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jawllines · 4 years

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

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

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

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

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

part 1

(tw: mentions of suicide)

ii.

Psst.

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

Psst.

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

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

Psst.

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

Psst.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“There’s no creature in the forest.”

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

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

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

. . .

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

. . .

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why are you sending girls over to me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A small smile pulls at her mouth.

“Yes please.”

. . .

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Harry nods.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I would like that.”

. . .

“I can’t swim.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re okay?”

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

“Yes, I’m okay. Are you okay?”

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

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

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

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

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

. . .

Harry was drunk.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Your little girlfriend’s not with you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?”

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

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

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

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

“Yes, please, please lick me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thanks for being my camp ‘husbad’.”

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

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

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

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serendipityunho · 4 years

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Cheat Codes (M)

❀ Genre: smut, angst, college au ❀ Pairing: dom!Seonghwa x brat!Reader (fem.) ❀ Word Count: 5.3k ❀ Warnings: explicit language, intoxication, brat taming, hair-pulling, fingering, biting kink, blowjob, teasing, clit play, dirty talk, begging, explicit sexual intercourse, a little bit of a fight between seonghwa and yunho, yunho got his feelings hurt :(

❀ Synopsis: "This party's boring, wanna get out of here?", may have perhaps led you to make the biggest mistake of your life by sleeping with your best friend's other best friend, your best friend who happens to be in love with you.

Another year, another number changed on his age. Despite that change, Yunho would always remain a child at heart, getting excited and wide-eyed at the birthday cake you’d always bake him. But for the past couple of years, there’s been a twist, he was able to drink legally. Since then, parties and gatherings were always wild, bringing a new meaning to the word ‘celebration’.

You’d do anything for your best friend, and he’d do anything for you. Yunho was there for you since you could remember, he was the first to show up with a bandaid when you fell off your bike or when you tripped over the rock chasing him around his house. It was an unbreakable bond, everyone knew it, they could see it, how close the two of you are.

“One time for the birthday bitch- Ow! What was that for?” Mingi shot Yunho a hurtful look as he rubbed his arm from Yunho’s warning punch.

“Call me a bitch one more time and let’s see where that leads you,” he was obviously kidding, who in their right mind would ever dare to harm Mingi? All he does is just vibe in his own little world, smiling at every living thing.

This year, it was a whole lot more different compared to his usual birthday bashes. The girls, the beer kegs, the rave lights, the party animals? Not a single one in sight. Yunho thought it was time for a change in the annual scenery, it definitely let the both of you breathe a little bit more.

To be honest, it felt quite unusual without the booming music and sweaty bodies sexually grinding against one another. Not that you were complaining, it was a relief not to witness any more wild scenes.

Last time, San had to get stitches on his head as a result of slipping off the diving board. And Mingi? Let’s spare the details and just say his chest was in pain from a Hennessy-drunk-Wooyoung trying to vacuum his ‘tiddies’. Don’t ask how he managed to secure a vacuum in the first place.

“Happy birthday, shithead,” was the first thing you say to him, pulling yourself onto one of the kitchen stools as you watch him gulp down a cup of whatever mix of alcohol he had swirling in there.

“Thank you, shithead, want a drink?” Yunho always offered you drinks whenever he had the chance, getting you drunk was always his favourite thing to do. Why? It was so he could freely express his feelings for you without the fear of you remembering it the next day.

How did you know that? Yunho had once underestimated your drinking ability. It was quite a night to remember when Yunho mistook your fuller cup of alcohol for his, making him spew out the most cooing confession you’ve ever heard.

It honestly didn’t come as a surprise. One of you was doomed to fall for the other, he just happened to be the first.

“No thanks, we’re keeping it calm this time, remember?”

“Right, right. Calm.”

Several of his friends had been invited to Yunho’s little birthday gathering. They had just been as confused as you were when you were told there was no big party this year. But, of course, none of them questioned the birthday boy of his intentions.

You’ve familiarised yourself with their faces around campus, but San and Wooyoung were the only two you’ve actually brought yourself to talk to beside Mingi occasionally. The two were tight-knit, maybe even more so than Yunho and yourself. A pair who wreak chaos and havoc everywhere they go. No one could ever forget the time Wooyoung walked the walk of shame with nothing but a pizza box covering his lower region and San’s beanie on his head.

“You never told me what’s with the sudden change,” no one had really asked Yunho, maybe that’s what he liked about them, the suppressed urge to ask a million questions. “No girls accepted your party invites? Shocking.”

“No, it’s not that,” Yunho sighed, leaning back against the counter with his hand wrapped on the edge. “I can’t have big loud parties for the rest of my life, you know?”

“And what about it?”

“Don’t know, I just felt like having people I actually care about here,” it was rare to have a friend like Yunho, sure he was easy to talk to but that doesn’t automatically make someone his friend. “A time where I don’t have to fake a smile for an entire night because that shit just makes my face cramp.”

“Oh, please, don’t get all soft on me now. It’s your birthday, cheer up a bit, yeah?” You punched his shoulder playfully before hopping off the stool, grabbing his hand to lead him to the yelling boys in the backyard.

“Pftt- I’m not getting soft, you know it’s the Vodka.” oh, the excuses always amazed you.

You could feel goosebumps poking out from under your cold skin, the night was chilly with a few waves of shivering breezes, you couldn’t help but mentally scold yourself for forgetting to bring a jumper with you. Yunho probably had none left considering you’ve stolen almost all of them to bring home.

It was a mystery how none of these boys reacted the way you did to the cold, it was as if their skin was ice itself. They just continued yelling and throwing arms around each other like it wasn’t a single care in the world. The brooding effects of alcohol, you could say.

Yunho wasn’t particularly a wild drunk, but when he was, it was something that needed to be recorded and watched the morning after. He was never wildly drunk at his big birthday bashes but tonight was, as said, different. Drowning himself in bottles of soju until his pale skin flushed bright red, Jongho could probably mistake it for an apple and break his skull. God hopes that doesn’t happen.

Despite familiarising yourself with the new crew, there was one who you couldn’t help but pay attention to more. He wasn’t like the others, he didn’t give off San and Wooyoung’s chaotic behaviour, he didn’t carry Hongjoong’s talkative manner and he definitely doesn’t seem like he would replicate Mingi’s clumsiness or Jongho’s bright personality.

The best you could assume from this boy was that he would probably share the same bluntness as Yeosang. Cold and blunt. Nothing else.

Park Seonghwa.

There was something about him. Maybe it was the sense of mystery that caused him to occupy most of your headspace. He looks like he holds a lot of mystery, mysteries you were eager to explore.

You didn’t even realise you were staring blankly at him until the brooding pair of dark brown eyes met yours from across the circle of fold-out chairs, making you choke on the cheap liquor before quickly snapping your gaze away from the boy and to the drunken group of boys looking like they were playing ring-around-the-rosie.

It was just the two of you. Sitting in the array of seating with live entertainment before your eyes. Entertainment as in watching Mingi trying to lick his elbow. You could’ve sworn the people in front of you were simply just children in the bodies of grown men. Where did Yunho even find these boys?

Amusement from watching the chaos unfold before you quickly washed away as you kept your seat warm, watching your liquor hitting the sides of your cup as you lazily mixed it. Laughter boomed recurrently throughout the backyard, something that was honestly keeping you awake for the night.

You hate to say it but, you were bored as fuck.

Sure, it was nice to stray away from Yunho’s regular birthday bashes but a little more entertainment rather than alcohol and snacks would’ve been a little nice. The several bodies of young men seem like they’re having the time of their lives just dancing on the edge of the pool right now, one was surely destined to fall in and cause a chain reaction.

Seeing Yunho so happy and not actually fake smiling was enough to convince you to stay and not drag him to the closest nightclub. What the birthday boy wants, the birthday boy gets.

“Hey,” the voice was nothing like you’d expect, soft and comforting but deep and brooding at the same time, making you snap your attention to the boy sitting down on the chair next to you.

“Hi,” was he as bored as you were? Looked like it. His cup was nearly as empty as yours.

“How long have you known Yunho?” Seonghwa asked, slouching back against the flimsy chair as he downed the last of his drink.

“Since we took our first baby steps. Childhood friend, and you?”

“Known the big guy since highschool,” that’s weird, Yunho never mentioned a guy named Park Seonghwa once in his life till now. Let alone, you’ve never even seen him around school since the two of you went together.

“I don’t remember him telling me about you until now. Did you go to the same school as us?”

“I studied abroad in Australia, that’s why he never mentioned me. Thought our friendship wouldn’t last by the time I got back so there was no point in bragging about it.”

Well that explains it then.

“Huh, interesting,” despite sitting a few feet away from the pool, the lights had illuminated his face perfectly, showing off his sharp features you were able to admire from up close when he moved seats next to you. There was one thing you were captivated by the most. His eyes.

They were very alluring eyes, it was as if they were hand-sculpted by an almighty deity itself.

His leather jacket framed his figure perfectly, a beautiful man with a sense of style? Makes you wonder if he has a girlfriend.

“Yeah, look,” Seonghwa sighed, running a hand through his sleek black hair before inching closer to you. “I don’t know how to say this but, this party is getting boring. Wanna get out of here?”

And so you were right.

“As much as I would like to, I don’t think I should keep him out of my sight.”

“We can just go somewhere more calmer like upstairs if you want?” You wanted to snort at his desperation. It was clear what his intentions were and he obviously wasn’t trying to hide it. Yet, you weren’t willing to hide yours either.

“Yeah,” you smirked, licking your top row of teeth before pushing yourself off the chair. “We can go upstairs.”

Seonghwa didn’t even bat an eye before taking a hold of your hand in his, literally dragging you back inside the house where he discarded his empty solo cup in the trash along with yours. The source of laughter grew quieter as the two of you descended further into the house, silently navigating up the staircase with nothing in mind other than the fact that both of you were obviously desperate for some sort of action.

Your easy agreement probably made it sound like you were one of people who slept with anyone they could, but that wasn’t the case. Turning down boys was practically your profession. But with Park Seonghwa? You wanted a taste of that.

You wanted a taste of his mystery, you wanted a touch of that tattoo strip on the side of his neck and the ones on his fingers. You just wanted to feel the flexed bicep underneath the tough leather jacket and the alcohol kissed lips against your neck and preferably on every inch of your body.

Who could blame you for wanting to?

“I didn’t think you were the desperate type,” Seonghwa lows, pushing you against the bedroom door as he locked it.

“I’m not,” your eyes flicker up to his, smirking as you place a hand on the side of his neck, tracing his tattoo with your finger. “You just happened to catch my attention recently.”

“I’m flattered, really,” Seonghwa smirked, eyeing your features with his arms caging you between his body and the door.

“Just fucking kiss me already.”

“Oh, you’re so desperate for me to just fuck you right now aren’t you?” Seonghwa growled, grabbing your waist and pushing you backwards onto the bed until you were flat on your back.

“You’re delusional if you think I’m going to beg for it,” patience wasn’t really on your side, you weren’t gifted with it at all. Especially when it came to fucking.

“Alright, bet.”

A pair of luscious lips slammed against yours in a matter of seconds, Seonghwa was pushing your body deeper into the mattress as his knee pushed open your legs and hands sliding up from your sides to your hands. It was as if you were kissing nothing but mouldable chocolate that tasted of a faint strawberry chapstick, kissing it so hungrily.

“You think I can’t make you beg? Just watch,” Seonghwa’s lips hovered over yours, barely parted as he pushed your legs further apart with his knee, fingers popping the button of your jeans before pulling down its zipper.

“I don’t give in ea- shit,” your head lurched forward as Seonghwa pressed his fingers against your clit, rubbing it slowly before guiding it down to your folds and cloaking his fingers with your wetness.

“Fuck, what was that? Starting to get wet for me?”

“Don’t act like you don’t have a stiffy here,” you could feel Seonghwa’s hard-on underneath his jeans rubbing against your thigh, making you smirk before subtly moving your leg.

“Are you trying to make me beg? No, I don’t play like that,” Seonghwa lowered his face against your neck with a low groan, sinking his long fingers into your pussy with ease before pumping them in and out, earning a quiet whine from you.

“Tsk, tsk, I can do this all night, you know?” You could feel a smirk against your neck, the chilling inhales and exhales against your skin sent shivers down your spine as Seonghwa quickened the pace of his fingers pumping in and out of you, causing your knees wanting to shut close.

“Fuck- Seonghwanggha,” he wasn’t kidding when he said he could make you beg. You were literally on the verge of it. His fingers weren’t enough and he knew that, they were just enough.

“Aw, are you getting needy? Hm? Do you want more?” The tease sent your brain into a frenzy, cloaked with a thick film of haze as Seonghwa starts to rub your clit with the palm of his hand while still fucking you with his fingers.

“Yes, jesus fucking christ- yes!”

“Yes what? Hm? What do you want?”

“You.”

“I need you to say it.”

“Ohmyfuckinggod- I want you to fuck me.”

“Sorry, I couldn’t hear that.”

“Fuck me, I want you to fuck me- ughhnah fuck,” a sharp pain brews against your neck, Seonghwa had caught the flesh of your neck between his teeth, biting it while pulling your jeans and panties down to the floor.

A moan slips out of your mouth as Seonghwa licks the spot on your neck, kissing it before sucking on your jawline. The sudden idea of where you were and what you were doing left your mind like a flash, all you could think of was being touched, touched by Seonghwa and kissing his tattoos on his fingers that were knuckles deep inside of you.

“Told you I would make you beg.”

Underestimation was always your weakness, tonight was a clear sign you should probably stop doing that.

“You flatter yourself too damn much,” you grit, flipping Seonghwa onto his back before lowering yourself onto the waistband of his black jeans, eyeing his bulging erection with a smirk.

“But was I wrong? I don’t think so,” Seonghwa sits up, holding the side of your face in one of his hands before sliding them up to your hair. Your mouth shoots wide open as Seonghwa suddenly grabs a hold of your hair, pulling it back to expose the bruised skin on your neck.

Oh, how much you wanted to just rip his tongue out for his reckless teasing. It was driving you wild, too insanely wild. But you love it.

His belt unbuckled with ease as you yank his jeans and boxers down to his ankles, freeing his hardened cock that just hit his stomach. Your shirt already found itself discarded onto the floor with the rest of the items pulled off your body, as if they were just another decorative piece on the floor.

The longer he watched you with a cocky smirk, the more you wanted to just slap it off. But you were so turned on. So, so turned on you could practically feel your wetness smearing between your thighs.

A small wince shot out from above you as Seonghwa hissed through his gritted teeth, staring down at his dick in the palm of your hands, squeezing it lightly before slowly pumping. You knew if you decided to tease him, it wouldn’t end well for you, what else could you expect from a man like this?

“Jesus fucking christ,” Seonghwa moans, head falling back as he props himself up with his elbows. The tip of his dick was itching to hit the back of your throat any second now, just waiting for him to buck his hip up into your mouth.

It was the brief groan from the back of your throat that sent Seonghwa’s thighs squirming and abdomen tensing hard. You could tell he was enjoying the way your tongue swirled around the base of his cock, pressing against his length with enough pressure to have him gripping your hair.

Just the sound of him reacting to your mouth sent your head into a cloud full of lust. You wanted more and the best you could do at the moment was just rub your thighs together in anticipation as your eyes shot up to Seonghwa’s, droopy and filled with nothing but desperation.

“Fuck, you’re good,” his scrunched up face said it all. “Come here.”

You remove your lips from his throbbing length with a kissing sound before climbing on top of him only to be flipped right around, wrists pinned down on either side of your head. It was impressive how he could do that so nonchalantly with nothing but a cocky smirk.

“I should’ve guessed you were a brat,” Seonghwa hissed, brushing his tip against your clit. The urge to just buck your hips against his was killing you but you knew it would only do more harm than pleasure.

“Then I guess you better fuck me like one.”

The fire in his eyes was more than any sentence. His desire was fuming inside him, eager to cloud his judgement the moment your hole stretched from his length suddenly sliding into you.

He sure knew how to work his dick right when a grunt outed from your mouth as Seonghwa hooked his hips at an angle before thrusting. The eye-rolling pleasure only lasted a few seconds before Seonghwa quickened his pace, starting to snap his hips into you as he hooked both of your legs over his shoulders.

Fuck, you wanted to kiss him, but he knew what he was doing to you. He was doing it on purpose. There was no way he was going to let you kiss him. No way to busy your mouth as moans escape it recklessly.

“Ohffuck-” your head was growing lighter and lighter by the second, back arched off the mattress by now if it wasn’t for Seonghwa pushing your knees against your chest.

It was quite embarrassing hearing just your moans bouncing off the walls of this room as Seonghwa was pile-driving you deep into the bed, it only made you more desperate to crash your lips onto Seonghwa’s to deafen them. You really didn’t want to bite down on your arm, but you were more desperate than ever.

“Aw, why are you being so quiet hm? Is this dick not satisfying you enough?” Seonghwa smirks from above you, parting his lips so you could finally hear his staggered breathing.

“Y-Yeah, something like t-that- unghh,” sarcasm was undoubtedly your go-to method to cope with certain situations, but this time it was sarcasm that would get you more than you asked for.

“Oh? You really want to fucking play like that? You’re not going to be able to walk once I’m done with you.”

Emptiness looms in your heat as Seonghwa pulls out, latching either side of your waist before flipping you around on your stomach in a flash. A surprised gasp left your lips as he stingingly squeezed the flesh of your ass with a chuckle, hoisting you onto your knees.

“You really think you’re different from everyone el- mhmmh,” your snarky remark was cut short when you felt a hand push the side of your face against the mattress, legs twitching as Seonghwa thrust himself into you once again.

“You’re getting on my goddamn nerves,” Seonghwa snarls, keeping a tight grip on your hair in his fist as the other hand smoothes over your side.

The pumping pleasure coursing through your body felt electric, making you feel like you were above the clouds with each hard thrust. You could feel your ass bouncing as Seonghwa’s thrusts became sloppy, louder as the room echoed with nothing but a mix of your lewd moans and slapping skin.

“Tsk, I can feel you shaking underneath me. Regretting it yet?”

“I can fucking handle it, shut up,” you weren’t raised as no weak bitch.

“I really hope so,” well fuck. You could feel your thighs quivering as Seonghwa slowly pushed your legs further apart, stomach falling closer against the mattress. Just barely above it. “Impressive.”

It was a new angle that had you wanting to cry, with the way his cock hit deep in you and both of his hands either side of you holding him up. You couldn’t help but let your face fall against your arms, breathing as if it were your last and brows furrowed so hard you could feel your face about to cramp.

“Seonghw-aaahhmhm,” your legs twitched, pushing themselves higher off the mattress as your ass hits Seonghwa’s stomach with no choice. You couldn’t hold the position any longer unless you wanted to burst into tears from the burning in your thighs.

“What’s the matter huh? I thought you could handle it.”

“P-Please,” you cry.

“What do you want?”

“Kiss me- just please fucking kiss me,” your voice grew deeper and louder, desperation dripping from your tongue like poison as you push yourself off the mattress and flip Seonghwa onto his back with no time wasted in hoping your soaking wet cunt back on his length.

“Get your pretty lips here then,” your lips crashed harshly onto one another, teeth clashing as saliva coated your lips. The weak taste of his strawberry chapstick was still there and you loved it, love the way his lips moulded perfectly with yours each time as his hips snapped up into yours.

Seonghwa’s hands grip your hips roughly as he tries his best to hold them up with your legs quivering. His hips were snapping up briskly with a slap, shooting immense pleasure through your body like little sparks bottling into a ball in the deepest pit of your stomach.

“Oh fuck, right theremhmmgh right there,” you whisper a moan against his lips before letting your face fall in the nape of his neck, hand cupping the side of his face as the other grips the bedsheets.

Seonghwa just couldn’t control the loudness of his breathing anymore, grunting through gritted teeth as he shut his eyes close and glutes on fire with how rapid he was moving his hips. It was a breath-taking moment with your knuckles turning white and nails on the verge of tearing into the bedsheet as the pleasurable feeling of his cock pounding into you from below just pushing you to the edge of your combustion.

“Uggnghh- shitohmygod!” your fist loosened on the bedsheets before slamming them closer to your body, pushing yourself off of Seonghwa’s chest with a high-pitched moan and wide mouth as your brain turns into mush. Nothing but electrifying pleasure washed over you like a tsunami, making you clench tight around Seonghwa’s cock and gazing into his droopy lust-filled eyes.

A white film casts over your vision as you lower your lips onto Seonghwa’s, giving him a slow intent kiss as his hips calm down. Legs still quivering with the slightest movement as you lowered yourself with him, making his length slide out of you with ease and just poking at your stomach.

Seconds which felt like minutes went by with nothing but silence. Just basking in your own silent thoughts in your own heads.

You should’ve felt anything. Anything but guilt.

Why guilt? Out of all emotions, why guilt after fucking a stranger you just met? A stranger who was brought to you by your best friend. Your best friend who once confessed he loves you.

“This was a mistake,” you didn’t think twice before scattering to get your clothes, rushingly putting them back onto your body as Seonghwa was left there with confusion written all over his face.

“Wait,” he booms, “what do you mean this was a ‘mistake’?”

Seonghwa replicated your actions and started putting his clothes back on in a swift, still waiting for an answer after you responded with nothing but silence. He should’ve known, he was Yunho’s best friend too after all.

