“Like my shirt, huh?”

You nodded, and then decided it was your turn to touch his skin. Your hands criss-crossed across his exposed chest, brushing across the marks you had left and down, tracing his nipples until they pebbled, and then down to the laurels on his pelvis, barely peeking out from the top of his jeans. Then, you popped the button on his jeans, and when he didn’t stop you, you pushed them down his legs, struggling a bit with how tight they were, but succeeding finally. He was left in nothing but his briefs, a lion tattoo on his thigh exposed to your eyes and some small ink on his knees you thought was cute. You wondered how drunk he was when he did it, but decided not to ask.

“What happened to getting ready for bed?” He asked, hands running up and down your arms.

“We’re dressed for bed, aren’t we?” You turned around though, and led him out of your room and down the hall to where the bathroom was. “Go ahead—I’m going to get us some water. Use anything you want, except my toothbrush. There’s spares under the sink.”

You left him to his own devices and made your way through your apartment, grabbing two glasses and filling them with water, tucking a bottle of ibuprofen under your arm. He would need it in the morning. After leaving them on your bedside table, you headed for the bathroom where the door was open, Harry brushing his teeth at the sink. You slid in next to him and he moved to the side, allowing you to grab your face wash and splash water on your face, swiping the liquid in circles over your skin. After your moisturizer and eye cream, you started brushing your teeth, trying not to focus on how Harry was just leaning against the wall watching you.

“You good over there?” You asked, spitting into the sink and rinsing off your toothbrush before dropping it into the jar on the sink that held them.

He nodded. “This is going to sound weird,” he said, “but I feel…comfortable with you. Like this kind of shit,” he gestured to the bathroom, “I’ve never done this.”

“Brushed your teeth?”

“No,” he grumbled, grabbing for your hips. “I don’t usually get ready for bed when I spend the night with girls.”

You tried not to read into that statement, to wonder if you were some normal hookup or something more. Instead, you leaned in and pecked his lips, before tugging him out of the bathroom and towards your room. “Water’s on the table,” you told him, shutting the door behind you as you stepped inside. “And some ibuprofen, if you want it.”

He walked over to the opposite side of the bed and gulped down the water, tossing some of the medicine on his tongue and finishing off the water. “Thanks.”

“Of course,” you answered, and then pulled back the covers on your bed. You settled in between the sheets, and watched as Harry slid in beside you, obviously trying to gauge what you wanted. Once he was comfortable, you shuffled towards him, and without thinking too much into it, you rested your head on his chest. He immediately brought his arm around your body, holding you close to him. “Night,” you mumbled.

“Night, Y/N.” His voice was gravelly from exhaustion and alcohol, and you shut your eyes, falling asleep to the rise and fall of his chest.

You blinked, eyelids heavy from exhaustion, as you woke up. Sunlight was streaming in your curtains, which despite being blackout curtains, could do little to hold back at the sun in the morning. As you gathered your senses, you realized that the other side of your bed was empty. Picking up your head, you took inventory of the room—Harry’s boots on the floor, your clothes haphazardly tossed in your laundry basket, your phone charging on your bedside table and a full water glass sitting there.

You had finished yours last night, if you remembered correctly. But you shrugged and grabbed the water, chugging it as you unplugged your phone and checked the time. It was noon, which was the normal time you woke up after a shift, meaning you’d had somewhere between seven and eight hours of sleep. You could’ve slept for hours, but what was more urgent than a couple more hours of sleep was where Harry had run off to. Slowly you pulled yourself up, Harry’s shirt still adorning your body, and walked out of your room and into the hallway, where the smell of coffee hit your nose immediately.

“Morning sleepyhead,” Harry said when you walked into the open plan kitchen and living room. He was sitting at the bar that divided the room in half, a cup of coffee in his hand and a bottle of Pedialyte on the counter next to him. “I’m glad you found the water. I was getting pretty close to waking you up.”

“Thanks for that,” you said, raising the glass to him. You meandered past him into the kitchen, where you grabbed a coffee cup—this one was from a National Park you’d visited the summer before with your family—and filled it with coffee. “How long have you been up?”

“Two hours,” he answered. “I have a hard time sleeping after a big night out.”

“Pedialyte?” You asked, nodding to the bottle on the counter.

He grimaced and set down his cup. “Yeah. I went out and got it while you were asleep.”

Sun was streaming in the white curtains in the living room, casting the whole apartment in a bright mid-day glow. Harry was in just his jeans, no shirt, and you couldn’t help but wonder what he had worn out. “Did you wear that out?”

He glanced down at himself. “Yeah. Stole one of your big sweatshirts, too.”

“Did you now?” You shifted away from the counter, rounding the counter so you stood in front of him. “Which one?”

Green eyes followed your hand as it landed on his knee, moving it away from the other one to create space. When you took a step forward, you could hear his breath hitch and gave him a coy smile, your free hand sliding up his thigh. “Your green one. Said Obsession on it, or something—it was the only one that fit me.”

You chuckled softly. “It’s my ex’s.”

He huffed. “S’mine, now.”

“Is it now?” You asked, setting your cup on the counter next to Harry’s. “Planning on taking over for him?”

“As an ex?”

You shook your head, hands drifting up his torso. “As the guy who gets to wear my clothes.” You tried not to think about what those words meant, what you were asking him, because your mind was too wrapped up in him to even be thinking about your intent.

“Happily.” His hands finally landed on your waist, ring-clad fingers pressing into the skin covered by his shirt. “You know, you look good in this.” Fingers slipped under the material of his shirt, the white Styles on the chest stretching over your breast as you breathed.

“It’s black,” you told him, trying to keep your breathing even. “Everyone would look in it.”

“Hmm,” he hummed, kneading your sides. “Dunno about that.”

Both your hands and Harry’s explored each other’s skin, taking inventory of every rise and fall, roll of skin, the places that made each other gasp just a bit. It felt good, being this intimate with someone just like this, nothing but one another’s hands. “Then what’s so special about me wearing it?”

Palms cupped your breasts, squeezing delicately, his full forearms tucked underneath the fabric of his shirt. “That you’re the one in it,” he murmured, voice dropping an octave. “You, wearing my shirt, my last name on your chest.” He blew out a breath and you tweaked one of his nipples in reply. “Fuck, Y/N, you’re a dream.”

“How about we move this to my bedroom,” you said, slipping your hands up to his shoulders. “And I finally show you my lingerie collection?” You didn’t have to ask him twice. He was standing, your hand in his, and pulling you in the direction of your room immediately, a giggle leaving your lips at the sudden movement. “Somebody’s eager.”

“You’ve been talking about this lingerie for like twelve hours, love,” he said, shutting your door behind you. “I fuckin’ dreamed about it.”

You pulled out of his grasp and he fell down to your bed, where the sheets were twisted from sleep. His messy long hair and shirtless torso drew in your gaze, the way he leaned against your pillows, watching you. “Did you now?” You turned to your dresser and pulled out your top drawer, where your lingerie lived. “Close your eyes,” you told him, peeking back at where he laid.

Once he followed your instructions, grumbling about missing out on half the show, you pulled out your first item—a dark blue babydoll, lace appliqué covering the skirt and a bow nestled between the molded cups, a matching g-string that you slid over your hips. You fluffed your hair, suddenly wishing you had had the forethought to wash your face before you took on this endeavor.

“Open,” you told Harry, and turned in his direction.

“Holy fuck,” he said in one breath, sitting up immediately, as if a jolt of electricity had ripped through his body. “Is this a babydoll?”

“Good memory,” you replied, leaning against your dresser. You didn’t know what to do with your body other than just stand there and let his eyes trail over you. “Thoughts?”

“How would you feel about never wearing clothes again?” He asked, gnawing at his lip. “Just that.”

You blushed, and picked at the hem of it. “I think I might get cold.”

“I’ll give you a jacket.”

“How kind.” You turned around and when he whined, you turned just your head to him. “There’s more sets to show you, you know. Close those eyes, mister.” He did as you asked and you pulled off the lingerie, lovingly folding it back into your dresser. Your fingers ran over the lace in front of you, trying to decide which one of your, admittedly many, sets you wanted to show him next. Finally, you settled on a pink lace set that was essentially see-through. You’d never worn it before—it was one of your newer purchases, one you’d chosen after a successful test grade.

You pulled up the panties and hooked the bra behind your back, sliding the straps up your arms until they settled comfortably on the dip of your shoulders. Then, you turned and at the sight of Harry sitting there, patiently waiting, you decided to reward him a bit. You walked towards him, and when you reached his form, you settled your hands on his shoulders. The touch made his eyes flutter open, and the second he saw your body his eyes widened. “Wow,” was all he could say as he studied the material covering your skin.

“What do you think?” The more his eyes lingered on you, the more you loved how you burned under his gaze.

He licked his lips and reached out, thumbing across the top of the lace thong you wore. “How is this one even better?”

You tilted your head to the side and pressed closer to him, his palms falling down your sides as you stepped between his knees. “You’re the first person to see this one.”

“Really?” He seemed like a kid in a candy store after being told he could buy whatever he wanted. “I’m honored.” You pulled away from his grasp and he groaned, snatching your hips back between his hands. “Where are you going?”

“I’ve got more to show you,” you informed him, pulling his hands off of you. “Patience, Styles.”

“Baby,” he rasped, the pet name falling from his mouth with ease, and you wondered if you would ever forget how it sounded. “I don’t know if I can survive much more.”

Your eyes fell to his pants, where you could see his hard-on, the outline of his dick straining against the tight denim. “Somebody’s desperate.”

“Tease,” he shot back. “I’m serious, though. I’ll let you finish later.”

You considered his proposal, but ended up pulling away. “One more. It’ll be worth it, I promise.”

He groaned, but nodded, shutting his eyes obediently as you moved away from him. At your dresser, you found the set you were looking for, a dark green set. The bra was a balconette cut, lace appliqué covering the cups and running up the straps. You pulled on the suspender belt that matched, the straps dangling down your legs as you put on the thong next. Then, you grabbed a pair of black stockings and clipped them to the bottom of the suspenders. You fluffed your hair a bit and then turned back around.

“Open,” you instructed and when Harry’s eyes opened the moan that left his mouth ran down your spine like fire.

“Fuck.” The word was all he could say, his jaw literally dropping at the sight of you standing there. “Come here.” You didn’t move, though, wanting to hear him beg for you. This set had your confidence soaring through the roof, the combination of the material on your skin and Harry’s gaze making you want to see what you could make him do for you. “Please,” he finally said, shifting towards you.

So you walked over to him, slowly, keeping your shoulders back so the bra strained across your chest. When you reached him you placed a hand on his bare chest, pressing him slightly back so he rested on his hands, eyes staring up at you as you rested a knee on either side of his thighs, sitting down on his lap. “Worth the wait?”

His hands immediately moved, settling on your hips, sliding over the green lace. “You’re going to kill me,” he rasped, words rough in his throat. The sight of his pupils blown out in desire, chest rising and falling under your palm as he took in your body in this set made you grasp the back of his neck and pull his lips towards yours.

The two of you met in a blaze of fire, need flowing between you as he tugged you closer, your center brushing over the denim of his jeans. When you whimpered he suckled on your lip and you pulled at the roots of his hair, needing to hear him groan into your mouth. You wanted to hear every one of his sounds, to take inventory of him and store it away for later when he wasn’t right there in front of you. Lips met and parted, slotting together with ease as you both surged towards one another, begging for more.

His hands were covering every inch of you, pulling and grabbing and scratching at your skin, somehow bringing you closer and closer to him. When you began to rock against his jeans he let out a hiss, pulling your hips down onto his even more. Then his head dipped, nudging up your chin as he found your neck, nibbling and biting at your skin before licking along his marks, leaving you a whining mess in his lap. You were cradling his head, not wanting it to end, just to make him continue and continue and continue.

Now that you had him, you realized how long you had been waiting for this, even if you pretended like you weren’t. You had wanted him since the first time he made a bad joke and told you you looked beautiful, when he responded with a quick remark, countering your sass with plenty of his own. He met you tit for tat, ebbing and flowing with you like waves on a beach.

Your fingers wound around his cross necklace and tugged, just enough to get his lips to leave your skin and look up at you. “Tryin’ to get my attention?” He teased, squeezing at your waist, tight enough that he would probably leave marks but you didn’t mind. In fact, you looked forward to inspecting each inch of your body and seeing what he had left behind.

“Your jeans,” you mumbled. “I want them off.”

He chuckled lightly. “Now who’s the desperate one?”

“Shut up,” you said and he just smiled at you, his dimples poking out.

“Go on, then.” He watched as you slid back on his thighs and popped the button on his jeans, before getting up so you could pull them all the way off. Once they were on the ground, you moved towards him, but he stopped you. “Lay down for me, love,” he said, eyes trailing down your body as you stood in front of him.

You didn’t bother with sass, just falling to the twisted sheets and looking at him as he crawled towards you. His fingers found the clips of your suspenders, and you nodded at him, giving him silent permission to begin to undress you. When he released the stockings and began to pull them down, he kissed every inch of your revealed skin, creating a line down your calf that had your breath coming out in pants. “Harry,” you said, the last syllable of his name trailing off as he did the same thing to your other leg.

“Yes?” He asked, eyes popping up to you. His hair was a mess from your hands and you loved it—the sight of him with wide eyes and puffy dark pink lips, color in his cheeks and marks on his chest from your nails. When you didn’t respond, unable to even create words as he slipped his hands up your body and tugged down the suspender belt that sat at your waist, he said, “You’re going to have to speak up if you’ve got something to say, baby.”

That pet name. It was going to be the death of you and you had no idea why. Maybe because of the emotions swirling in your chest as you looked down at him, the way you wanted to simultaneously lie in his arms for hours and jump his bones, but also just hold his hand and hear him talk to you. Perhaps it was the fact that no one had ever called you that like he did, with desire and passion laced in the word, a tenderness and an edge to it that made you weak in the knees. “I need you,” you finally uttered.

“Do you now,” he responded, leaning forward on his knees so he hovered over you. “Can you be more specific?” Impatient, you grabbed his hand and pressed his fingers to your center, where you had soaked through your thong long ago. A low groan fell from his chest at the feeling of your wetness, and he peeked up at you from where he was touching you. “You’re soaked through,” he said in awe, brushing against your center and making your back arch up. “Fuck, Y/N. Is this for me? Did I get you like this?”

“Yes,” you drawled, pushing down onto his finger. Your mind was spinning, eyes fluttering shut and just losing yourself in the feeling of finally having contact where you needed him most. “Please,” you begged finally, rocking against him with your hips, chasing more.

Harry moved without pause, pulling your underwear down your legs and running his finger between your folds. The feeling of his touch on your warm flesh had you squirming, his name mixed in with curses as he rubbed softly in a circle. “That feel good?” He asked and you could feel his eyes traveling over your body even though your eyes were squeezed shut from the feeling. When he brushed his index finger against your hole which was dripping for him, you gasped, hips jutting down against him so the tip of his finger brushed inside of you. “God, you’re so wet,” he mumbled, almost to himself.

Then, he dipped a finger inside of you and you cried out, desperate and needy for him, unable to contain the sounds falling your lips as he built up a momentum, curling his finger inside of you and hitting your sweet spot. “Another,” you said, eyes finally opening so you could see him.

And the sight didn’t disappoint. His eyes were on your center, watching his finger move in and out of you, and you could see the outline of his bulge in his briefs, a small wet spot where his tip was. The fact that he was leaking while fingering you somehow just added to your pleasure. He added a second finger and pressed them deep inside of you, the cool metal of his rings brushing against your entrance and making you buck up against his fingers. You were squirming on the bed, unable to stay still because he was building an orgasm inside of you like no one else ever had. You could feel your belly tightening and your high was rising, sweat beads forming at the back of your neck.

When he rubbed on your front wall you let out a helpless cry. He had found the spot that made you go insane and you could tell he was happy, a smile stretching across his face. “I’m close,” you panted.

“What do you need?” His words were low and they just made you want him more.

“Your mouth.” The words were broken, but he seemed to understand because he shifted immediately, falling to his stomach between your legs and pulling you towards him. He decided to go harder, because he slammed his fingers into you at a brutal pace and matched it by licking at your nub, sucking and pulling at the sensitive skin. His tongue was sin against your skin, circling your clit and making you cry out. You dug your fingers into his hair and tugged at the strands, his name tumbling from your lips in a beg and a whine and a prayer all in one.

It didn’t take long before you were coming, the feeling rushing up without you even realizing, your back arching and hips bucking against his fingers and mouth. He lapped at you through it, eyes open and watching your orgasm, the shudder that left your mouth and how you fell into the mattress when you came down. When he pulled his fingers from you, you hissed, and he just kissed your pelvic bone, before sitting back on his heels and dipping his fingers into his mouth, swirling his tongue around the digits that were covered in your juices.

“Get over here,” you demanded, hooking your foot around his hips and pulling him towards you.

He clamored over you, his lips finding yours once again, and you sighed into the kiss, pulling his mouth closer to you. You needed him like you had never needed anyone else, a feeling that took over your body and ran your mind. When his head dipped and he tugged on your earlobe you whined. “Can I have you,” he asked into your skin. “Please? I waited and I just…fuck, I can’t wait anymore.”

“Yes,” you told him, hands falling to his waist and pushing down his briefs. “Condoms are in my bedside table.”

His head bounced up at that and he reached over, wrenching open the drawer and searching blindly for a packet. When his fingers found one he moved back over you, the foil falling next to your head. Then, he pushed his briefs the rest of the way down his legs, letting the material fall to the floor with the rest of your clothes. Next was your bra, his hands moving to your back and deftly unhooking it, pulling the lace from your skin. “Beautiful,” he hummed, nestling his face between your breasts.

You chuckled, brushing his hair back. “I swear, boys and boobs,” you said.

“Hey,” he replied, picking up his head. “Don’t make me out to be some horny teenager.”

“Aren’t you?” You teased, picking up the condom between your fingers.

“No.” He took the packet and ripped it open with his teeth. “I’m twenty-one, baby.” Then, he rolled the condom down his length and you watched, absorbing his fully naked body for the first time. The cut of the muscles under his skin, the way his tattoos stretched across his torso, the full length of him that you decided you wanted in your mouth after.

He brushed his tip against your slit and you whined unabashedly, rocking towards him. “H,” you mumbled, “please.” That was all he needed, because without another pause he was pressing into you, bottoming out in one go. You let out an unrestrained moan, grappling at his shoulders as he sunk onto his elbows, his face hovering above yours. As he pulled out and pushed back in, a groan from his lips filling the space between you, you watched his face. The way his eyebrows pulled together and he bent his head, resting his forehead against your collarbone as he found his rhythm.

Once he did, it was heaven. His sweaty skin meeting yours as he drove into you at a brutal pace, but one that felt fucking incredible. Your ankles hooked around his hips and held him close inside of you, and you tugged on his necklace to pull his lips to yours, needing the softness of his tongue inside your mouth again. Your hands twisted in his hair, yanking on his strands when he pushed in particularly hard, and he groaned. He liked his hair being pulled, you discovered, and you decided to keep at it, threading your hands through his locks and pulling whenever he hit that spongy spot that made you see stars.

