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lord-explosion-baku · 4 years ago

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Trident Tale part 2

Mermaid!Shinsou x reader x Kirishima x reader

Warnings: adult themes (minors DNI)

Author’s note: sorry to those of you who have asked me to put on the tag list! I don’t do tag lists! But if you don’t want to lose this story, you can always bookmark it on AO3.

Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3

Original image by @maewoahoah

Moving to an island where everyone is big on the surf scene and other oceanic happenings might not have been the brightest idea for someone so afraid of anything that has to do with water, but you make do by spending your days looking after the Bed & Breakfast, trying not to burn the house down when you fry a few eggs, and obsessively scrolling through Eijirou Kirishima’s social media page. He’ll never notice you, and you think you’re fine with that, until a mysterious force washes into Ms. Shuzenji’s pool after a particularly nasty storm.

Hitoshi Shinsou is a pain in the ass from the get-go, but you put up with him, fins and all, when he promises he can help unite you with your soulmate. The catch? The fish is hellbent on taking back what was stolen from him, and he won’t lift a gracious finger until he gets what he came for.

You’re helpless to lend him a hand, so long as you stay dry. Unless, of course, he has other plans.

You know how the saying goes: you rub his fins, he’ll rub yours.

The thing about being hungry is that you can sometimes convince yourself that you’re full. You can sip water, swallow your breath, pop a few mints in—hell, you could even pretend to eat. However, even if you might trick your brain, your stomach will still be empty.

By the time you finally get some real goddamn food in your stomach, it will be aching from being teased.

It feels like this is exactly what Hitoshi Shinsou has done to you. Teased you. He’d mentioned being one of Ryūjin, which you can only assume is something religious or magic. You know he’s a fish, and that he makes people’s skin glow when he touches them, and apparently his lips or his saliva can heal wounds. But he’s not yet given you any real goddamn food.

The jerk has been swimming circles around the pool, commenting on how disgusting it is being stuck with all the trash, and complaining about your poor hospitality, but has not yet told you what the hell he’s doing here.

It’s not like you ever asked for some creature to crash into Ms. Shuzenji’s pool. Maybe some people would be ecstatic over finding an actual merperson, but life isn’t all about singing songs and talking to seagulls. He’s definitely not an Ariel, unless he is in fact looking for a prince. With all his sass, you think he’s much more of an Ursula than a Disney princess. If he is a sea-witch, he refuses to tell you.

It won’t matter much by the time Denki gets here anyways. You had been honest when you said you wouldn’t put it against him to call some news station when he sees Hitoshi. You figure that after some science lab’s helicopters carried your intruder away to run tests on him, the fish-man will be out of your hair and a thing of the past.

Despite the cynicism crawling through your head, the thought actually makes a guilty pit form in the bottom of your stomach. A life is a life, afterall.

“At least tell me why you tried to…to…” Your mouth flattens when you recall Hitoshi leaning into you, his lips a whisper away from yours.

“To?” Hitoshi asks while he observes the wayward bra that blew into the pool with notable repulsion.

“To kiss me!” You bark out, ears warm.

“Oh, that?” He purses his lips, spinning the bra around in the water. Then, he’s contemplative for a moment, as if he’s thinking of an excuse that won’t make you angry. Or will. He seems to get a kick out of frustrating you.

“I suppose I should’ve considered that it’s not a social norm for humans to greet other humans with their lips,” he says with a cocky, probably lying smirk. “My bad.”

“You expect me to believe that mermaids kiss each other to say hello?”

“Not a mermaid.” The fish is all teeth as he regards you. “I’m one of Ryūjin. And I’d like to think that you’d believe anything I tell you, since you seem to know nothing about my people.”

“Because you won’t tell me anything about your people,” you mutter right before the house bell rings. Your heart jumps with a spike of panic. You haven’t thought about what you’re going to say to Denki yet. You begin thinking about science labs again, and that knot in your stomach tightens.

“Okay,” you say in a warning tone, “I’m gonna let Denki in now…”

“Uh-huh.”

“He’s gonna see you…”

“That’s the plan.” Hitoshi lifts a brow. “You’re not worried for me, are you?”

“I just think you should be more worried about yourself,” you say. “Humans aren’t…” There’s a pensive pause when you try to search for the right word. “Humans aren’t good.”

“Would you say that you’re a good human?” He asks.

What a question. You’d like to believe that you are, but you can’t kid yourself. Never one to be very self-sacrificing, you utter your next words with confidence. “Nope.”

“And yet, you haven’t done anything malicious towards me. Nothing, besides that half-assed attempt to kick me away from you, anyways.”