“Listen, just forget this ever happened, please,” just thinking about this night would eat you alive, and it would definitely kill Yunho from the inside.

Before Seonghwa could say anything, you dashed out of the bedroom door, skipping down the stairs with your heart pounding like crazy, ready to jump out of your chest. It wasn’t long before you could hear footsteps following you closely behind, which made you even more uneasy as you could tell he was desperate for answers.

“Hey, what the fuck is your problem?” Seonghwa grabs you by the arm, halting you in your escape before letting go with a piercing stare. “You can’t just beg me to fuck you like that and say, oh, ‘this was a mistake’.”

You could tell he was mocking you, but you really couldn’t blame him. The only person to blame here was you. You should’ve known better than to sleep with one of Yunho’s best mates, especially when you knew the boy had deep feelings for you.

“Because it is a mistake,” you grit, “we can’t tell Yunho what happened… it’ll break him.”

In all honesty, it would break you more than him. Guilt was a more deadlier disease than heartbreak, it was worse when it came down to friendships more than love itself.

“Wha-”

“Can’t tell me what?”

Your eyes widen in shock as you snap your attention to the familiar voice behind you, already feeling a pang in your chest as your eyes locked onto Yunho’s innocent ones. Seonghwa kept quiet as you tried to choke out a few words to Yunho, flickering his gaze back and forth between the two of you.

“Um, nothing! Nothing, we were just getting to know each other, that all,” you try your hardest to make your fake smile not obvious, but it clearly wasn’t working with Yunho’s confused gaze turning into a suspicious one.

“Getting to know each other huh?” Yunho poked the inside of his cheek with his tongue, running his eyes up and down the two of you.

“Yeah.”

“I could tell,” an octave drop in Yunho’s voice sent you breathing harder as his facial features hardened, soft brown loving eyes turned into a cold glare. “You fucking bastard.”

Yunho’s attention wasn’t on you anymore, it was focused on the person standing behind you. Everything happened so quickly, next thing you know, Yunho was pinning Seonghwa up against the wall by his collar, faces close in proximity with jaws clenched and fists balled.

“You fucking knew,” Yunho snarled, “and yet you still fucked her. I thought you were my best friend, Hwa. What the fuck happened to that huh?”

“H-How?” could he smell Seonghwa’s cologne on you? What the heck.

“Your shirt is inside out.”

Well, fuck. Not only did he catch you lying straight to his face but he caught his two best friends fucking each other, his best friend and someone who he had poured his heart and soul to.

“Yunho, please. I can ex-”

“You can explain? Yeah, alright go ahead, let’s hear what you have to say and if this motherfucker has anything else to add to it.”

“Yunho, get your hands off of me or we’re going to have a problem,” Seonghwa tries his best to pry Yunho’s grip from his collar, standing on his toes as he faces his deadly glare.

“We already have a problem, Hwa,” Seonghwa drops down with a thud as Yunho finally lets him go, throwing his glare back onto you. “Go ahead, say what you have to say.”

“I-I… we just… we were desperate, Yunho,” it wasn’t the best and most plausible excuse but it was honestly it.

“Desperate. Out of all people, you choose him? Are you serious? I don’t know if you got my hints, but fuck!”

“Yunho, I am so so sorry. Please, just-”

“God, I hate being in love with you!”

It was at that moment, you could see your world crumbling down as Yunho bites back a quiver. His eyes glossy and starting to frame with red as Seonghwa also couldn’t help but wear a remorseful face.

“Hey-”

“Don’t fucking touch me, Hwa,” Yunho aggressively brushed off Seonghwa’s hand on his shoulder, throwing him a side glare as he lowers his head. “Go home.”

“Woah, what is going on?” all three of your heads snapped up to a red flushed, drunk Mingi with a half empty bottle of soju in his hands stopping mid way with a questioning look on his face. Soon enough, the whole group of boys were here, standing behind Mingi with a replicated confused face.

“Everyone, go home. I’m not feeling good tonight,” Yunho pushed through the group of boys, passing to the kitchen where he grabbed a new cold bottle of soju from his fridge.

“Man, you sure? Want us to stay just in case?” Jongho spoke, brows raised as he was concerned for his gloomy looking friend.

“Mingi can stay, I don’t trust him alone at home while he’s drunk. Everyone else go home, please.”

“Yun-”

“I said leave,” you could barely even choke out his name before getting cut off again, guilt slowly but painfully chewing away at bits of your soul.

“Alright, you heard the man. Leave him be,” Yeosang took the liberty to usher everyone out with swaying arm movements, clueless of what had unfolded before everyone had walked in.

Mingi smiled brightly, waving his goodbyes and yelling his goodbyes as he joined a slouched Yunho in the kitchen. You couldn’t help but plaster a fake grin to fuel his happy hour before leaving out the door, embraced by the cold once more. But this time, you weren’t just cold on the outside, you could feel it inside of you. As if you had just turned yourself into a cold-blooded killer.

Murdering whatever trust and happiness Yunho had left in that big body of his.

Like everyone else in the entire world, you had to live with what you got, what you’ve done, what you can’t take back.

#ateez smut #seonghwa smut #kpop smut #park seonghwa #smut #fanfiction #ateez oneshots #kpop oneshots #ateez imagines #kpop imagines #ateez angst #kpop angst #seonghwa angst #yunho angst #badboy!seonghwa #bestfriend!yunho

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neo-culture-mafia · 4 years

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Mafia!NCT 127 Reaction to You Coloring Their Tattoos

Hyuck + Mark in the Dream Reaction

not proofread yet

[ posted 09 / 10 / 2020 ]

Taeyong

He had no hesitation letting you color his tattoos. "Have fun, babe." He pinched your cheek and relaxed under the big tree you were both sitting under. Today was a cool and relaxing day as Taeyong had thrown all his plans away to be with you all day.

The dragon on his bicep was now stained in hues of purple and green with accents of neon yellow creeping up his shoulder. "So, besides today, how have you been lately?" His gaze swayed from you to the inside of his eyelids as he was drifting to sleep slowly. "Okay, I suppose. Work is annoying." You laughed and his heart twinged with love. "My students are definitely taking advantage of the wedding to slack off with their work." You chuckled and Taeyong took notice of the cool metal ring that laid on your left hand. It had never looked more magical than right now. The wedding was a fairytale story to think about in another time and place. It was the talk of the town. There wasn’t a reason the students shouldn’t be talking about it.

"They're kids. They're going to goof off for a while." He laughed and looked down at his arm. The color stuck inside the lines and stained your hands wildly. Your yawn brought his attentive eyes to your sleepy frame. "Tired, already?" He laughed as you could only shrug with a sheepish grin stuck on your face.

"Come here. Let's just rest for a little bit then." He pushed the markers into the grass and his arm wrapped itself around your waist as he pulled you down and into his side. You couldn't fight it as your ear was filled with the sound of his mellowing heartbeat. His fingers danced in your hair and danced along the curves of your cheekbones till he knew you were fast asleep.

He stayed awake just looking at your angelic features as the sight of his multi-colored arm shifted his focus. It was so meaningless to you but he loved it as he knew that it came from your heart and mind.

It was you-- perfect.

Taeil

"If I have to sit through one more of these stupid underboss meetings then I swear I'm going to go ballistic-" Taeil cut you off with a laugh. "I don't want caviar and fancy fish with wine! I want chicken nuggets shaped like dinosaurs with a coke!" You whined as he walked in the bedroom, one hand shoving the dress shirt underneath the hem of his dress pants.

"I know, cutie. Just a couple more meetings this week then I promise I'll take a week off and we can go and take a vacation." He pulled your hands and guided you to the bathroom where an elegant dress hung on the hooks of the door. Matching with Taeil was something you looked forward to with events like these. Yet, the event itself was throwing you off.

You got dressed and stared at yourself in the mirror. The thin red spaghetti straps danced on your shoulders as it contrasted with your dark black tattoos. The heels were uncomfortable as they carried you through the door and to the base meeting house.

You sat between Taeil and Johnny who decided to come alone and without his wife. 'lucky bitch' you thought. Taeil's hand protectively gripped the inside of your thigh. The stares of the foreign feeling underbosses littered across the room. Their aura made a shiver go down your spine as Taeil read out the news from Neo Culture's territory.

Your hand rested on top of his as your thoughts drowned out your husband's usually sweet voice. You traced the tattoos on his hand lightly with your finger. You grabbed an extra pen from Johnny's seat place and started to add onto Taeil's tattoos. The red and blue inks clashed with each other even though they laid right by one another.

Taeil gripped your wrist harshly to get you to stop but the spiteful feeling sparked in your head. You grabbed his hand with your other hand and forced it on your lap. You continued drawing and coloring the shapes and words with a vengeful attitude coursing through your veins.

A break was reached and all the underbosses were dismissed from the meeting room to the dining room where food was going to be served. Yet, once the room was cleared he grabbed your wrists once more. "What the hell are you doing?"

You automatically started to pout as you deemed that this wasn't fun anymore. "I was just trying to get your attention." You mumbled as you got up and walked out of the big wooden doors. Taeil sighed and took a deep breath. He looked down to see hearts of blue and red around your initials he had tattooed on his thumb. Tiny cartoon characters danced across his hand and he realized he was overreacting.

He got up to go after you and caught you walking slowly to the dining room. He came up behind you and slipped a hand on your lower hip. "I'm sorry, baby." Taeil sighed and kissed your cheek warmly.

You shook your head and leaned into him. "No, I shouldn't have kept going when you said to stop. I'm sorry." You confided as you both turned into the room where everyone was already seated. "Here, how about this," he whispered. "Eat a little bit of food then me and you can go out for burgers after everyone leaves." He said and the look on your face gave him the energy to get through the next hour and a half.

"Really?" You asked and he nodded. You grabbed his face and gently kissed his cheek. "Now you have my seal of approval." You laughed as you rubbed the faint mark of lipstick off of his face.

You sat down ready to shove down the nasty fish eggs and wine that was about to be served.

Johnny

Nobody understood how Johnny got you to be his wife. Everyone thought that the differences would've drowned out the connection. Yet, anybody who doubted was silenced when they spent an hour with you both. The strongness of Johnny seemed minimalized whenever you walked into the room. It was quite magical.

You and Johnny sat on the 127 squad jet, bound towards New York where you both would be staying for 3 months for protection. The family was threatened with the wives and partners coming under the harshest threats.

Johnny took you and didn't look back. You were working an 18-hour shift at the hospital and he came with no warning. Just grabbed you and left.

Jaehyun and his wife were on the way to Connecticut while Mark and his girlfriend were on their way to New York too. Johnny, Mark, and Jaehyun were to meet in New York in their respective spaces to set out a plan of action. After that, Mark would spend a month in New York, then go up to Toronto, spending his last months in Vancouver. Johnny is splitting the trip up into half in New York, the rest in Chicago. Jaehyun was taking his chances by staying in Connecticut. Yet, he said he wouldn't hesitate running West if needed.set out a plan of action. The sudden news threw you off guard.

You sat with Johnny in the back of the plane in dead silence. "I'm scared." You admitted. "Why?" He asked as he turned his phone off and threw it on the table in front of both of you.

You curled up on the couch next to him, latching onto his arm protectively. "Nothing is going to happen, sweetie." He came up to twirl your hair calmly as your heart started to race more. It was too quiet.

"Here, let's find something to do." He sighed and stood up, rummaging through the closets and storage of the plane. In a moment he returned with a pack of markers. "No paper." He frowned and sat back down with a tired sigh.

You reached forward to bring the thin cardboard box into your hands. You felt his hand rest on the small of your back as you pulled the markers out and twirled them in-between your fingers.

You looked to him to see his head leaned back and eyes shut. You grabbed his suit jacket and tugged. His head snapped up and it took him a minute to understand what you were getting at. "Oh." He sighed and shook the material off of his torso.

A simple t-shirt had been hidden underneath his blazer as you laid your eyes on his tattoos. He didn't have any hesitation as he rolled up his already short sleeves and got comfortable.

He was preoccupied with his phone as you hummed to yourself. You traced the sunflower in green and made tie-dye art on his forearms. Johnny was content with the silence and the fact he knew that you were okay and occupied.

"Wanna listen to some music, babe?" He asked as he opened his music app. "Duh." He clicked the playlist you had made for him and laughed as he watched you sing terribly into the marker. He studied your figure and facial expressions as you got caught up in coloring again. "This dragon is now going to have whiskers." You nodded but stopped quickly. "Or a mustache?" You looked at Johnny and he shrugged. "He'd look cute with some whiskers." You took the idea and plopped whiskers on the face of the dragon.

An associate who tagged along for the trip came into the back room with refreshments for the two of you. You both gladly accepted and were left alone again. "Gummy bears?" These are perfect. He threw the package at you but it went untouched as you kept drawing.

He could only laugh to himself as he opened the package for you and pulled a singular bear out. Johnny held it to your lips and was happy to you take it without much thought. You finally were happy with your artistic decisions and showed Johnny the finished piece.

"It's so nice, y/n!" He smiled and it felt like your brain was mush. You sat next to him with a content smile and a small yawn.

"Tired already?" at which you could only shrug as a response. "Then let's just watch some videos and relax." He kicked his feet up and pulled you so you were on his lap.

Johnny's phone played random videos as you latched onto him and went to sleep. He took some photos to set as his wallpaper and ultimately decided to join you in a nice nap.

(rrruuudddeee)

~~~

Yuta

"Yuta!" You called as you stepped into the large house. "I believe he's in the gazebo or his office, Miss." One of the worked associates greeted you at the front door. He grabbed the bags from your arms as you bowed politely. "Thank you so much." You were off towards the back of the house to find your husband.

"Yuta-!" You called as you rounded the corner of the house and into the back yard. The gazebo that laid just beyond the wood bridge that sat above the koi fish river-- was empty. You stopped and stared for a moment. You were sure that this is where he'd be.

"Up here, my love." A voice made you jump as you looked up to see Yuta at his office balcony. "Oh. Hi!" You waved as his eyes squinted in a smile. "How was your day out?" He asked as he brought his teacup up to his lips. "It was wonderful! I have something to show you!" You called and held up a small shopping bag in your hand. "I'll be right up!" You raced back into the house and up the stairs to where he already stood waiting for you in the doorway to his office.

"What's so amazing that you found today?" His eyebrow raised and you opened the bag quickly. "But first-" He interrupted you as he grabbed your face gently and gave you a passionate kiss. "What's this for?" You asked as he continued to stare at your face lovingly. "Just happy to see you is all." He smiled as his hands found their way into his pockets.

"Now, show me." He motioned to one of your hands that was stuck in the bag you held. You were brought back to reality and pulled the plastic package out of the bag.

"...Markers?" He asked and his tone of voice made you laugh. "Not just any markers. They're tattoo markers. They're safe for the skin." You corrected him and he rolled his eyes. "You're still on this?" Yuta asked with an amused expression. "Of course I am! This was the deal." You said shoving them into his hands so he could inspect the box.

He read the back and he had to admit...you were right.

"You said I could color your tattoos IF I found tattoo markers. Safe for the skin and everything!" He knew you did it...and that he had to hold up his part of the deal. "Okay fine." He sighed as he handed the package back. "Yay! Thank you!" You jumped and laid a gentle kiss on his cheek.

"We can do it later before dinner." He agreed and watched you skip happily down the hall.

---- "Finally! You take forever." You sighed as you moved your sunglasses up your nose. The grass tickled your bare legs as Yuta sat next to you. "I couldn't help it. Taeyong didn't want to hang up the phone." You stood on your knees and moved behind Yuta. Your hands gently rubbed his shoulders as his head fell in an exasperated manner.

"I hate to burst your bubble, Yuta. But, I called you out here for the deal. Not a massage." He whined as he flopped down on the grass, his t-shirt lifting on his back. His head rested on his folded arms as you silently cheered.

"If this stains, I will make sure to throw out all color in your life. Your life will be a dull kaleidoscope-" "Yeah, yeah, yeah. Whatever you say, you big baby." You laughed and opened your pouch full of the tattoo markers.

You lifted the back of his shirt more till the full picture was revealed. A full mural was printed on his back with black ink that curved and straightened out into different objects. A dragon with demons following was the full picture...a dark reality...that you were going to make colorful.

You sat on his lower back and got to work filling in the different parts of the dragon. Every once in awhile he would spasm and try to make you mess-up. Yet, with a tug on his hair, he would become limp and obedient again.

"I'm almost done." Was the phrase that almost made him weep with joy. "Finally." He let it slip and he felt a tug on his hair again. "Ow." He rubbed his head. He could feel you draw and move the felt-tipped weapons on his back.

"Finished." You cheered and grabbed his phone to take a picture. You showed it to him and ombre scaled decorated the dragon with the demon's faces were colored red and blue. It looked nice. He saw a couple of smiley faces hidden in there and felt like everything looked complete.

"Okay, my turn now!" He yelled and grabbed your arm. He pulled you to the ground and grabbed the black marker that was in your hand. "Yuta, no." You tried fighting him. "This wasn't apart of the deal." You thrashed but he pinned you under his body weight. "Excuse me? Sorry, I don't speak Japanese." His Korean rambled off quickly from his tongue. You decided to just deal with it as he took his time drawing a mustache on your face along with random doodles he could think of.

He finally stopped his antics and took a picture with his phone to look at afterward. "You look so cute, look!" He pulled up the picture and shoved it in your face. "I look gross man!" You ridiculed but he wrapped you up in his arms quickly,

"My gross man."

Doyoung

"I thought they were going to be here already." You whined as your head hit the wall behind you. "Oh, can you stop whining for once?" He groaned as he took off his bulletproof vest. The air seemed to be getting thinner as the seconds ticked past. He stretched his legs out so they touched the opposite wall of the tiny bank vault. The velvet flooring seemed sticky as it felt like your chest was getting heavier.

You stood up and went to the closed door. Kicking and banging seemed like the only viable option. You pounded and kicked as hard and as much as you could with no luck. Tears stained your eyes as you turned around to look for another option out of here. "It's getting smaller." You whispered and Doyoung took the opportunity. "You're right, y/n. I can feel the walls pushing in!" He yelled and started to thrash and roll around on the ground. You could swear that the walls were shrinking and coming closer together. You dropped to the floor with your hands over your head, ready to be crushed by the vault walls.

Doyoung was pissed and vengeful in the beginning but now he just felt bad. You sat there silently crying as you rocked yourself back and forth. Doyoung sat opposite of you and just stared, waiting for you to snap out of it, yet, there was no hope as he watched you bring your legs closer to your chest.

He pushed your shoulder and you backed away from him quickly. "Calm down. You're wasting our air." He deadpanned. You could only nod and wipe the tears away from your eyes.

"Wanna play tic-tac-toe?" He asked and you looked around, surprised he was asking in a moment like this. "Um-" He didn't wait for an answer and grabbed your legs-- pulling you closer to where he sat.

Doyoung reached into your vest you were wearing and pulled an assortment of permanent markers out. You wiped the rest of your tears and grabbed the orange marker out of his hand. He lifted the sleeve of his long shirt and created the grid in black ink. "Wanna go first?" He asked and you took the opportunity to land an 'X' in the grid.

He followed soon after you and in no time-- he won.

Another game and another and another till no space was left. An hour had passed and you were still stuck in the bank vault.

"Fine. You win this tournament. But, I know I'll win next time." Doyoung said laying back and closing his eyes. The sweat from his bangs dripped down the side of his face.

The bottom of his shirt lifted and you could see the familiar black ink on his side. "Stop staring at me like that, pervert. I have rights." He pulled his shirt down and you let a laugh rip through your chest.

"Chill. I was just looking at your tattoo." You said and he shrugged. "What about 'em?" He asked as his eyes closed once more. "Nothing. Just looking," you sighed, "I wanted to be a tattoo artist before all of this." You motioned around the velvet interior. One eye peeked open and he looked suspiciously at your figure. "Are you any good?"

You stood on your knees and lifted your shirt so he could see the piece you were in the middle of finishing. Dragon and koi fish laid on your ribs in red ink.

"Woah." He lifted himself closer and gently touched the healing ink. "You did this yourself?" You nodded as he inspected it for a good minute.

"Give me one!" He said and shoved the red sharpie in your hand. He didn't give you time before laying on his side in a straight line. He lifted the side of his shirt and waited patiently.

You shrugged, finding nothing else better to do. He already had black ink staining his skin so you decided to add on. It was another simple dragon but it fit his character and personality perfectly.

Time seemed to slow as he tried to take a sneak peek of the masterpiece you were currently working on. He planned to take a picture later and get it done, yet, it would have to be in secret.

All of a sudden, the door popped open and cool air filled the small compartment. "Welcome back to Earth." Chenle greeted. You capped the marker and grabbed your vest as quickly as Doyoung.

You both high-tailed it out of the bank and into the street where the van was waiting with open doors. Doyoung and you jumped and rolled onto the back-ground of the van and the door was slammed shut by Jaehyun.

"Sorry about that. Jungwoo spilled Sprite on the control panel." Jaehyun explained and a guilty-looking Jungwoo sat in the passenger seat, not making eye contact.

"Woah. You got a new tattoo?" Jaehyun lifted Doyoung's shirt up more to see the red dragon you had drawn.

"Eventually."

(tf is this?? i’m not even correlating the gif with the story...because what in the actual fuck is THIS????)