“Like that,” you rasped when he latched his lips to your neck, most definitely leaving a mark on your skin. “Yes, H, just like that. Fuck, you’re so deep.” Your words were a mess, just a stream of consciousness, but he didn’t seem to mind. Instead, he slammed into you harder and pulled your leg higher, tugging it so that your foot rested over his shoulder and your hamstrings stretched. And when he pushed back in, you scrambled at his back, drawing harsh lines down his skin at the feeling of him reaching a new depth.

“Feel so good,” he mumbled, words broken as they spilled from his lips. “Y/N, god, so good.” His hands fisted in the sheets and you dug your nails into his shoulders when he swiveled his hips slightly, brushing every inch of you. When you squeezed him, his head tipped back, exposing his neck and you leaned up, ignoring the burn in your hamstring, and licked up his throat. He rasped your name as you pulled at the skin at the juncture of his shoulder and neck, making a mark of your own for him to enjoy later.

You fell back down and slipped your leg from its spot on his shoulder, and pulled him close to you, wanting to kiss him again. His lips seemed to be your new obsession, wanting nothing more than to be touching them constantly. He didn’t seem to have a problem with it, slotting your lips between his and kissing you fiercely as he pistoned in and out of you.

There were going to be bruises on your inner thighs, you were sure of it. You would be feeling the impact of his hips on your thighs for days, every time you sat down the muscles would ache and you would remember this—him moving in and out of you and panting in your ear, mumbling about how good you felt around him, how gorgeous you were, how much he loved fucking you. The prospect of feeling him for days was one you looked forward to.

When he gave a particularly deep thrust you moved up on the sheets, grabbing hold of his neck to hold yourself steady, and he moaned. You peeked down at him and as he moved back in, you asked, “Did you like that?”

“Yeah,” he replied, a broken confirmation. “Again, please.”

You’d never really done this before, so you decided to be careful with him, just a bit of pressure using your fingers. With four fingers on one side of his neck and your thumb on the other, halfway down his neck, you pressed down on his skin when he drove back into you and his eyes fluttered shut at the feeling. The heel of your palm rested on the hollow of his neck as your fingers squeezed on either side of his neck, watching in rapture as he fucked into you harder and leaned into your touch. Slowly, you loosened and then tightened your grip, changing it up to make sure he was getting enough air.

“Is that good?” You asked, trying to focus as he drove harshly into you, the sound of his hips slapping your skin filling the room. He bobbed his head and pressed into your palm, so you squeezed your fingers again, wanting to give him what he asked for.

“I’m close,” he said, voice husky.

“Me too,” you answered, kicking your heels higher around his waist and pressing up into him so he reached even deeper inside of you. You could feel that same high building inside of you, an intensity waiting on the brink as he pressed into you, your fingers pressing into his throat again and again.

Then he pulled away slightly, rising up so his arms were fully extended and you couldn’t quite choke him anymore, so your hand fell to his bicep, squeezing at his skin as he somehow moved both faster and deeper inside of you. His hands dug into the sheets and he drove in and out of you at a pace unmatched, your head falling back to the mattress. You were panting, eyes glued to the sight of his necklace swinging back and forth as he moved, the tension in his muscles and the sheen of sweat covering his skin. He was utterly, breathtakingly beautiful.

You couldn’t take it anymore, and reached down between you two, rubbing your fingers over your clit because you were just seconds from the edge and you needed it. Harry’s eyes took in the sight in awe, and his jaw dropped slightly, a curse ripping through his throat as you clenched around him and threw back your head, a deep moan falling through the air. You were squirming underneath him, Harry’s hands having to hold onto your torso to keep you steady as he thrusted into you, finishing himself off as you came, tightening around him. His name left your lips in a beg and he picked up your hand, bringing it back to his throat.

With a tight squeeze, your fingers wrapped around his throat like before, he bucked into you once more and then was practically growling as he emptied himself into the condom, body shaking against you. You unwrapped your hand from his neck and ran your fingers through his hair, before pulling him down to your chest, wanting him close as he pulled out of you. “Holy shit,” he mumbled into your shoulder, and you laughed softly.

“You ever had someone choke you before?” You asked, brushing your fingers up and down his spine as he settled.

“No,” he said, his lips puckering against your throat, light kisses to your skin. “Kind of liked it, though.”

“Kind of?” You squeezed his butt cheek in jest, and he squeaked against you, making you fully laugh, body rumbling against him. “You literally picked up my hand and put it there.”

He tucked his face deeper into your neck and you could tell he was embarrassed. “Okay fine, I really liked it.”

You hummed and pressed a kiss to his shoulder. “I did too. It was my first time doing that.”

“Yeah?” He picked up his head and propped it up on his palm, looking at you. “Was it okay?”

Pushing back the hair from his forehead, you nodded. “I thought it was really hot.”

A smile quirked up on his lips. “You mean you think I’m really hot.”

You whacked his shoulder and he feigned pain, jaw dropping slightly. “Stop fishing for compliments.” He rolled his eyes at you, but moved off of your body, sitting on the edge of the bed and pulling off the condom, tying the end and tossing it in the trash. Red marks covered his back from your nails and you ran your hand over them, watching as he shivered from the sensitivity. “If anyone sees your back they’re going to think you got fucking mauled by a bear.”

He turned his head and raised his eyebrow at you. “A bear, huh? I thought it was just this really hot girl.”

“Good to know you think I’m hot too.” He laughed and turned fully around, crawling back into bed with you.

The sheets were sweaty but you didn’t mind, you just wanted to be close to him. He laid down on his back and pulled you in, your leg draping over his and your breasts pushing up against his side. Your head rested on his shoulder and you let out a breath, relaxing into his hold.

After you’d been lying there for a few minutes, he cleared his throat and you looked up at him. “You know,” he said, “I don’t know if this was obvious, but I really like you.”

His ring-clad fingers trailed up your back, drawing circles against your skin. You considered his words, rolling them over in your head, and considered your own feelings. Where did you stand? You knew you liked him based on how you felt around him, this just constant desire to have his hands on you. The way you could joke around with him and the banter between you made you feel at ease, a kind of comfort with him that you hadn’t found with anyone else. He was gorgeous and kind and a bit of an idiot, but you found it endearing. You also, admittedly, loved how obsessed he was with you. “I like you too,” you replied, turning your head so you could fully look at him, your chin resting on his chest.

He looked down at you, sliding his forearm under his head. “Yeah?”

“Mhm,” you hummed, kissing the skin nearest to you. “Really like you, even.”

“Well thank god,” he said, pinching your skin slightly. “It would’ve been really awkward if you didn’t.”

“Why is that?”

He smiled at you. “I might’ve introduced myself as your boyfriend to your doorman.”

You rolled your eyes at him and pushed up, moving so you could hover over him fully, hands on either side of his head. “Does this mean I have to go to all of your formals and shit with you?”

“Obviously,” he replied, pushing a strand of your hair behind your ear. “And my drinks at 260 are going to be free.” You huffed at his request for you to make all his drinks at the bar you worked at to be free, but Harry was having none of it. “Come on, baby, I’ll come to every one of your shifts.”

“Fine,” you answered, sliding your knees up his sides so you could sit squarely over the laurels on his pelvis. “But you have to bring me a snack.”

“Oh,” he said, quirking up his lips in a smirk, “baby I’m a full meal.” You swatted at his chest and he laughed, grabbing your hand and pressing a kiss to your palm, before tugging you back into him. You fell into him with ease, unable to hold up any walls to him anymore. Somehow, he had busted through each one of them and you didn’t want to rebuild them. Having him wrapped up in your heart was perfectly fine with you, you thought to yourself when he kissed the top of your head and asked if you wanted pancakes.

Yeah, you decided, you could get used to this.

fill my inbox with your favorite moments, lines, things you’re having ~feels~ about, or other concepts you’re dreaming up for bartender!y/n!!!!

#harry styles fan fiction #harry styles fic #harry styles one shot #harry styles drabble #harry styles writing #harry styles x reader #harry styles x mc #harry styles smut #college au #college harry styles #harry styles #fratboy harry #frat boy au #fratboy!harry #frat boy fan fiction #fratboy!harry fan fiction #bartender!y/n

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im-constantly-fangirling-backup · 4 years ago

Text

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Thomas Shelby x Reader

Requested: Yes; I lost the original request, sorry :(

Warnings: Swear Words

Word Count: 1.3k

A/N: Sorry about the repost, for some reason the old version got deleted so I’m reposting it :) I tried to make the reader badass but like I don’t know how to do that so I guessed. I hope you guys love this!!

Summary: The reader storms into the Garrison which pisses off Tommy, but when he sees what has gotten you so angry and watches your response, he can’t help but be impressed.

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The Garrison seemed to be the hub of all the Peaky Blinders and the people that wanted to meet with them. People were walking in with friends on their arms and out stumbling, drunkenly walking their newfound date to the closes private space they could find. And in the midst of all that celebration, you had walked in with the biggest scowl on your face- a contrast that Tommy easily picked up on from where he was leaning against the countertop of the bar. “What’s got ya so pissed, love?” he asked you, sipping on his whiskey. You sighed. “Nothing,” you grumbled, signaling to Grace that you wanted a glass of whiskey. “Yet,” you said under your breath. Tommy caught that whisper but ignored it, opting to take another swing of his drink. He had noticed every time you walked into the Garrison, you walked in with a sour face instead of your usual bright one. It bothered him that you didn’t smile as much anymore when you were there, but Tom was never a man good with words. So he simply let you stew in your anger, but made sure to brush your hand every now and then to remind you that he was there if you wanted to rant. He might not be able to talk, but he could listen. “Why hello there, love!” you and Tommy heard a deep, baritone voice say from behind you. Turning around, you saw a man with crooked teeth smiling abashedly at you, his eyes lingering on your chest too long for it to be a casual observation. Your nose scrunched up from the smell of alcohol reeking in his breath. “What the hell do you want, Trevor?” Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Tommy’s eyebrows raise slightly in shock, but when you noted his slight scowl you knew he was irritated. You resisted the urge to roll your eyes. Trevor held his hands up in mock surrender. “Just askin’ how you’ve been after all these years, love, nothing more. Certainly nothin’ to get all feisty over.” You grit your teeth before smiling at him cockily. “Yeah, now that you’ve done that, can you fuck off?” You added a bit of politeness into your voice- just enough to patronize him. “Hey,” you heard Tommy say. “Calm down, will you love? I don’t need another bar fight on my hands.” His voice was laced with frustration and anger, although his face stayed neutral. The normal glint that was housed in his eyes disappeared, replaced by indifference. It was almost like the deep ocean of his blue eyes froze over into ice. You smiled at him the same way you smiled at Trevor: with a hint of condescension. Honestly, it was a miracle that Tom didn’t shoot a bullet in between your brows at your expression. “Why don’t you stay out of things that aren’t your fucking business, Tom?” Tom clenched his jaw before turning back to his whiskey. “If it’s under me bar’s roof, it’s me fuckin’ business, love.” Trevor chuckled, causing both you and Tommy’s heads to snap towards him. “You let him call you love? What are you, his whore?” You bit your lip out of anger so hard it drew blood, the tang of copper running over your tongue. You tried to focus on the taste in an effort to not cause a scene; if you did cause a bar fight, you’d have to deal with an angry Thomas Michael Shelby, which was much worse than what you were dealing with right now. “Look, Trevor, what do you want?” You arched your eyebrow. Trevor shrugged. “Just wanted to see ya, I swear-” “You never talk to me unless you want something from me, so how about you just tell me and I can be on my merry way?” Trevor’s eyes darkness slightly, his usual energetic (and annoying) bravado slipping slightly. “I need some money.” You couldn’t help the laugh that escaped your lips. “What? So you can go and spend it on more drugs and tequila? No fucking way.” Trevor’s lip curled slightly, and you noticed his fingers twitched as if wanting to curl up into fists. “Don’t fucking humiliate me in front of Mr. Shelby!” Another laugh tumbled out of you, this one full of much more bitterness than the last. “Why? You saw no problem humiliating me in front of my father? Consider us even on that front, Trevor.” Tommy choked on his whiskey slightly, now

understanding why you were being so hostile and angry whenever Trevor was in the Garrison. You had run away from London after a man there- Trevor, apparently- had started the rumor that you recently had an attempted abortion that didn’t work, leaving you pregnant. Although you were only 19 at the time, you weren’t an idiot and eventually understood that he was making you unmarriable to everyone except him. He couldn’t raise his status, so he lowered yours. He would marry you, thereby securing all the riches your family had for himself. Thomas cleared his throat. “I think you need to leave.” His words implied that Trevor had a choice, but his deep and firm voice communicated what his words didn’t: if Trevor didn’t leave of his own free will, he’d be dragged out against it. Trevor gulped. “Please, love-” You shook your head no. “I gave you money that last time, Trevor. ‘S not my fault you can’t budget for shit. So if you want money, get a fucking job.” “If you give me money, I’ll go back to your dad and tell him I lied. I swear, love, I will just please!” Trevor practically begged, a tear slipping out the corner of his eyes. You took in a deep breath, placing your hand on top of Thomas’s when he made a move to get up. “Look, Trevor, I don’t want a fucking apology. I don’t want you to tell my father that you were lying. I want you to leave me the fuck alone.” You stepped closer to Trevor, letting your hand fall off the counter. “If I see you ever again,” you said threateningly, letting your breath fan out over his face, “You’ll only have one good leg.” You turned around and fidgeted with your now empty whiskey glass, tilting and watching the sunlight hit the glass. “If you want money, get a job. You’re smart enough to find you, I’m sure. If you were smart enough to manipulate my family, I’m sure you can get a fucking job.” You picked up Tom’s whiskey glass and downed it in one gulp. “Fuck off, Trevor. And remember my threat, because I will follow up on it. Starting in ten seconds.” You didn’t see Trevor run across and away from the Garrison, but you heard the quick clicks of his shoes against the wood. Turning around after ten seconds, you were pleased to find him gone. Thomas cleared his throat and turned to you. He eyed his whiskey glass that still rested in your hand but made no comment. “This is going to sound really fuckin’ creepy,” he began, “but that was the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.” You chuckled and then groaned. “I fucking hate that guy.” “I can tell.” You hummed. “Still pissed at me for how I talked to him? Or are we good?” Tom turned back to the bar, asking Grace to refill both of your glasses. “I want to give you a promotion, love. Your potential’s wasted as a secretary.” You sipped at your now refilled whiskey. “Hmm, wouldn’t people think I fucked my way to the top?” “If you’d scare them off like you did Trevor,” Thomas pointed out, “I don’t think a single person would voice their doubts.” You nodded. “Then I accept, Tom.” Thomas grinned and extended his hand. “You’re now Y/N Shelby, my second in command.” You laughed and shook his hand. “If screaming at Trevor was all it took to impress you,” you teased, “I would have hunted him down a year ago.” Tom sipped at his whiskey and chuckled. “You about done with that drink, love? I was thinking we could celebrate your promotion,” he said suggestively, winking at you when you side glanced at him. You felt hot, a slight blush making its way on your face. “What are we waiting for then?”

#backup #backup blog #thomas shelby x reader #tommy shelby x reader #thomas shelby #tommy shelby #thomas shelby fluff #tommy shelby fluff #peaky blinders imagine

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luckhound · 4 years ago

Text

— heavy burdens.

pairing. kaeya/gender neutral reader

genre. angst

description. on an important anniversary, kaeya gets drunk off his ass, bonds with a fellow captain, and realizes some burdens can’t ever be set back down.

warnings. spoilers for kaeya and diluc’s character stories. mentions of alcohol and a character (kaeya) being under the influence.

note. four months later and i’ve finally finished this fic after writing it on and off for that whole time mskfjdks a big thank you to sierra, miya, and grace for reading over the previous drafts of this and giving me their honest thoughts, love you ladies <3

He hadn’t expected to get shitfaced when he had first stepped foot in the tavern. Honest.

His plan for the evening was as follows: Go to Angel’s Share, chat with patrons, share some laughs, learn some secrets, and see where the night goes. Only the information he gleaned would tell how it ended; with him stumbling back to his quarters for a night’s rest, or ruminating on how to dismantle schemes that enemies of Mondstadt were concocting in the shadows.

So, the usual. Nothing too noteworthy.

Then he happened to overhear a conversation on the way there.

The two civilians spoke in low, somber tones about how it has been exactly one year since Master Crepus’s death and his son Diluc’s subsequent departure from Mondstadt. How terrible, they mused as they shook their heads, that the new winery master hasn’t been heard from since. He must still be in mourning over his father.

Kaeya nearly stopped in the middle of the crowded street. Was today really the one-year anniversary of Master Crepus’s death? How had it managed to slip his mind? He’s been busy lately with a promising lead, true, but to think that he would forget...

Which, long story cut ruthlessly short, leads him to where he is now. Tuning out his tumultuous thoughts with the help of alcohol and secrets.

Upon entering the tavern to raucous cheers, he had flitted from table to table like the social butterfly he's purported to be. The usual suspects greeted him with varying levels of warmth, inviting him to sit and keep them company. Stable hands and bandits alike shared a drink with him, words spilling from their lips like the fine wine they supped on.

After some time, though, he grew tired of their monotonous days and banal gripes. So he retreated to the bar counter. As he nursed a Death After Noon, he kept an ear out, listening carefully even as he chatted with Charles between customers.

Unfortunately, he hasn’t heard anything juicy yet. So and so is complaining about his wife, while someone else is haranguing her boss, and another is celebrating their birthday. Dull and uninteresting.

Can you blame him for getting so deep in his cups? There’s nothing else to do on such a slow night.

“So this is where you decided to hide out. Colour me surprised.”

Kaeya notes the shadow falling over the counter moments before a familiar drawl reaches his ears. He tilts his head up, blinking furiously when his vision blurs. The drinks he's downed thus far—how many has it been? He lost count after five, how unlike him—have certainly reached his bloodstream.

You stand beside his stool, your lips thinned into an unimpressed line. Despite how inebriated he is, the relevant information he has on you flashes through his mind. A Knight of Favonius. Captain of the Intelligence Team. Once a company grade officer, then sergeant, lieutenant, before ascending to captain upon the retirement of your superior.

As admired as he is by most of Mondstadt, you’re among the minority who are far from his biggest fans. For good reason, he supposes. During your first meeting, he had congratulated you on your promotion, before going on to flippantly insult your old captain. You’ve hated him ever since.

Which is why he’s puzzled by you approaching him first—outside of headquarters, at that. Such a phenomenon is rare, like catching a crystalfly in your hands.

“Captain! Fancy seeing you here,” he greets, adopting a jovial tone. Then your words register in his addled mind. “‘Hide out’, you said? Whatever would I do that for?”

You prop a hand on your hip. “You didn’t make an appearance at the meeting today. Needless to say, the Dandelion Knight isn’t too impressed with you at the moment.” You appraise him, looking underwhelmed by what you see. Ouch. “Strange. You don’t seem terribly ill to me.”

Ah. That. Kaeya had wanted to investigate some curious rumours he’d heard around the city, so he made up a flimsy excuse to dodge the captain’s meeting held this morning. Grand Master Varka likely hadn’t batted an eye over it, but not Jean. She’ll have concerns.

He hums noncommittally. The thought of annoying his oldest ally never fails to bring a smirk to his lips, but he isn’t quite in the mood right now. “Is that so. You must be here to sternly tell me to clean up my act then.”

You scoff. “Surely you don’t need a second babysitter. No, I’m off-duty, so I’m here for the same reason everyone else is: to drink.”