Rolling your eyes to keep your couldn’t-care-less facade up, you left the smirking merman to wade around in the murky pool. There’s not another second to think about what you could possibly say to Denki about your surprise guest, because when you enter the house, you see his face peeking through the side window next to the front door. You could see a drink holder and a Tiki Burger bag in his hand. His smile is bright, while yours is grim.

He pouts, seeing through forced body language, and proceeds to make a funny face. You let out a half-sigh, half-laugh. You might not be a good person, but Denki is. He’s an idiot, but you don’t think he’d ever do anything to harm another creature, mythical or not. This could even be fun to him. Exciting. Something extraordinary happened, and you’d been too scared to react to it appropriately, but Denki would be different.

Your changing emotions grow palpable when you finally reach for the handle.

“Heard you had some thingies that needed twisting,” Denki says as you open the door. He’s wearing his company’s shirt, a brown thing with the PoolPros logo on it, though it’s cut raggedly short to show off his midriff. He’s been particularly confident ever since he’d gotten his navel pierced, and happily showed off the topaz stone that Kirishima had given him. It hangs right above his buckle. It forces onlookers to look at his abs…or maybe his groin. He says it’s lucky, and you haven’t argued with him about it. You would probably call something Kirishima gave you lucky too.

In a flash, you’re grabbing him by his shirt collar and guiding him in and against one of the hall mirrors.

“Something’s happened.” The words immediately spill out, even while you still do not know what you’re going to say. You hope that if the right things tumble out of your mouth, Denki will get the picture.

“Uh…” Denki’s cheeks are red hot, reacting to your close proximity. “Was it a spike in your libido?”

God.

“No, shut up!” You smack his chest and glance down the hall towards the back door. The pool isn’t in your line of vision, but just knowing what lurks there gets your blood pumping. “This is going to sound crazy, but I need you to keep an open mind.”

He bobs his brows. “For you? Always.”

After an exhale, you gather your composure, and tell Denki everything with as much eloquence as you can muster.

“There’s something living in the pool!” You bark out, erratic. “It’s big and it has zero impulse control and it’s rude! It talks! When it touches me, my skin glows. Then it tried to kiss me, Kaminari! And it’s rude!” You add that in again, because you cannot stress it enough. Hitoshi Shinsou is as unrefined as a piece of driftwood, and he had the audacity to make comments on behalf of your decorum. “It won’t tell me what it’s doing here, either. I offered to get it back into the ocean, but it said it wanted something else, but it won’t tell me what, and I don’t know what to do!”

Denki blinks rapidly, like his eyelashes are repelling every word you toss at him. There’s a beat, he swallows, then his lips tilt up into a knowing grin.

“Alright,” he says, “I see you.”

“You do?” Maybe you had to give Denki a little more credit. That hadn’t been your best description of a nightmare scenario.

“Sure do, little lady. This is some kinda belated birthday prank, huh? Thought you could slide one past me when I was least expecting it! I was thinking that maybe you just forgot about it, but now you’ve got something up your sleeve, don’t ya! Well cutie, I might be dumb, but I’m not stupid!”

Striding into the house, Denki places the shakes and burger bag onto Shuzenji’s kitchen counter. Shoulders deflating, you follow him while he fishes a few fries out of the bag. If he doesn’t get it now, he will soon enough.

“What could it be?” He ponders, tossing a fry into his mouth. He nods towards one of the cups and mumbles about a shake for you, then towards the back door. “Couldn’t be a party—it’s too early for a party. And you don’t talk to many people…”

Ignoring the slight burn, you front Denki, and extend your hand out to his. His eyes widen for a moment, he wipes his hand on his pants, and takes yours.

“I need your help, Denki. Seriously.”

“Yeah,” he says, a touch more reformative. “Okay.”

What should’ve been some grand reveal, however, turned out to be anything but.

The pool being clean is the first thing you notice, as absurd as that is. It’s now half-filled, with only sprinkles of algae leftover by some miraculous clean-up. There’s no more silver fish swimming around, and all the trash that had previously taken sanctuary in the pool now lays on a mountainous pile with the bra sitting at its peak. Your guest is no longer in the pool—the very clean pool.

Denki chuckles and says, “well, this doesn’t look bad at all. By how hysterical you were on the phone, I was expecting something much worse. Oh! Hello!”

Your jaw drops as Denki waves at Hitoshi—a very comfortable-looking Hitoshi who lounges on one of the reclining pool chairs, head turned back like he’s sun bathing, one leg crossed over the goddamn other. Legs. Attached to feet—feet that definitely were not there when you’d met him.