~~~~~

Jaehyun

He was a very demanding man with particular tastes. You sat by yourself in your underground shop when a swarm of men came in all at once. They lead the way for a man in a sharp business suit.

I'm about to get shut down...aren't I?

He looked at you for a moment before looking around and coming towards you. "Are you the shop owner?" His voice was smooth with undertones of threatening. "Depends on who's asking," I answered honestly, "If it's for ink work or compliments: me. If you have any problems then I'll turn you over to my manager, Lucifer." You wiped down the glass counter in front of you. His chuckle rang sliced through the thick tension.

"Lucifer." You sang and made kissy noises. A long black haired cat hopped onto the glass counter next to you, hissing at the men and laying on its back. His back stretched as his paws grew long and pointy nails only for a moment. "Oh be nice, Luci." You called and picked the cat up in your arms.

"So how can we help you today?" You smiled and the man looked at you and sighed. "This will do." He called over his shoulder and you heard a bang of your shop door. Men walked around you to your workroom and began going through your papers. "Do you have any affiliations with any gangs in the local or surrounding areas?" The man asked as you dropped the cat onto the glass.

"No." You blurted and it was met with a smile. "Well, you have caught the interest of Neo Culture-" "Oh hell no." You shook your head and came around the counter. You pointed towards the staircase that was capped with the 'exit' door. "Leave." You demanded, yet, he stood still.

"I don't think you understand how this works." His smile made you shiver. "You were picked. You can't just...refuse." He motioned to the room. "You are on Neo Culture property and territory. You will work for us in exchange for a pretty...hefty amount of cash-" "And a bullet in my head if another gang comes by?" You questioned with your arms crossed over your chest. "Well, you don't need to worry about that till they show up...do you?" His reasoning made you angry.

"I just want a simple fill-in today. And if you do well, then you'll be taken care of." He went into his coat pocket and pulled out a stack of paper. "Rent, bills, groceries, and spending money. Not to mention guaranteed protection from the most feared crime family in the Asiatic continent." He smiled as he handed over the piece of paper.

You looked at it and it was of a dragon that needed to be shaded and filled in. You knew that you needed to do this...or say bye-bye to your shop and dreams.

You sighed and looked at Lucifer who sat grooming himself.

"It's all clear, sir." One of the men popped his head out of the back curtain. The man smiled at you and stuck out his hand. "Do we have a deal?" He asked and you regretted the decision as you felt your hand reach itself out in front of you. "Deal." You sighed and you lead him back to the workroom.

He made himself comfortable as he draped his jacket across the waiting chair and unbuttoned the bottom of his shirt. He lifted his business shirt until a blank tattoo was shown on the front section of his ribs.

You got yourself ready off of what the paper described. Black and red shading with a black streak thrown across the dragon's eyes. 1-2-7 was bent across the dragon's stomach as 5 stars surrounded the head of the dragon mimicking a crown.

"Lucifer. Out." You called and the cat meow'd before walking out of the curtain. "Want to listen to music while I work?" You asked and he shook his head 'no' as he preoccupied himself on his phone.

You worked quickly and efficiently as he didn't dare look at your work.

2 hours went by and you were done. "Finished." You said standing up and disposing of the used needles. He stood up and looked into the body-length mirror on the other side of the room. "Woah." Was all you heard.

"This is good work." He said and you awkwardly smiled while coming closer to him with saniderm and healing gel. "Take off the saniderm underwater, so I suggest a shower and apply the gel gently. Change the saniderm at the same time tomorrow then after that you can wait up to 6 days after to change." You explained as you rubbed the gel on the tattoo and stuck a big square of saniderm on his torso.

"Why, thank you,-" "y/n." You cut him off and you could see him smile as you turned away.

"Nice name." He smiled, "Thanks...I guess." You shrugged. "Well, some other members will be in for some days to come. Money has already been left under your counter." He redressed as you cleaned up your station.

"I hope to see you soon, y/n." He smiled and walked off in an eerie aura. You heard your shop door open and close.

You rested your hands on your counter and let a huge sigh escape your chest. Meow.

You looked over to see Lucifer peeking his head in.

"I know. He was really weird."