“Hear, hear.” He lifts his tankard as if to toast to you, but the sudden momentum causes him to sway dangerously in his seat.

“Careful!” Eyes widening in alarm, you reach out to steady him. “Geez, Alberich. How many drinks have you had?”

The palm of your hand is warm where it sits on his shoulder; he can tell that even with his furs in the way. He almost leans into the touch but catches himself at the last second. How mortifying. He can just picture your horrified reaction to him drunkenly nuzzling up against you.

Almost falling off his seat in a crowded tavern, instinctively seeking out your slightest touch... He needs to get a hold of himself. Or find a way to halt the conversation here, so he can resume drinking by his lonesome.

“Not nearly enough,” he answers airily, leaning an elbow on the bar counter. You drop your hand to your side; he makes a point to not stare at it as you do. “Where’s your entourage? I’m surprised they aren't following dutifully behind you.”

“They’re my subordinates, not my entourage.” You shift awkwardly. “And they aren’t here. It may surprise you, but they have lives outside of the Intelligence Team. They can enjoy one evening without their captain breathing down their necks.”

He eyes you in amusement. “In that case, you should join me. I would welcome the company.” He finishes off his tankard, then motions to Charles for another drink. The bartender doesn’t even ask which one as he takes the pewter mug. He knows him well by now, after all.

Kaeya expects you to turn him down and find a seat elsewhere. Usually, such an invitation is enough to send you running for the hills. You lean a hip against the counter instead, as if settling in. “If I am not mistaken, you’re needed at headquarters tomorrow. I strongly advise you to call it a night, Captain.”

“Aww, are you worried about me, Captain?” He manages a grin at the scowl his reply elicits. “Don’t be. It won’t be the first time I stumble into work hungover. Certainly won’t be the last either.”

“How reassuring,” you say dryly.

“I aim to please.”

He perks up when Charles returns with a full tankard. The delectable taste of Death After Noon still sits on his tongue, warm and heady. He very much wants to experience it again. When he lifts the mug to his mouth, however, he misses the rim. He steadies the tankard before it empties itself onto his lap, but some of the wine drips down his chin, ruining his vest.

Thank goodness he isn’t drinking red wine. Every adult in Mondstadt knows red wine stains are notoriously difficult to clean. Still, what a waste of a perfectly good sip.

“Oh, for Barbatos’s sake.” That’s all the warning he gets before his drink is rudely snatched from his hand. He protests but can only watch helplessly as you bring it to your lips.

Then you proceed to down it.

His brows raise higher and higher the longer your throat bobs. He's never seen you drink with such gusto before. Shouldn’t you be gasping for breath by now? But no, you empty the tankard in a single go, then slam it on the counter (Charles makes a face, but wisely says nothing) and meet his gaze without flinching.

Wow, is all that his intoxicated mind can conjure up at the feat.

“There, all done. Now let’s go. I am walking you back.” Your voice is firm, brooking no argument. How captain-like of you. “Wouldn’t want Mondstadt’s illustrious Cavalry Captain to be found passed out in an alleyway tomorrow.”

On any other day, he’d be mildly irked by your stubbornness. But he did just spill his drink down his front like a newborn babe. No wonder you brought up his rank. In your eyes, his conduct must not befit that of a high-ranking knight. He doesn’t care what assumptions people form about him, never has, but tonight has been a bust anyway. Maybe it's best to call it quits.

Sighing theatrically, he rises to his feet. “All right, I know when I have been beaten. But don’t change your plans on my account. I can head to the barracks by myself just fine.”

“I’m sure you can,” you say, “but letting you walk alone this late in your state would grate at my conscience. So would you stop talking for once, and let me take you home?”

You get what you want. Your words render him silent.

Home, you called the barracks. He supposes you consider that place your home. But is it his, truly?

He thinks of Khaenri’ah, nothing but a distant, bloody memory. He thinks of his father, and how in their final moments together, the man had stared through him like he wasn’t there. He thinks of the Dawn Winery, where he had spent several years causing mayhem. He thinks of Master Crepus, never dad, and a brother who doesn’t exist anymore.

No, the barracks aren’t his home. Maybe he’s never had one to begin with.

When he comes to, Kaeya registers you leading him in the direction of the tavern door, your hand on his shoulder blade. This quickly catches the attention of the patrons. They call out their goodbyes, some raising their tankards and others chuckling good-naturedly.

“Look at that! Our Cavalry Cap’n had too much to drink, eh?”

“What, are you tapping out already, Captain Kaeya?”

“Has to be escorted out by a fellow knight, no less!”

You wave over your shoulder. “Just doing my patriotic duty, that's all.”

Kaeya gives his audience an exaggerated wink (as well as he can with his one uncovered eye) followed by a lazy hand salute. His grin remains fixed in place until the door swings shut. The wooden barrier barely muffles the sounds of conversation and merriment coming from within.

Had it been that loud while he was inside? He hadn’t noticed.

He isn’t able to dwell on it for long, because you nudge him in the direction of headquarters. “Come on. We have a bit of a walk ahead of us. Let’s get to it.”

“Oh, very well. But only because you asked so nicely.”

“I wasn’t asking.”

“I know. I was being sarcastic.”

You nudge him harder, and he snickers under his breath as he walks.

This time of night, the cobblestone streets seem devoid of life. With the exception of Patton, who’s practically asleep standing up, the two of you don’t run into anyone. It's a stark change from how the city usually is, bright and bustling with crowds.

It suits him just fine, though. The crisp night air is sobering him up somewhat, the fog that had settled over his mind thinning. All too soon, he recalls everything he was trying to suppress.

Master Crepus. Diluc. His callousness and cruelty in forgetting them both.

In hindsight, he should have taken his mug back from you instead of just gaping like a fool. Sobriety is such a drag.

“You’re quiet,” you comment. You’re staring at him intently, your expression eerily similar to Timaeus’s when he is observing an alchemical reaction. It’s as if he is a specimen that you are keen on studying under a microscope.

He wants to scowl, to snap at you. “My apologies,” he says instead, as innocent as can be. “Were you waiting for me to strike up a conversation? Hold on a moment, let me think of a good topic...”

“That is not what I meant and you know it. It’s just, usually it’s impossible to get you to stop talking. The times I have seen you...indisposed”—buzzed as a bee, you undoubtedly mean—“that doesn’t change. You talk more, if anything.”

Curiously, your voice softens, an odd cadence colouring it. One he has not heard from you before, not directed at him at least. “I guess I’m just wondering if something is weighing on your mind. Is that what prompted you to drink so much tonight?”

By now, the two of you have walked down the stairway to the Knights of Favonius’s bulletin board. Of course, Hertha isn’t there this late to assign requests and bounties. The pieces of parchment pinned to the board flutter in the breeze. He stares at the sketch of a Ruin Guard, willing his sluggish mind to craft a suitable answer.

After a beat, his eye slides over to you. An impish grin curls at the corners of his mouth. “My, I had no idea that you watched my every move so closely. I’m flattered by the attention.”

Predictably, you sputter. “What even—that is not—you know what, if you want to dodge the question so badly, fine. We can just walk the rest of the way in silence.”

“As you wish, Captain.”

Although his words were said to fluster you into changing the subject, as you had correctly deduced, Kaeya means them. You have noticed him far more than he realized. As Captain of the Intelligence Team, it’s your job to be observant and keep tabs on others. He knows that. Still, it’s disconcerting to learn that you’ve had a close eye on him in particular.

He operates from the shadows for a reason; he can’t have you jeopardizing that by shining a light on him. Five months into your new position, and already you have proven yourself to be dangerous.

As you wished for, silence reigns as the two of you turn into an alley and approach two flights of stairs, leading to the center of the city. Kaeya resists pressing a hand against the nearest wall for balance. He had walked down a stairway unaided just moments ago, despite how unsteady he felt. Surely ascending some steps would prove to be easier.

Rather than focus on his feet, he looks up ahead. From his position, he can just barely glimpse the blades of a windmill, ever-turning against the dark backdrop of the night sky. He keeps his gaze there as he climbs, his boots scraping against stone.

He clears the first flight of stairs with little issue. See? Nothing to it.

Halfway up the second, Kaeya stumbles.

His surroundings tilt, blurring as he fumbles for balance. It’s a futile effort. Thanks to how inebriated he is, his limbs are too heavy and uncoordinated. The stone below rushes up to meet him.

Before his face can greet it, however, you catch him.

Your side moulds against his, a hand clasping his hip while the other carefully grasps at his spiked pauldron. His gloved hand covers yours reflexively as his racing heartbeat settles. He feels you stiffen at the touch, but you don't pull away. Neither does he.

For a moment, not a word is spoken between you both. The alley is filled only with the soft sound of breathing.

Then you click your tongue. “So much for heading back by yourself. You can barely keep your feet under you.” Your voice lilts with humour.

He knows this song and dance. It has been ingrained in him after all these months. You snark at him, he snarks back. Rinse and repeat. Although this is the first time he has heard levity in your tone; the first time it has been aimed at him, that is. He almost hadn’t thought you capable of it.

He straightens with a chuckle. “First at the tavern, and now in an alley. I just keep falling for you tonight, don’t I?”

You blink owlishly. It takes a moment for the words to sink in. Then a flustered expression crosses your features, before you compose yourself. “You are unbelievable.”

He grins. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

You roll your eyes, even as the corners of your lips twitch. “You would.”

Kaeya expects you to move away, so the two of you can resume walking, but you don’t. “Not that I mind having your hands on me, but...will you be letting go any time soon?”

“That depends.” A challenging glint appears in your eye. “Can you handle walking on your own? Or do you need me to cradle you the rest of the way to headquarters, like some damsel?”

He guffaws, taken off-guard by the retort. A reply escapes his loosened tongue before he can think better of it, “Archons, that sounded just like him.”

“Like who?”

“My brother.”

In the past, despite being underage, he was sometimes able to charm bartenders at Angel’s Share—new hires unaware of how to deal with him as of yet—into serving him drinks. Diluc would find him eventually, a disapproving twist to his mouth, and put a stop to it.

Back then, Kaeya was a lightweight and had to be supported back to headquarters. Diluc would scowl and roll his eyes the entire way, but there was still a softness in his gaze. His hands were strong, but careful; Kaeya knew that his brother would not let him fall. He could even be persuaded to join in when Kaeya began to sing, their off-key voices disturbing the silence of the night.

Come morning, while Kaeya nursed the inevitable headache and Jean nagged him about violating the Knights of Favonius Handbook, Diluc would snort. “Serves you right,” he’d say, then hand him a draught for curing hangovers.

Now Kaeya must weather the pain alone.

You tilt your head to the side, your gaze fixed on his. “I had no idea that you have a brother,” you say softly.

Had, he nearly corrects. But he has told you too much already.

This is why he is so careful when drinking in the company of others. Alcohol is a double-edged sword; as delectable as it is, it also loosens inhibitions. It’s what he relies on when charming information out of allies and adversaries alike, none of them the wiser of what they have given up.

How the tables have turned.

“Well, now you do.” A trace of bitterness enters his tone.

You eye him, quiet, before pulling back. You motion forward with your chin. “Let’s keep moving. We’ll never make it to headquarters at this pace.”

Relieved by the subject change, he listens. He makes a conscious effort to place one foot in front of the other, gaze trained on the remaining steps below. You stay at his side, closer than you were before. He can feel your hand hovering at the small of his back, ready to catch him should he trip once more, but he ignores it.

It won’t happen again. He’ll make sure of it.

The alley opens up to a view of the market district. Unfortunately, he doesn’t have long to enjoy the reprieve. The two of you turn right, away from the railing overlooking the main square, to climb two more flights of stairs. A left, and more stairways await.

By the time the Knights of Favonius Headquarters looms above you, Kaeya’s legs ache from the walk. He is very much looking forward to retiring to his quarters.

The knights stationed outside stiffen at the sight of you and Kaeya, standing at attention. They perform a salute in perfect unison. Do they rehearse that before every shift? Surely they must.

The guard on the left, with the glasses and unfortunate haircut, chirps, “Good evening, Captains! I hope you are doing well.” He appears wide awake despite the late hour.

At least the one on the right looks appropriately haggard. “Welcome back,” he grunts.

While Kaeya brushes past them with a nod of acknowledgement, eager to head inside, you stop. “Good evening, Athos, Porthos. Your shift ends soon, I hope? It can’t be terribly interesting, standing watch outside headquarters so late.”

“It’s no trouble at all, Captain!” Athos, as you had referred to him, says. “Guard duty may not be glamorous, but it is still important.”

“Much as I agree with the lad, I can’t bring myself to be so damn cheerful about it,” Porthos sighs, his words tinged with self-deprecation. “Must be ‘cause of these old bones.”

“That’s not true, Sir Porthos. Your bones aren’t that old!” the younger knight argues, prompting the older to shake his head with a chuckle.

“Athos isn’t wrong,” you add. “You are far more sprightly than most knights I know.”

“If that’s true, then Mondstadt is in trouble.”

Smiling and shaking your head, you finally pass by them, climbing the short steps to return to Kaeya's side. He lifts a brow as he pulls on one of the large oak doors, holding it open for you.

It’s almost comical how quickly your smile disappears. Your eyes narrow as you enter inside. “What’s that look for?”

“Nothing,” he says breezily, following after you. The door falls closed behind you both with a loud, echoing thud. “Just that I didn’t know you were so chummy with the guards.”

It is blindingly bright inside the Knights of Favonius Headquarters, as if it isn’t nearing midnight. The sconces on the walls are lit up, as is the chandelier hanging in the center of the main hall. The two of you make your way towards the—joy of all joys—staircase. The barracks for knights are located on the second floor, and on the floor above that, separate quarters for the captains.

“I am off-duty right now. It’s not unprofessional for me to speak informally with them.”

His eye widens. “Why, I never said it was unprofessional, Captain.”

You grind your teeth so hard he can practically hear the enamel wearing away. “You implied it.” No, he didn’t. Your distaste for him has you imagining mockery where there is none. As if Kaeya has any room to judge someone for acting unprofessional.

“I did? That’s news to me.” Privately, he marvels at how easily he can agitate you. Him, no one else—he has observed you long enough to know your prickliness is reserved for him alone. Maybe that’s why he annoys you further instead of clearing up the many miscommunications that tend to occur. Not that you’ll believe him, even if he’s being completely honest.

You huff. “How the Dandelion Knight manages to put up with you, I’ll never know,” you mutter.

“How rude, Captain! Jean doesn’t put up with me, she considers me indispensable.”

You cut a look at him. “Yes, I’m sure she thought the same when you failed to show up to today’s meeting.”

“Must you bring that up again? I shudder just thinking of the lecture she’ll have ready for me in the morning. Perhaps my mysterious ailment should plague me for a little while longer...”

“Prolonging the inevitable will do you no favours.” You pause briefly, then add, “Ah, I almost forgot to mention. After the meeting, I ran into Inspector Eroch. He was waiting outside and asked after you. He seemed irked when I informed him that you were absent today.”

If Kaeya was not so skilled at masking his reactions, he would’ve perked up at that. He might have even stopped in his tracks or whipped his head around to look at you. But he knows better than to give himself away so obviously. He leisurely climbs the steps, his features revealing only vague interest. “Oh? Somehow I doubt he was upset out of concern for my wellbeing.”

You glance over. “I wouldn’t know. He did not say anything when I asked why he wanted to see you, or if I could pass on a message. He just brushed me off and left.”

“Don’t be hurt by his shameful conduct, Captain. I for one enjoy your company immensely.”

You ignore his thoughtful statement. “I thought that he might have had a prior engagement with you, which you missed due to being terribly ill.”

He shrugs. “If we did, I don’t recall it.”

That earns him another look, longer than the one before. He doesn’t flinch away from it, his expression remaining serene. Privately, he wonders what you know. Are you merely intrigued by what Inspector Eroch might want with him? Or are you more aware than you’re letting on?

After all, Eroch is the one Kaeya has been secretly investigating for the past year.

Looks like the inspector has caught on. About time. No doubt he wants to figure out just how much Kaeya knows—which is not much, unfortunately. He knows that Eroch has more than just Mondstadt’s best interests in mind; a Fatui spy like him would have just the opposite. But he is unsure what the man is up to, or who he even is.

He does, however, have an inkling. Several, even.

Inspector Eroch had been insistent on covering up the details of Master Crepus’s death. For the good of Mondstadt, he claimed, not wanting the citizenry to lose faith in the Knights of Favonius. Grand Master Varka had ultimately sided with him. It resulted in Diluc resigning his position and leaving the city a year ago.

Kaeya had kept an eye on the inspector after that. He knew there was more to the situation than just preserving Mondstadt’s trust in the Knights, and it had everything to do with the dangerous and evil power Master Crepus had harnessed. It was only a matter of figuring out what. And once he has all of the information...

Well, he knows what Diluc would do, once upon a time. Blazing with righteous fury, he’d take his findings to Grand Master Varka, insisting on Eroch’s arrest and expulsion from the Knights of Favonius. He would see it as retribution for how poorly his father’s death had been handled.

But Kaeya suffers from no delusions. Maybe he looked into Eroch because of Master Crepus. Maybe he wanted some kind of revenge for what happened. Maybe he yearned to atone for his past inaction. None of that means he has any heroic intentions.

If it serves his interests better, he won’t expose the inspector immediately. He will hoard his knowledge instead, keeping his cards close to his chest until it’s the right time to play them.

That is how he has always operated. Master Crepus's death and Diluc's departure have not changed that. For a brief, nonsensical moment, he wishes they had. Then common sense returns to him. A foolhardy sense of justice is of no use to him. He’ll leave that to Diluc.

While he extricates himself from his wayward thoughts, you turn away to clear the last few steps. “If it is important, surely he will try to approach you again,” you say.

“I look forward to it with bated breath.”

You scoff, rightfully skeptical, but don’t respond. Clearly, you are content to leave it at that.

He wonders at how easily you let the subject drop. Had you suspected something, you would have pushed to learn more, wouldn’t you? Now is as opportune a time as any; it’s late, he’s tired and drunk, and the both of you are alone. Does that make you oblivious, or an idiot, or crafty?

Having made it to the third floor, the two of you make your way down the hallway. His quarters are before your own, three doors on the left. He stops in front of his door, reaching into one of many hidden coat pockets to produce his key.

He glances at you. You have yet to leave for own your room. “You don’t have to hover at my side, you know,” he says with a touch of amusement. “I may be tipsy, but I am no longer in any danger of being harassed by ruffians or passing out in the streets. Unless you're secretly harbouring nefarious intentions towards me, Captain.”

“You’ll just have to wait and find out,” is your unruffled response.

Chuckling under his breath, he unlocks his door and lets it swing open wide. It’s dark inside, faint moonlight shining through the small window above his desk. Coupled with the sconces out in the hallway, however, there is enough light for him to stumble to his bedside without stubbing a single toe. He doesn’t bother to close the door on you; he has nothing to hide.

Kaeya knows what his quarters must look like to a stranger. They’re a mess, as if someone had searched them in a haste and not bothered to clean up afterward. The walls are bare, save for a map of Mondstadt that he’d hung up ages ago. Tomes of all sizes and loose leaves of parchment litter his oak desk, pushed up against a wall. A quill lies abandoned atop a half-finished note with ink drying on its nib. His closet door is cracked open, a discarded boot dissuading anyone from forcing it shut.