(back tf up?? in the middle of a pandemic??)

~~~~~

Jungwoo

"Stop running away from me you tree!" You leaped from the couch and onto your boyfriend's back. "No! You'll never catch me!" He tried to shake you off of him, yet, you latched onto him as tight as you could.

"Damn your koala grip." He tried to swing his body around and throw you to the ground. Your hands went to cover his eyes as you began to panic. "Quit moving so fast!" You pleaded and he stopped abruptly. You scrambled off of his back and just sat with your legs outstretched on the floor.

You looked up at him with a look that could kill. "Just let me have fun." You pushed yourself off the floor and pointed a finger in his face. "You can. Just not on me." He moved your hand away from his face.

You groaned and sat on the couch in a huff. "You're no fun, Woo." You muttered and he couldn't help but smile at your pouty nature.

"Sure. Whatever you say, cutie." He said excusing himself down the hall. You heard the door to the bedroom close and you were left alone. You were going to color those damn tattoos even if it killed you. You turned on the TV and watched some shows. 40 minutes had passed and you knew that Jungwoo had to be asleep.

You snuck to the closet by the kitchen and threw the door open to find the bucket of markers. You grabbed your favorite out of the selection and were off down the hall.

The door was silent as you swung it open quickly. Jungwoo laid passed out on top of the sheets. His arms were folded underneath his head as you watched his chest rise and fall slowly...in a serene manner...but it was too calm. Chaos and fun were needed.

Tip-toeing was your best option as you swiftly made yourself over. You watched his eyes roam the inside of his eyelids as you realized he was completely knocked out.

You crawled on your space of the bed and uncapped the marker with a slight struggle. The pop made Jungwoo's eyelids squeeze and release quickly.

Your heart was filled with a mischievous attitude as you softly traced along the stars that were placed on his inner bicep. Pinks and oranges were plopped onto his skin as he laid unconscious.

A couple of cartoon characters and messages later you were bored. "Guess you are right. I really do have the mind of a goldfish." You mused quietly as you closed the marker and shoved them off the bed.

You laid across Jungwoo's torso and rolled onto him so he could wake-up. "It's like watching a toddler, I swear." He groaned as he grabbed you and didn't let go.

"I could've sworn that coloring would've kept you busy for at least an hour." He sighed and you just looked at him as if he had grown 5 heads. "I'm not stupid, y/n. Don't look at me like that." Jungwoo laughed and pinched your cheek.

He held onto your waist with one arm as he examined what you had drawn on the other. "Awe they're so cute." He mused and you looked at your work once more.

"Can I get a tattoo?" You asked and he only looked at you. "Do what you feel is right, but please...please think it through." He sighed and held onto you with both hands.

"Deal."

(ooo...fluffy looking jungwoo)

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handy-dandy-monster-candy · 4 years

Text

Jayson, part Two

Rating: NSFW Length: 2381 Pairing: Male Crocodilian Lizardfolk x Male Reader (both cis)

xxx

If you thought Jayson was attractive in athleisure wear, he’s even more of a heart-throb in his usual streetwear, sporting a well-maintained leather jacket over a tank top and steel-toed boots. He greets you with a tiny bouquet that he fashions into a corsage for you, and then he takes you to an arcade with a beat-up facade but a lively interior. He tells you that his brother used to take him here when he was little more than a hatchling, and he’s happy to support a business that’s still thriving when it still has an active gaming community and good food.

He comes prepared with rolls of quarters and a competitive spirit, and you spent hours playing air hockey and head-to-head fighting games. He can barely squeeze into the seats for the racing games but that doesn’t stop him from laughing, and you laugh right along with him for what feels like forever. He takes no prisoners shooting hoops and you think your eyes would water if you gave the same focus he does to chasing down the ghosts in Mrs. Pac-Man, but after all the tickets are traded in, you get a giant stuffed gator—“My less attractive cousin,” says Jayson—and matching mood rings to commemorate the occasion. Putting them on feels like you’re having a shotgun wedding in Vegas somewhere, surrounded by neon lights and the wiggly 90’s patterns on the carpets.

You stash the gator in his truck and he takes you out to dinner at the mall, and you have to laugh when he balances curly fries on his snout like a carb-based moustache. Jayson seems to thrive when you’re laughing—he seems to magnify your energy and enjoys building you up as a result. You have some spare time before your movie date, so you go window shopping and try on all kinds of different outfits. You’re surprised to find that Jayson looks great sporting a cowboy hat, and you laugh when he pairs it with a set of pinstripe bell-bottoms in a pretty shade of lilac.

You lose track of time and have to scurry into the movie theatre like a pair of giggly teenagers, nearly spilling your drinks on your way up to the back of the darkened room where the bigger seats are. You spend most of the film trying not to be too obnoxious to the other film-goers, but you’re too into Jayson to focus on whatever action flick you both chose at the box office, and it’s clear that Jayson feels the same. You flick popcorn into his open mouth and he wraps his arm around your shoulders, tucking you as close as he can. The armrest between you gets frustrating for him, however, and it’s not long until you find yourself sitting on one of Jayson’s huge thighs.

You don’t have the heart to tell him that it’s murder for your tailbone; his muscles are hard as steel.

You whisper to him that you may as well have become that stuffed gator, so dearly does he hold you, but he whispers, “You’re easier on the eyes,” back to you in the dark. You spend the second half of the movie cuddling against his chest and playing with his big, thick hand, toying with the webbing between his fingers until he chuckles and tells you that it tickles him. His lap becomes much less uncomfortable as time goes on, and you realise with a flutter in your chest that Jayson’s nerves had led to tense muscles, and he’s relaxing around you as time goes on.

By the time you get back to his truck, the streetlamps have been lit for hours, and you’re both reluctant to stop touching. Soft pop music floats from the speakers when the engine turns over, and Jayson reaches over to turn it down even lower just to talk with you. He starts planning your next date with all the eagerness of a child at Christmas, and you’re not even the least bit offended by his presumptuousness; this date has been the best you’ve had in a long time—possibly ever. The chemistry is there, bubbling away below the surface as you hold hands at red lights.

When you get home, he walks you to the door of your apartment and squeezes your hands before you finally part, leaving you a butterfly-addled mess as you watch him drive away. He texts you when he gets home safely and you shoot messages back and forth late into the night until you fall asleep cuddling your new stuffed toy, cell phone in hand and a smile on your face. He texts you good morning the next day and asks if he can swing by to take you out for coffee, which you happily accept.

This begins a ritual of going on little mini-dates all throughout the week, and you start hanging out at each others’ apartments after you finish up at the office or Jayson at his studio, cooking each other meals and watching more movies. One night, you both fall asleep on your couch and by the time you wake, it’s the early morning hours, so you invite Jayson into your bedroom and let him sleep with you in your bed. You learn very quickly that Jayson is a massive cuddler, which would normally bother you through overheating except for the fact that Jayson is cool to the touch and a kleptotherm in his sleep. You find him as refreshing as the cool side of the pillow most nights he spends over, and it’s cute to watch him burrow under the covers for warmth.

You end up all but moving into his apartment, mostly for his comfort. His apartment is much bigger since he’s huge, and while you’ve never minded your little cubbyhole, you certainly welcome the change just to see him walk through doors without having to duck. You’re both still as tactile as ever, but it’s never gone further than a few heated kisses and heavy petting—something you’re determined to change tonight. You spend all day swinging wildly between knowing that everything will be fine and anxiety over the possibility of making an ass of yourself, but when the time comes, you feel an odd sense of calm.

“What’s all this?” Jayson asks when he gets out of the shower, eyeing the chair you’ve placed in the living room and meandering over to sit on it without so much as waiting for your response.

“A present,” you say, shrugging out of your bathrobe and exposing your form-fitting outfit. You’d spent the whole week worrying about what to wear, but you finally found something that made you look and feel the sexiest you’ve ever felt. You put on the music you’d been practising to and approach Jayson, who’s now looking at you like he’s seeing you for the first time.

“Oh, yeah?” he prompts, reaching out towards your hips. You bat his hands away with a flirty smile—denying him his touch for the first time.

“Yeah,” you reply in a sultry purr, stroking down his bare chest before you step away and begin to dance. Jayson keeps his eyes on you in a way that he’s never done before, making heat pool low in your belly as you sway your hips and maneuver around his chair. You pepper little touches on his skin here and there as you go, pulling away before he can react or reach out to you. This seems to rankle and rouse Jayson as time goes on, making him twitch and fidget in his chair until you finally settle on his lap.

You are not expecting to sit directly on the mass straining against the crotch of his jeans.

“Jayson!” you laugh, and he laughs along with you, tension releasing from his body.

“What?” he chuckles, greedily stroking cool-hot lines along your back and sides. “Can’t blame a guy for getting excited. You plan this all for me?”

“Yeah,” you murmur, suddenly feeling shy. “We’ve been taking it slow. I figured it was time we got to know each other better.”

“Mm,” Jayson hums, looking you over from head to toe. “I like the lace.”

“I thought you might,” you say around a smile, snapping at the waistband of the lace panties you’d made sure peeked up over the waistband of your bottoms. You pull off the top half of your clothes so that you and Jayson are both shirtless, biting your lip as you stroke along the smooth scales of his chest. “Well? Take me to bed.”

“Yes, sir,” Jayson replies, hefting you up into his arms and tossing you over his shoulder to fireman carry you into the bedroom. There, he carefully deposits you onto the bed and strips out of his jeans, letting you get your first look at the pink, wet cock that’s slipped out of the slit in his body. It’s long and ribbed, thick at the base and tapered into a sharp point at the tip. You manage to give it a kiss before Jayson gently pushes you away, saying, “Not now, baby. I’m about to blow.”

“Already?” you blurt, surprised.

Jayson laughs. “That dance was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen. I wish I’d had a camera.”

You blush, huffing your amusement. “If you’d tried to record it, you’d be out on the couch by yourself right now.”

“Duly noted.” Jayson gestures toward the pillows. “Strip down and lie back. I wanna see what I’m working with.”

“Yes, sir,” you purr, playfully batting your lashes at the man before you do as he asks. You’d taken the liberty of setting out a small selection of lubricants and toys earlier while Jayson was in the shower—something he notices now.

“Gonna have to prep yourself,” he says apologetically, wiggling the clawed fingers on his hands.

You grimace, then shake your head, moving to grab one of your favourites from the nightstand. “I was planning on it.”

“You’ve thought of everything, haven’t you?” he asks, amused and impressed as he climbs up onto the bed to join you.

��Only obsessively for the past two weeks,” you casually reply, mirroring his grin before you get to work opening yourself for his viewing pleasure. Jayson watches you like a starved man watching through the window into a bakery, practically salivating at all of the treats he couldn’t get his hands on. As you work, squirming on your fingers and then toys, you notice a strange gurgling noise coming from Jayson, somewhere between a growl and a click. You stop mid-thrust when you realise what it is. “Are you purring?”

Jayson laughs, embarrassed. “Yeah,” he says, stroking along the insides of your thighs. “My kind does that when we want in.”

“That’s so fucking cute,” you reply around your delighted smile, urging Jayson down into your own brand of kisses. Lizardfolk don’t exactly have soft, pliable lips, but his long tongue delves deep into your mouth, tangling with yours and leaving you breathless.

“I think that’s enough,” Jayson whispers after another long interim wherein you stretch yourself out, helping you pull the toy you were using out and stroking your skin before he lines himself up. “Ready?”

You nod, biting your lip as you watch him push inside you until your eyes roll back and you groan from deep in your chest. “Oh, fuck,” you murmur, scrabbling blindly and finding Jayson already reaching for you, fingers sliding between yours until you hit webbing. “Sunny.”

“I’m here,” Jayson murmurs back, voice soft and strained. “Gods, you’re a vice.”

You can only make a gurgling noise of your own as he slowly and carefully works his way in, relief flooding you both when he finally bottoms out. “Is it in?” you slur, giggling drunkenly at the endorphins rushing through you.

Jayson snorts sharply, startled into a guffaw. “Fuck you.”

“Thought we were doing that already.”

“Not yet,” says Jayson, chuckling softly. “Hold onto me.”

You barely have time to do as you’re bid before he’s jackhammering into you, pounding shout after shout of ecstasy from your throat as you cling to his muscles and the bedding. Jayson is a skilled lover, changing his tempo and how hard he fucks you until you’re all but speaking in tongues, toes curling and legs clinging around his waist as he plays your body like a fiddle. He knows exactly when and where to touch you after just one round, and after what feels like hours of marathon sex, you tap yourself out on his arm.

“Mercy,” you gasp, chest heaving and dick spent and resting on your belly in a puddle of your own cum.

“Already?” Jayson laughs around his own panting, relenting and cuddling down against your chest with a satisfied purr. “You need to work on your stamina.”

“Yeah, well, you need to—“ You break off into incoherent mumbles, seeing stars. It takes you a full minute of internal negotiations to get your arms to cooperate with you, and then you wrap them around Jayson’s shoulders, toes wiggling against your boyfriend’s thick, scaly tail.

“You look wrung out,” Jayson murmurs, looking apologetic.

“Thanks, hun.”

“No,” he snorts, embarrassed now. “I mean, I was going to offer to help you shower.”

“Ooh,” you coo, sighing wistfully as you consider your jelly legs and the distance to the bathroom. “Carry me?”

“I was planning on it,” Jayson laughs, carefully pulling out and cuddling you up against his chest before he makes his way out of the bedroom.

“Oh, yeah?” you mumble, nuzzling against his collarbones and sighing again. His skin feels so good against yours. “Well, I bet you weren’t planning on me falling in love with you.”

Jayson chuckles as he steps into the bathroom, turning on the shower with one hand. “No, but I was hoping you would.”

“Really?” You’re momentarily distracted by the warmth of the shower’s spray against your back when Jayson steps in with you, and you melt like putty against his chest.

“As much as I love you,” he murmurs into your ear, making your heart dance a giddy little merengue in your chest. You smile against his skin and bury your face against his neck, chuckling as a thought strikes you.

You were going to be useless at Latin night tomorrow.

#exophilia #mlm exophilia #gay exophilia #monster romance #monster lemon #monster boyfriend #lizardfolk #lizardman #lizardfolk boyfriend #lizardman boyfriend #Jayson #My work

230 notes · View notes

charincharge · 4 years

Note

for holiday prompts: "just open the damn present" and/or someone slips on some ice and the other conveniently catches them

rowaelin high school bff au: past-take masterlist

AN: Happy Holidays from these idiot best friends, who have pined through so many years of their life it’s almost hysterically funny to write. Here’s a 7th grade past-take for you. Thanks for being on this ride! xoxo.

Aelin struggled to catch her breath as she took her bow. Her pulse raced with excitement as the applause swirled around her, a raucous wave of noise congratulating her for her months of hard work, as she lowered her pointe-shoe clad foot behind her and curtseyed deeply. Opening night had gone amazing. She’d nailed every fouetté, every pirouette, every lift. She felt like she was floating on air.

Through the glare of the spotlight, she spotted her dad, whooping loudly as he leapt to his feet, and Rowan beside him, his hands clapping wildly. Her stomach flipped at the sight of her best friend’s smile, and she couldn’t help but return it as she walked back to the side of the stage, making way for the rest of the principals to take their bows.

She clapped dutifully as they finished their curtain call, trying not to rush too fast off stage as soon as the curtain dropped.

She barely paused to untie her pointe shoes and toss them in her ballet bag, swapping them for a pair of cozy socks. She was about to rush out the stage door in her costume when the company director tsked in her direction. She nodded her head in apology and removed her fancy dress, hanging it up in her cubby. As fast as she could, she put on her clothes, a pair of comfy leggings and a warm sweater, grabbed her things, and went in search of her dad and best friend. She hadn’t seen her friends in weeks. After getting cast as Clara, her entire life suddenly belonged to ballet, and she really missed seeing him. It was an incredible role, and she’d auditioned three years in a row to finally get it – but the more she danced, the more she realized that she missed the balance of her normal life. Missed spending time with Rowan.

“There’s my beautiful ballerina,” Rhoe said, pulling Aelin into his arms with no hesitation. Aelin grinned as her dad pressed a kiss to her heavily hairsprayed hair. “You were spectacular,” he said, handing her a giant bouquet of flowers.

“Thanks, Dad,” she said, her brightly colored cheeks heating as she spotted Rowan waiting beside her dad, his foot tapping rapidly as he looked her over. She tried to squash her blush, but it was nearly impossible with Rowan’s smiling face so close.

Having a crush on her best friend was super annoying. It’d been over a year since she realized she liked him, but each day got harder, not easier to deal with her feelings. She hated the way she was suddenly nervous around him, unsure if she was smiling too much or too little or laughing too hard or what her hair looked like; she’d never been self-conscious, but now she couldn’t help but wish that she’d washed her stage makeup off before seeing him. She must look crazy.

“Simply amazing, hon!” Aunt Maeve cooed, pulling Aelin into her arms, squeezing her tightly. “I had no idea you could dance like that,” she said, and Aelin nodded again, trying to keep her breathing even as Rowan finally stepped forward to hug her himself.

“I knew,” A large smile appeared on his face as he stepped away, and Aelin could feel her stomach flip at the close contact between them.

“You weren’t bored?” Aelin asked, and Rowan shook his head emphatically side to side. “I know I barely danced for twenty minutes.”

“Not even close.”

Aelin beamed at her best friend, who had sat through the three-hour ballet, just to watch her perform on opening night. Ballet wasn’t exactly Rowan’s favorite, but it meant the world to her that they all came to watch her in her big starring role.

“Should we go back to the restaurant?” Maeve asked. “I have some peppermint brownies that need tasting…”

“Yes!” Aelin begged, her stomach growling with hunger. She had been so nervous before her performance that she’d forgone dinner, and new experimental baked goods from Maeve’s sounded perfect.

She shrugged on her coat, and as she lifted her ballet bag to her shoulder, Rowan reached out. “I’ll take that.” She narrowed her eyes at him, but he simply shrugged. “A star never carries her own bags,” he laughed.

“Thanks,” she laughed at his ridiculous offer.

Aelin felt him following her all the way back to the car, hovering just behind her. It was slightly unnerving. Now that she was coming down from her performance high, the only adrenaline pulsing in her system was from her best friend’s proximity. She knew it.

She tried to walk faster to escape the strange feeling of him being so close behind her, but in her efforts to put distance between them, she missed the patch of ice coating the parking lot, and her foot slipped out from beneath her.

Her yelp was cut short, her arms bracing herself for a fall that never came, as Rowan’s strong arms wrapped around her waist. She inhaled sharply as his hands slid up, helping her back to standing. All she could feel was her heart pounding wildly.

“Careful, Ace,” he chuckled softly, his eyes flicking to her legging-clad legs. “It’d be a real shame if you only got to dance opening night after all these months of practice.”

She nodded, attempting a smile as she righted herself and got into the car. She tried to ignore the way he slid in after her, shoving herself against the window as far as she could, trying to put some space between them in the cramped backseat of Maeve’s car.

They arrived at the restaurant quickly, and Aelin smiled as Maeve lit up the space, the twinkle lights on the tree in the corner and twisted around garlands brightening the place immediately.

“You two sit,” Aunt Maeve ordered. “I’ll heat up the brownies.” She pointed to Rhoe. “And for us, bourbon vanilla chai?”

Rhoe clapped loudly. “Now you’re speaking my language.”

As the adults scuttled around the kitchen, Aelin took a seat in the cozy armchair by the window. It was dark purple, and she sank right in happily. She expected Rowan to take the seat across from her immediately, but instead he held up a finger and said, “Wait here.”

He returned quickly with a small package, wrapped in red paper and tied with a white ribbon. Aelin blinked and then blinked again as he placed the box on the small table between them and finally took his seat in the opposing chair.

Aelin looked down at the present and then back at Rowan, who was looking at her with wide green eyes.

“What’s this?” Aelin asked, poking the paper gently with her finger, and Rowan rolled his eyes.

“It’s a present.”

Aelin nodded, her stomach swirling wildly. “I can see that.”

She stared at the present nervously, as if it would explode if she opened it, and she could hear Rowan start to huff, annoyed at her reticence.

“For me?” she asked, wondering if maybe it was for Aunt Maeve and he just wanted to ask her if she’d liked how he’d wrapped it. Which, for the record, she did. It was beautifully wrapped, the ribbon pulled into a perfect bow, criss-crossing around the gift elegantly.

“Of course it is,” Rowan huffed again, and she could practically see him crossing his arms, fed up with her questioning, even though her eyes were still trained on the present between them.

“Rowan.” She paused and finally looked up. His wide eyes had narrowed, and there was a slight pout on his lips. “I didn’t get you anything,” she said. That was their rule. They didn’t exchange presents on holidays or birthdays. They’d decided early on in their friendship that it was too much pressure, and they didn’t need to get each other presents – they were content to share memories of spending those days together. They didn’t need things. That was their rule.

As if he finally realized what she was saying, Rowan started sputtering quickly. “It’s not a Christmas present!” he insisted. “It’s an opening night present. So, I haven’t broken any rules.” Aelin narrowed her eyes skeptically at his loophole.

“But now I feel bad that I don’t have anything for you,” she sighed.

Rowan rolled his eyes, clearly exasperated with her. “Ace, I watched you audition for this role for the last two years, and you finally got it. And you worked really hard, and it showed. That’s why I got it for you, okay? That’s it,” he said.

“But—” Aelin started to protest, but Rowan wasn’t having any of it.

“Ace,” he whined. “Just open the damn present.”

“Fine,” she snapped, though inside her heart was beating wildly with anticipation. She untied the bow with deft fingers, and quickly retied it in her still curled hair, making the edges of Rowan’s mouth curl upwards as she tied the bow at the top of her head.

She giggled at his expression. “Do I look stupid?” she asked. “I forgot to take off my stage makeup.”

“You look great,” Rowan assured her, his eyes darting back down to the wrapped box, and Aelin smiled, satisfied with his answer, before leaning down and carefully opening the small box.

She pushed the paper aside and lifted the lid of the white box inside, gasping at the sparkling snowflake hanging from a chain inside.

“Oh,” she breathed softly, hanging the necklace off her finger, watching it shine glittering patterns across the glass as the soft light of the roof refracted off of it. “This is… really pretty,” she said, her voice quiet as she watched the delicate pendant sway gently mid-air. Really pretty was an understatement. It was beautiful, spectacular, resplendent, and a whole slew of other vocabulary words that were racing through Aelin’s brain.

She looked past the necklace to her best friend, who watched her with a hawk-like intensity.

“I tried to look for a nutcracker necklace,” he said quickly, “But they were all so ugly. None of them looked like you,” he explained. “And I knew there were snowflakes in the ballet, but I didn’t know if you danced with them or not,” he raced out. “And now I know you don’t, but it can still remind you of tonight, right?”

His cheeks were flushed from his rushed explanation, and she smiled and nodded shyly at her friend, who was usually the quiet one between them. But Aelin didn’t even have the words. It was perfect.

“Will you help me put it on?” she asked, chewing on her bottom lip nervously as she waited for him to reply.

He didn’t respond, and she held her breath as he took the chain from her finger and started to unclasp it. Aelin sat up as straight as she could, shoulders back and neck stretched as she lifted her heavy sprayed curls off her back.

Her breath stuttered as she saw the snowflake come down in front of her face, resting just above the neckline of her sweater, and she suppressed a shiver as she felt Rowan’s warm fingers brush against her skin as he reclasped the necklace. Oh my gods. She’d never felt so warm and cold all at the same time. She bit her lip to keep from grinning to widely and giving herself away, as she was sure he could see her reflection in the window in front of them.

“Done,” he said, and Aelin’s heart took off racing as he sat back down and smiled at her.

“Now I look perfect,” she said, finally freeing her bottom lip and smiling back. They sat there smiling at each other, two mirror images of contentedness until a plate of brownies was placed between them.

Startled, Aelin looked back up at Aunt Maeve, who was grinning widely herself as she glanced between the two friends. Aelin was sure she was about to say something horribly embarrassing about how pink her cheeks were or how wide her smile was, but instead Maeve leaned down and kissed the top of Rowan’s head, causing his own face to redden.

“I hope you’re hungry,” she said, pointing to the delicious smelling brownies.

“Starving,” Aelin said, already reaching for the biggest piece. She shoved the baked good into her face, only slowing her chewing when she realized Rowan hadn’t eaten one yet. “What?” she asked between crumb-filled bites.

“You really like it?” he asked, his eyes flickering down to the sparkling necklace.

She put her hand over it. “I love it,” she said emphatically, still chewing. “But don’t expect I’m going to start buying you presents just because you got me one,” she said, furrowing her brow. “Christmas is next week, and I have too many performances to try and go shopping before then.” She paused.

“Of course,” Rowan laughed, finally reaching for a brownie himself. “Besides, I don’t need a present,” he laughed, reaching over and tugging at the bow on the top of her head. “I have you.”

Aelin smiled and took another bite of her brownie. She’d never take this necklace off as long as she lived.

~*~

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#rowaelin #i don't want to wait au #out take #past take #charincharge writes #high school au #tog fanfic #holiday prompt

225 notes · View notes

acnelli · 3 years

Text

Coming Home

This is my little story for the HPRomione Discord Popcorn. @remedial-potions gave me the prompt “You can’t just keep pretending things are fine!” and I originally wanted to write some HBP angst, but then changed my mind and wrote this.

Up next is @dot-adsty and I give you the prompt “Flying higher than ever before”.

I also opened my Ask Box and accept prompts from this Prompt List.

Prompt: “You can’t just keep pretending things are fine!”

Ron comes home from a long Auror mission, and Hermione’s plans for the night don’t quite go as she imagined.

You can also read this story on AO3 and FFN.

*** *** *** ***

She had it all planned out.

Every little detail, every single thing Hermione needed to buy or prepare for tonight had been neatly written down in handy list form, categorized and sorted.

Around noon it actually looked like everything would be ready when Ron would come home from his Auror mission this late afternoon. Behind half of the points on said list, Hermione had added a green checkmark. The sight of her lists, especially when some of her tasks on it had been checked off already, always had something oddly satisfying.

To have enough time to prepare everything, she left work early today, stopping by the grocery store on her way back home to buy the last of the ingredients she needed for the roast she planned to make for dinner.

Cooking wasn’t really Hermione’s forte. When Ron was home and didn’t have to work ridiculous hours, the flat was always filled with the scent of some delicious meal or another, and on weekends they often enjoyed a cake or some cookies fresh out of the oven. In the last two months, she sure did cook for herself every now and then but she got to admit that these meals mostly consisted of pasta and sandwiches.

When she planned this day she first considered going with take-away, which she was sure, Ron would’ve been more than fine with. But then she quickly dismissed the idea, figuring that following the instructions of Mrs Weasley’s cookbook couldn’t be that hard. It might not win a contest but she was sure to manage something eatable, at least.

Before she went into the kitchen to start preparing the roast, Hermione observed their living room, mentally going through her list again.

On their couch table Hermione had set up the brand new chess set she bought last week while shopping with her mother. Hermione had discovered the set in the display window of a small, cosy shop she would’ve completely missed it if weren’t for the unusually bright colours catching her attention when she walked by. As soon as she had seen the chess set, she made her way inside the shop right away because it practically screamed Ron Weasley. While not exactly the same bright colour of the Chudley Cannons, the usually white squares and wooden game pieces were painted orange. If she wouldn’t have purchased it from a Muggle, it could’ve been easily merchandise of Ron’s favourite Quidditch team.

Hermione walked over to the couch table and placed two tickets for the next Chudley Cannons game this upcoming weekend onto the chessboard. A smile split her face when she thought about his reaction later. Over the past six months the Cannons actually showed some kind of potential to not end up at the bottom of the league at the end of the season, resulting in the tickets to have gotten a little harder to come by. At least, for top games and derbies.

She knew it was probably a little over the top, considering they had been separated for much longer than eight weeks over the last years, but the constant worry and the almost non-existent possibility to talk or write to him during these missions, increased her excitement for Ron to come home ten-fold.

Yes, Hermione definitely felt slightly ridiculous when she placed a giant red bow around the TV and put the fancy Muggle beer into the fridge, but Ron’s absence caused a restlessness she had to overcome somehow. It also didn’t help that the few letters she got from him made Ron sound mentally and physically exhausted. Even though she knew next to nothing about this mission, she could tell it affected him more than usual.

That’s why today was all about distracting Ron from work, and what would hopefully be the start of a long, stress-free weekend.

But, of course, it would have just been too perfect if anything went according to plan. Because one hour before Ron was due to arrive at home, everything started to blow up in Hermione’s face. Literally and figuratively.

While she tried to research a way how to fix overcooked meat, Hermione cursed herself numerous times for not doing a test run first. Hermione had plans for everything but when it came to cooking she was obviously rubbish.

I should have just ordered Pizza. Ron loves Pizza.

Giving up on the meat’s consistency she quickly decided that spices and a good sauce could somehow safe this. Just as she was about to add all kinds of spices, she heard the fireplace roaring to life.

Ron was here. And he was early.

Forgetting all about the roast, she bolted out of the kitchen and into the living room, almost tripping over one of the loosened bindings of Ron’s ‘Kiss the Cook’ apron she borrowed. And there he stood, shaking the floo powder out of his hair and off the Auror uniform.

When he looked up at her she didn’t waste another second and jumped into his arms. Something between a sob and a laugh escaped her when Ron hugged her close and she felt him kiss the top of her head.

Pulling back, Hermione took Ron’s face between her hands and tugged him down for a kiss. She waited far too long for this.

When they finally broke apart to come up for air again, Ron softly kissed her forehead. “Fuck, I missed you so much.”

“I missed you, too,” Hermione said, “And I have a surprise for you!”

“So, you cooking isn’t the surprise?” Ron grinned at her.

“Oh, shut up!”

“Do I have time for a quick shower before dinner?” Ron asked as he shrugged out of his cloak.

“You do. And please take your time.”

*** *** *** ***

Ron couldn’t decide if he was more amused or felt more sorry for Hermione as the 3-course-dinner turned into a small disaster.

With the soup, it had been rather easy. It was incredibly salty and he probably dehydrated this very second, but with a good amount of bread and large swigs from his beer, he was able to pretend he liked it quite easily.

But then Hermione served the main course. As soon as Ron took the first bite he wanted to spit it out right away. It was absolutely inedible and he wondered how he could pretend to eat something which wasn’t tasting like the sole of his trainers.

Very slowly he reached for his beer, figuring it would be easier if he swallowed the bite without chewing. Just as he was about to take a swig, Hermione gave up all pretence.

“Oh my God, this is a complete disaster,” she whined, spitting the piece of meat into a hand towel, “Ron, you can give up the act now.”

As he too spit the overcooked shoe sole out of his mouth, he couldn’t stop the chuckle escaping him, and reached for Hermione’s hand.

“Not all is lost,” he reasoned, a little bit surprised about her being so upset about this dinner. Hermione’s attempts to cook or bake usually made for a lot of entertainment for both of them. “There’s still dessert, isn’t it?”

“Yes, right! Dessert!” She jumped up from her seat and ran into the kitchen with a hopeful glint in her eyes.

“NO,” Ron heard Hermione cry from the kitchen and he immediately jumped up to join her, “No, Pig! No, no, no, no, no!”

As Ron got into the kitchen he saw Pig sitting in a bowl full of what looked like vanilla cream, happily hooting at Hermione who appeared to be on the verge of tears now. Of course, Pig chose this very moment to finish his bath in their pudding as he flew out of the bowl with wildly flapping wings, coating both Hermione and Ron with a good amount of vanilla cream; Hermione’s hair getting the worst of it.

Ron slowly lifted a finger and swiped some cream from his cheek, licking it off as he was wearing a thoughtful look. “That is pretty good, actually.”

“Oh, stop it!” Hermione let out a resigned sigh. “You can’t just keep pretending things are fine! You have some terrible weeks behind you, and then you come home to your girlfriend serving you food that makes you probably crave the tasteless snacks they feed you with on these missions. I should’ve just-“

“Oi!” Ron interrupted her, not quite being able to hide his amusement. “Stop the rambling, barmy woman.” He took her face in his hands and leaned down, so he was at eye level with her. “All I wanted for today was finally seeing you again, Hermione. You never before got upset about bollocking up some cooking. What’s the matter?”

“I- I just wanted to distract you from this mission and make this evening somewhat special, and by now, Pig most likely decorated the whole living room with our pudding.”

Ron simply kissed her. His hands went from her cheeks inside her curly hair, changing their angle a bit to deepen the kiss. As Hermione let her hands wander from his chest back to his shoulders blades and down to the hem of his shirt, Ron decided to make it very clear to Hermione that everything he really needed to feel better, was her. This mission forced Ron to see things he’ll have nightmares about forever, and the only reason he was able to power through all of it, was the prospect of coming home to Hermione. To her touch, to her kisses, to her ramblings about work, to the simple comfort of just having her beside him.

With one swift motion, he swooped her up in his arms. “For such a smart woman, you can be very daft sometimes, love,” Ron said as he walked out of the kitchen.

“I know,” Hermione sighed as she took advantage of her position in Ron’s arms, and left open kisses along the side of his neck and his throat.

Without bothering to clean up the mess in the kitchen and living room, Ron walked them straight to the bedroom, leaving behind a merrily hooting Pigwidgeon who hopped and danced on top of Ron’s new chessboard, coating it with the only eatable dish Hermione produced today.

#hpromione discord #romione #romione drabble #romione fanfic #romione fanfiction #drabble chain #ron weasley #hermione granger #hp #hp fanfic #harry potter #hermione and ron #ron and hermione #ron x hermione #hermione x ron #ronmione #my stories #my fics

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ushijimaenthusiast · 3 years

Text

oiten birthday fic/date night

[ao3]

Satori is so good at reading his boyfriend that he doesn’t even open his mouth before Satori is tightening the arm around his shoulders and leaning in, whispering, “Chill, babe. It’s fine.”

Tooru’s back straightens as he gives Satori a side-eyed glare. “You don’t even know what I was going to do.”

Satori just grins, shuffling them a little further in line. “Sure I do. You were gonna talk shit.”

If possible, Tooru’s glare turns even more vicious.

“They deserve it. If I don’t say something, they’ll just think it’s okay to keep doing it.”

“But are they really worth your time? I’m not bothered by it, so you shouldn’t be.”

“But you should!” Tooru’s shout draws a few glances their way, but he’s so heated he doesn’t even notice. Satori doesn’t care. “They’re being fucking rude and should be put in their place because if not they’ll continue to do the same thing and it could be towards someone who’s not as strong as you are.”

Satori’s smile falters a little at that, unused to such a compliment, but it’s all the hesitation Tooru needs before he’s spinning around to the couple in the opposite line who’ve been giving them dirty looks since they walked in the door. Satori’s not sure if it’s because of the way they’re dressed (Satori in comfy sweats and a tattered hoodie and Tooru decked out in his tightest pants and crispest button-up), or if it’s because someone as hot as Tooru is practically clinging to someone like Satori. Either way, Satori has learned to ignore such looks, but Tooru hasn’t.

He’s not used to how judgmental and negative people can be just for how one looks. He’s never been ostracized or called dirty names for the way he dresses or for acting too weird in public. He’s always been a prim and proper sort of boy, someone who uses words to sort things out instead of hiding behind a hand. Satori doesn’t fault him for feeling protective and wanting to set things right; he just wishes it was warranted.

“It’s not like we ever even said anything,” the woman butts in, knowing Tooru is about to attack. Her voice is high and nasally, and it instantly grates on Satori’s nerves.

“You didn’t have to. Your face reads Judgmental Bitch to anyone looking at you.”

She sputters as a few chuckles rise around them. Her partner looks too stunned for words, and Satori takes that pause to tighten his grip around Tooru’s waist and draw him closer to his body, shutting him up momentarily.

“Listen,” Satori says lazily, hardly sparing them another look, “just keep your eyes on yourself and we won’t have any more problems, m’kay?” He ends it with a leer, and tugs Tooru down the line as they shuffle forwards. Some of the other customers give them appreciative glances, while others glare just as rudely as the couple. Tooru gives one more glare at the couple before huffing and facing forward, curling tighter around Satori.

Without any hassle they buy their popcorn and drinks, steering clear of the couple as they make their way to their designated theater. Tooru relaxes even further when the couple goes into a separate one.

“Happy now?” Satori asks as they enter the darkened room. Trailers haven’t started yet, so it’s eerily quiet in the wide-open space, especially since there are only two other groups in the room. They head for the back row, both happy to see it empty.

Tooru huffs, and Satori sees him shrugging. “I coulda said a few more things if you hadn’t stopped me.”

“Oh, I know,” Satori chuckles. He slides into the row first and heads towards the middle. “But then we’d probably have gotten kicked out and wouldn’t be able to see this movie we’ve both been waiting to see for ages and would have to wait until it’s available to stream or find a way to illegally download it and where’s the fun in that? Besides,” Satori kicks down his seat and plops in, draping one arm over the chair Tooru sits in, “you shouldn’t let people like them get to you. They’re a waste of everything.”

“I don’t know how you handle it,” Tooru mumbles. “It makes my skin crawl.”

Satori lowers his arm from the back of the seat to Tooru’s shoulders, drawing him closer so he can place a faint kiss at his boyfriend’s temple. “And that’s what makes you a better person than them and me.”

“Shut up,” Tooru mutters, swatting at Satori’s chest. “You know I think you’re great.”

“And that’s all that matters.”

Tooru just sighs and snuggles closer to Satori as the lights dim and the trailers start to roll.

Satori doesn’t know how he got this lucky. How someone as beautiful and loyal as Oikawa Tooru, an ex-volleyball player and all-around Good Guy, managed to fall in love with the batshit weirdness that is Tendou Satori, a college dropout and general waste of space. Even with the years between them, Satori still finds it hard to believe that Tooru loves him, that he’s willing to put time and effort into their relationship, despite the onlookers that speculate and judge whenever they’re out in public.

Like tonight. Satori knows his attire could have been less sloppy, but he likes to be comfortable when watching movies. And no matter where they go, Tooru likes to dress up for dates. Tooru doesn’t hate him for not putting more effort into his wardrobe, and that’s something Satori appreciates immensely. He also has no qualms about complimenting his boyfriend’s choice of clothes and how they make him look, since complimenting Tooru is one of his favorite things.

There’s so many things about Tooru that Satori considers his favorite that he has a little black box in pocket that’s burning a hole against his thigh. He’s carried it with him everywhere for the last year, unsure of when he wanted to pop the question or if it’s something he should even ask. He’s still not even sure if Tooru’s birthday is a good time to propose, not even sure if it’s something his boyfriend would want to happen. The subject has come up sparingly, and even though Satori wishes he could say there’s no way Tooru would reject him, this is one guess he’s loath to make.

Satori loves Tooru and would take whatever Tooru is willing to give. Marriage isn’t the end all be all of a relationship. They’ve been happy and content without this label, so there’s really no reason why Satori has to take this next step.

He doesn’t pay much attention to the movie, as his mind continues to wander towards what’s supposed to come after. He promised Tooru a movie and a surprise, and they both know Tooru doesn’t like surprises. He can’t help it when his palms start to sweat and he has to pull away from his boyfriend on more than one occasion so he can feel like he can breathe again, pointedly ignoring the tiny looks of concern Tooru throws at him each time he does it.

By the end of the movie, though, Satori can feel Tooru’s anger radiating off him. He doesn’t even wait for the lights to turn back on before he’s springing out of his chair and moving down the aisle, attempting to escape the theater quickly.

Satori can’t even run after him like he knows he should. He just sits there, ignoring the way the lights aren’t coming back on, and a post-credit scene rolls. All he can focus on is Tooru’s retreating figure and the pounding of his heart, not sure what the hell he’s supposed to do.

Eventually, he’s kicked out long after the lights have come back on and the theater attendant needs to prepare it for the next showing. Satori walks slowly towards their parked car, his heart racing a mile a minute as he sees it’s actually still parked here and not long gone.

Tooru is leaning against the passenger side door, his foot tapping wildly with his arms crossed over his chest. He catches sight of Satori approaching, but turns away and ignores him. Satori knows that’s acceptable, knowing he deserves the anger that’s brewing from his boyfriend.

He unlocks the car slowly, belatedly realizing that’s why the car and Tooru are still here because Satori had the keys, and gets in the driver’s seat. Tooru makes his entrance loud, making it clear he’s unhappy.

But Satori doesn’t start the car. He doesn’t want to fight, doesn’t want to drag this out any longer. If for some reason in his anger, or just in his heart, Tooru rejects his proposal, then Satori can hand him the keys and he’ll walk--somewhere. He’ll give Tooru the night to cool off and they could discuss things further tomorrow--

“Will you just tell me what's wrong with you already?” Tooru demands.

Satori blinks and turns to stare at Tooru. He does look angry, rightfully so, but there’s hurt there too. Confusion and worry are dancing behind it all, and Satori hates himself a little more for putting it there.

He sucks in a breath, knowing it’s now or never and not wanting to drag this out any longer. Without saying anything he reaches into his pocket and pulls out the box, offering it to Tooru.

“I was getting nervous,” Satori starts, not really liking the way Tooru’s face closed off at the sight of the box, how he’s not even breathing, it seems. “I wanted it to be perfect, to be romantic, but then I started over-thinking and now you’re pissed and it’s not really the best time or maybe even the best idea and I can see your answer already and I’m sorry, I’m sorry if this isn’t something you want. I can--I can take it back or, or something. I’ll--I’ll, I don’t know, I’ll just--”

“You’ll shut up, is what you’ll do.'' The demand is so calm it has Satori’s jaw clacking shut as he stares at Tooru. His boyfriend--maybe ex?--continues to stare at the box before slowly taking it from Satori’s still outstretched hand. He opens it slowly, stares at the ring for what feels like years, before he closes the lid and finally looks up at Satori.

There are tears in his eyes.

The information has even more panic running through Satori. He’s fucked up, he’s messed up so monumentally somehow that he knows this’ll be the death of him. He’ll remember this moment forever as the day he--

He’s being kissed. Sweetly, tenderly. Tooru has a shaking hand cupping his cheek as he tries to kiss Satori again. Maybe it takes too long for Satori’s brain to register what’s happening because then Tooru is pulling back and wiping at his eyes.

“Do you really mean this?” he whispers. He’s still holding onto the box, but all Satori can focus on are the tears building in his boyfriend’s eyes.

He nods, still too numb to speak.

And then Tooru is lurching forward, wrapping his arms around Satori’s neck in the tightest embrace they’ve probably ever shared.

“You’re a fool if you thought I’d reject you,” he whispers against Satori’s ear. He can feel tears sliding between them, but he doesn’t care. “You’re stupid, and I love you, I love you.”

“Yeah?” Satori manages to say. He pulls back from Tooru enough to look him in the eyes, despite his own vision going a little blurry.

“Of course, dummy. It’s only you.”

“Always you,” Satori mutters back, part of the saying they’ve adopted over their time together. Only you, always you. Satori always figured it’d be a limited sort of saying, and there’s still that possibility, despite a more permanent label. But he’ll take it. He’ll cherish it for as long as it lasts.

Satori pulls Tooru back in again, kissing him on the cheek before burrowing his face against the side of Tooru’s neck. He can smell his cologne, popcorn, and a little bit of sweat. He breathes in deeply, loving everything there is to love about Tooru and hoping he’ll get to love it for many more years to come.

“Happy birthday, Tooru.”

#haikyuu!!#oiten #oikawa tooru #tendou satori #birthday fic #marriage proposal #date night #movie night #writing

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purplesauris · 4 years

Text

The Heart Wants

"I want you to meet my family."

Din wants to show Luke off to his family- whether that be his found family or anyone else.

Read it on AO3 here!

“I want you to meet my family.” Din watches him, beskar helmet reflecting the sunset from the window as he leans back in his chair.

Luke’s hands still in the air, Grogu floating above him, and he looks toward Din. “Pardon?”

A trickle of discomfort curls around Luke’s throat, a soft wispy thing, and he lowers Grogu from the air, ignoring the disappointed coo the child lets out as Din’s shoulders slump. He instead draws one of Grogu’s toys closer, making it dance through the air to keep him occupied as Din clears his throat. “If you want. They’ve asked to meet you when I go out next.”

“They’ve asked for me?” Luke doesn’t want to seem overly eager, but judging by the way Din’s head turns just slightly, unable to look at him, he’s blushing inside his helmet. “You talk about me.”

“You’re training my son.” Din croaks, as if that’s excuse enough.

“We’re dating.” Luke can’t help the grin that spreads over his face, laughing when Din shuffles in his seat and mumbles something uncouth under his breath. It’s enough for the modulator to pick up, but not enough to be heard clearly, so it sounds like static cracking through. “When were you thinking?” Luke says instead, giving Din a way out of his flustered revelation.

“When it’s better to bring Grogu along.”

Luke’s mind whirls immediately at the thought, and he glances down at the small green child tucked in his lap. Words bubble up from him before he can trap them behind his teeth, shove them back down, and Luke’s gaze is firmly locked on the toy he sends sailing through the air in wilder and wilder loops and spins.

“I can bring him to my sister, she’s- like me, and will know how to care for him.”

“On Coruscant? The capital of the Galaxy?” Luke winces at the way that sounds, but something niggles at the back of his mind, and he squints in Din’s direction.

“How do you know where she is?”

Now it’s Din’s turn to wince, though the subtle shift of his body is much less noticeable than Luke’s; only caught because Luke knows every dip and stretch of muscle.

“I keep track.” Din mutters, as if just admitting that is something wrong, ugly. Luke finds it frustratingly endearing, the level of awareness that Din has for everything and everyone; it only lends to the fact that Din’s strength lies not just in his fighting skills, but in the simple fact that Din is smart.

He’s devilishly clever, wildly pragmatic when he needs to be and endlessly creative. Every time that Luke thinks he finds him, truly sees him another layer is pulled back, revealing more and more of the man beneath the armor. Of the clever, kind man whose spirit called to him in the moments between their words.

“I know it’s not ideal, but…” Luke glances over at him, willing him to understand without Luke having to continue, and to Luke’s continued delight Din dips his head- finishing Luke’s thought.

“I trust you, Luke. Not sure I do her, but if she’s like you…”

“Ah, she’s better, actually. Much more adjusted.” Din huffs a laugh, metallic and low, and Luke revels in the sound and faint feeling of warmth wafting off of Din. “If we have her babysit, when were you thinking? Next supply run?”

“Mmm. Probably."

Luke purses his lips, thinking about how far Leia is from him, and even with him flying solo it’s going to be a tight turn around if they want to be on time.

“Okay. I’ll have to leave a couple days early, to get him there and get back.”

“Alone?” Curious, Din sits forward in his chair, as if the thought of being left behind is a novel idea.

“It’ll be easier for me to get in and out of the city without a big scary Mando following me around.” Din snorts at that, but judging by the way that he sits back he has no argument. Not yet, at least. Luke can practically hear the gears grinding in Din’s head, turning his words over and over to examine every bump and crack. “The x-wing only fits one anyhow.”

“You’ll meet me back here?”

“Of course. After all, I want to fly the Crest too.” His grin answers Din’s groan, and he feels a thrill go down his spine when Din doesn't automatically tell him no. He might not get to this time, but he's a patient man, and with enough convincing Din will let him do almost anything.

Almost.

"Tell me about her?"

Luke leans back on his hands, letting the toy drop and nodding at Grogu. Grogu grumbles unhappily, but the toy begins a shaky maneuver into the air, Grogu's little hands raising while Luke begins to talk. "Her name is Leia, but you knew that already. She's a senator for the new republic."

"What's she like?"

"She's brave, smart as a tack. Doesn't take shit from anyone." Luke's eyes burn, and he presses a hand to his forehead, stupidly emotional. "I didn't know her when I was a child- I grew up on Tatooine while she grew up a princess on Alderaan. We met during the Rebellion: she was a prisoner on the death star and Han and I rescued her."

"Han?"

"Solo. Her husband. He was a smuggler I hired who kind of got sucked into helping the rebellion."

Talking about the rebellion always made something slimy and panicked crawl through his veins, but if there was one thing he'd mastered long ago it was pushing those feelings back. His meditation had helped, the little training he had with Yoda had helped, and most days, alone with Din or Grogu or Artoo, he could breathe. But there were moments of silence, of stillness when Luke's right arm ached and all that he'd done came crawling back to the surface. When he laid in bed, Din asleep beside him, and wished he were anyone else. The thoughts drag at him like an anchor against the sandy bottom of the ocean, and Luke finds himself set adrift, the room around him fading in and out of focus.