Yes, his quarters are a mess. But he knows exactly where everything is. Should someone actually attempt to search his things, he would know immediately. Not that they would find anything particularly damning. He isn’t foolish enough to leave important documents or sensitive information lying about—nothing he is unwilling to part with, anyway.

“Horrifying, but unsurprising,” he hears you mutter to yourself.

Kaeya doesn’t even consider slipping out of his ruined clothes or engaging you in further conversation. Now that he has made it back to his quarters, all he can think about is the sweet embrace of sleep. He sinks into his unmade bed, draping an arm over his face.

You continue to linger in the doorway. “You should change before you fall asleep.”

“Mhm.”

“You'll regret not doing so in the morning.”

“Uh-huh.” He still doesn’t move.

“Alberich. You stink of booze.”

“You sure know how to compliment a guy, Captain. I’m impressed.”

You sigh, long and loud. He waits to hear the door close behind you, only for you to walk up to his bedside. Your steps are slow, hesitant yet purposeful. He stiffens, immediately on-guard, but fights his instincts in order to remain still. What are you planning?

He feels you grip his boot. Metal jingles as you undo the buckle. Then you pry it off.

He lifts his arm to peer up at you. “What are you doing?”

“What does it look like?” You set his boot on the ground, then move on to the other one. “If you won’t change, you should at least take off your shoes. You’ll dirty your sheets otherwise.”

Oh, you make it so easy for him to twist everything you say into an innuendo. For once he resists the urge. “You forgot something,” he says instead. He wiggles his sock-clad foot at you. Just to see if you will do it.

You grimace, swatting his leg away. “Absolutely not. I don’t want to be anywhere near those.”

So you say. But you’re taking his boots off for him out of your own volition. There is no need for you to do any of this. It’s not your duty to stop him from drinking himself into a stupor, or walk him back to headquarters unharmed, or all but tuck him into bed. Yet here you are.

What is it that you want? There have been plenty of opportunities for you to try and take advantage of his drunken state, but you have sidestepped every one. Frustration brews in his sternum.

“Do you do this for everyone who you hate?” he finds himself asking, tone purposely lighthearted.

You pause in your ministrations to stare at him. “What? I don't hate you.” At his disbelieving look, you insist, “I don’t. You have always been a pain to deal with, sure, but I never once felt that way.”

He smiles, unconvinced. “Not even when I insulted your dear old captain?”

“Insulted my... That was months ago, when we first met.” Despite your bewilderment, you take a moment to contemplate his question. “I was upset with you, yes. But now that I’ve had this position for some time...maybe your assessment wasn’t off. When I was lieutenant, I didn’t always see eye-to-eye with my captain. They were too set in their ways and scorned most criticism. I respected them, and still do, but I shouldn’t be ignorant of their faults.”

Your gaze meets his once more. “In a way, what you said that day led me to realize that. You weren’t badmouthing my captain; you didn’t have a vendetta or want to get a rise out of me. At least, I don’t think you did. You must have legitimate issues with their leadership, as a captain yourself.”

He watches you shrewdly. Your tone was even, your expression clear. He cannot detect any deception from you. Of course, that means little. Still, perhaps you’re telling the truth. Perhaps you don’t hate him after all.

A headache, newly formed, pounds at his temple. If he were more sober, he would be better equipped to handle such a revelation. He’ll have to come to a proper conclusion later.

You fiddle with the buckle on his remaining boot. “And what about you?”

“Hmm? What about me?”

“You have ample reason to look down on me. Most of the knights know that you aren’t just Cavalry Captain and Quartermaster. Your role is more important than that. Surely you would make a better...” you trail off, your jaw working silently.

Kaeya knows how that sentence ends. Surely you would make a better Captain of the Intelligence Team than me. It doesn’t come as a surprise.

Up until now, he thought he knew you well. You made it no secret you loathed him. You have never said so explicitly, but he has a talent for reading people. It’s a classic case of envy. He has seen it many times before. You compare yourself to him and find yourself wanting. It colours the way you interact with him; your words brusque, your gaze narrowed.

Not only did he insult your captain, but you consider him more capable than you. Your hatred makes sense. It’s predictable.

Or so he believed, until tonight.

“You know what, never mind. Forget I asked.” Uh-oh. Seems he took too long to respond. You busy yourself with unbuckling his boot, avoiding his eye.

If he were to be honest, there are many ways he could answer you. He thinks you are a better captain than your superior could ever hope to have been. He thinks you are a leader capable of inspiring undying loyalty in your officers. He thinks you have a deep, unflinching love for Mondstadt and its people. He thinks you constantly push yourself to greater heights, to the point it lights a fire in him as well.

He admits to none of those things, in the end.

“Give yourself some credit, Captain,” he murmurs. You glance over in surprise. He meets your gaze. For perhaps the first time in a while, he hopes his words sound sincere—not because he doesn’t mean them, but because he does. “I know the officers under your supervision think you’re a good leader. They wouldn’t want anyone else to take your place.” Certainly not someone like me.

Instead of reassuring you, however, his answer seems to do the opposite. You look frustrated. “That isn’t what I...” you trail off. You search his features, silent, before your brow furrows. “I can’t tell if you mean what you just said. Sometimes I’m not sure I ever can.”

He takes care not to allow his features to visibly harden. Of course you would doubt him, the one time he tries to be honest with you. What else did he expect? Maybe you don't hate him, maybe you never have, but that means little. You won’t ever fully trust him. To be fair, the feeling is mutual.

His mouth tastes unbearably bitter. It must be the wine.

“At this point, I’m willing to say just about anything if it’ll mean I can get some shut-eye.” He feels no satisfaction upon seeing your shoulders stiffen. He still manages to grin. “Well, Captain? Any other requests?”

“No,” you say. Then you tug off his boot with a brisk motion.

He stifles a yelp. “Hey, now! No need to be so rough.”

“My sincere apologies.” You set the boot down next to his other one, your lips thinned. “I should go. Wouldn’t want you to lose more sleep than you already have. You have a long day ahead of you tomorrow, after all.”

Talk about vindictive. Despite his irritation, he has to fight a smile. Knowing you, you’ll see it and take it the wrong way, as you usually do.

Having finished removing his boots, you turn and walk for the door without another word.

He’s struck with the odd urge to stop you. To reach out, take your hand in his, and tug you back. Not because he wants something from you, or needs to tell you something. He wishes you would stay a little longer, that’s all. Wants the silence to be filled by your voice instead of his thoughts.

Now he knows he’s had too much to drink. He’s contemplating such ridiculous things.

Before his addled mind can catch up and he can say something, apologize perhaps, you shut the door behind you. Your footsteps travel down the hallway, slightly hurried. The door to your quarters creaks open then closed.

He’s too late. It’s for the best.

Kaeya lies back and stares up at the ceiling. His vision swims, as if he’s adrift at sea. Closing his eye only makes it worse.

His mind pores over the events of the day. Investigating Eroch, remembering Master Crepus and Diluc, visiting the tavern, running into you. He feels restless, pulled in several directions at once.

With a harsh exhale, he rises to his feet and locks his door. Then he begins his nightly ritual.

His pauldron is first to go. It hits the floor with a dull noise. Then he peels off his gloves and tosses them on the desk. The burns on his hands have long since healed, but he still deals with numbness now and then. Not many know they even exist; he doesn’t want anyone taking advantage of a potential weakness. His eyepatch follows closely after.

He removes the Cryo Vision from his belt last. He stares at it, its blue glow washing over his scarred palm and turning his skin a sickly brown hue. If it’s been a year since Master Crepus’s death, it has been about a year since he was gifted a Vision as well. The sight of it has been a hard reminder ever since. Of how he’d won a difficult battle. Of how he’d finally revealed the truth. Of how he can never speak it again.

He tucks the Vision under his pillow, then collapses back into bed. An odd sensation fills him, as it does every time he completes this ritual. It’s like he has taken off every scrap of armour he has and foolishly exposed himself to danger, despite being alone in the stillness of his quarters.

Ignoring the uncomfortable feeling, he closes his eyes and waits for sleep to take him under.

It never does.

#genshin imagines #genshin scenarios #genshin impact x reader #kaeya x reader #kaeya alberich x reader #genshin impact #kaeya alberich #m writes #i can't believe this is finally finished n uploaded... wrow #never thot i'd see this day #i'm nervy posting this ngl it's been. a while since i've written smth like this #hope y'all like it !!!!

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rayofsunas · 4 years ago

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valentine | diluc [2]

A/n: HI GUYS OMG. sorry for the late update, the only excuse I have is after classes, I decided to play the sims all afternoon, that’s it, that’s the excuse- 💀💀 but it’s here now, so enjoy my luvs!!

Summary: the ever so stoic diluc thought he was being secretive when sending anonymous letters and gifts to you during the week of valentine’s day but turns out everyone in mondstadt knew it was him, though thankfully had tight enough lips to not spill the beans to you. kaeya is of no help, so you go seeking answers yourself.

Parings: Diluc/Fem! Reader (for my other mini-series, there will be some gn ones!)

Warnings: valentines (yes, I’m late, shoot me), fluff, wingman Kaeya yes (I’m here for it), swearing

Word count: 1.1k

Diluc couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so out of place, so lost yet certain at the same time. He definitely couldn’t recall the last time Kaeya had laughed so hard, that’s for sure.

He knew he shouldn’t have told the slightly taller male, it wasn’t surprising he reacted the way he did either. But now, Diluc could only regret his stupid decision and remind himself to never do this again. For once, he’d made a stupidly, idiotic choice...

He said he wouldn’t seek help so early, but touching down in reality after realizing he was going about this the wrong way, guided him straight into Kaeya’s waiting open arms. Kaeya on the other hand knew this day would come; when his older, aloof brother would come to him for guidance concerning a lover, it was just a matter of when.

“Seriously? The great ol’ Master Diluc, fretting over a woman?” Kaeya laughed condescendingly. “How... unfitting and unsettling.” He said.

The older of the pair folded his arms, eyes turning into slitted daggers. “Not all of us are... bold like you, twenty-four-seven might I add.” The wine tycoon grumbled.

He knew he’d regret this, he just knew it. Kaeya was twisting, pushing, and practically breaking every one of his buttons and he was basking in it pridefully. If he didn’t grow up, for once, be a little less annoying and a little more tolerable, Diluc would leave and seek help from Lisa; yes, maybe someone who he should’ve gone to first.

Kaeya blinked at his older brother, confused, before bursting out laughing, alerting a few patrons of Angel’s Share. “That’s called life, dear older brother, get used to it maybe and stop being a hermit.” Kaeya teased.

Bastard.

The redhead should’ve waited until closing time to get more privacy, but honestly, Diluc was growing impatient and he clearly wasn't acting rationally these days anyways; you were to blame for his loss of rationality.

“So what is this anyway? You shy or what.” Asked the Captain.

“Shy? Of course not,” Diluc stated, shifting behind the counter. “Would it not be weird for me to randomly approach her and say how I feel?”

A long stare and pause, before Kaeya, smacked his hand to his forehead. “Archons, you’re a lost cause,” He muttered to himself, downing his glass of wine. “It’s weirder anonymously, she probably thinks you’re a creepy stalker.”

“You’ll help me,” Demanded the wine tycoon, whispering lowly in hopes none of the drunk patrons heard him. “Or else you’ll have to start paying full price for alcohol.” Kaeya snickered to himself, staring at his older brother.

“Quarter.”

“I’ll settle for half if you assist me.”

“Threats, ey?” Kaeya smirked. “And would you look here, someone’s become quite the negotiator I see; other words, you’re just desperate.”

Maybe he was, he wouldn’t admit it though. That would just be a subject of more unwanted teasing.

“Are you going to help me or not? You’re wasting my time.”

“Where else do you have to be...” Kaeya grumbled under his drunken breath, Diluc still heard it but decided to ignore it. “I’ll still help you,” Diluc’s face relaxed, shoulders filling with relief. “You came to me for one reason; I have finesse with the ladies, you don’t. For my sanity, I’d prefer you not to be grumpy for the rest of your life.”

“Since I do have to put up with you, brother.”

“The feelings mutual.”

“Great!” The younger of the two snatched a nearby shot of a patron, ignoring the contents and patron's displeasure, before throwing it into the back of his throat. “Let’s start with your finesse and execution,” Kaeya said hopping off of the stool, swiftly turning towards the door. “You have neither.”

“I forgot how embarrassing you were,” Diluc muttered, sending apologetic glances towards the two young women walking away.

“Embarrassing? How so?” Kaeya raised a brow, eye squinting in mockery.

Diluc eyed him dumbfoundedly, before folding his arms and straightening his broad shoulders. “For starters, one of them had a husband, she was clearly uncomfortable and the other looked like she wanted to sock you in your face; I can’t blame her.” He stated.

“Figures, you can’t read women at all. Why am I even trying?” The Captain asked himself. “Right, because I’m a good brother,” He snapped his finger for effects. “One, Dalia’s husband is an incompetent prick. Secondly, Claire is just mad because I stood her up; that’s normal, they all love me otherwise.”

He even knew their names? Archons, what a damn womanizer.

“Yeah, seems like it,” Diluc said sarcastically. “You have no shame.”

“The ladies love that!” Kaeya defended. “You wouldn’t know... Even though you have swarms of women after you all the time - fangirls - you’re as dumb as a damn hilichurl.” Kaeya insulted, patting his older brother on the shoulder before trotting off. Diluc followed closely behind, like a lost child.

“Oh, by the way. About those fangirls, get rid of them, somehow,” Diluc listened, hanging onto every word. “You’ll lose Y/n when she learns about them; women get jealous too.”

“...Noted...”

The rest of the afternoon, the two anti-heroes with attitude problems (as Kaeya had always called them) shamelessly flirted with practically any willing person they could find. Let’s get one thing straight though, Diluc stood behind his brother and watched him get rejected a handful of times and even score a date that he said he would not be showing up to.

What a womanizing heartbreaker, Diluc thought. Flirting, winning a date, and then basically throwing them to the side. Unbelievable.

Diluc on the other hand didn’t take part in the flirting, even if it was good practice like Kaeya had said. One, it was never good to take anything his younger brother said seriously, he often played cruel jokes and basked in the sun afterward after someone else’s downfall, pride still intact. And secondly, was the redhead's love for you. He felt as though he’d be cheating, unfaithful, even if you didn’t know of his affections and adoration for you.

“Now, remember what I said?” Kaeya said, standing straight in front of the Dawn Winery’s wide double doors.

The redhead's eyes rolled. “How could I not? Your annoying voice repeated it the whole way here,”

“By the way,” Diluc started. “You didn’t need to escort me home. I don’t need protection, especially from the likes of a Knight of Favonious.”

“Come on, that’s no way to thank your dear little brother!” Kaeya teased.

“I don't necessarily care what happens, I just wanted to make sure you understood, so I don’t have to waste my day's training you like the amazing teacher I am.” Diluc scowled.

“Where exactly do you have to be?” Mocked Diluc, sending the jab because of what his brother had also said earlier.

Kaeya laughed, beginning to walk towards the path that would lead back to the town.

“Important, mysterious, matters that don’t concern you.” He waved, thankfully disappearing into the dark.

For once in his life, Diluc thinks he’d quite enjoy the nullifying taste of alcohol.

[🏷] TAGLIST (if you want to be removed from/added to this specific taglist let me know!)

@gladly-olus , @kyquu , @craptainlou , @mintydump , @chscklvr , @irisxiel , @minh0ree , @whatishappinesswhatislove , @rrintarou , @sorenthousand , @cvsmix , @nonniechan ,

3.5.21, rayofsunas

#rayofsunas #genshin impact #genshin #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact scenarios #genshin impact imagines #diluc #diluc ragnvindr #diluc x reader #diluc ragnvindr x reader #wingman kaeya

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tarisilmarwen · 4 years ago

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RobStar Week 2021, Day 6 - Formal Night

(Have a RobStar/BBRae double date for this prompt as a two for one special!)

---

"Do we have to go to this?" Beast Boy whined, fidgeting a little as Raven straightened his bow tie. "Can't we just like, video conference in or something?"

"Metropolitan Society of the Arts hasn't quite nailed down simulcast technology yet," Robin said in explanation, helping the changeling into his dinner jacket. "We could watch the livestream, but it'd be really laggy, and we'd lose connection more often than not." He brushed Beast Boy's sleeves off when he was done. "Besides, this is culture. It's good for you."

Beast Boy gave an uncertain whine, but made no further comment, as Raven withdrew to slip her faux-fur-lined shawl around her shoulders and Starfire moved in to futz with his hair, smoothing it down into a semblance of orderly flatness.

"Do you not like the opera, Beast Boy?" she asked him, making sure his hair was to her satisfaction before stepping back and tugging up her long gloves again.

"Never really been my thing," he admitted, reaching up and feeling the slicked-down hairdo. "Always puts me to sleep."

Robin wound an arm inside Starfire's, his jacket sliding neatly against the silk of her gloves. "I wouldn't blame you," he laughed. "Opera is kind of an acquired taste."

Starfire beamed at him, her eyes sparkling. "It reminds me of the poetic ballads we would perform upon royal holidays," she commented. "I am very excited for this."

Beast Boy shrugged, grabbing up his wallet and shoving it into his back pocket before reaching to grab Raven's hand. "Well, as long as you guys enjoy it, I think I can manage."

Raven gave a wry smile as she entwined fingers in his. The contented feelings of love and happiness from their double dates were like a warmth on her senses, familiar and comforting. Starfire's eager excitement and the anxious thrill racing inside Robin at the thought of doing something with her she loved never failed to make the empath feel... more at ease, somehow.

The looks of adoration they traded with each other, the casual level of comfort they felt... She and Beast Boy were still navigating their awkward newfound feelings for each other but Raven very much hoped they could reach that level of ease with each other.

Beast Boy did like to cuddle, so that was a good start.

She squeezed his hand encouragingly, leaning in to whisper in his ear.

"I snuck your gameboy into my clutch," she told him. "If you can stay awake until intermission, we'll sneak off and find a quiet corner."

He looked confused and bewildered a moment, but then seemed to light upon her insinuations. "Ohhh, leave the happy couple alone for an hour, I get it," he said with a grin.

Fortunately Robin and Starfire were busy fussing over who was going to hold the tickets and didn't hear their private exchange.

*** Starfire's eyes were shimmering; she clutched hands over her heart as she listened with rapturous emotion, her Tamaranian powers almost haywire inside her with the strength of her feelings.

Beast Boy was snoring lightly in his seat, his head slumped over the top and drooling a little from his mouth, but Raven didn't seem to mind, leaned against his shoulder and quietly listening to the music with a faint smile.

Starfire could feel Robin's eyes on her instead of the performers, watching her reaction to every line, every moment, but she barely paid attention, so enraptured she was with the moving story and the beauty and technique of the singers' performances.

The main soloist was onstage now, pouring her heart out into a powerful aria about difficult love and Starfire felt herself ache for the poor fictional girl, doomed to forever be apart from the one she treasured and adored.

She clapped vigorously with the rest of the audience as the act concluded, peeking aside at Robin when he stood up, and doing the same.

"What is this called?" she asked, observing the same phenomenon from patrons down below on the floor.

"A standing ovation," he explained, saying it into her ear. "It's basically used to compliment the performer, tell them they did a really great job."

Starfire beamed and clapped harder, joining the chorus of appreciation for the soloist, who stepped forward and took a quick bow as the lights came up.