This is not the time to be doing so.

Luke tries, really he does, to draw himself back in, to crawl from the ugly sprawling thoughts in his mind, but he hears a low scraping sound that’s so much like metal debris against the side of his x wing that he flinches. There’s a rattle to his left, the dropping of something heavy, and then a weight settles against his back, tucking into the crook of his neck and gripping around him.

Luke’s first instinct is to shove away from it, to fight his way out, but soft fingers catch at the edge of his shirt, smoothing along his abdomen, and Luke releases a breath he didn’t know he was holding. The touch is hesitant at first, as if afraid, but when Luke doesn’t do anything past dragging in low, shuddering breaths it grows bolder. If he were here, truly focused, he’d make a joke, something to diffuse the situation, but instead he shakes as a palm slides under his shirt and presses flat over his chest, nestled above his heart. Luke focuses on the pulse he senses in the man’s palms instead of his own, the warmth of skin on skin contact.

Badum. Badum. Badum.

Slow and even- calm in the midst of a storm. Luke tilts his head back, gasping in a breath, and metal digs into the back of his head, cold and hard. A pauldron. Luke recognises the ridged edge to it, recognizes the soft scrape of facial hair against his neck when Din presses closer, breaths light and hand held to Luke’s chest.

“Take a breath. Hold it.” Luke follows the command on instinct alone, chest expanding under hand and stopping, full to bursting until Din’s voice, soft and so unlike his visage, speaks again. “Release. Slowly.”

Luke follows that instruction to the letter, letting the air seep from his lips until he feels empty, hollowed out and aching to take a breath. Din works him through ten more breaths, until he’s breathing without waiting for Din’s quiet command and his hand finds Din’s, clutching at his fingers in an effort to keep himself grounded.

“I’m sorry.” He chokes out, grief rising in his throat like a beast ready to kill, and Din’s voice vibrates across his back from where Luke is pressed back into his arms.

“I know.” Somehow, his simple acknowledgement, his acceptance, is what breaks Luke. He feels a sob clatter out of him, low and weak, and Din’s head turns, forehead pressing against Luke’s temple. Din holds him tight and Luke allows himself to be held, shaking and weak, until his tears and his panic finally ebb, drawn back into the little box he keeps under such careful lock and key. In his lap Grogu’s big brown eyes are shiny with tears, and when Luke turns his head, bumping his forehead against Din’s he finds his mandalorian in a similar state.

“I’m sorry.” Luke says again, because he doesn’t know what else to say, and Din’s free hand comes up, dashing away the wetness that clings to Din’s lashes like morning dew. Din doesn’t stop at himself, thumb wiping at the trails on Luke’s cheeks before drawing Grogu up. Luke’s hands come up to steady the child against his chest as Grogu’s little head tucks under his chin, and Luke leans heavily back against Din’s chest.

They sit there for a while, breathing and holding each other close until Grogu’s breaths even out and his snores kick up, Luke only half fighting the heaviness in his own eyelids. It seems easier to fall asleep than address this fragile, marred thing, but Din always seems to be one step ahead of him, hand slipping from his chest as both arms move to rest around Luke’s middle instead, a warm cage that Luke doesn’t want to leave.

“Sleep, Luke. You don’t get nearly enough. Let me watch over you.” Luke wants to point out that they’re in the middle of the living room, but Din’s chest rumbles against his back as he makes a soft noise, nosing at his cheek and placing a soft, reverent kiss to the curved edge of Luke’s jaw. Luke allows himself to drift off in Din’s arms, sinking into the darkness behind his eyelids without a fight.

Luke wakes up in bed screaming.

He looks around, eyes wild, trying to find the source of the agony coursing through him, but there isn't any. Luke sucks in two harsh breaths, fighting against the instinctive panic, and he looks down at his right hand, fingers twitching madly and whole arm quaking. When he tries to move his arm another razor edged wave of feeling scrapes along his nerves, and he bites back another scream. “Fuck-”

“Here.” Luke’s head snaps up toward the doorway as Din’s lithe form slips through, walking with measured steps until he sinks down onto the edge of the bed by Luke’s hip. He reaches out, hands gentle as he takes Luke’s hand in his. Even that movement is too much, too rough, but Din thumbs at the line where his wrist connects, edging along the hard line of the cybernetics underneath the skin. Din almost seems to be searching for something, and Luke wants to ask him what, but Din’s thumb digs in suddenly and Luke feels a pop in his wrist. Sensation shorts out of his arm immediately, fingers twitching for a moment before going limp. Luke is able to focus more on his breathing and collecting his thoughts with Din having done… whatever it is he did, and eventually Luke finds his voice.

“How did you...”

Din’s eyes flick up toward him, near black in the dim light coming from the hallway, and so filled with warmth that Luke feels like he’s a spark away from going up in flames.

“You’ve done it before.”

“I know I have, but how did you know to-” Luke’s mouth snaps shut at the realization that he knows the answer to the question. He didn’t realize he’d ever done it in front of Din. He’d spent months tinkering with his hand after the medics on the Redemption had installed it, and he’d installed what some might call a kill switch. It was small, near impossible to trigger unless you knew exactly how and where it was, and Luke had done it out of sheer desperation to have some way to make the pain stop.

“You've only used it one other time.” Din says, looking down at Luke’s hand and thumb smoothing over his inner wrist. “But you were in pain then too.”

“It bothers me.” Luke expects the shame that comes with talking about his hand, but Din lifts it higher and places a kiss onto the deadened palm. Luke wishes desperately that he could feel it, if only for an instant, but his want is written plain across his body. It has to be, because there’s no other way he can explain away to himself the way that Din gathers his other hand, lips soft and gentle on the palm. Luke presses the fingertips of his good hand into the skin of Din’s cheek, holding him there, and Din’s eyes shut, turning just slightly to bump his nose against the meat of Luke’s thumb and smile against his skin.

“You don’t have to hide when it does.”

“I have obligations.” Luke protests, sinking away from the casual way that Din reminds him that he’s a man. Just a man, beneath everything. “I can’t just- turn my hand off when it suits me.”

“Are you useless without your right hand?”

“No, but-”

“Can you still teach, still work your plants and tinker with Artoo?”

“Yes, but-” Luke feels like a moon cracked into jagged pieces, pulled in all directions by the gravity of Din’s eyes, of his careful, thought out words.

“You are allowed to want to stop hurting.” Luke physically recoils at the words, letting them slam into his chest and bury deep. Luke draws in one breath, then two, then three, trembling in bed as Din holds his hand and presses his face, his skin against Luke’s palm and seems content never to move away. “I want this, Luke. Let me shoulder some of the burden for once.”

“What if it’s too much?” Luke’s voice is weak, timid, and Din’s expression softens, eyelids drooping and corners of his mouth tugging into a sad, quiet smile.

“Then I’ll complain. Loudly.” That draws a thick, startled laugh out of Luke, and he watches the way that Din’s smile warms into something fond and affectionate.

“Promise?”

“I can start now.” Luke laughs again, disbelieving, and Din chuckles along with him, tilting his head as Luke leans forward, shifting the hand on Din’s cheek so that he can kiss him easier. Din pulls back after a moment, humming softly and brushing his lips against Luke’s more for the sensation than anything else. “I just got Grogu back to sleep. Do I need to sing you to sleep too?”

“I don’t think your singing would have that same affect on me.”

“I’m pretty good.” Din points out, cracking a smile when Luke pushes against his cheek, choosing instead to flop back against the bed.

“I would just stay awake to hear it.” Din nods as if that’s a perfectly acceptable answer, and when Luke opens an arm Din doesn’t hesitate to crawl into bed beside him. Luke has always loved that for all of Din’s brute strength and aggressiveness he sleeps curled tight, knees up close to his chest to block anyone from getting at the soft expanse of his belly. It took waking up to knees in his ribs more times than he could count to adjust to the way that Din slept, to coax him into spreading out and taking up space.

Din does it now without question, hooking a leg up over Luke’s to press it into the space between Luke’s thighs, arm tossed over Luke’s ribs and face tucked against Luke’s neck. The feeling of Din’s breath on his neck, slow and even, is what allows Luke to finally drift off again, Din holding his deadening hand gently.

-*-

He manages to reorient himself by the time he calls Leia, scrambling and rescrambling the feed to ensure that whoever might have been listening were thrown off. Leia’s face is fuzzy at first, buzzing with her movement, but she’s grinning at the sight of Luke.

“Luke.”

“Hey Lee.” Luke grins when Leia scoffs at the nickname, the same reaction he’s gotten since he first tried it out and decided it was going to stay. "I have a favor to ask you."

"Would that favor involve childcare?" Leia's expression is impassive, but when Luke grimaces, rubbing the back of his neck he sees her crack a smile. "I can hear your intentions from here."

"It would only be a couple days, and you could get to know him!"

"He's your student."

"I know, I know, but it's too dangerous to bring him back to Nevarro and-"

"Why are you going to Nevarro?" Leia's eyes narrow, brow arching when Luke's cheeks flush with color. He very pointedly looks away for a moment, drawing in a couple of deep breaths before Leia's grin turns shark like. "You met someone."

"It's-" Luke goes to say that it's complicated, but Leia's eyes widen comically at something in the background, and Luke turns just in time for Din to dip down, bumping his helmet against Luke's forehead. Luke presses up into the touch, smiling, before remembering himself and pulling back, cheeks positively red now. Din's attention turns to the holo, head tilting just so, and Luke feels the instant that Din realizes what he's done. "Leia, this is my partner, Din. Din, this is my sister, Senator Leia Organa."

"Senator." Din dips his head as a courtesy, and Luke watches as Leia does the same.

"Mand'alor." Luke hears Din groan quietly, too soft for the holo to hear, and he snickers, ignoring the elbow that gets him in his side. Really, by now Din should be used to the title and people's knowledge of who he is, but somehow it comes as a shock to him every time. Leia straightens in her chair, and though nothing has really changed Luke can see the polite mask that falls into place. "If you truly don't have anywhere else, I'll take him." Luke grins, glancing at Din. "But only for three days. I do have obligations here that a child would disrupt."

Luke nods his head in agreement, pressing his lips together in a miserable attempt to hide his grin. "Right so uh, I'll see you in a couple days?"

"Don't forget anything." Leia warns, Luke laughing. "And Luke? You have questions to answer."

Leia doesn't let Luke reply before the holo goes dead, and Luke sits back, peering at Din. "Well, that could have gone worse. If you hadn't appeared I expected to lose my hearing."

"Would it have been that bad?"

"She locked me in my room for three days the last time I lied to her." Din pauses, head tilting, and Luke is surprised and delighted when Din laughs, a full bodied sound that makes Luke smirk.

"I like her more already."

"Good! Because she's going to make us visit sooner or later."

“Make us?”

“You don’t get to say no to Leia.” Luke knows that from experience: sooner or later Leia is going to drag them to Coruscant for something, and it’s only a matter of time.

Din hums from behind his helmet, reaching out to play with the sleeve of Luke’s robe. “If I tried?”

“She might put a bounty out on you.” Luke deapans, face carefully arranged into a blank expression that breaks when Din shakes his head and shoves at his shoulder. Luke scoops the holo up off of the counter, turning as Din catches his waist, holding him still. Luke raises a brow, lips quirking, and watches with obvious interest as Din reaches back to unlock and slip his helmet off.

Seeing Din's face is just as breathtaking as it was the first time so many months ago, and Luke's heart swells with affection. Din is handsome- not in a drop dead, unrealistic kind of way, but in a softer, grounded way that makes Luke's heart go wild in his chest whenever he gets a peek. Luke is so used to reading the lines of Din's body, of trying not to read him but reading his emotions anyway that when Din's connection opens Luke temporarily goes blind with the feelings that wash over him.

The rush of their connection powers through him, making Luke slap a hand onto the counter as a laugh bubbles up in his throat. Din's amusement, his care and his love sweep through him, leaving him warm and fuzzy, but other feelings worm their way in as well. He can acutely recognize the worry and fear, the anxiety that makes a mess of Din’s thoughts when he thinks of Grogu being so out of his reach. It’s intimate- madly so, and Luke finds himself tipping forward, clanking their foreheads together uncomfortably and reaching to cup the back of Din’s neck.

“I don’t want you to go.” Din begins, voice choked, and Luke leans in harder, fingers digging into the nape of Din’s neck. “But I know you’ll be safe.”

“I’ll hurry.” Luke whispers, bumping his nose against Din’s and brushing their lips together. Din makes a soft, wounded sound, tilting his head to kiss Luke firm and slow. Luke feels Din’s connection go flimsy, and Luke lets his hold on the other end go, Din’s emotions wrapping back around him like a cloak. It’s easier to handle this way, but Luke craves the connection at the same time.

Din pulls away, reluctance in every muscle of his body, and Luke hums, leaning back to look him over. Din’s eyes are watery, tears gathering, and Luke loves how expressive Din can’t help but be. Luke bumps their foreheads together one more time before he steps out of Din’s arms, going to get his things and gather up what Leia will need for Grogu’s stay. Once he’s gathered enough toys and things to keep the youngling occupied Luke pads back into the living room, scooping Grogu up into his arms and grinning when little claws tug at his robes.

“We’re gonna go visit someone special. Can you say bye to your buir?” Luke hears Din give a choked off noise akin to a gasp, and when he turns to Din the other man is staring at him with unabashed surprise. As if he never expected to be called that.

Grogu coos happily, reaching his little hand out, and Din steps forward, tilting his head down to place a soft kiss on Grogu’s fuzzy head. “Be good, ad’ika, no causing problems.”

The child tilts his head, as if he’s asking could I ever? and Din gives him an unimpressed look. Luke whistles sharply and Artoo whirls out from the other room, beeping and whistling merrily. “Ready to go, Artoo?” Din walks them to where their ships are nestled close together, the x wing covered in a layer of dust from Din’s takeoffs. Artoo speeds ahead of them, lining himself up and lifting up into his spot. He slots in easily and Luke grins when the x-wing roars to life. The vibrations from the engine pulse through Luke and he feels giddy all over again: he hasn’t flown since Grogu came under his care, and he desperately misses it.

The cockpit swings up and open with a pneumatic hiss, the ladder sliding down for easier access, and Luke pauses at the bottom, turning back to Din. He looks at him one last time, not because he won’t see him again but purely because he wants to look, and Din’s answering smile is encouraging. Luke realizes with a jolt he’s projecting a little strongly, and he grins sheepishly, dimming himself down despite the way that Grogu giggles at Luke’s infectious eagerness. “Come back safe.”

“Nothing could stop me from coming home.” Luke promises, staring at the way Din’s lips twitch, color flushing the tips of his ears and brown eyes sparkling. It’s so ridiculously attractive that Luke almost stumbles hoisting himself up into the cockpit. It isn’t until Luke has his headset on, Grogu safely in his lap and yolk in his hands that Luke clears his mind. Din’s ship is a little close to his, wings overshadowing Luke’s vessel, but Luke maneuvers himself smoothly away from the Crest and circles into the air, rising higher and higher, leaving Din among the greenery of the planet.

Grogu stays firmly in Luke’s lap until they break through the atmosphere, but once the sharp nose of the x-wing cuts through and vaults them into space Grogu perks up, crawling to peer out of the cockpit window. “Alright Artoo, next stop Coruscant.”

Artoo beeps affirmatively through the comms and Luke watches the coordinates flash through his display, Luke turning himself in the right direction and increasing his speed. Grogu squeals in delight at the stars rushing past, and Luke braces Grogu’s little body as they slip into hyperspace, stomach dropping momentarily as his body adjusts to the drag and Grogu’s wide eyes take in the smears of blue and white that scramble past them.

“You’re gonna love Leia. She’ll spoil the devil out of you, little womp rat.” Grogu turns, crooning, and Luke smiles. “Just for a couple days, then you’ll be back with your buir and I.”

Luke doesn’t dare call himself a parent, not with what Din and Grogu went through together, not yet, but calling Din Grogu’s father? That feels right, like breathing after breaking the surface of the water, and Luke knows Din has been his father far longer than he ever realized.

-*-

Coruscant is as huge and sprawling as he remembers it, stinking of artificial ozone and smog. No one is there to meet him at the landing pad, but Luke is grateful for the chance to slip into the city anonymously. He tucks Grogu a bit deeper into the sling strapped across his chest and pulls his hood up, letting the dark fold of fabric obscure his face and cover the lightsaber hanging at his belt. He won’t need it in the city if he’s lucky, and Luke dives headfirst into the chaos of the city.

The electronics hum around him, sharp and bright, and Luke feels Grogu’s overstimulation rising in him, a surge of panic and anxiety. Luke tries to push some of his hard earned calm onto Grogu, smiling under the hood when Grogu relaxes, gurgling happily and sinking into the sling to nestle against Luke’s chest instead. Luke rests his hand against Grogu’s little form, both to protect and comfort him, and Luke makes a beeline for Leia’s home. He’s a half hour early, having made good time in hyperspace, and he’s itching to get inside and see his sister.

Leia's house is on one of the upper levels, closer to the Senate building, and Luke has to take two separate speeder lifts just to get to the top. Speeders whiz and race past him, going in every direction, and Luke wonders what it would be like to try and fly through the heart of the city: how many speeders he'd be able to avoid before finally wrecking. That thought process will only get him in trouble though, so Luke pushes it away and instead focuses on hopping out of the speeder, robes whipping back at the air that rushes from the pit of the city. Luke stops in front of Leia's building, taking a deep breath and battening down the waves of the force that swirl around him, arranging them into something neater, more easily managed. Only once he's gotten himself into something resembling the normal calm demeanor he's praised for does Luke knock on the door.

The door swings open, revealing an older man with dark brown hair, who smirks at him. "Hey kid."

"Hi Han. Leia home?"

"Nah, off on some Senate errand. Told me not to let you run away though. That your kid?"

Han motions toward the bundle on Luke's chest as he steps away from the door, Luke ducking inside and brushing the hood off his head only once the door has shut.

"My student, yes. Did Leia say how long she'd be?" He looks around while Han closes the door- the house is clean, immaculately so, but if he knows his sister, which he does, she spends about as much time here as Luke spends on Tatooine. Which isn't much anymore, if he can help it.

"Aww, don't want to hang out? I'm starting to think you don't love me anymore." Han's grin is easy and genuine and makes Luke roll his eyes.

"I just don't have much time before I have to leave. It's a tight turn around."

"Then you'd better speak fast." Luke jumps at the sound of Leia's voice, and he turns, watching as she slinks down the stairs, dressed in a cream suit that flatters her figure. Luke scowls when Han laughs at him, but Leia is sweeping him up into a tight hug that Luke stoops down to accept, pressing his cheek to hers but keeping his chest carefully angled away. Grogu squirms against his chest, curious, and Luke pulls back, letting the child poke his head out.

At first it's just his eyes and ears, staring curiously at Leia, who regards him with open wonder. Luke feels her reach out with the force the same instant Grogu does, and they release twin noises of surprise, Grogu kicking his legs to try and pull himself from the sling.

"Okay okay, no need to kick, here you little womp rat." Luke tugs Grogu free from the sling, depositing him in Leia's arms, who takes him with minimal hesitation. Her eyes are bright and friendly, and she pets a finger along the ridge of Grogu's ear.

"How did you find him?"

"I didn't. Din did." Leia looks up, keeping Grogu nestled in her arms while she waves for Luke to follow. They head into the living room off the main hallway, Leia sinking onto the couch while Luke remains standing, too tired of sitting to bother settling down. "Grogu can tell you the story- he's much more descriptive."

"I heard that a mandalorian was tearing up the outer rim in search of something. I didn't realize it was him." Leia coos at Grogu, letting him tug on the end of her long braid while cooing back.

"But you know he's Mand'alor?"

"Through word of mouth, mostly, though his reaction confirmed it." Leia looks up at the thought of Din, regarding Luke with something akin to exasperation. "Why didn't you say anything about him?"

"He's a private person."

"I'm your sister."

"You know now don't you?" Leia purses her lips, displeased, but she can't argue against that point, even if she did want to know sooner. Leia opens her mouth to say something just as the clock chirps the new hour, Luke's eyes flying up to check. He holds a hand up, sly smile on his face. "I have an hour before I have to leave again. You get one question about him: how we got together, who he is, or what he's like."

"The last two are the same." Leia points out, frowning.

"You have two options then." Luke replies, Leia's frown deepening.

"How you two got together?."

Luke's expression goes wistful, and he paces the length of the living while thinking of what he wants to say.

"I saved him and the child from a squadron of dark troopers on an Imperial cruiser. It's how Din became Mand'alor, actually. He won the Darksaber in a fight against Moff Gideon."

"That isn't how you got together."

"I'm getting there." Luke shoots back, squinting unhappily at Leia until she holds up a hand in a placating gesture. "Din was… unprepared for Grogu to leave. They'd done all this work to save him, to rescue him and I came in and just- well I didn't steal him, Din gave full permission but… he was heartbroken. For a long time I felt echoes of it, and eventually I sent him coordinates to visit. Grogu missed his buir as much as Din must have missed his ad'ika."

"He taught you Mando'a?"

Luke laughs, shaking his head. "I just picked up the important words." Luke's expression sobers, and his hands disappear into the sleeves of his robes, worrying away at the shirt underneath. "I had visions of Din nightly- glimpses of him with friends or alone, but always heading in my direction. When Din finally did land on the planet I couldn't be sure if it was him or another vision."

Luke's voice peters off as he hesitates, but Leia is silent and Luke lets the words come to him faster and faster, flowing past his lips in a tidal wave. "He only stayed a day the first time- but when he came back and he- never left. For Grogu, I knew, at least at first, but denying attachments had never been my strong suit and- he's force sensitive Lee, not that he can use it really, but it drove me half mad with the way he could use it. I didn't- want him to leave after a while. The house seemed too empty and his cooking is much better anyway."

Luke hears Leia laugh and he finds himself smiling along. "He was the one that kissed me first, actually."

"You've seen his face?"

"We're a clan." Luke replies, voice soft with awe. "But kissing is different- like what you saw over the holo. He doesn't have to remove it, and half the time he doesn't. It was a relief just to know how he felt that night, but he's- brilliant. He's smart and he's funny and he's such a good dad and he's handsome."

"With or without the helmet?"

"Yeah." Leia laughs at the dreamy look that clouds Luke's face, glancing over at the clock. He's already ten minutes past when he was supposed to leave. “I’m… very lucky to have him, and to have Grogu as well.”

“You’re happy.” Leia says, fondness written all over her. “What are you doing that you’re leaving Grogu here?”

“Meeting his family.” Luke breaks from his reverie finally, glancing at the clock before gasping with outrage. “Leia! You did that on purpose!”

“I didn’t do anything.” Leia denies, the spitting image of innocence, and Luke scowls. He jogs over, ducking down to bump his forehead against Grogu’s little head. A clawed hand pats his cheek and Luke leans back, catching his gaze and staring pointedly.

“Be good, Grogu. She isn’t just a normal person, she’s like me. Which means she can tell when you try to use the force to sneak snacks.”

Grogu gurgles in disappointment, obviously displeased, but Leia bounces him a little higher in her arms and he giggles. Luke presses a warm kiss to Leia’s cheek before jogging for the door, waving goodbye and slipping outside. He’s much too impatient to wait for a speeder to take him down a few levels, so Luke does what any person would do.

He jumps off the edge of the city, letting himself plummet faster and faster until he jerks to a stop, the force catching around him like a net. A speeder with a family inside screeches just above his head, and he carefully maneuvers his way back to the level needed, hoisting himself up over the edge and dusting his robes off. All around him people stare at him with wide, confused eyes, but Luke is already slipping from their view before anyone can ask him questions. Artoo whistles happily when Luke comes bounding up to the ship, ignoring the ladder in lieu of hopping lightly, kicking off of the wing and vaulting up into the cockpit.

Luke shoves the helmet on, securing it under his chin as the cockpit seals around him and Luke gets comfortable. “Alright Artoo, we’ve got time to make up!”

Luke’s hands are barely on the yolk when the ship roars into movement, and Luke allows Artoo to guide them out of the city and into open space before he takes over. He doesn’t have to pilot, Artoo could easily handle it, but Luke hasn’t let Artoo truly fly him anywhere in years. Instead he lets him chart a path and then takes off, following with careful precision and overexaggerated loops just to make his stomach flip and roll with the g force.

He’s on a crash course for Din, and nothing will be able to stop him.

-*-

There’s a charlie horse in Luke’s leg that he can’t shake out and he wants to rocket himself into space. He’s been in his cockpit for far too long for his liking, having gone straight there and back, and by the time he slams through the air into the open sky of where he now calls home his knee is jittering anxiously. Luke’s landing is a bit hot but Luke swings the back end of his ship in a wide arc before easing to the ground, touching down and powering down as soon as he’s able to. Luke tugs his helmet off, storing it before popping the hatch to the cockpit, shoving the hatch up and open. He drags in a deep breath of balmy air, eyes closed, before he steps up onto the edge of the cockpit, crouches, and leaps off.

The burn in his muscles is fresh and beautiful and Luke craves it more than anything as he flips and lands in the dirt, laughing to himself. Luke dips into lunge after lunge, moving through defensive stances that intentionally stretch his aching thighs and calves out. He’s so caught up in the rush of being able to move after being in the cockpit so long that he doesn’t notice Din standing in the doorway to the Razor Crest, arms crossed over his chest and whole body tense. When Luke does finally notice him he goes stock still, nearly in the splits, eyes wide.

“Din! How uh, how long have you been there?”

“Long enough to see the flip.” Luke grimaces, straightening up and rubbing at the back of his neck.

“It was a long flight back.” Luke supplies in defense, Din only humming. He doesn’t move from his spot and neither does Luke at first. “I know I’m a little late, I got caught up talking to Leia and I didn’t notice-”

“I’m not mad.” Din interrupts, Luke’s shoulders sagging in relief, and he takes a few steps toward the ship, stopping at the bottom of the ramp. Din tilts his head down, watching him, and Luke feels something like apprehension or eagerness crawl up his spine. Din’s hard to get a read on at the best of times when he’s actively protecting himself, and Luke still hasn’t gotten used to having to try. Din finally breaks away from his spot by the door, walking down the ramp with heavy, purposeful steps. They’re nearly close enough for Luke to reach out and touch when Din does so first, holding his hand out in an offer. “Are you ready to go?”

“No time to waste, we’re already going to be fashionably late, huh?” Luke turns to Artoo, nodding his head toward the ship. Din doesn’t seem.. Thrilled, but he’s warmed marginally to Artoo, and doesn’t object when Artoo rockets up the ramp and disappears into the ship.

“No time like the present.” Din agrees, Luke taking the other man’s hand, skin sliding along worn leather. Luke allows Din to lead him up the ramp and into the belly of the ship, eyes adjusting to the lighting as the ramp lifts up behind them.

Luke isn’t quite sure what he expected when he saw the outside of the Razor Crest, but a bounty hunters ship was about it. He can see a carbonite bay tucked near the back, but there aren’t any people encased, and Luke edges away from the contraption with barely concealed anxiety. He’d seen what happened to Han so many years ago and still felt the remnants of his own brush with that fate anytime the weather took a particularly cold turn. Din doesn’t seem to notice Luke’s apprehension about the bay, instead pulling him deeper into the ship itself. He allows Luke to look around the living space; Luke goes straight for the weapons locker, letting it swing open before nosing around. He hems and haws over the selection, and Luke can see Din go still when Luke lifts a particularly powerful rifle, hand smoothing up the barrel as he inspects it.

“You didn’t have this one before.”

“How do you know?”

“Your signature isn’t on it.” Luke replies, grin just slightly unsettling. It’s enough to remind Din that he does have powers, as Din calls them, and he shelves the gun again, giving it a lingering look. He’s going to have to ask Din to let him shoot a couple of them. Din closes the weapons locker while Luke goes to snoop in the sleeping bay, humming when he sees his bag tucked away in one of the cubbies built into the wall. At least Din remembered to grab it. Luke doesn’t pay much attention to the refresher, though it does intrigue him how spacious it seems to be- usually it’s just a vac tube and maybe a sink, but Din’s is nicer, obviously meant more for comfort than straight efficiency. Once Luke has snooped enough, Din climbs the ladder up into the cockpit, Luke following close on his heels. “Can I fly?”

“Maybe on the way home.” Luke practically bounces out of his seat at the reply, and he tries to be patient and out of the way as Din settles himself in the captain’s chair. Luke watches as Din’s hands slip along the dashboard, flipping switches and pressing buttons in seemingly random orders. Luke has to admit he’s never really flown anything quite like the Crest, and not even the Falcon seemed to have quite so many buttons. Din’s movements are easy and precise, and Luke shouldn’t admit it but watching Din work makes the back of his neck flush.

Din handles them all like he has a thousand times, and he flips two more switches before the engines whine to life, powering up and shaking Luke’s bones. They’re so much more powerful than the x-wing’s single engine, and Luke feels like he could be shaken out of his chair as Din takes hold of the yolks in front of him. Din doesn’t give him any warning before the ship lifts, easing into the sky. Luke sinks back into his seat, fingers gripping the edges, and watches, eyes on Din’s hands the entire time that they ascend.

His hands shouldn’t look so lovely around the yolks, really it’s practical and necessary for Din to hold them the way he is, grip firm and tight around them, applying even pressure to guide the ship higher. What isn’t necessary is the way that Din’s thumbs swipe over the tops of them, Luke’s breath hitching in his throat at the sight as he tries miserably not to think about Din’s hands elsewhere. Luke sees Din’s helmet tilt infinitesimally toward him, as if he heard, and Luke has to fight against the urge to cross his legs to hide whatever reaction he may or may not be having. If he does that though Din will definitely know, so Luke leans back in his chair and thinks his purest Jedi thoughts.

Jedi thoughts turn out to be useless when Din works them through the atmosphere: Luke is used to the drag and jittering of ripping through the layers between space and whatever planet he’s leaving, and he expects the bulk of the Crest to be less than elegant. But when the ship begins to shake Din eases the yolks back, tipping the nose and increasing the throttle in one smooth movement. They slip through like water seeping between a crack in the earth, smooth and uninterrupted, and Luke could kiss Din senseless at the pure artistry in his piloting skills. Luke might think himself an ace pilot, especially with his x-wing, but even he would have struggled with such a smooth exit.

“You’re good with the yolks.” Luke blurts it out without thinking, slapping a hand over his mouth when he realizes what he’s done. Din’s laugh is honey thick, simmering with heat, and Luke tries very hard to sink back into the seat and disappear. Din doesn’t say anything until they’ve slipped into hyperspace, and it’s only to turn to Luke with a simple command.

“Go shower.”

“Do I stink?” Luke lifts his robe up, but he can’t smell anything other than smog and the lingering scent of Leia’s perfume.

“No, but I can tell you want to.” Luke pauses, frowning, but he had been lamenting that Din’s ship didn’t seem to have one. “Take your time.”

“You’re sure you don’t want me to wait?” Din shakes his head once and Luke rises from his chair, lingering a moment to watch Din fiddle with the autopilot before slipping back down to the living quarters. As much as he wants to wait or ask Din to join him he does feel gross, and he leaves his clothes in a pile on the cot before slipping into the ‘fresher and letting the door close behind him. It takes him an obtuse moment to figure out that the showerhead is tucked back into the wall when not in use, and another moment of cold shock before he gets the water to heat.

The hot water is a delight that Luke has sorely missed, and he allows himself to stand under the spray, pounding against his back with surprising pressure. He’s slow to wash himself up, to hurry the process along, but Luke knows there’s limited water and he doesn’t want to use it all lest Din wants a shower later. Alone in the steam of the shower Luke allows his thoughts to drift: Din’s fingers wrapped tight around the yolks, guiding them up and away, Din’s hand on his waist, holding him close in the moments they steal when they can. It’s almost embarrassing to say that he wants Din this way so often- he’s perfectly content to do nothing more than kissing, and it’s honestly never been something Luke thought about in regards to other people.

But there’s something about Din that lights his skin on fire when he sees something he particularly likes, or thinks about the things he wants to ask for but never will.

Luke turns the shower off, watching the water circle the drain as he uses a small towel to scrub himself dry and wring out his hair. He's still in the 'fresher when he hears Din call for him, and Luke grabs his robe, slipping it on and cinching it at the waist before climbing the ladder. His skin prickles with cold and he probably should have gotten dressed first, but Din never calls for him unless he needs something and Luke is eager to see what he can help with.

"Din?" Luke pokes his head into the cockpit, padding inside on bare feet when Din doesn't answer. Din turns his head once Luke gets close enough, and Luke sees the predatory tilt of Din's head when his eyes sweep over Luke's form. "You needed something?"

"Mm." That… doesn't answer anything really, and Luke raises a brow when Din reaches out, resting his hand on Luke's hip and smoothing his thumb over the line of bone there. Luke tries not to let the touch get to him, but Din's fingers press in gently and he finds himself being tugged forward. He skids a hand against Din's vambrace, trying to brace himself, but Din hauls him forward regardless and Luke finds he very much likes the attention. Din turns the chair so that he's facing Luke, and with another insistent tug Luke finds himself settling into Din's lap, thighs snug around Din's and knees digging into Din's hips.

"Oh." Luke utters, tongue tied as Din's hands move to brace Luke's waist as the chair swivels back to face the front. Luke can tell from the viewport they're very firmly in hyperspace, but the back of Luke's neck tickles with awareness that in other circumstances someone could see him, perched in Din's lap in only a robe. A robe that Din is toying with, tracing the edges up to where it's draped shut, barely covering him. Luke feels like his skin has caught fire, and he shifts in Din's lap just slightly.

Din's thigh plates are gone.

Heat sears down Luke's spine at the heady implication and he tips forward, pressing his forehead to Din's helmet and letting his breath fog the visor. "Din."

"Do you remember what you said," Din begins, voice low and smooth. "The night you found out I could feel you using the force?"

"Which part?" There were a lot of things Luke said, both during and after and in between, but Din's hands slip beneath the robe to trail over his thighs and Luke realizes Din doesn't have gloves on. Din doesn't say anything for a moment, instead smoothing both hands up and down Luke's thighs, pushing the robe away and letting it fall back around Luke's hips. It bares Luke to the cockpit and most embarrassingly to Din, who watches the way that Luke's cock twitches with interest at each touch. "Din." Luke entreats, puffing out a sharp breath when Din's thumbs dig into the junction of hip and thigh, drawing out that wonderful wobbly feeling that makes Luke's stomach clench and thighs jerk underhand.

"The part about having fun, if I'd asked sooner."

"What am I supposed to be asking for?" Luke is breathless now, eyes wide, and Din uses his hold on Luke to tug him forward, slotting their hips together and letting Luke's weight rest fully against him. Luke's brain shorts out at what he feels because there's no way that shape was there before and Luke never mentioned anything and-

"Oh." Luke says again, voice weak and needy, and Din huffs out a laugh that makes Luke's toes curl. "Din I-"

"Our connection goes both ways." Din whispers, hands wandering as Luke shivers in his lap when the tie to his robe is tugged open, allowing the robe to fall loose around him. "You're most open in your sleep, when you dream about things you think you shouldn't have."

"I shouldn't ask for." Luke corrects softly, teeth catching at his lower lip when Din rolls his hips up. The press of whatever Din has hidden away against Luke's own rapidly growing interest is sublime and Luke barely keeps himself from grinding down. Only the careful way Din watches him keeps him from doing anything too desperate just yet.

"You should ask for it, Luke. I want it too." Luke's heart hammers in his chest at the words, and Din never ceases to amaze him in the steadfast acceptance he shows. The attention that the armored man showers on him, whether they're alone or not.

"You want to do it… here?"

"You look good against the stars. You belong here, in my lap." Luke can feel his cheeks flush at the compliment but the only thing he can really focus on is the pitiful moan that he lets out at the phrasing. "We can wait until we land, if that makes you more comfortable."

"Din, I am not leaving your lap."

"I was hoping you'd say that."

Luke laughs softly, but Din's hand wraps around him in a gentle, teasing touch and Luke gasps, hips bucking up into Din's fist. "How long were you planning this?"

"A while." Din admits, thumbing at the underside of the head in a way that makes Luke's brain go fuzzy. Luke isn't sure what to do with his hands so he just rests them against Din's chest plate, closing his eyes as Din's hand squeezes lightly around him to draw out a soft whine. He's fully hard now, soft and warm and pliant in Din's lap, and Luke groans when Din pulls his hand back.

"Wanted to ask you for a while, but I was never- ah- brave enough." Luke can't help the noise that interrupts him when Din grabs his ass, spreading him teasingly as his other hand messes with something behind them Luke can't see. Din hums, goading Luke on, and Luke tries his best to focus. It becomes increasingly hard to do so when a single slick finger rubs absently at his rim, circling the sensitive muscle without dipping in quite yet. Every time Luke goes to speak again Din shifts his fingers, and Luke shudders when Din finally slides a finger in, letting Luke adjust slowly. He finds his voice once the initial teasing is out of the way, eyes shut to help him focus. "I know after some of the stuff we've done it should be easy but ah- mm, you're very good at that-"

Din moves his finger in slow, languid strokes, content to let Luke speak even as a second joins the first. Luke is more than ready for it and he takes it easily, grinding back onto Din's fingers as his head tips back. Din lets Luke fuck himself on his fingers, watching with unabashed interest at the way Luke's thighs flex with each movement. Luke can sense Din's attention more than he can see it, even when he does open his eyes, and he catches a flash of his own eyes in Din's visor, electric blue in the light of hyperspace. "Have you done this while I was away? Touched yourself this way?"

"Yes." Luke isn't afraid to admit it, not now with Din crooking his fingers and bumping against his prostate every other pass. Luke's fingers curl around the edge of Din's armor, holding on for dear life when Din finally gets the angle right and presses up firmly and rubs, Luke's hips shoving back as he keens. "Fuck, Din- it wasn't- good like this."

"No? All that power, and you never once used it on yourself?" Luke shakes his head, whimpering when Din nudges a third finger against him. Luke whispers his agreement, tugging on Din's armor, and he moans when Din's fingers stretch him wide. "You could have. Could have opened yourself up for me, waited patiently till I got home."

"Mhm- Din, please if you keep going I'll-" Heat races through him and even in the cool interior of the Crest Luke feels feverish with want. Din's ministrations don't slow at all, even when Luke's hand drifts to twist in the fabric of Din's cloak at the junction of his neck and shoulder, and Luke is one second away from bursting, whining pathetically and hips grinding back. "Din- Din don't tease, wanna come with you in me-"

"You will." Din promises, and his fingers ease back just enough for Luke to focus on Din's voice. "Can you hang on?"

Luke whimpers, achingly close, but he nods after a second. He can do this much at least, and Din's fingers slowly resume their slow rhythm, though Din pointedly avoids Luke's prostate in favor of spreading his fingers a bit to stretch Luke wider. He groans at the feeling, right hand gripping Din's cloak in a death grip just to have something to hold on to. Din is maddeningly good at this and Luke feels stupid for not having asked sooner, breath catching in his throat when Din finally pulls his fingers out, circling Luke's rim in a final teasing touch before his hand disappears.

Luke hears the soft pop of a cap and his mind goes blank, hands shooting down to fumble at Din's pants. Din hums a low approving noise that cuts short when Luke finally works the toy free. Luke has no clue how long he's been wearing it or how long Din has sat here with it pressing into his hip. The sight of it though stops Luke short, and he can't help the laugh that bubbles from him: it's green. Obnoxiously so, but when Luke glances up, raising a brow Din shrugs defensively.

"It reminded me of you."

"Thank you." Luke's voice is sincere, and he can imagine more so than see Din roll his eyes.

"Don't be a brat."

"Wouldn't dream of it, Mand'alor." Luke laughs again when Din's hand swats at his ass, probably harder than he means, but Luke finds he doesn't mind it terribly, especially when Din's fingers soothes over the red mark it must have left. Luke shuffles himself a bit closer, lifting his hips as Din slicks the length of the toy, watching him.

"Come here." Luke tries not to seem so eager when he moves closer, though he knows he fails miserably when Din hums quietly. Din's hands settle on Luke's hips, holding him steady, and Luke stops, kneeling above Din's lap and waiting. He doesn't know what he's waiting for until Din nods, tilting his head as Luke reaches to steady the base of the toy. The first initial press makes his hips still, overwhelmed, but Din's thumbs sweep over his hip bones as Luke pants, slowly fitting more and more until he's pressed to Din's lap, trembling. "Okay?"

Luke nods his head frantically, gasping when Din's hips shift: the toy carves deliciously into him, and it's been too long since he had this, since he let someone get close enough to do anything like this. Luke should be embarrassed at the way he moans, but Din pulls back before snapping his hips back up and Luke's vision whites out. He hears Din's own shaky noise in response and that spurs Luke into action, lifting his hips of his own accord and letting Din drag him back down.

"Din-" Luke doesn't know what to say, brain fried by the way that Din thrusts up into him, but he tips himself back, letting the cold metal of the dashboard dig into the small of his back. He doesn't have the strength to stay sitting up fully, thighs trembling and jerking each time that Din rolls his hips, but the angle is better, tighter and Luke cries out at the first hard slide against his prostate. He braces an elbow back against the panel, robe pooling at his elbows as the other hand shoots out, grabbing blindly for something to hold on to. He feels a button depress under his fingers and Luke swears, but Din doesn't break his stride, hips thrusting up smoothly as he leans over, flipping another switch to fix whatever Luke's wandering hand had done.

The image of Din piloting while Luke is helpless in his lap makes fire roar through him, and Luke is shamelessly close, chest heaving with his breaths. The edge of the console digs uncomfortably into his back but he arches up and away from it anyway when Din grabs at his hip again and pulls him a bit closer.

"Careful." Din soothes, a hand sliding down Luke's thigh while the other braces against his side. "You don't want to knock us out of hyperspace."

"That'd be- bad." Luke agrees, though he can't find it in himself to care too terribly much when Din is very warm and very talented with the movements of his hips. Luke glances at Din, wanting desperately to see him, but the muddy image in his beskar makes Luke pause: he stares at the way his skin has gone blotchy, chest and neck red and cock curving up against his hip, and when he spares a glance up his eyes widen. He looks- wrecked, for lack of a better word, tears gathered in the corners of his eyes and half lidded, and Luke can't help the way he moans at the thought of Din seeing him this way, fucked out and desperate. Luke suddenly can't take it anymore, doesn't want the barrier, and the force sweeps along Din harder than necessary as Luke pops the lock on his helmet, whimpering. "Off, please, please I wanna-"

"Take it off, Luke." Luke surges forward, pushing off the dash and narrowly avoiding jostling a yolk on the way as he reaches for Din's helmet. It slides up and off without any resistance and Luke doesn't care where it lands as he tosses it toward the direction of the co-pilot's chair. Normally Din would scold him for the mishandling of his beskar but the other man only moans, brown eyes dark and half wild with lust as Luke surges to kiss him.

He cups Din's neck with one hand, the other burying in his hair and tugging as Din fucks up into him, hips stuttering when Luke laps into his mouth, tasting the noises he lets out. Luke can feel his own release boiling just under his skin and he drags the force along the length of Din's back, delighting in the shudder and gasp that earns him. Luke doesn't miss the small brush of an electronic, so quiet compared to the rest of the ship that Luke's curiosity is peaked. Luke reaches out, turning the little device on and pulling back when Din's hips jerk hard up into him, losing their rhythm completely. Luke watches the way that Din's eyelids flutter, and Luke grins, using a bit of help from the force to ratchet the power in the device up a notch. Din whines his name, breathless, and Luke grinds his hips down, panting and edged in sweat.

"Don't wanna come alone."

"Fuck- you could have warned me."

"Didn't know it was there." Luke shrugs, as if it were Din’s fault for not telling him, and Luke gasps when Din finds his rhythm again, hard and fast. Luke doesn’t bother trying to talk anymore because each thrust punches weak, needy moans from his lips and he’s so close his thighs are starting to go numb. Luke knows that he could come just like this, fucked open and mind hazy with bliss, but he bumps his forehead against Din’s, leaning heavily against him as his hips cant up, changing the angle and keening when Din hits his prostate head on.

Luke is dizzyingly, staggeringly close and he doesn’t know how much longer he’s going to be able to hold on. Din’s hands are bruising on his hips, dragging him down with each sharp thrust and Luke is helplessly in love with the way that Din’s eyebrows scrunch, thighs twitching under Luke’s as sweet moans drift from his lips when Luke quiets long enough to hear them. Luke lets his normal, tight control on the force loosen now, letting all that he feels rush around him, filling the cockpit with battering waves of energy. He feels Din quake underneath him at the feeling and Luke dips to kiss Din’s neck, trailing his lips up in a slow arc until his cheek presses to Din’s, Luke moaning softly into Din’s ear and smiling when Din grips his hips harder.

Luke can feel a wave building higher and higher in Din, raging and powerful and Luke wants to drown. He wants so badly that he doesn’t think he could stop the way Din’s own emotions batter him, and their pleasure twines together so closely that Luke doesn’t know how he’s going to untangle them again.

Luke isn’t sure who comes first- him or Din.

All he knows is that Din is entirely too good to him, a hand snaking between them to take him in hand and stroke him in time with the movement of their hips. Luke shakes apart in Din’s lap, pressing his face into Din’s hair and riding out the shocks that skitter along his nerves, lighting him up from within as Din ruts his hips up, whining low in his throat until Luke gets the memo and turns the vibe off with a twitch of his fingers. Din sags in relief underneath him, chest rising and falling with his ragged breaths, and Luke can feel the mess he’s made of Din’s beskar smearing against his stomach. Luke sits heavy in Din’s lap, unwilling to move away quite yet as he regains feeling in his legs while Din’s hand wanders from his hip, petting across the small of his back and tracing the bumps of his spine up and down in a soothing motion.

Luke is groggy, half heartedly tugging at the strings of the force around him to arrange them into something more easily worked when Din turns his head, kissing his jaw and smiling against his skin.

“What?” Luke questions, tilting his head to the side to allow Din to leave warm, open mouthed kisses along his neck just for the sake of touching him.

“Nothing.” Din’s voice is far too light, too casual, and Luke brings his hand up, snapping his fingers as the vibe thrums to life. Din jerks, swearing, and Luke snaps his fingers again, groaning when Din bites his neck in retaliation. “You’re being a brat.”

“You didn’t say how long I had to be good.” Luke says, lips curling in a self satisfied smile when Din snorts against his neck, resuming his ministrations.

It’s a minute before Din stops long enough to talk, and by then Luke is able to lift himself up and off the toy, settling in Din’s lap again. “I’m just- happy.”

“Mm, no need to hide that.” Luke sits back on his haunches, ignoring the way his thighs protest the movement as he looks Din over, smoothing his hair away from his forehead. Luke traces his fingertips across Din’s forehead, over his temple before cupping Din’s cheek and sweeping his thumb over Din’s lips. “I am too.”

Luke watches the way that Din’s eyes sparkle, lips quirking into a small, pleased smile that Luke knows he doesn’t know how to hide. Luke finds himself smiling too, just to see Din’s grow at the sight, and Luke tips forward to place a soft kiss on his lips, the curve of Din’s smile soft underneath his lips. Din’s hand stills against the small of his back, pressing him a bit closer as Din tilts his head, slotting their lips together easier and sighing softly. Luke keeps his eyes open for a moment more just to see the soft, relaxed way that Din’s eyes slip shut, the way his head tilts just so to kiss him easier. Luke closes his eyes, letting his other senses take over as his skin pricks underneath Din’s palm, hypersensitive to each touch. Kissing Din is a luxury that Luke gladly takes as much of as he can, and he only pulls back when his skin begins to stick to Din’s beskar.

“As much as I could sit here forever, I think I could use another shower.” Din hums noncommittally, but Luke swings from his lap in one graceful movement that ends in his knees buckling, hand shooting out wildly to grab the edge of the dashboard as he laughs. “Ah, maybe I’ll just wait here.”

“Something wrong?” Din questions, head tilting as he turns in his chair, watching the way that Luke leans against the console. The bright eyed glare he levels over his shoulder is scathing and Luke scoffs in annoyance when Din’s smug smile only grows.

“No, not at all, just waiting for you.”

“I’ll follow behind.” Luke locks eyes with him, blue against brown, and it’s ultimately Luke who wins, Din unused to prolonged eye contact and Luke too stubborn to look away. Luke shoves away from the console, heading for the door and down the ladder into the sleeping bay before his legs can decide to give out on him again. He makes it down the ladder with only minor struggle, and Din is right behind him, nearly at the bottom when Luke snaps his fingers.

Luke watches Din’s back go rigid as his knees go weak, and he watches in smug satisfaction as Din’s knees hit the floor at the bottom of the ladder, bare hands tight around the rungs bolted into the wall. “Something wrong?” Luke parrots, leaning back against the doorframe for the refresher as Din hauls himself up using the strength of his arms. Din’s eyes are lava hot, black in the fluorescents of the ship, but Luke raises a brow as Din stands there, shaking.