Beast Boy snorted and startled awake, shaking his head and quickly wiping the drool away with his sleeve. "What'd I miss?" he asked.

Starfire jumped into an explanation at once, her dress swishing around her ankles as she turned eagerly to Beast Boy. "The heroine and her lover both snuck away from their houses for a secret rendezvous, in which they proclaimed their eternal affection for each other. But the heroine's stern guardian found them out, and attempted to duel the lover to the death. He barely escaped with his life and now the heroine has been locked in her room and has conveyed that she feels she cannot live without him."

"Oh." Beast Boy scratched his ear. "So pretty normal stuff, then."

"It was so moving!" Starfire exclaimed, her voice almost breathless. "The lyrics of the aria were so beautifully poetic!"

Behind her, Beast Boy observed Robin, his eyes shining at Starfire like she was the beautiful piece of poetry.

He smirked a little to himself. "Yeah I'll bet. Hey Rae." He nudged Raven conspiratorially. "You remember where the bathrooms were? I uh... kinda need to use the men's room. Fast."

She caught on to his excuse, rising from her seat with him. "Well don't pee on the floor, I'll get you there," she assured him, trying to hide her grin.

She quickly enveloped them in black energy and teleported them away.

***

He'd known Starfire was a sap—known for ages, really—but it still surprised and alarmed him when the Tamaranian princess burst into tears at the conclusion of another powerful number.

"Woah, woah, hey!" he said in concern, turning in his seat towards her at once as the applause filled the auditorium, almost drowning him out. "Star, are you okay?"

She hiccuped, her breath hitching and stuttering as she tried to get her words out. "It is just—so sad!" she managed around choked sobs. "They can—never tr—truly be accepted by their families!" Big wet tears were sliding down her cheeks, running the mascara Raven had so painstakingly helped her apply earlier that evening. Starfire fumbled in her clutch purse for a tissue, her hands shaky, Robin eventually producing his handkerchief from his pocket and dabbing away at her eyes, worry pinching between his brows.

She looked at him gratefully when he finished, whispering a strained, "Thank you."

He nodded silently but sent an anxious glance back towards the door that led into their private balcony box. Raven and Beast Boy had been on a long bathroom break.

Where the hell are they?, he wondered anxiously.

Turning his attention to his distraught girlfriend, Robin wrapped arms around her shoulders and waist, rubbing up and down her back, trying to soothe her back to emotional stability. She calmed as he held her, her sniffles settling down, quieting into a somber ease.

"Sorry," he said. "I should have warned you this one had a tragic ending."

"It is not that," she mumbled, hiding her face against his lapels now, vibrating the words against his chest. "It is.. very silly but... these kinds of... melodramas about love and romance," she began, raising her head slightly, looking into his face with sad green eyes. "It just brings up... old buried feelings," she said.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

Starfire took a deep breath, wringing her gloved hands. "For the longest time... I feared you did not have any desire to be with me," she admittedly quietly.

That stung like the knife the heroine had stabbed herself with in Robin's own heart, and he gripped her tighter, fiercely. "I know," he whispered in apology. "I was stupid. I kept putting up excuses for why we shouldn't be together, and I hurt you with how long I stalled, afraid of my feelings." He shook his head. "Afraid of myself, of being vulnerable."

"That is not how you feel now," Starfire said with conviction, looking at him adoringly.

He grinned. "Nope," he agreed. "I can say it now. I love you, Starfire, and I never want to be without you again."

Her smile cracked her face and she flung herself at him, capturing his lips with a kiss as the audience applause and cheers down below became deafening.

***

Raven had the audacity to look completely unbothered as Robin stalked up to her, with Starfire trailing behind, leaned up against the wall just outside the men's bathroom with her arms crossed casually. Beast Boy sat indian-style on the floor next to her strappy sandals, thoroughly engrossed in his handheld gaming device, beeping softly as he mashed buttons.

Robin set annoyed eyes on them. "And where exactly have you two been?" he demanded.

"What?" Raven replied, shrugging. "Starfire gets a little overpowering on the senses when she's emotional. I figured I'd spare myself the headache."

"Besides dudes," Beast Boy piped in, not looking up, "we figured you two could use some alone time. You guys haven't been on a real date in ages."

"Is that what you were doing?" Robin pressed, still a little irritated. He nodded his chin towards Raven's shoulder, where her dress strap was askew, down around her upper arm. "Having alone time?"

Raven coughed lightly and surreptitiously reached to fix her strap and cover it over with her shawl.

"The sentiment is appreciated," Starfire spoke up, eyes soft but strained, "but I was looking forward to spending the time with the both of you."

"Well, the night's still young," Beast Boy said, standing up, his Gameboy loose in one hand. "I'm sure we can find something to do that we'll all like."

"Oooh!" Starfire exclaimed breathlessly, turning to her date. "Robin, there are newborn giraffes at the Jump City Zoo!"

"Sounds good to me!" Beast Boy said, immediately grinning. "Rae?"

"Nice quiet evening with only a few people and lots of calm content animals? Sounds up my alley," she quipped.

Robin had trouble finding his words for a moment, having been quite distracted by the warm golden chandelier light glistening in Starfire's red hair and the adorable eagerness with which she looked at him, and stammered a bit before his brain shook itself back into order.

"Uh... that's—I mean—uh... uh yeah, sounds—sounds good to me."

She gave him a peck on the check affectionately, amused by how easily she could still flummox him, and slipped her gloved arm through his elbow, settling comfortably into his side.

"Would we not be overdressed, though, in this attire?" she asked, slight worry wrinkling her brows.

"You should keep the dress on," Robin blurted, then blushed heavily and trailed off into babbling again. "It—I mean it uh—it suits you, green always—uh it looks—it looks really great on you and—"

Beast Boy rolled his eyes. "Ugh, they're like the model couple, it's disgusting," he commented aside to Raven.

"Revolting," she agreed with a smile. After a pause she shouldered away from the wall. "C'mon," she urged.

Giggling, Starfire tugged her still-blushing boyfriend along as the two couples made their way through the glimmering tiled halls of the theater towards the exit.

---

So I’m not saying that Raven and Beast Boy totally had sloppy makeouts in the men’s bathroom but... yeah I’m totally saying that lol.

#robstar #bbrae #robstarweek #Teen Titans #robin #starfire #raven #beast boy #fanfiction #prompt fics

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jackrrabbit · 5 years ago

Text

Caught in the Act /// Dabi x f!Reader (18+)

Summary: Dabi is done listening to the League’s new recruit touching herself.

Warnings: dubcon, mild degradation, mild exhibitionism

It wouldn’t be so annoying if you could just be fucking quiet about it. Dabi had nothing against you getting yourself off—the League of Villains had been laying low for the past few weeks, and they were all getting a little cabin fever. There was only so much to do inside the cramped little apartments hidden above the bar. It made sense that masturbation was the only thing that could keep you entertained, and Dabi wasn’t judging you for that. But Jesus fucking Christ, how could you not realize how loud you were being?

This had to be…what, the third time today? Well, tonight. You’d joined the rest of them to drink in the bar earlier in the evening, being your usual half-shy half-bubbly self, saying all the right things and generally being the civilizing presence that stood out like a sore thumb among the rest of the League. You really weren’t cut out for villain work. You were so…well-adjusted, so soft—Dabi wondered, not for the first time, why you didn’t use your talents to save kittens from trees or whatever heroes did. You didn’t have a nasty bone in your body…aside from the constant self-service, if that counted.

The other villains liked you—you’d certainly put in enough effort to win them over—but you probably didn’t realize how dangerous having the attention of the League was. If you did, you wouldn’t just laugh when Toga proclaimed her affection for you or Twice bought you drinks. Even Shigaraki didn’t seem to mind your presence…you might not have noticed the lingering glances or the not-so-casual touches, but Dabi had spent enough time around the leader to know that he was interested.

Really, you were damn lucky that your room bordered Dabi’s and not Shigaraki’s. If it wasn’t Dabi hearing your soft little moans and the hitched gasp in your breath when you came, you’d be in trouble.

Dabi slowly sat up on his bed, back pressed to the stupidly thin wall that separated your room and his. You were at it again, and every sound of your mouth was audible. It was like you were sighing into his ear. If he listened hard, he could almost—almost—hear your the wet sound of your fingers against your pussy.

Ahh…you were in trouble. You were definitely in trouble. Even without Shigaraki. Because the annoying part about your moaning wasn’t that you were keeping Dabi awake when he wanted to be asleep, it was that you were making him hard…for the third time tonight. And while you seemed satisfied with getting off alone again, Dabi was done with it.

He didn’t knock.

As soon as the door opened, you jerked up and your hand shot out from under your covers. “Wha— What the hell, Dabi?”

“Hey, (Y/N).”

Your face was scarlet, and you weren’t doing a very good job of concealing the breathiness in your voice. The sheets rustled. Were you actually pulling up the covers up over your chest? “Um…what do you want? You can’t just— you can’t just barge in like that.“

“I heard…noises.” Dabi stepped in closer. Your little closet of a room had no space for any kind of desk or chair, so he sat down on the edge of the bed next to you. “Thought you might be having a nightmare or something.”

You cocked your head to the side in surprise. Was this really Dabi? Since when did he bother being considerate toward you? You’d always gotten the sense that he thought you were weak. Maybe he was patronizing you. Or maybe…he knew what you’d really been doing?

No. No way.

“Thanks for checking on me, I guess? But I wasn’t having a nightmare, so you can leave.”

“Are you sure? I could’ve sworn I heard you…crying.” Wait, what did he hear? He leaned in over you, holding you down with his gaze. You couldn’t help shivering, all too aware of the cool air brushing up against the wet fingers of your right hand, the one that had been stuffed down your panties a couple seconds ago. Did it look wet? Fuck, did it look suspicious? You wanted desperately to look down and check, but you knew Dabi would see it.

“I, um, I don’t know, maybe I was talking in my sleep? I don’t think I was crying.”

“But your face is all red. And you were panting when I came in.”

Oh my god. Did he know? How? No, there was no way. You’d die of embarrassment if Dabi knew you’d been touching yourself. “Why do you even care?”

“I don’t care. Except…the walls in here are thin, yeah? And you’re keeping me up. How am I supposed to sleep when I have to hear you moaning…and whimpering…”

Dabi’s breath ghosted over your face and you flinched back. How had you not realized how close he was?

“…like a little whore?”

The second Dabi’s words registered, you pulled back and tried to roll over away from him, but he didn’t wait for you to react. His hand shot out and pinned yours down, and before you could catch your breath he was on top of you. “I— I don’t— I don’t—“ you stammered, trying to kick the blankets so you wouldn’t be trapped underneath them.

The fake concern was gone from Dabi’s voice, and something wild had entered in its place. “Aw, are you feeling shy now? You didn’t seem so shy earlier when you were cumming…and cumming…and cumming.”

You bit your lip and shook your head. Dabi’s knee was between your legs, and you could barely move without feeling the friction against your still-sensitive clit. “I wasn’t doing that!”

“Liar.” Dabi adjusted his grip on your hand, applying just enough force around your wrist to make you squirm. “Then what’s this?”

He pulled your hand up to his mouth and, holding it still, dragged his tongue up your fingers. The saliva mixed with your own half-dried fluids, forming a sticky coating on your skin. You swallowed, and Dabi grinned. “Did you think you were being quiet? I can hear everything, (Y/N). Everything.”

“Fine, ok then— I get it. I’ll be quieter,” you told him. You could process the (crushing, devastating, utterly eviscerating) humiliation of this moment later. God, you were never going to be able to look Dabi in the eye again. And what if he spread it around? “Are you gonna tell? Don’t tell anyone!”

Dabi dropped your hands and looked down at you. You probably had no idea what you looked like, did you? That deep blush over your cheeks, the straps of your tank top falling down, and the smell of your cunt spread all over your fingers (not to mention the taste of it in his mouth)… So soft. So vulnerable. “Why shouldn’t I? I think our leader deserves to know that the newest recruit spends all her free time fucking herself. Right? Think Toga will still like you if she knows you can’t go to sleep without cumming all over your bedsheets?”

“No, you can’t tell them!” You scrabbled at his hand, but he held firm. You didn’t want to beg, but… “Please! Please, okay? Please don’t tell. I’m sorry I was loud.”

You really thought you were getting out of this, huh? Dabi nudged his knee between your legs, and you couldn’t muffle your whimper. Your eyes went wide and you covered your mouth.

“I think I might have a compromise. A win-win solution,” said Dabi, and he shifted his position over you so he could pull the blanket away from your legs.

“Wait, what?” You tried to sit up on the bed, but Dabi’s fingers were already snaking down past the hem of your panties to rub against your pussy.

You were wet. You were so wet he could hear the slick sounds of your juices lubricating you as he stroked up and down your slit. And you were so warm…so fucking hot he couldn’t wait to be inside you. With how much you’d been masturbating, you might not even need foreplay. Dabi slipped two fingers into your hole and felt up to your g-spot, pushing your hips down when you involuntarily bucked into his touch. Tight, but you could take him.

Probably.

He savored your slippery soft insides for a moment longer, enjoying the sounds of your protests turning into gasps, and then pulled his hand out of your panties and wiped it on the inside of your bare thigh. The shorts would have to go…matter of fact, why were you wearing clothes at all right now? “Take it off. All of it.”

You tried to resist half-heartedly, but after hearing you cum over and over for the past couple weeks Dabi wasn’t about to take no for an answer—not to mention, a flimsy tank top and sleep shorts? In a base full of amoral villains? It was like you were begging to get messed up. Dabi let go of your arm to rub his callused thumbs over your nipples, and you squeaked like a little mouse as your back arched toward him. Fuck, you were soft all over.

“Are we…are we…” You hid your face behind your arm, unable to bring yourself to finish your sentence.

“Mhmm?” Dabi dipped his head down and swirled his tongue over a nipple, then gently bit down.

“Ahh…D-Dabi…” You could push him away. Why weren’t you pushing him away? It wasn’t your fault, he’d caught you in a weak moment. You’d been so close when he interrupted you. “…are you gonna…f-fuck me?”

You felt the vibrations of his laughter over his skin and he hauled himself up to look down on you. “You brought this on yourself, babe.”

“Then get on with it,” you whispered, surprising yourself. You couldn’t look at him, but you also couldn’t go another second without being touched.

Dabi seemed surprised too, because his hands stopped caressing your thighs and he just…held you in place. Another laugh bubbled up in his throat and he lifted your hips off the mattress so he could yank down your shorts and panties. “Your wish, my command. But since I don’t trust you to be quiet, here—“

He balled up your panties and stuffed them into your mouth, making sure the wet crotch was in contact with your tongue. You tried to pull your head away, but you were basically helpless against him—honestly, your kitten-like bats at his hand and the drool pooling in your mouth while he pried your jaw open were just making him harder. Once you were thoroughly gagged, he patted your cheek with a serene smile and ignored the muffled sounds of dissent that leaked through the fabric. “Perfect. Wish I had a camera.”

Gagged, you could only watch in anxious trepidation as Dabi peeled off his undershirt, revealing a perfect expanse of pale skin that looked unnaturally smooth next to the rough scars on his neck and arms. You always thought of him as being on the thinner side—so where the hell did those pecs come from? Dabi noticed you looking and sneered down at you, rolling his shoulders and flexing the muscles in his neck. “Enjoying the view, princess?”

You glared and turned your head to the side, well-aware that you were being childish, but Dabi didn’t seem to mind. He wrenched your head back to center and leaned down to lick a string of saliva that had dripped around your panties off of your cheek. “Look at you drooling over me…and we haven’t even gotten to the main attraction yet.”

Well, he wasn’t going to make you wait for it. You didn’t even pretend not to stare as Dabi freed his cock from his sweatpants and stroked it up and down lazily. Your first thought was that he was big—long and thick and stiff, with a pearl of precum beading at the tip. Your second thought was that there was no way that thing was going to fit inside you. You scrambled back to the head of the mattress, shaking your head and attempting to tell him to wait.

Undeterred, Dabi grabbed your hips, sinking blunt fingernails into your skin, and dragged you back toward him. “Relax. You don’t get to change your mind right when we’re at the good part.”

“Mmm— mm—“ You had no choice but to brace yourself with your forearms as Dabi lifted up your pelvis to line up with his where he was kneeling on the bed. Holding you effortlessly with one hand, Dabi slid the length of his cock up and down your pussy to slick it up with your juices. The contact sent a jolt through your body, and your hips ground up toward him.

Fuckfuckfuck, he was so big but you wanted it, you wanted him, and you needed something in your pussy, now. You were almost glad he’d put the panties in your mouth—if you weren’t gagged, you might be begging. He looked so smug, so proud, he’d probably hold this over you for years, but that didn’t matter. You’d never felt this needy before. It was his fault for teasing you and getting you all riled up—was this how he felt when he heard you touching yourself through the shared wall? You could almost sympathize.

Maybe you weren’t able to vocalize your needs, but the wiggling of your hips in your desperate attempts at stimulation weren’t exactly subtle. Dabi lined the head of his cock up with your pussy and (gently, gently, he reminded himself) slid the first few inches inside.

“Ohh…” Dabi sighed audibly, digging his fingernails deeper into the delicate skin of your hips. You whined through your panties and grasped blindly at the bedsheets. He was so thick, even with him less than halfway in you were stretching almost past your limits. It had been a while since you had sex (opportunities to meet people were few and far between when your main profession involved law-breaking—why else would you have to resort to getting yourself off constantly?) and you’d forgotten how much it could sting.

You shuddered as you felt Dabi rocking himself in and out of you in shallow thrusts, getting a little deeper each time. “Nngh— mm— ait— wait—“ It was too much, too deep, too thick, and he was too big.

Shaking, you reached up and tried to slap Dabi to get his attention, but he just grabbed your hand and laced his fingers with yours. “Shh, shh, you’re doing so good, princess. Does it hurt?”

You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction, but you couldn’t help nodding hesitantly. Was he going to stop? You weren’t sure you wanted him to stop.

Of course he wasn’t going to stop.

Dabi leaned down and sank in deeper, pushing himself slowly into your cunt until he bottomed out. Yesss…it was all he could do to stay still and let you get adjusted to his size, given how greedily your melting-hot walls were sucking him in. He could tell by your sharp gasp that you hadn’t been ready, but how could he stop himself…? Your eyes were screwed up from being stretched around his cock and the strangled little mewls coming out of your mouth were sending thrills up his spine. You had to be enjoying yourself. You’d been so cute, practically pleading to be filled up. The slimy juices staining your inner thighs were unmistakeable.

Even with Dabi not moving inside of you, you had to gasp in stuttered pants to get oxygen in your lungs. Had you ever been this full before? No way…no fucking way. You were already sore. Your eyelashes fluttered as you blinked rapidly, trying not to let the tears that had forced their way out spill. The muscles in your pussy throbbed around the massive cock that was somehow submerged all the way inside you, and you zeroed in on the feeling of Dabi’s hand pinning yours down on the sheets just to have something else to focus on.

And then his hand was gone, and instead Dabi’s finger was teasing against your clit. The walls of your cunt twitched around him and you ground up toward him, begging silently for more stimulation. “Yeahhh…yeah, you like that? Want me to keep touching your little slut pussy?”

Your nod was frantic as Dabi began to move in slow, deep thrusts that you felt in every inch of your pussy. “Use your words, princess.”