“Turn it off.” Din’s voice is rough in his throat, but Luke catches the pleading, desperate edge to it because he crooks his finger in a come hither motion. Din doesn’t move for a moment and Luke thinks that he’s misjudged, but then Din shoves away from the ladder and storms over to him, beskar digging in uncomfortably as Din presses him bodily back against the wall. “Turn it off, Luke.”

“In a minute.”

“Luke-” Din’s voice finally cracks and Luke makes that same crooking motion with his finger, gripping Din’s bicep to keep him from collapsing as the vibrations grow in intensity. Luke drinks in the way that Din’s eyes go distant, lips parting as a soft moan falls from his mouth as his brow furrows. He hangs his head, hands gripping uselessly at Luke’s robe as his hips jerk. It doesn’t take long, not with the way that Luke keeps ratcheting up the intensity before Din is shaking in Luke’s arms, moaning desperately and only just keeping himself standing as an orgasm washes over him. Luke presses a kiss into his hair as he dims the intensity slowly until finally turning the vibe off, letting Din stand in his arms, shaking against him and forehead pressed to Luke’s collar bone. “You’re awful.” Din says eventually, though there’s no venom in his voice.

“I’ve been told that once or twice.” Luke agrees, hands skimming over Din’s armor to release the clasps and slip the pieces off one by one. By the time he’s got Din in his clothes Din seems more inclined to help, and he wiggles out of his shirt and pants, shucking the underwear with the toy off. “Shower?”

“Sleep.” Din argues, voice groggy. Luke waves for Din to go crawl into bed and Din doesn't argue, collapsing onto the cot without bothering to get into pajamas. Luke takes another quick shower, ass and thighs sticky from the lube, and then spends a bit washing the front of Din's chest plate so that Din won't forget in the morning. Only once he's gotten everything set does he duck into the sleeping bay, crawling over Din and using a sweep of his hand to close the bay off from anyone's sight. He won't sleep, not with them in hyperspace, but Din grabs for him greedily in his sleep, tucking his head under Luke's chin and causing the other man to smile and wrap an arm around him. Din's greatest strength seems to lie in passing out immediately after sex, and Luke wishes sometimes he could follow, but his brain won't shut down.

All he can think about is the way Din's hands had held him so tight, the way it had felt to be fucked in the captain's chair on display for Din and Din only. Luke has never been one to run toward being known, but Din looking at him, brown eyes soft and molten with lust made Luke want to bear himself in the hopes that Din would never look away. Din somehow manages to surprise him in some way each and every day, and Luke looks forward to the unknown more and more each day. Despite his own reservations about sleeping during hyperspace he will meditate, and he allows his mind to empty, thoughts scattering.

-*-

Din wakes up only a short time after Luke has drifted off.

At first he forgets where they are, but the cot in the ship is small and slightly lumpy and Luke is smashed against his side. Din doesn’t care too terribly much that every inch of them is touching in some way, reveling in the easy contact and the way Luke’s arm remains a constant heavy weight over his ribs. Luke’s hair tickles at his nose and he brings a hand up to push it away from his face, freezing when Luke shifts and mumbles something under his breath.

“Luke?” Din doesn’t want to wake him, but he doesn’t feel like he’s sleeping and when Luke shifts, humming quietly Din knows it was the right call. “We’ll drop out of hyperspace soon.”

“How soon?” Luke’s voice is groggy, half asleep, and Din almost chokes on the affection that swells up inside him.

“Have to go up to see. You’re trapping me.”

“Mm.” Luke makes a noise of agreement but doesn’t move his arm, instead hugging Din a bit tighter and sighing happily. Din allows the cuddles for a minute more before shoving at Luke’s hip lightly, recoiling when Luke’s lips part in a pained gasp as Luke rolls onto his back, drawing away. Din sits up so fast that dizziness slams into his skull as he drifts careful hands over Luke’s stomach and sides, Luke protesting. “Din, I’m fine, stop fussing-”

“That,” Din says quietly, voice trembling, “Was not an okay sound.”

Din watches as Luke sits himself up, narrowly avoiding knocking their heads together as he tosses the blanket back to show Din that he’s fine. But- he’s not. Bruises bloom over his hips in splotchy lines and curves, and Din’s hands clench into fists. He should feel shame: he knows it in the back of his mind, that hurting Luke this way, leaving these kinds of marks is unacceptable, but Din reaches forward, sliding his hand over them lightly and lining his fingers up to each purple bruise. His hand settles comfortably on Luke’s hip and Din can feel his cheeks burning.

“I told you I was fine.” Luke insists, though his voice has gone soft and breathy as Din pulls back to sweep his fingers over the marks.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“You didn’t.” Din looks up, frowning, and Luke smiles, sheepish. “Okay, so they’re sore, but I like them.”

Din comes up short at that: he doesn’t really see a reason to be upset if Luke likes them, and Din has to admit they do look rather fetching against the pale ivory of Luke’s skin. Din smoothes a hand over them again, pressing lightly and watching the way that Luke’s hips twitch, a rueful smile spreading across his face.

“Don’t start things you can't finish.”

Din hums, thoughtful, and dips to kiss the Jedi, a thrill going down his spine when Luke presses up against him. Luke’s hand comes up to cup the back of his neck but Din pulls back, kissing the tip of his nose and slipping out of bed. Luke groans loudly, annoyed, but Din only chuckles, moving to find his clothes and pull them on. He’s expecting to have to clean off his beskar but he’s pleasantly surprised when it shines dully in the light, clean of the mess they made a few hours ago. Once he’s armored again he hauls himself up the ladder, ducking into the cockpit and scooping his helmet up off the floor.

The display in front of him glows softly and when Din looks he’s surprised to find that they’re only minutes from dropping out of hyperspace. He slept longer than he expected. “Drop in five.” He calls, listening as Luke bangs around in the sleeping area below. Din isn’t worried about him going flying, Luke can handle himself, but he doesn’t want to cause anymore bruises if he can help it. He takes hold of the yolks when the computer beeps, guiding them through and down out of hyperspace as smoothly as he can, letting his body sag back against the chair as the ship slows around him. The drag of leaving hyperspace always disorients him for a minute, but he’s long trained himself to push through the dizziness to guide himself down toward the planet in question.

Nevarro’s atmosphere blooms hot around the nose of his ship as he plummets through, sweeping down through the clouds and dipping low over the dark sand and familiar rivers of lava that warm the flats. Din expects Luke to join him up in the cockpit, but he’s still fumbling around down below and Din isn’t going to call him up if he’s busy. It gives him time to worry privately about their meeting- Luke isn’t meeting his convert, not since they scattered to the wind: He’s meeting arguably the most important people in his life- all the ones who helped guide him toward the path he’s on now and kept him on it even when he was teetering on the edge, ready to fall off. It takes a minute to find a spot in the port clear enough for him to land, and he lowers them carefully, touching down with little more than a bump before switching off the control panel and snatching the steering chip out of it.

Din drops down the ladder easily, knees dipping to absorb the shock as he peers around. He finally catches sight of the door to the cargo bay open and heads that way, padding down the ramp and glancing around. He spots Luke’s blonde head of hair a few paces away, peering curiously up at the twin suns that light the sky. Din stops short at the bottom of the ramp, heart stuttering in his chest at the sight of him. The cloak around Luke’s shoulders is white- soft and plush looking and far too warm for the climate of Nevarro. When Luke turns, smiling, Din loses his breath at the sight of him, blue eyes bright against the stark snow white contrast of his clothes. They’re simple, pants and a form fitted long sleeve and boots, but the way the cloak hangs across his front like a cowl before draping over one shoulder flatters the slim angle of his shoulders and hips.

“What are you wearing?” Din feels stupid instantly at the question, but the lightest color he’s ever worn is tan, and Din’s eyes flick down to the dark sooty dirt that’s bound to stain the bottom of the cloak.

“Thought I should look nice.” Luke answers, shrugging his shoulders and smiling, just a shy quirk of his lips. His cheeks are pink and the white makes his skin look tanner, warm and flushed and Din can’t seem to formulate an intelligent reply. “Din?”

“Hm?”

Luke’s grin is pleased, affectionate as he beckons Din forward. The ramp rises behind him when Din finally steps off and walks forward, taking Luke’s outstretched hand. Luke’s right hand is clad in a white glove to match and Din worries his old leather is going to ruin it, but Luke doesn’t seem to care, smiling the way he is. “You have to lead. I don’t know where we’re going.”

“Oh. Right.” Din shakes his head to clear it, leading them away from the Crest and through the arch that guards the entrance to the town proper. Din moves through the crowd the way he has a thousand times, dragging a wide-eyed Luke along behind him. Din knows the town is safer than ever, but Luke’s child-like wonder is a neon sign for them to get robbed and Din ushers him along through the streets, ducking into an alley and heading for an unmarked door. He knocks twice and kicks the bottom once, Luke raising a brow and snickering when the door slips open. Din ducks inside, mindful of the low threshold, and Luke follows behind, glancing around the room.

It’s mostly empty with a kitchenette tucked in one corner with a huge table dominating most of the space. There are a couple of couches that are devoid of people, and Din feels himself relax a bit.

“You’re late!” A feminine voice calls, Din turning toward the sound and snorting when Cara comes striding up. She hasn’t changed out of her armor, and Din can see the gold of her badge heavy on her hip. Cara stops at the sight of Luke, whistling and raising a brow. “Dressed to impress, Jedi?”

“Always.” Luke says, grinning. “Marshal now, eh?”

Cara’s hand strays to the badge, tracing over it, and Din can feel the pride radiating from her. “Was about time I went straight.”

Luke’s brows go up at the phrasing and that draws a laugh out of Cara, Din glancing between the two of them. For all Cara’s talk of Luke being New Republic she doesn’t seem very worried, at least not now with the badge on her hip. “It suits you. Bossing people around.”

Cara rolls her eyes and reaches out to swat Luke’s shoulder, the man in question reaching up to brush at his cloak as if she’d gotten dirt on it. A new voice chimes in, quiet and brash, and Din’s hand nearly goes for his pistol on instinct before he recognizes it.

“Stop hogging the Jedi, Cara. Some of us actually want to meet him.” Din inclines his head toward the asian woman, said woman nodding back before holding her hand out. Luke shakes it, barely reacting when Din knows she’s squeezing as hard as she can. She’s holding the wrong hand to intimidate with, because Luke squeezes back, mechanical hand whirring softly in Din’s receiver as the woman’s lips twitch. “Fennec Shand. Din’s told us a lot about you.”

“Terrible, gritty things I hope.” Fennec pauses, blinking for a moment before a small smile colors her face. “Luke Skywalker. Din has been willfully vague about most of you.”

Fennec nods, tilting her head, and her grin is sharklike when she glances at Din. “For good reason. Speaking of good reasons… Cara, care to join me in hunting down enough cups for all of us?”

“You brought Spotchka?”

“It’s a party, isn’t it?” Cara and Fennec link arms as they head to raid the cupboards of the kitchenette and Luke turns to Din, nodding his head toward them. There’s a question in him that Din finds entirely predictable and Din nods.

“Since you saved us on the cruiser.”

“Interesting. They’re a good match.” Luke glances back over at the two women who bow their heads together, whispering and occasionally glancing back at them before snickering and looking away again. “So, I know this can’t be it, or you wouldn’t be so nervous.”

“We’re waiting on two others.”

“And are they the ones I need to impress?”

“You don’t have to impress anyone.” Luke hums, unconvinced, and Din grimaces in his helmet. Okay, so the only person he’s actually worried about is Boba- the man doesn’t know when to shut his mouth and has an ego a parsec long and Luke is so willfully neutral that Din doesn’t know what will happen. “They’re just- rougher.”

“Is it because I’m from Tatooine?” A new voice, laced with a drawl and smooth as molasses chimes in, and Din makes sure not to let himself rock forward when a hand claps across his back. “Good to see you again Mando. Who’s this?”

“Luke. My partner.” Din can feel his cheeks flush at the phrasing, astounded at calling him that, and he looks the silver haired man over, tilting his head. “You knew he was coming.”

“Didn’t know he was from Tatooine.” the taller man grins easily, looking over toward Luke with an appraising look in his eyes.

“You know I’m from Tatooine?” Luke chimes in, voice amused and curious all in one. "Though, I suppose most people do."

"Nah, you walk like you belong on sand."

"Excuse me?" Din watches Luke's brows go up in surprise, and he thinks that Luke might be offended until he laughs, stunned and cheerful and reaches to shake hands. "I haven't heard someone tell me that in years. Your name?"

"Cobb. Cobb Vanth."

"Mm, the Marshal of Nothing." Cobb smirks at that, nodding his head and trying not to seem so pleased. "You fly here on your own?"

"Nah, I leave the piloting to the experts. Hitched a ride on the Slave I."

"Yeesh, quite a name." Din freezes when he hears the soft, near silent steps of another hunter, and he watches as Boba Fett slips his helmet off, faint amusement in his eyes.

"It was my fathers." Luke turns toward the new voice, smile on his face, and Din watches in shock as Luke's face cycles through a plethora of emotions. Curiosity, anticipation, confusion, wild sweeping rage, cool acceptance, all before settling on careful, painted on indifference. A mask Din knows his Jedi training has supplied him with. Din glances at Boba, who's primed and ready for the normal comments he gets about his father or lack thereof, but Luke doesn't go for the low blow. Din stares in open confusion as Luke holds his hand out, shaking Boba's and tilting his head. The movement is predatory and dangerous and Din shouldn't find it attractive, but the brittle, sharp smile Luke plasters on only makes it worse.

"Fett. The scars are new."

"Skywalker." Din watches Boba's grip tighten for a moment before he lets go, lips twitching. "The hand is new."

Boba says it easily, sympathetically, but Din catches the razor edge and he knows Luke does too. Luke only flashes that same sharp smile as before, shrugging his shoulders and dropping his hand. "No one gets through a war without a few scars. Is that sarlacc still kicking?"

"Is your father?" Din's vision goes blurry with the blinding, all encompassing fury that billows from Luke in enough of a wave to make his cloak rustle, and when Din sneaks a look around the room everyone is wide eyed and fearful, even normally rock solid Fennec. The emotion is there and gone faster than Din can blink, and Luke sniffs haughtily, looking Boba up and down once.

"No. Much like the emperor and the death stars, he's been gone for years." Ah. The threat stitched so finely in Luke's casual words lance right through Din and he's suddenly very hot underneath all the armor and slightly ashamed at that fact. Din looks between the two, everyone up on pins and needles, but then Boba laughs, skirting around Luke and moving to stake a claim at the table, helmet placed in front of him like a shield. No one is sure what they should do, but then Luke moves, going and sweeping into the chair directly across from Boba as Din follows suit. He sits to Luke's right, Cobb on his left and the ladies on either side of Boba. It feels like a protection deal, a meeting between two rivals, and Din was not expecting the night to go this way.

"So I'm going to assume y'all know each other. But I don't, so Luke," Cobb turns hazel eyes on him and Din watches the way Luke softens, lips quirking as he nods for Cobb to go on. "What'd you do on Tatooine?"

"Besides pod racing and shooting?" Cobb nods, smirking, and Luke leans back in his chair, fingers steepled in front of him. "My aunt and uncle who raised me were moisture farmers."

"Tough job. They raise you your whole life?"

"Just about. I was nineteen when I left home with my first Jedi Master, Ben. I met Han and Leia shortly after, and then joined the Rebellion."

"And wreaked havoc." Cara pipes in, Luke smiling sheepishly and shrugging his shoulders.

"I'd never left Tatooine before. Could hardly blame me if I was a little reckless in my ah, pursuits." Care snorts, pouring a glass of Spotchka for everyone and sliding the cups toward them. Din catches his, but he isn't going to drink it and they all know it. Instead he rolls the glass between his hands, watching as Luke downs his and then trades their glasses, letting Din fiddle with the now empty glass while he throws back Din's drink. No one blinks at the silent arrangement, though Boba watches, head tipped to one side.

"Was one of your pursuits to plunge the galaxy into chaos?"

"Only partially." Luke replies coolly, carefully letting go of the glass with his right hand to drop his hand onto Din's thigh plate instead. The metal won't shatter like the glass will, and Din doesn't say a word when Luke's hand trembles on his thigh. "What were your pursuits, Boba Fett? Working for Jabba and the Empire?"

"Money talks." Boba's voice is careful, threaded with warning, but Luke smiles charmingly, blue eyes glittering, and Din listens as everyone takes a collective breath and holds it.

"And I'm sure it's speaking to you now. Tell me, does Jabba's throne seem a bit big for you? It seemed rather uncomfortable last time I was there." Din watches in amazement as Boba's expression shutters, eyes narrowed, and he can't help the laugh that bubbles out of him. It's such a startling sound that the rest of the group join in after a moment, and Din shakes his head.

"Like a couple of rabid jawas." Cobb murmurs, hiding his grin behind his glass and holding it out for a refill when Cara swishes the bottle invitingly. Luke does the same but allows Din to hold on to his empty glass, this time sipping slowly at the fluorescent blue liquid.

Fennec sits back in her chair, eyes carefully neutral but a smirk on her face. "No wonder you fell for him, Mando. He doesn't pull punches."

"Mm." Din doesn't say much, but the thought pleases him greatly and he glances over at Luke. He finds the man watching him back, eyes soft and none of his rage present in the pale blue of his eyes. Din looks away before he gets lost and loses his train of thought, and he glances around the room. "Any questions for them, Luke?"

Luke perks up at the chance to ask now, nodding. "Plenty. Fennec, you work for Boba?"

"I do." She agrees, shifting in her chair and eyes carefully guarded. "He saved my life."

"Noble. What did you do before?"

"Odd jobs. Contracts, cleaning. The works." Luke hums, somehow not surprised, and Fennec quirks a thin brow. "What else?"

"How'd you meet Din?" Fennec glances at Din, as if asking his permission, and Din nods. He figured Luke would ask, and he doesn't particularly care so long as they don't say anything too embarrassing.

"He tried to kill me. Well, that's not strictly correct. He was helping a fellow guild member try to bring my bounty in, but the dumbass shot me and went after Mando."

"At your coaxing." Din interrupts, frowning, but Fennec only laughs and shrugs.

"I may or may not have convinced the kid that Mando was worth more of a bounty."

"And you, Cara? What's your story?" Cara perks up beside Boba, nursing her drink and mulling the question over.

"We tried to camp out on the same backwater shithole."

"That's it?" Luke raises a brow and looks at Din. Din shifts in his seat, spinning his cup and shrugging a shoulder.

"We might have taken down a band of raiders and an AT-ST that was troubling a krill fishing village. The raiders had been stealing the krill to distill their own Spotchka, but were doing a pretty poor job." Cara says, grinning. "There was a lady that was sweet on Din, almost got him to settle down too."

"Omera." Luke says, and both Cara and Din look over to find him smiling, head tipped to the side. "Grogu talked about her and her daughter. He said you liked her too."

"That was- a long time ago." Din isn't quite sure why he's explaining himself, but Luke hums low in his throat. Luke's fingers drum over Din's thigh in a comforting rhythm, even as the rest of the group watch them.

"If people falling in love with you bothered me I'd have a lot of anger." Din feels his shoulders slumping, relief flooding him, and Luke winks at him before glancing at Cobb. "Now your story, cowboy, I do know."

"Oh ya do? Well, I guess you don't need me to explain then."

"Well, I wouldn't mind hearing your voice." Cobb laughs, shaking his head, and Din rolls his eyes. Cobb swirls his glass, letting the blue liquid inside nearly splash over his fingers.

"Mando was looking for others of his kind, and I was just about the only fella in armor anyone had heard of. He just about killed me when he saw me in the armor."

"Left it reeking of cologne, too." Boba interrupts, Cobb chuckling and taking a slow sip of his drink.

"Some of us care about our appearance, big boy." Din wrinkles his nose at the nickname but Boba only rolls his eyes. Din watches Luke's eyes flick back and forth between Cobb and Boba, a smile growing on his face.

"You lost your armor, and Cobb wore it? Oh, that's fantastic."

"Temporarily."

"Sorry, not funny. Moving on." Luke definitely isn't sorry, Din can tell by the smile he's struggling to hold back, but Boba only rolls his eyes before motioning for Cobb to continue.

I traded the armor for his help in taking down the krayt dragon that was plaguing Mos Pelgo.” Luke’s brows go up despite already knowing the story, and he turns his body more toward Cobb, listening. “Din here let himself get eaten to get the cattle loaded with bombs into the damn thing. We lost a bunch of good people in the fight.”

“From the acid. Grogu remembered the smell, and Din covered in it.” Luke’s nose wrinkles remembering that particular memory Grogu had pushed onto him. “You met them all through fighting. Why am I not surprised?”

Din shrugs again, as if it’s the only thing he can do. “That’s how I meet people.”

“What about you, Luke?” Luke turns toward Fennec, who looks like she’s about to make a bad decision. Din sits up, frowning, and tries to silence her with a kick to the shin under the table. She isn’t deterred, and instead jerks her head toward Boba. “You two have history. Did you know Boba was Mando’s best friend?”

“No, I didn’t. But who Din is friends with doesn’t affect me.” Din could kiss him at the smooth, graceful answer, and he kicks Fennec again when she opens her mouth to speak. It still doesn’t stop her.

“How did you and Boba meet?”

The room goes silent once the question is out, and even Boba has the good sense to look uncomfortable, shifting in his chair as Luke leans forward with singular focus. He braces his elbows on the table, folding his hands under his chin as he levels a long look at Fennec. Din quakes in his chair at the roiling, raging storm that boils under Luke’s skin, so lacking in color or light or anything that Din knows what it is. Recognizes it from the same ugly, sweet pull of the emotions within his blade.

“Luke-” Din murmurs, trying to draw his attention away. Luke doesn’t seem to hear him.

“He tried to capture me to bring me into the Empire when I went to my mentor’s house. He also captured my brother in law, froze him in carbonite, and nearly killed us when he got him back.” It- doesn't sound like much to half of them sitting at the table, but Din reaches up, touching the soft underside of Luke’s upper arm, trying to draw him from whatever memories have snagged him. “Do you know,” Luke says, voice shaking, “How terrifying it is to fight blind with almost no basic knowledge of how to fight?”

“Not really.” Fennec says softly. Din had blinded her, true, but she was in her prime- untouchable at the time. Luke stares unblinkingly for a moment more before he abruptly stands, turning to Din and dipping down. Din blinks when Luke presses their foreheads together, asking a question, Din nodding when Luke pulls away and slips from the room out into the alley beyond the door. The door seals behind him, beeping as the lock clicks, and Din sits in the middle of his friends, all with varying degrees of confusion and worry on their faces.

“He needs a minute.”

“I’ve never seen a Jedi get upset like that.” Cara muses, fingers worrying at the decorated bottom of her glass.

“He’s a person. Everyone gets upset when people don’t know how to stop pushing.” The glare that Din levels on Fennec doesn’t go unnoticed, and she grimaces, slumping back in her chair. “He likes you all, and he wants you to like him.”

“Oh, does he? Couldn’t tell.” Fennec mumbles, wincing when Din’s third kick lands harder than all the others.

“He isn’t going to let you dig up every ghost in his closet, Shand.” Cobb says, glancing toward Din and then toward the door. “We all have things we would rather forget.”

Fennec softens at that, sighing heavily and standing from her chair. Din knows what she’s going to do before she says anything and he holds a hand up to stop her. “Just wait.”

“I was an ass.”

“You were. Now be nice and open the door.” Fennec looks at him, bewildered, but there’s a faint tap on the door and Din hums. Fennec goes to unlock it, stepping back and out of the way as Luke slips past her again. He looks as unruffled as when they first came in, and Din turns in his chair just to watch the muscles in Luke’s thighs shift under the white of his pants. Din leans his head back, anticipating the way that Luke leans down, cupping the back of his neck and smushing his forehead to Din’s helmet. He stays there for a moment, breathing, and Din’s hand comes up to cup Luke’s cheek, not caring that they have an audience.

“That is weirdly cute. Mando, is that really how you guys kiss?” Din makes a low sound in his throat, something distinctly annoyed, and Cara laughs, Din lingering in the same position for a moment even when Luke pulls away.

“We just had sex in front of you. Surprise.” Din jerks in his chair, head whipping to stare at Luke, but he’s grinning, brow raised as Cara stares, dumbfounded. She doesn’t know if he’s lying or not, but surprisingly it’s Boba that laughs, deep and from his core, covering his eyes with a hand and leaning back in his chair. Luke’s smile doesn’t dim this time, though something in his eyes flickers momentarily, but then Cobb is laughing too, slapping the table in front of him and rocking back in his chair. Din can hear Fennec snickering behind him, still standing, and Cara’s cheeks flush, outrage and embarrassment twisting her face.

“That is not funny.”

“You’re right, you’re right.” Luke folds his hands in front of him, instantly the picture of a solemn Jedi. It only lasts a second before the facade cracks, Luke’s eyes twinkling with mirth as he snorts, choking back a laugh. Din’s heart soars in his chest at all his friends laughing, at Luke standing tall and proud among them, glowing like the brightest star in Din’s universe.

#dinluke #trans din djarin #force sensitive din djarin #major sluttiness #meeting the family

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