“Unhh…ye—ye— es!” you whined out through your makeshift gag. Dabi smirked and picked up the pace, both in the pulses of his fingertips over your stiff little button and in his hips slapping against yours. The mixture of his precum and your wetness coated his cock and your mound, making it all too easy for him to shove into you faster and faster, eliciting the sweet little moans that would be drawing a lot of unwanted attention if he hadn’t gagged you with your panties first. He wasn’t gentle with your clit, either—but fuck, you needed it rough right now.

The discomfort of his dick stretching you out wasn’t gone, but now it was met by a thrilling tension growing in the place where the head of his cock thrusted back and forth over your g-spot. You kept trying to swallow around the gag, but your saliva wouldn’t go down right and it was spilling out of your mouth so your lips were almost as much of a sloppy mess as your cunt.

It was lucky Dabi was holding you upright, because there was no muscle in your body strong enough to keep you in position. You were completely limp, your full focus directed on the rising wave of pleasure gathering deep in your belly. You tried to be quiet, you really did, but every time Dabi stuffed his cock back inside you, you cried out in rhythm.

Watching you tremble and writhe underneath him, Dabi huffed out a short laugh. “Is this your idea of being quiet?…No wonder I could hear everything…you want everyone to know?”

You shook your head violently and tried to manage a “no” from around your panties, but that didn’t stop you from whimpering at the pressure of his cock inside you.

Dabi slowed his pace and leaned in, swirling his fingers over your clit forcefully. “Yeah, keep moaning. Want your precious leader to know how good I’m filling up this tight little pussy? Is that what you want? I bet you would just cum all over my cock if Shigaraki came in right now. I bet you want him to see your slutty O-face and join in.”

No! you thought, but the words weren’t leaving your mouth. You hated the thought of cumming with Dabi saying such vile things to you, but his fingers and his cock were giving you exactly what you needed and you were wound so tight you didn’t think you could stop yourself, and— and— and—

Stars erupted over your vision for a second as you sobbed out your orgasm. Your back arched, pushing the top of your head into the mattress while your cunt squeezed down on the dick that was still carving its way through you over and over. Dabi made a sound that you half-thought was a growl and hitched your leg up on his shoulder so he could get an even deeper angle. You were shivering as he drove into you, every inch of your skin extra sensitive in the post-orgasm afterglow.

“F-fuck…yeah, y-yeah, you’re so good, my good girl moaning for me like a whore, just like that, yess…” Dabi held you still as he gave a few more jerky thrusts and then groaned. “—fuck, I’m gonna—“

“Wait, not inside!” you tried to protest, but the words were just warped by the fabric balled up in your mouth. And it was too late, anyway—your stomach dropped as you felt his cock spasm and a hot wash of liquid gush between your legs.

Dabi pumped his cum into you, folding up your legs and leaning in so he could press his chest into yours and fuck you into the mattress. Your already-overstimulated cunt quivered; every inch of your torso was smothered by his. When he was too soft to stay inside, he pulled out, enjoying the sticky string of white liquid that stretched between your slit and the head of his dick until it broke and joined the rest of his cum dribbling out of your hole.

Dabi reached down and pulled the soaking-wet panties out of your mouth, since you seemed too out of it to do it yourself. Shocked out of your trance, you inched back away and swiped at the spit covering your mouth. “You came inside!?”

“It’s called a creampie. You look better with cum dripping out of you,” said Dabi without a hint of regret. He picked up your discarded tank top and wiped the cum off his dick to tuck it back in his sweatpants. “Don’t tell me you didn’t enjoy that as much as I did…you were screaming loud enough to wake up the whole base.”

“What?” Your mouth dropped open. “Are you serious?”

Dabi grinned and held up your spit-covered panties. “You have no idea how loud you are. These definitely aren’t enough to shut you up.”

“Oh my god…” You cringed and covered your face with your hands. “This is so embarrassing. I’m never going to open my mouth again.”

“Aw, don’t say that. I think it’s kind of cute.”

#dabi x reader #dabi #bnha #boku no hero academia #bnha imagines #boku no hero academia imagines #mha #my hero academia #mha imagines #my hero academia imagines #dabi/reader #dubcon #tw dubcon

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theatresweetheart · 4 years ago

Note

“Stop squirming, I don’t want to drop you!” + “Let me go!” with borrower roman & human virgil?

Paint Water

Summary: Roman takes an accidental dip into Virgil’s paint water. Who knew a human could be so very annoying?

Warnings: Swearing, arguing.

Pairing: Platonic Prinxiety

Characters: Roman, Virgil

Word count: 1841 words

A/n: I’ve finally done something with this prompt! I’ve been wanting to use it for ages, but writer’s block said no >:( Though, I have finally managed to get around it!

——————————

The artist dipped the paintbrush into the dark blue he had pulled out, before pressing it onto the canvas and following along with the penciled-in lines he’d drawn out a couple days prior. Virgil had had trouble deciding at first if this painting was going to be worth all the time and effort. After fussing with the lines enough, nearly erasing everything and then redoing it, he had decided it wasn’t going to get any better.

Besides, if the creation was atrocious and he really hated it, he could hide it in the spare bedroom for when his relatives came to visit.

His eyes followed the line of paint, his free hand absently tapping his thigh in time with the music in his headphones. It wasn’t an uncommon sight, if someone were to walk in on him like this.

A mug of lukewarm coffee sat forgotten to his side. It was half empty anyway, and Virgil was pretty sure he’d accidentally dipped his brush into it instead of the cup of water he had designated for cleaning his brushes off. So he wasn’t willing, nor was he eager, to take the risk of getting a mouthful of cold coffee that probably tasted like acrylic paint.

He could just get up and make himself another mug if he really wanted to anyway, it wasn’t difficult.

Virgil pulled back after a moment, eyes flicking over the canvas, picking out small little flaws that only he would really notice. Asking someone if they thought the flower in the bottom corner of the painting looked odd, they would most likely respond with a vehement “no! Your artwork is astounding, there’s nothing wrong with any of it!” Which was nice, admittedly, but not helpful for advancing his career or perfecting his technique. Truth be told though, Virgil knew he was the hardest person to please when critiquing his own work.

He leaned over to the side, adjusting his spot on the stool for a moment, before dipping the brush off into the water—and he knew it was his water for a fact. He pulled the brush back before forcing the water out of the bristles against the side of his easel and wiping the excess off on his jeans. They were already stained with colours, so a little more never hurt anyone.

For his next colour, he went for a charcoal black aiming to use it for the sky above the landscape. The picture itself was of a garden at midnight. The moon was high in the night sky, stars surrounded it. The light, he was hoping, would eventually look like it was glinting off of the stone fountain in the centre of the piece. Virgil was a skilled artist, he took the least bit of pride in that, but getting those minuscule details could be difficult and frustrating. Not to mention, if they weren’t done right, could make the whole piece look ridiculous.

Just as he was leaning back in to the start on the corner of the canvas, a wet splash hit the outside of his leg and soaked into his jeans. He hadn’t bumped the table accidentally, had he?

Virgil turned to see the cause of the mess, only to see the water in the paint cup rippling. He knew for a fact that he hadn’t bumped the table when little air bubbles began to surface and pop.

The artist pulled his headphones out before letting them rest over his shoulders. Leaning forward on his knees, he tried to peer into the water that had taken on a colour of its own. Mixes of grey, blue, black and purple all in one. It was a pretty ugly colour.

Not a moment later a familiar face popped out of the water, treading it to the best of his ability and Virgil had to stifle a snort. The borrower in question coughed and used a hand to wipe the paint from his face.

“Swimming are we?” The human teased, blatantly amused. Which earned an indignant noise from the man currently stuck in the mug.

“Not on purpose!” Roman snipped back, trying to keep his head above the water’s surface.

Virgil set his paint brush down on the edge of the table, making sure that the fresh paint on the end wouldn’t drip onto the tabletop. He then reached over and grabbed the cup and brought it over. He kept his hand as steady as possible, not wanting to slosh the borrower around any more than he already was. “Need a hand?”

Roman only snorted in his direction, his head bobbing under the water for a moment. “I can get out just fine,” he huffed, “just put the cup back down on the tabletop and you’ll see!”

“You keep going under, that doesn’t exactly instill me with confidence that you can actually get out on your own.” Virgil lifted the cup a little higher, silently noting that the thing itself had to be about seven inches. Which was a good three inches taller than the man currently treading within its confines. There was actually no way he could get out on his own.

“If you’d stop moving the cup, I’d be absolutely fine.”

Virgil quirked a brow. “Sure.”

With that as an implied warning, he lowered the cup back down so it was resting comfortably on the top of his knee. He then reached into the cup and, Roman, seeing what was coming, ducked back down into the water.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me.” He fished after the borrower trying to evade him for only a moment. Thanks to the slippery texture of the paint coating Roman’s clothes and Virgil’s fingertips, said borrower was able to continuously manage to slip his grip a couple times.

Virgil’s brows furrowed in concentration and slight frustration. He eventually settled on scooping two fingers under Roman’s arms was the better option. It took a second before he finally managed to pull him out of the water. Before long, he had a sopping wet Roman glaring at him.

“Now, was that so hard?” Virgil remarked after a moment, watching as Roman swiped at the paint on his face as best as he could from his position.

“Don’t patronize me.” He kicked his legs, managing to fling some water into the artist’s face.

“Real mature.” Virgil scrunched his nose, eyes closed to prevent the water from getting in his eyes. He set the cup of water back onto the table before using the hem of his sleeve to wipe the droplets off. When he opened his eyes again, he saw the way Roman was smirking at him. As if he had won this battle.

Please, that was hardly a win.

“Now,” Roman said, as if this was nothing more than a slight hindrance in his nightly excursion, “let me go, you giant pain in the ass. I could have very easily have gotten out of that mess by myself!”

Virgil rolled his eyes. “No you couldn’t have.”

Roman scoffed, attempting to wrench himself free. Even though he was far enough from the ground that a fall like that would be lethal, the idiot. “I absolutely could have. You just don’t believe me because you don’t want to admit you’re wrong.”

“I’m not wrong,” Virgil told him. “You’re about this big—” He used his free hand to measure out Roman’s somewhat accurate height before putting that against the bottom of the paint water’s mug. “—and you’re about this big compared to the cup. So, I think I’m pretty safe in saying you couldn’t have gotten out.”

“You just have no faith in me,” he huffed, trying to feign ignorance. Roman then scowled, trying to budge himself again. This time making enough progress that Virgil quickly brought his second hand up as a safety net.

“Careful you little pocket prince.” The human artist could feel the way his heart rate had spiked slightly from the scare. “A fall from this height wouldn’t be good for you.”

“If you’d just put me down, we wouldn’t have to worry about that then would we?”

“If you would stop moping we wouldn’t have to worry about it either. Just stop moving.”

“I shouldn’t have to stop moving if you would just listen to me!”

“I am listening to you. I just don’t want you to die prematurely, you idiot.”

“No you’re not! If you were, you’d have put me down by now.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Virgil pinched the bridge of his nose as if trying to ward off an oncoming headache. All he had wanted to do was get at least halfway done on his painting and now, here he was, arguing with a person the size of a mouse. “Just stop squirming, I really don’t want to drop you. You’re soaking wet Roman, which, believe it or not, makes it really hard to keep a steady hold of you.” He then let out a sigh, pushing out the frustration that was welling inside him. “Are you hurt anywhere?”

That question seemed to catch Roman off guard, as he stopped trying to pull himself free and looked back at him. “What?”

“Christ help me,” Virgil mumbled under his breath, before addressing the man still in his hold. “You fell into my paint cup from who know’s how high up. Does anything on you hurt?”

Roman blinked brilliantly at him a moment, before shaking his head. “No.”

Virgil relaxed the slightest bit. “Good. Now,” he motioned back to the cup of water sitting harmlessly on the table. “Do you want to go back into the cup to prove that you can actually get out?”

When he started to move his hand over, Roman twitched away from it. “No! No, no, don’t you dare!”

“That’s what I thought.”

So, instead of the cup, Virgil let Roman off onto the table beside it. He was just about to go back to painting when he noticed the borrower beginning to shiver slightly in the cool air of the apartment. He quirked a brow, but didn’t say anything at first. Truth be told, the water was pretty cold when he’d scooped Roman out, so to have his entire body drenched like that mustn’t be comfortable either.

He wiped his hand off on his pants. “Are you cold?”

Roman’s arms tightened around himself. His shivering increased. “No.”

Virgil found a smirk creasing his features. “You’re a horrible liar,” he said, stretching to release some of the tension in his back. Sitting hunched over on a stool for hours on end probably wasn’t the best for his posture. He glanced the mug of forgotten coffee. “I was about to make myself a fresh cup of coffee anyway, you want some?”

Roman hesitated only a fraction of a second. “Yes.”

Virgil gave a nod to show he’d heard. Just as he was getting up to leave the room and get some extra clothes for the shivering borrower, he heard Roman’s voice speak up;

“Are you ever going to let me live this down?”

Virgil laughed, but it wasn’t mean. “Not a chance.”

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fanmoose12 · 4 years ago

Note

Idk if you still accept requests but can you please bless us with more Levihan Witcher AU?Hanji as a bard/alchemist is so on brand for her.

anon, thank you so much for this ask! you woulnd’t believe it, but this fic was sitting in my drafts for almost six months, and your ask finally motivated me to finish it! this is super self-indulgent and also my nerdiness for witcher series is definetely showing but eh.... hope you still enjoy it <3

The town of Rinde, near the edge of Redania, was as shitty as they came.

The roads were washed away with dirt, the huts (calling them houses would be an exaggeration) stood dirty and even and kids were running around, dressed in torn clothes and without any shoes on.

Needless to say, all of it disgusted Levi.

And, really, he would have skipped that town altogether, it didn’t look like there was anyone there, who was rich enough to pay for hiring him, and, since he wasn’t on a hunt for a long time, he really needed to find someone, who would toss that coin to the witcher. He would have skipped that town, he almost did, but then he heard it. His witcher senses had picked it up immediately, the faint sound, the voice that was unmistakable for him, even though Levi hadn’t heard it for almost a year.

He headed in the direction of that voice instantly, the Roach following after him with an unusual willingness. Maybe, the horse has sensed her as well. The Roach always liked the annoying bard, after all.

After reaching the small tavern near the outskirts of the town and tying Roach to the outpost, Levi stopped in front of the door, giving himself the time to change his decision.

The tavern wasn’t up to his standards. At all. Even without seeing what was inside, it was enough for Levi to see the moldy walls to understand that he was standing at the threshold to a shithole.

He should have turned around and escaped this town. The nightfall was approaching and, as far as he knew, there wasn’t a town or even a village nearby. He’d have to sleep under the stars again. It was more preferable to stepping inside the unkempt tavern.

Besides, even without his supernatural senses, he could hear that the place was full of drunkards. Some shouted out vulgar jokes and laughed boisterously, some sang loudly and quite terribly.

And amidst all of it, there it was. Her voice that was laughing and singing with the rest of the patrons. For anyone else it would have been hard to decipher just one voice out of the dozens of others, but for Levi, this voice was special.

There were no doubts in his mind anymore. He pushed the door open.

All conservation ceased as soon as Levi walked inside. Well, that was to be expected. What was unexpected was the absence of a loud cheerful shriek greeting him. Although... considering the way he parted with Hange a year ago, maybe, he should have expected it as well.

Nevertheless, she paid him no attention, didn't even look at him. Levi's mood worsened. Glaring at all the patrons, he made his way to the bar.

"Tea," he ordered gruffly.

"Tea?" the maiden, who was standing behind the bar, raised an eyebrow in surprise. "Are you sure? We have ale, beer, vodka..."

"I don't want that piss that you call ale and beer here, and I definitely do not want to taste whatever the fuck substitutes vodka in this shithole. Just simple tea. You have it, I hope?"

"I'll look around...." the maiden nodded uncertainly. "Anything else?"

"If you have some soup that'd be great."

"Alright, I'll bring your order in a minute. Are you going to stay the night?"

Levi's eyes immediately darted to Hange. She wasn't looking at him. He sighed.

"We'll see about that."

Levi spent the whole evening boring holes into the back of Hange's head. She didn't turn around even once, too busy having fun with her new friends. As he watched the merry group in front of him, Levi couldn't help but scoff. Most of them, both men and women, were already smitten with Hange. He could see it in the way they subtly touched her hand or squeezed her shoulder, in the way they smiled dreamily and blushed every time she looked at them. Hange always had an uncanny ability to charm people. If it was her silvery voice or just the natural charisma, Levi wasn’t sure. He hated it nevertheless.

Not because Hange managed to put him under her spell as well (she did not) but because he hated when Hange paid attention to someone, except him. Apparently, even witchers could be childish sometimes.

However, considering what he had told Hange at that mountain, when anger and frustration took over him, maybe, he didn't deserve her attention anymore.

Still, Levi felt bitter, watching Hange’s smiles and teasing directed on someone, who wasn’t him. He missed her, goddamn it. It took him so long to realize it, but he enjoyed Hange’s company so much. The hunts just weren’t the same, if she wasn’t by his side, splurging some weird facts she read from bestiaries at Oxcenfurt. The roads seemed longer without Hange, who filled the silence with one of her new songs or her musings about the life. And even though, Levi always acted annoyed whenever Hange claimed that the nights were too chilly, so they have to sleep together to savor the warmth, now, since she wasn’t sleeping by his side anymore, even a brightly lit fire couldn’t make the cold disappear.

Shit, he was in such a deep shit.

As the evening progressed into the night, the patrons slowly started to tinker out of the tavern. Levi watched each of them carefully, trying to guess which of these lucky bastards would leave together with Hange.

However, soon almost everyone had left. The only other person, who was still at the tavern, was Hange.

As soon as the last customer went on his way, she sat atop the table and took out her lute.

She plucked the strings of the instrument, tuning it in. Throughout the evening, Hange sang numerous songs, all of them were accompanied by laughter and applause. But not by her lute.

A special lute that was given to her by an elf after her last one was destroyed and after Levi had threatened the said elf to break her nose if she dared to put that miserable expression on a pretty face of his bard ever again.

It was a shame that Hange still refused to look at him. He always enjoyed looking at her while she played. Her expression always matched the song she was performing - if the song was fast and catchy, she would be grinning from ear to ear, lightening up the whole room, and if she was singing the sad one, the one about heartbreak and tragic love, her face was mournful, her eyes distant.

Hange started to play, and Levi recognized the song instantly.

A storm raging on the horizon of longing, and heartache, and lust

Damn, of course, she decided to sing that song. Evidently, Hange was out to torture him as much as possible.

“I dedicate it to you, Levi!” she announced after she had first presented it to him.

They were in the middle of a road, resting in front of a fire after an exhausting hunt for a Nightwraith. Well, Levi was resting after an exhausting hunt, Hange was sitting beside him, blabbering almost nonstop. She sang a song to him too, after shyly confessing that this was her latest creation.

“How the fuck can this song be about me?” Levi grunted then. “It’s about woman, dipshit.”

“Ah, but a song about a man won’t be popular amongst my fellow bards! So I had to change a few things there and then.”

“So my kiss is that sweet?” he asked, fighting back a smile.

Hange snickered, leaning in to whisper in his ear, “And it destroys me each time.”

That memory – amongst hundreds, millions of others – kept replaying in his mind, as he listened to her beautiful voice. Hange was called a genius, one of the most talented bards in all Northern Kingdoms.

Levi always considered it to be bullshit. He was sure that even in Nilfgaardian Empire there wasn’t an artist half as blessed with a gift of music as Hange was.

As she finished the song, Hange got to her feet. She slanged her lute over her shoulder and headed to the bar. As he watched her order, Levi hid a small smile – it seemed Hange was still inseparable with the damn lute. Some things never change, it seemed.

His musings were cut off abruptly, when Hange sat down at his table. In her hands she held two cups with something that smelled very much like piss. Levi cringed.

Hange finished the first mug in one go. She wiped off her mouth and then put the mug down with a loud ‘thud’. She pushed the second mug to Levi.

“Drink,” she ordered, glaring at him.

“I don’t get drun—”

“Drink,” she pressed. “I don’t care if your stupid witcher physiology enables you from getting drunk. I won’t have this conversation if one of us is sober.”

“Alright,” Levi nodded and took a large gulp from the mug. Oh, so that was ale. Disgusting. “Are you happy now?”

“Ecstatic,” Hange crossed hands on her chest. “Now answer me this – what is so interesting about the back of my head?”

“What? I don’t—”

“You do,” Hange cut him off once more. “You do understand. You’ve been staring at me the whole evening. Don’t you have something better to do? Some important witcher stuff? What the fuck are you even doing here, Levi?”

“I…” he cleared his throat, feeling small under Hange’s furious gaze. “I needed somewhere to spend the night.”

“And that’s why you decided to spend your evening in the company of drunkards, eating your soup in a corner?”

“Maybe, I’ve missed the human’s company.”

Hange threw her head back and laughed. “You missing human’s company? Don’t give me that crap.”

“Well…” for a second Levi fidgeted with a sleeve of his armor, refusing to look Hange in the eyes. It was now or never. Either he apologizes to Hange right now, or there won’t be another chance to reconcile. He took a deep breath and lifted his gaze. “Maybe, I’ve missed you.”

Hange’s eyes widened just a fraction. She composed herself almost immediately, but Levi noticed the slight change in her. Could it be that not everything was lost?

“Bullshit,” Hange answered, her tone even colder than before. “How can you miss the person, who destroyed your life again and again? Who is the sole reason for any hardship you had ever faced? Who does nothing, but shit on your future?”

Levi silently lowered his head, not even trying to stop Hange’s angry tirade. He deserved every word, every insult she threw his way. He would endure a lot more offence from her, if it meant that Hange would forgive him. If everything could go back to normal. If Levi could finally reunite with his best friend.

Hange took a deep sigh and stood up. Levi looked up at her gingerly, expecting to see her storm out of the tavern. Instead Hange went to the bar again, ordering two more mugs of ale, and returned to his table.

“They are for me,” she told curtly, when Levi tried to reach to one of the mugs. “I really can’t deal with this sober.”

“Hange…” he cleared his throat, feeling more nervous and vulnerable than when he was staring at a mob of harpies. “The way I treated you was awful… I was angry and needed someone to pour that anger out, but you didn’t deserve it. I’m asking for your forgiveness, but if you can’t grant it… just say so. I promise not to bother you after this.”

“Sweet Melitele,” Hange shook her head. “Tell me, Levi, are all witchers assholes, or was I just lucky enough to meet an exception?”

She took a long sip of ale, wincing and wiping her mouth afterwards. For a long moment, Hange stared at the table, tracing the invisible patterns on the old, wooden surface.

“I forgive you, you dumbass,” she said finally. Her words made Levi’s heart swell. He stared at her, hope shining in his gaze. “But I have two conditions.”

“Anything,” Levi promised readily.

“Anything, huh?” Hange arched an eyebrow. “Are you really that eager to have my forgiveness or are you just naturally so brave?”

“Both,” he replied, shrugging.

“My first condition,” she smiled in an almost feral manner. Shivers ran through his spine, but Levi didn’t allow himself to shudder. Showing his fear would only make Hange crueler. “I want you to help me with my experiments. I found a new potion and I need a person with fast metabolism to run some tests on it, and I need to extract four front teeth from algoul for my next concoction.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it,” Hange nodded. “As for my first condition. My second one,” she paused, leaning in and grabbing the collar of his armor. “I need you to give me that sweet kiss of yours.”

“Well,” Levi smirked, moving closer to her, before their lips were almost touching. “Ready to be destroyed then.”

#oh god this thing is probably incomprehensible for anyone who didn't watch the show or read the books #ah well :')#levihan

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mrsalwayswrite · 4 years ago

Text

To Call Forth Love - Chapter 6

Haha, I’m so excited for this chapter. Please let me know what y’all think! Also a huge thank you to everyone who has liked/commented/reblogged. You guys deserve all the love and cookies possible!

Warnings: swearing, fluff (i think that’s it, sorry if i miss something)

Words: 7300 (i feel like my chapters keep getting longer. oops?)

Tag List: @heavenly1927 @youbloodymadgenius @zuxiezendler @punkrocknpearls

Series Masterlist

The aroma of coffee surrounded Kari like a warm, comforting blanket. The café was just the perfect amount of busy, there were a few other tables occupied but without feeling cramped or overwhelming. The lunch rush was just beginning, indicated by the number of patrons standing in line to order now.

The brunette sipped on her latte as she slowly swiped through the pictures on Gyda's phone. The two were finally meeting up for an early lunch and coffee after a yoga class. Gyda had been gushing about the trip she just returned from to Phnom Penh, telling stories of the week she spent there and letting Kari slide through the pictures on her phone.

"These are just gorgeous. Gods, you have the best job, I swear."

Gyda laughed, picking at the muffin in front of her. "I know. I can't imagine doing anything else though."

"When do you leave again?"

"Mmmm…. I’m not sure yet. The company is wanting me to go to Vancouver, British Columbia next. I might wait until the end of September to go. I'm not sure. Either way, it won't be for at least a month. Depends on how soon I want to go visit mom."

"Why wouldn't you want to go soon?" Kari perked up at the mention of Gyda's mother. She knew the two were close, but all she really knew about Lagertha was from what Ivar told her.

"I'm not a fan of her new boyfriend. Sorry, she prefers the term "lover". Kalf works for her, specifically with contacts from their Mediterranean partners and overseeing some of the shipments."

"Why don't you like him?" She swiped to the next image, a stunning picture of the Cambodian royal palace.

The blonde waved her hand vaguely, as if swatting a fly. "He hasn't done anything; I just don't like him."

"That's fair. Does he treat your mom well?"

"Yeah. She just has shit luck with men and I'm worried how this one will turn out." She sipped on her coffee, gazing out the nearby window for a moment.

Kari turned back to the phone, guessing there was more that Gyda was not saying. Not that she needed to know. No, she had enough drama in her life currently and his name was Ivar.

Both women lounged in the wooden café chairs, still in their yoga clothes, having come straight from the studio. Except Gyda changed her footwear, losing the sandals for a pair of wedge heels that made her long legs look like skyscrapers. It was hard not to envy Gyda's body, and Torvi for that matter. They both had the perfect hourglass figure, with all the right assets and gorgeously braided, blonde hair. Maybe it was some standard that women around the Lothbroks had perfect bodies. It made Kari wonder why Ivar paid her any attention then. Her body was far from perfect. Her chest side was decent, but she always thought her hips and thighs were too large. Most likely leftover critiques from her mother who not-so-lovingly would say Kari was pear-shaped and needed to focus on losing all that extra or no man would want her. Not that she was trying to get a man. Over the past two years she had finally come to embrace her body and was learning to be comfortable in her own skin. Though some days were better than others. It was still difficult to watch Gyda receive appreciative looks from many of the patrons as they passed by their table and know none of them would even give her a second glance. The blonde was effortlessly beautiful. Perhaps there was a way for her to teach Kari that.

Suddenly Gyda zeroed in on the brunette with a mischievous gleam in her eyes. "Speaking about men…."

"Are you going on a date?"

Gyda snorted, with an amused grin on her face. "Hell no. I'm not interested in a relationship right now. I am perfectly fine being single. Stop changing the subject. There is a little something going around the Lothbrok rumor mill that Ivar took you on a date to Casa mia, Maggiore."

"Not a date, it was just as friends." Kari clarified.

She gave her an incredulous look. "Just friends?"

"Yes."

Gyda narrowed her eyes at her.

"What? We went out to Casa mia, Maggiore and then I convinced him to go to Masterpiece. After he dropped me back off at home. Nothing happened."

"Right…." Gyda hummed. "So, it was a date."

Kari dropped her face into her hands with a groan. "Not a date. Just friends."

"Whatever you say. Just know Ivar doesn't take just anyone to his favorite restaurant. Hell, I think he only took his ex there once in the ten months they were dating. He usually only goes with Aslaug."

"Oh? Um, I didn't know…" The brunette hated how she perked up at this new information. It should not matter hearing that he never took anyone, that it really was his favorite restaurant and he wanted to share it with her. In their texting, he made reference to when they went back, what food he wanted her to try next. Something apparently, he was not even inclined to do with an ex. No, none of that should matter. But it did, and the way her heart swelled at the realization only proved that to her.

"Clearly he really likes you to take you there. Do you like him?"

"Sure, he's a good friend."

Gyda sighed dramatically, tipping her head back. "You're killing me, Kari! Fine! When was this not-date? A week ago?"

"Eight days, yeah."

"Have you hung out since then?"

"Yeah, he picked me up once and we went out for dinner. Another time, he took me out on my lunch break. He had to go on a business trip so I haven't seen him in…. three days?"

"Right. I'm guessing he's blowing up your phone while he's been gone?"

Kari took a sip of her drink as she mumbled, "sort of." The truth was they were practically texting non-stop. It was mostly discussions, and arguments on his side, of superficial things like TV shows, the proper time to wake up in the morning and her lack of clothing that was more than yoga attire. Other times they sent memes back and forth or links to funny YouTube clips. Kari never realized how lonely she was before Ivar thrust himself into her life with all the force and subtlety of a rocket.

"What does that mean?" Gyda eyed her for a long moment before she gasped and slapped the table. "Oh shit! Is he sending you dick pics?"

Kari choked on air. After hacking for a couple of seconds, tears coming to her eyes because of the action, she vigorously shook her head. "No! No! Ewww....no! We keep sending stupid memes to each other and talking about where we should go out next. That's it. I promise."

The blonde laughed loudly at Kari's reaction, who fiddled with her earring, face burning with embarrassment. The two sat quietly for a couple of minutes, sipping their drinks and watching the line of lunch patrons increase.

"So…. it kind of sounds like you're dating."

"No, we're just friends. Why can't friends just hang out?" Kari tried to argue. The beginning tendrils of annoyance creeping in at constantly having to defend their friendship.

Gyda stared at her. "Have you made-out?"

A blush colored Kari's cheeks before she could figure out a good enough lie, giving away the truth.

"What?! How often?!" Her enthusiastic friend cried, before waving her hand once again. "Never mind. Listen, he's taking you out to his favorite restaurant. He is clearly going out of his way to spend time with you. He is texting you! You don't realize how big of a deal this is for him! He generally hates people. I'm positive he has murder plans for most of those he is forced to be around. Does he know you're just friends? Because to me, it doesn't sound like it."

Kari covered her face with her hands, tears of frustration springing to her eyes. Ivar and her could only be friends, that was what she promised herself. If he knew her, the real her…. it would never happen. He would never want her. So it was best to remain friends, to protect both of them from the inevitability that anything more would never happen. Even though their line of friendship was blurring…. and that was the worst part. She found herself wishing to continue to blur that line, even when she knew it would only end in disaster. Taking a deep breath, she could smell his cologne, a scent she had become so used to now. Her mind could easily conjure the feeling of being in his arms, his mouth on hers as she gave in under his touch. She cared for him, deep down she knew more than a friend. Although he could annoy her to no end, she enjoyed his presence, his humor, that vulnerable side that peeked out occasionally, how he made her feel safe and beautiful.

Now hearing Gyda pointedly telling her that Ivar was treating her as more than a friend. It left her speechless and wondering if she was making a mistake.

Gyda’s tone softened when she spoke next. "Why are you so set on just friends?"

"I just…. I don't want to date right now. After my last relationship, I just want to focus on myself."

"That's fair but listen, he isn't going to wait around for you forever."

"I know. I don't want him too." She admitted, tugging on her earring. Though her statement was the truth, it still tasted bitter on her tongue.

"Ok, but does he know that? It sounds like he’s set on you, but I'm going to warn you. Don't break his heart. He isn't the type to recover from heartbreak. His heart is already locked up more securely than Fort Knox but if you break it…."

"I promise, that isn't my intent. I just…. can't. I like him, more than I thought I would. He is funny and charming and sweet but also infuriating and demanding and I've had more fun with him than I've ever had with a guy friend before. He…. I can be myself around him and I think he can too. But I just…. It can't go further than friendship."

Gyda mulled over her words. "Alright. I don't fully understand but I get it. It's nice to hear that he's connecting with someone. None of us liked his ex. He only really spends time with family or Floki."

"I don't want to hurt him." Kari whispered.

"I know. You're too sweet to purposefully do something like that." The blonde tilted her head to the side with a slowly growing smug look. "I give it until the end of the year and you'll be naked in his bed."

"Gods! What? Why would you say that?"

"He's a Lothbrok. They always get what they want."

*****

Kari laid curled up on her full-size bed, her laptop up and watching Downton Abbey. A heating pad rested on her abdomen as she waited for the pain relievers to kick in. Most of her life she was happy with, but the one thing she would easily trade out would be the painful cramps when PMSing. The birth control she took helped out, but there was usually still one day that the dreaded cramps hit hard.

Her phone dinged. Languidly reaching over, she grabbed it from beside her pillow and opened it to check the text.

Ivar: wat r u doin?

He texted her earlier that day saying he was returning home from his sudden business trip.

Kari: nothing

Ivar: good. bts.

She groaned, slamming her face into her pillow. She did not have the energy to deal with him right now. All she wanted was to relax and eat her body weight in chocolate. After a moment of self-pity, she texted him back, hoping she could get out of whatever he had planned already.

Kari: no, I don't feel good.

Ivar: wat wrong?

Kari: nothing bad.

Sure, they had been talking daily for over a week but that did not mean she wanted to divulge her period issues to him. There were a few things she knew and one was that guys did not like talking about the menstrual cycle.

When he did not text back right away, she turned her attention back to her laptop and the TV show playing. Soon enough the magic of pain relievers and hot pads kicked in and her pain was minimal, though she had no intentions of leaving her warm cocoon. Alana was at her night class, so Kari was home alone. Not unusual really, but tonight she certainly felt the urge to lay around and do nothing.

After about twenty minutes, she heard a loud knock on her front door. Alana was not home, so it could not be any of her friends. Her neighbor, Erik, never just showed up. He always made sure to text before coming to her door. Maybe there was some kind of emergency? Or a package being dropped off? Though at this time it was certainly getting late for any kind of deliveries. Then it hit her.

Ivar.

"Ughhhh," she groaned, rolling out of her bed. For a split second she contemplated not answering it, just staying in her warm bed. She knew, though, if she did not get it, he would probably bust the door down. Maybe even set it on fire to make a point. He seemed like the type to light things on fire for fun.

As soon as she opened the front door, those intense blue eyes scanned over her body as if looking for some unseen disease. "What's wrong with you?" He barked at her, one hand still on the doorframe.

"What?" She blinked owlishly.

"You said you don't feel good." He gestured towards her, his gaze still searching. "What's wrong?"

"Um, it's nothing. Just cramps. It's better now."

"You sure? It's nothing worse?"

She was touched by his concern, the way his last questions were said in a breath of relief as if actually worried about her health. "Yeah, happens every month. I'm fine."

"Ok, good. Get changed, Hvitty and I are going to see a movie. I want you to come with us."

"Ivar, you should hang out with your brother…."

"I fucking live with him. He's fine with it. Go change."

She sighed, knowing by now there was no way she was making it back to her warm cocoon and Downton Abbey. Besides, she had missed him while he was gone and found herself wanting to spend time with him. Not that she wanted him to know that, it would only inflate his ego. "I'll only agree to come with you on two conditions."

"Fucking what?" He growled, though she could see the amusement in his eyes.

"First, I'm wearing my comfy clothes." She waved her hand at the pair of soft, black leggings she wore and the thin, slouchy sweater with the word 'beautiful' printed on it. "Second, and this is the most important condition, you have to buy me a stupid amount of chocolate."

He rolled his eyes, but a smile tugged on his lips. "If that's all, princess…."

"Oh, give me a minute. I'll think of something else… and it's not princess. It's m'lady."

"Shut up. Get your shit. I'll meet you at the car."

She laughed as she raced up to her room to grab her purse, not even bothering to change out of her clothes. The only addition was to throw on a zip up jacket that was a size too big on her. She always found movie theaters too cold to be fully comfortable without a jacket.

The vehicle waiting for her this time was a luxury SUV. She stopped for a moment in the driveway, unsure what to do. She wondered what the neighbors would think of her getting picked up in this and how many knew Lothbroks were sitting in it. Hopefully no one was paying attention. The one of the back doors opened so she headed that way. Ivar slid over and she followed him into the vehicle, closing the door behind her.

"Took you fucking long enough, m'lady."

She smirked at the nickname. "Well, you did just show up at my door and told me we were going to see a movie. At least the other times you gave me a heads up to be ready."

"Ivar, you said you text her we were coming." A man she had not noticed said. He sat across on the bench seat facing them, watching her curiously. It was now Kari noticed how both Ivar and the guy were dressed casually, both in jeans and t-shirts, though Ivar had a light jacket on also.

"She said she wasn't doing anything."

The flaxen-haired man sighed, before reaching his hand out. "Hi, I'm Hvitserk. This idiot's older brother."

"It's nice to meet you. I'm Kari." She took his hand, but instead of shaking it like she expected, he turned it over and pressed a lingering kiss to the back of her hand. When he released it, he gave her a quick, flirty wink and leaned back in his seat.

Startled by his bold action, she looked at Ivar, unsure how to respond. What was with these Lothbroks and their unabashed flirting?

He had his eyes narrowed at his brother, teeth practically grinding. "Fucking touch her again." He snarled.

Hvitserk chuckled, a smug look on his boyish face. "Relax, brother. I know you don't share…. even if you're just friends." Either he was purposefully antagonizing his younger brother or did not notice the anger seething off of him.

Ivar started to lean forward but Kari wrapped her arms around his, pulling him into her. She was not about to watch a fight go down between the two. "Didn't you just get back from your trip? I thought you'd be home resting." She quickly asked, trying to distract.

After a long moment of the brothers staring at each other, Ivar with a glare and Hvitserk looking amused, the raven-haired brother leaned back. He turned his head to look at her as he answered. "You said you wanted to see me earlier, and going to see a movie isn't strenuous."

"Everything involving you is strenuous."

As soon as she muttered the words, she wished she could take them back.

A devilish grin spread across his face, those blue eyes dancing with something mischievous and forbidden. "I can show you strenuous." He shifted to hover over her, lips dangerously close to hers. "All. Night. Long." He whispered, one hand leaving a trail of fire as it slid from her thigh up to the curve of her breast. A shiver ran down her spine at the low, hungry tone and the naked want in his gaze. "You'll be begging for more of me…. to destroy that pussy and leave you completely undone and hoarse from screaming my name." His tongue flicked at her earlobe, a choked gasp leaving her mouth at the sensation. Her eyes fluttered shut on their own accord, the knot in her core tightening painfully. She both hated and loved what his touch did to her, how it gave her a taste of pleasure otherwise unknown. His nose traced her jawline as he spoke again, tone filthy, making her core ache. "You'd like that, wouldn't you, kattungen?"

She gulped, her voice coming out far more timid and needy than she wanted. "That's...um, that's nice."

Hvitserk's laughter broke the smoldering tension. Her blue-green eyes blinked rapidly as if wakening from a dream, darting to stare at the older brother before returning to the one who still lingered over her, his presence alone keeping her pinned to her seat.

"En dag, søte Kari, blir du min." Ivar whispered into her ear, then kissed her temple tenderly. After he leaned back, legs splayed out and arms across the back of the seat. A rapid conversation in that foreign language started, Hvitserk saying something that had Ivar snarking back and rolling his eyes.

The whole time, Kari focused on slowing down her breathing and trying to tamper down the warmth radiating from her core. There was no denying it, Ivar did something to her on a primal level. Her body wanted him. Even her mind wanted him. When he directed that sensual, seductive side at her, she melted like an ice cube in June. Her panties were testimony to that. Thankfully, he did not turn that powerful ability onto her frequently. She doubted they would remain 'just friends' for long if he did.

Suddenly, Ivar tugged on the sleeve of her fleece jacket, drawing her from her thoughts. "What is that?"

"Um… a jacket?"

He hummed then glanced over at his brother. "Sigurd had the same one, doesn't he, Hvitty?"

"I think so." Hvitserk ran a hand over his braids, a smile on his lips. "Didn't you set it on fire?"

Ivar waved off the question, still scrutinizing her jacket. "Whose is it?"

"Mine now." She replied, wondering what he was getting at.

"Whose was it?"

"A guy friend. He lent it to me years ago and I never gave it back."

"He's in England?"

"Yeah…"

He grunted, rubbing a hand over his mouth for a moment. "Take it off."

"Wha…. what?" She sputtered.

"Take it off. I don't want you wearing another guy's clothes."

"Ivar, this is stupid. Plus, I always get cold in movie theaters. That's why I brought it in the first place."

With a deep scowl, he tugged off his own gray, soft shell jacket. When he saw she was not moving, he tugged on her sleeve roughly. She huffed but gave in, not willing to fight him over something so childish. She slipped the fleece jacket off and placed it in her lap. Before she could stop him, Ivar snatched the jacket out of her lap and threw it on the seat to his other side. He dropped his jacket in her lap then leaned back, watching her with a serious expression. This was one of those times she wondered why she put up with him. Who cared where the origins of her clothes came from? It was comfy. Sure, it had some sentimental value but it was a nice, warm jacket.

Quickly, she slipped his gray jacket on…. and was immediately hit with his scent. A salacious side of her wondered if he would let her keep it. He always smelled incredible and having his jacket now wrapped around her, enveloping her in that…. her libido definitely woke up, begging for attention. Especially after the tease he just bestowed upon her.

"Happy?" She asked flippantly, smoothing the gray jacket down over her and trying not to be obvious with her sniffing it.

He grinned. "You look better in my clothes."

"Ugh. Is he always like this?" She turned to Hvitserk.

"I wouldn't know. He's never asked me to take my clothes off. But if you did, I'd happily oblige." He playfully winked at her.

She groaned. "You both are unbelievable. No wonder you're brothers." She looked at Ivar beside her. "Can I have my jacket back?"

He raised a single eyebrow as if surprised by her question. After a second of mutual staring, he slid over and opened the window, maintaining pointed eye contact the whole time. Before she could process what he was going to do, he balled up her jacket and threw it out the open window. Without a word, he rolled the window back up and slid over to her side again.

"What jacket?" He questioned impishly.

She stared open-mouthed at him. "Was…. was that really necessary? Gods! Why did you do that?"

"I don't want you wearing another guy's clothes." He shrugged. "If it's that big of a problem, I'll buy you some new clothes."

"That's not…. that's not the point! You can't just get rid of something of mine without my permission!"

"But it wasn't yours, it was some guy friend's."

She covered my face with her hands. Why should she expect anything different from Ivar? He had a vendetta against her clothes. With a sigh, she scooted away from him. "I feel like we need to make a list of things that are not ok for you to do."

"I'm not following some fucking list."

"Alright, I'll stop wearing clothes that belong to someone else if you promise not to throw away my clothes without my permission."

He yanked on her arm until she was at his side again, despite her half-hearted attempt for space. "You can wear my clothes anytime, especially if I can take them off of you."

"Ivar, I'm serious."

He nuzzled the crook of her neck, making her squirm. Sweetly, he pressed a kiss to her neck before leaning back. "Fine." He muttered, tucking her into his side.

She glanced over at Hvitserk, having momentarily forgotten his presence. A broad smile covered his face, highlighting his handsome features.

"I like her." He declared, meeting his brother's eye with a nod. Next he looked at her, cocking his head to the side. "What are you doing with his sorry ass?"

That earned a low growl from the youngest Lothbrok, causing Kari to jump faintly and Hvitserk's smile to grow.

"Well, I didn't have much of a choice. He showed up at my work the first time." She answered honestly, though she mostly did it to tease Ivar.

Hvitserk threw his head back with a groan before narrowing his eyes at his brother. "I told you not to stalk her!"

"What the fuck is this? Gang up on Ivar day? She wouldn't have gone out with me otherwise and afterward she said she had fun, so it's not a big deal."

Hvitserk's brown eyes met her blue-green ones with true sympathy in them. "I'm sorry, Kari. I would say he isn't normally like this but I'm guessing you know that's a damn lie by now."

She giggled, "Yeah, I do. Thank you though."

"You know, we could always ditch him and go to the movie just us."

"Oh yeah?" She tapped her chin, pretending to think the offer over. "That sounds like fun. Ivar did promise to buy me a stupid amount of chocolate though. It'd be a hard sell to pass that offer up."

"I'm sure I can come up with something." He wiggled his blond eyebrows, smiling again.

"Shut the fuck up, both of you."

Kari laughed at the look on Ivar's face. Peering up at him, she changed the subject. "What movie are we seeing?"

"Ask your new friend over there."

"Come on, Ivy. You know we're just fucking with you." Hvitserk sighed.

Ivar grumbled, looking out the window and ignoring both of them.

Hvitserk answered her question. "That new horror movie."

"Oh ok." She hoped she sounded confident but kind of wished she had known before coming. Horror movies were not her thing. As a child, she had watched 'IT' at a sleepover and decided then that purposefully being scared was something she could do without. Though knowing Ivar, he would have laughed and pushed her out the door, saying something about how she needed to watch better shit than she normally did. Maybe this one would be more action-based than real horror. She could only hope.

Thankfully, they pulled up at the movie theater soon after. The driver dropped the three off at the door, driving off after to go park and wait.

"Ivar, hold on." She tugged on his arm, forcing him to slow his steps instead of walking ahead of the other two. "Give us a minute, Hvitserk."

The blond brother gave her a quick nod. "I'll go buy some snacks."

After he walked away, she tried to meet Ivar's gaze, though he pointedly stared over her shoulder. "Hey, we're just teasing. I'm sorry if we pushed it too far. I'm really happy you asked me to come out with you and your brother. It's been years since I've gone out to the movies."

He remained stubbornly sullen, continuing to stare just over her shoulder as if her presence was a nuisance.

With a sigh, she shifted closer, taking the initiative to wrap her arms loosely around his waist. Something she had noticed during the times they had hung out was he liked touching her, not always sexually, but just casual, intimate touches. A stray thought of him being touch-starved crossed her mind.

"I also really like your jacket, it's soft and it smells like you." She softly said, peeking up at him, suddenly nervous about her forwardness.

"Yeah?" He breathed out, placing his arms around her and tugging her closer. In just that movement, she could feel the hostility drain out of him, the hard tension in his muscles easing away into a softness she was beginning to doubt many people were allowed to see.

"Since you threw my other one away, can I keep this one?" She teased, lips curling up at the edges. If he said no, she was inclined to steal it anyway. For emotional damages, of course, not because it smelled good.

"Fuck, yes, kitten." He nuzzled her neck, making her squirm in his arms and giggle at the sensation. After a moment, still chuckling, he kissed her neck then laid his forehead against hers. When he spoke, it was with a quiet hint of vulnerability, his voice just above a murmur. "You really are happy to be out with me?"

"I am." She confirmed with eyes closed, soaking in the heat from his body against hers. This moment felt so strangely intimate that she struggled between prolonging it or tearing herself away. It was in these touches, she found her resolve wavering, a longing rising within her to give in. His arms around her, just holding her, their foreheads pressed together as if grounding one another. It was euphoric and dangerous.

He broke the silence between them, tone muffled as if regretting speaking up. "We should go in; the movie is going to start soon."

"Ok. Hvitserk will probably come looking for us if we don't."

"Ah, fuck. He will."

They untangled, but as she moved to step away, he snaked his arm around her waist, tugging her next to him. When she glanced up at him, he only looked down at her in wide-eyed, mock innocence. She rolled her eyes but giggled. He was like a puppy afraid to let go of his new toy.

As they started towards the doors, she finally paid more attention to his gait. Each step was stiff but powerful. One more than one occasion she ogled him and his swagger that seemed to scream predator, a dark and deadly thing meanwhile also being so enticing. She wondered how he managed so well without his cane but decided not to bring it up.

Once they passed through the door, Ivar slowed down, pulling his phone from his pocket.

"Shit. I've got to take this. Go wait with Hvitty. Oh, here." He pulled out his wallet and handed her his credit card. "Go buy all that chocolate I promised you and drinks for us."

Normally she would protest, saying she could buy her own stuff. This time she had full intentions of spending his money on chocolate. "Do you want anything to eat?"

"Are you on the menu?"

"Gods, unbelievable!" She laughed though, watching him smile genuinely. After an arrogant wink, he stepped away, bringing his phone to his ear and speaking rapidly in a foreign language. She scurried over to Hvitserk, who stood near the confessions counter.

"Everything alright?"

"Yeah," she glanced over her shoulder at Ivar quickly, "he just got a phone call he said he had to take."

Hvitserk hummed, watching Ivar across the lobby with a peculiar expression.

While they waited, she ordered her snacks and the drinks for both of them. Though her doubts rapidly spun out of control as she realized she did not know what Ivar would like or want. With a pleading look thrown at him, Hvitserk gave in with a chuckle. Together they picked out snacks and drinks that would have the youngest Lothbrok's approval. Once done, they gathered their stuff and moved over to an open, standing table to continue waiting.

"While Ivar is busy, I wanted to talk to you."

"Ah, sure." She felt a tendril of dread grow in her belly. Nothing good ever came out of a conversation with such an inauspicious beginning.

"I know Ivar can be a lot, closer to fucking insane, and not many people can tolerate him." He looked down at her with brown eyes that seemed to see more than they let on. "But you're good for him. You don't take his bullshit. Fuck, he even listens to you. I could count on one hand how many people Ivar actually listens to. What makes you different?"

"I don't know. I'm just…. I don't know." She stared down at her chipped, teal fingernails, unable to meet his eyes now.

"Well whatever you are, we've already noticed a difference since you two started talking. He's not as angry, he doesn't just hole up in his room as often."

"That's good."

"Mmmm…. Ivar is my brother and I love him. But I also know his temper can get the better of him and when he is on a rampage, nothing can fucking stop him. He is easily jealous and possessive of things he deems his own…. and he clearly had staked a claim on you."

"But…. we're just friends."

"Not to him." He huffed, running a hand over his braids. After checking to make sure his brother was still on the phone, he continued, lowering his voice even more. "You seem like a nice girl so I'll only say this once. Be careful of what promises you make to him…. and if he ever does something to harm you or scare you, I want you to call me. I'll do what I can to protect you. Alright?"

She nodded, unnerved by his warning. Sure, she knew about the Lothbrok reputation. Yet this was the first time someone point blank warned her with true understanding. She was unsure if she should appreciate the warning or be terrified that he thought Ivar could hurt her.

"Give me your phone."

Silently, she handed it over. He plugged his number in and called himself. With a satisfied nod, he gave it back to her.

"Good, don't ever hesitate to call me. Besides, if my brother has his way, none of us would ever meet you. My other brothers want to meet the girl who has Ivar wrapped around her finger already." He winked at her, making her blush.

"Hvitty, stop flirting with her!"

The flaxen-haired brother grinned, as he watched his brother approach. "I'm not. Just telling her the others want to meet her."

"Fuck no." Ivar growled, coming to stand between the two.

"I'd love to meet your brothers." She commented lightly. "After hearing you talk about them, it'd be nice."

"Awww, Ivy, you talk about us?" Hvitserk teased, nudged his shoulder with his own.

"Not you, asshole."

Hvitserk laughed, pressing his forehead swiftly to Ivar's. "Come on, the movie has probably started."

Ivar and Kari followed behind Hvitserk, as he led them to the correct auditorium. Along the way, she handed Ivar a couple of the boxes of candy she bought and the drink picked out for him.

"How much fucking candy did you buy?" He grumbled, eyeing the boxes suspiciously.

"Enough. If you ask nicely, I might share." She quipped. "I even bought Heksehyl for both of us. Hvitserk said it's your favorite…. and I also got Dumle. Oh, and Guld Barre!"

"I did promise you chocolate."

She giggled. "Yes, you did."

The three of them found the auditorium and took seats off to the side. Ivar sat in the middle with Kari on his right and Hvitserk on his left. The movie had just started as they sat down, the lights and noise minimal. Though apprehensive about the movie, Kari found herself smiling at just the nostalgic feeling being here evoked. There was something so simple yet profound at being with friends, eating sweets and watching the silver screen. Let alone the darkness of the theater and the nearby munching of popcorn by others and the occasion sound of people talking. She missed this. So, she endowed to enjoy every part of this. Quietly eating her chocolates, she kept her gaze on the screen.

After some time, Kari felt a large hand on her upper thigh, inching slowly higher and higher. Jolting at the sudden feeling, she grabbed it, trying to stop its further ascent. Immediately, Ivar flipped his hand over and entwined their fingers. She tried to half-heartedly tug out of it, but he maintained a vice-like grip on her hand. In an attempt to glare at him, she swiveled in her seat to gain his attention. Only for him to remain solely focused on the screen. Rolling her eyes, she gave in, shifting back to continue watching the movie. Their fingers remained entangled.

Eventually, the chocolate lay forgotten in her lap as the images on the screen became more disturbing and graphic. A few chuckles came from Ivar and Hvitserk and whispered comments made between them. Once someone in the theater screamed as a person on the screen was suddenly killed. The abrupt sound made Kari jump, squeezing Ivar's hand. He laughed, but squeezed her hand back. Not long after, she gave up on watching the movie and just tucked her face against his shoulder. Horror movies were never her thing, the idea of purposefully being scared never appealed to her. And this movie had a thing for people being eaten alive. Not something she wanted imprinted into her brain. The thought crossed her mind that Ivar orchestrated this on purpose, since he seemed to be fully enjoying her cuddling into him. As if without concern, his head lay on top of hers, continuing to hold her hand. If she was not so concerned about having nightmares and trying to block out the hair-raising screams, she might have liked the cuddling. In this instance though, if he moved, she was going to punch him.

Once the movie ended, Ivar and Hvitserk argued about the movie- how some of the people should have died or about the graphics of the terrifying creatures. They both became more and more animated as the three of them walked out of the movie theater and towards the waiting SUV.

"What did you think, Kari?" Hvitserk asked, taking his seat across from the others, once they all piled in.

"She was scared." Ivar answered, leaning back, his arm on the back of the seat and behind her.

"That creature was eating that girl's brain while she was still alive! I did not want to see that! I'm going to have nightmares."

Smirking, Ivar tilted closer, invading her personal space. "Want me to stay with you? I'll keep you safe…. and make sure you dream of other more, pleasurable, things."

"No, you'd probably try to scare me on purpose." She accused, pushing his body away from her with a pout.

"Well, thanks for seeing it with us." Hvitserk spoke up. "Gods, Bjorn would love it. We'll have to tell him."

The youngest brother nodded before turning back to the brunette by his side. "You coming out with us for drinks now? We always get drinks after."

"No, I can't. I have to open tomorrow. I need to sleep."

"Come on, it'll be fine."

"No. I'll be getting up at 5:30. That's in like…. six hours." This was one thing she was not going to give into. He had dragged her from her bed already once tonight. He was not about to make her lose out on anymore sleep. Not everyone was able to sleep all morning like certain people.

"Next time," Hvitserk said with a shrug, a grin on his face as if amused by the interaction across from him. "I'm sure we can all go out again soon. Right, Ivy?"

Ivar snorted, "Fine. We'll drop you off."

A discussion about the movie and comparing it to others swiftly captured the two brothers' attention. Finding herself growing tired, Kari just leaned back and listened, her head resting on the back of the seat, and consequently, Ivar's arm. It was different and refreshing seeing him interact with someone he clearly trusted and cared about. His guard was down and even if some of his comments sounded more like sharp barbs, it was said without true malice. The flaxen-haired brother took each verbal jab like water off a duck's back, either making a joke out of the comment or ignoring it. Throughout the interaction, the care and respect for one another was evident, even if on the surface level it appeared dysfunctional. A smile hinted on her lips as she listened to the brothers. She hoped this was not the last time she spent time with Hvitserk. Though his warning still rang in the back of her mind, she liked him. The whole ride back, Ivar kept his arm behind her, sporadically playing with the ends of her hair.

At their arrival to her townhouse, Hvitserk said his goodbye to her in the vehicle, surprising her with a swift hug and peck on the cheek. Her face must have been quite flushed if his laughter after meant anything. Ivar grumbled something at his brother in their foreign language as he pulled her out of the SUV. To her further surprise, Ivar walked her to her front door instead of staying with his brother.

"Thanks for inviting me out." She said honestly, once they reached the door.

"Next time we'll watch something you enjoy."

Before she could second guess herself, she stepped closer and wrapped her arms around him. Instantly, his arms went around her, pulling her closer. While the hug at the movie theater was sweet and intimate, this hug carried a different tone. It was more urgent and passionate. Her face rested on his collarbone, allowing his scent to envelope her. He laid a soft kiss to the top of her head, resting his chin there after. For a split second, she realized she never wanted to leave this moment. To be safe and warm and comforted and wanted. It was all she had ever hoped for. This was dangerous water they treaded in. With each intimate action, she could feel their friendship sailing closer and closer to the waters of something more. The gentle, easy waters of friendship would not be enough to maintain them.

With that thought in mind, she regretfully pulled back. "Goodnight." She murmured.

"God natt, kattunge."

"One of these days, you have to tell me what you're saying."

A devious smirk grew on his lips. "No, I think I like you being in suspense."

She laughed, shaking her head. They both hesitated to move, the air tense with something, as if both were waiting for the other to say or do something.

"Ok, bye." She finally said, opening her front door.

He nodded, taking a step back without removing his heated gaze off of her.

Shuddering at the feeling of his smoldering gaze, she let herself into the townhouse and made sure to lock the door behind her. Releasing a deep breath, she leaned her back against the door. What was it about him that tempted her so? He was bad news for her. Yet the more time she spent with him, the more she craved being with him.

Glancing down, she stared at his soft, gray jacket she still wore and wondered how symbolic this unintended action was.

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