Tricky, magic fish-man.

“Oh,” Hitoshi says, carefully considering Denki. “We have company?”

The ‘we’ in his statement doesn’t sit right with you anymore than his appearance does. He stands, and both you and Denki gasp when you see his new outfit in its entirety. It’s all royal blue, fine silks, and sheer fabric that only covers the places that would make Denki blush. Puffy, yet flowing sleeves connect to his now two golden cuffs. A heavy gold necklace hangs around him, and he’s got a light sash thrown around mostly his bare chest. A golden, v-shaped belt holds his deep blue harem pants up.

They are the gaudiest goddamn pajamas you’ve ever seen.

Hitoshi moves like water to face Denki, then firmly grasps him by the forearm, yanking the boy forward so that their lips are mere inches away from each other. Noting that there’s no glowing from their contact, you watch as Hitoshi’s indigo eyes slide from Denki’s lips, to you, and shows off a dubious glint.

“Whoops,” Hitoshi murmurs basically into Denki’s mouth. “I almost forgot that you don’t greet people like this here.” He takes a step away and smirks. “Forgive me. I’m Hitoshi Shinsou. You must be the pool guy.”

“Um, yeah. ‘M Denki Kaminari.” Denki laughs nervously. His cheeks burn red, and he keeps shifting his weight from one leg to the other. Grabbing onto your hand tightly, he starts back towards the house, towing you along, saying, “excuse us, we just have to—uh. Talk.”

In a tick, you’re whisked right back inside, in the land of private conversations.

“It didn’t look like that before, Denki. I swear to god.” You’re insisting as soon as the door is closed.

“It?!” Denki balks, his cheeks turning even more red. “Do you mean the pool or that hunk of a man hanging around your backyard?!”

“Both, I guess, but I wouldn’t call it a man! It had a giant purple tail before you showed up!!”

“That’s very rude, y’know.” Denki peers back at Hitoshi who’s lackadaisically cleaning his fingertips. “What are their pronouns?”

You imagine Hitoshi surrounded by others like him, all either screaming or clicking to communicate with each other in an inhuman language. “I don’t think pronouns matter wherever it’s from!”

“Hmm.” Denki slides the door open and pops his head out. “‘Scuse me, Hitoshi, what are your pronouns?”

Without missing a beat, Hitoshi answers him. “As in titles? You can call me Shinsou, but if you’re so inclined, I’ll allow you to call me lord.”

“Lord, of course.” More nervous laughter as Denki closes the door. “Lord. That’s a kink thing, right? It’s gotta be!”

“It’s not!” You bark, but Denki doesn’t hear you. Instead, he rushes towards one of the hall mirrors and begins fussing over his hair.

“I honestly can’t believe you did this. I mean, you, of all people. You’re braver than I gave you credit for. Coulda given me a heads up, though. I would’ve worn somethin’ nice. Or not come at all. I do feel like I’m intruding.” Denki’s eyes light up. “Unless this is for my birthday and you’re…you want me to join you?”

“You’ve lost me.” You're too busy trying to figure out what you can do to convince Denki that Hitoshi is a mermaid. You’ve considered pushing him back into the pool, but you don’t know if that would change him back to his sea-man state, or just make you look like a jackass.

“This is so weird. I haven’t seen that guy on the island before, and believe me, I know everybody. It must’ve cost a pretty penny to get him here. On top of everything else-“ He clears his throat- “how much is this costing you? Does Shuzenji know what you get up to while she’s away?”

It hits you like a freight train. “Oh, Kaminari…No…”

“The jig is up!” Denki stomps his foot defiantly and points towards the door. “You’re paying that man for sex!”

“God no!” The very idea that you’ve paid Hitoshi to be here, to touch you, flusters the hell out of you. If anything, you’d pay for him to leave. “You’d honestly think I’d hire a prostitute?!”

“Escort is the term they are using nowadays, and no, I wouldn’t think you’d hire an escort until now!” Denki scoffs, then moves his hand through his hair, exasperated. “The thing is, babe, you don’t need to. You’re cute and fun! If you got out every once in a while…”

“Fish!” You yell, cutting him off, because you’re not about to have another conversation about your hermit lifestyle. “He’s a fish, Denki! I didn’t fuck a fish! Nor am I planning to!”

Denki blinks at you. Not like before—not like he’s reflecting your words. This blink is more like a blink one would offer someone who’d been having an otherwise normal conversation, until they started talking about the earth being flat, or homosexuals burning in a lake of fire.

I’m not crazy, you think and will Denki to believe. I’ll prove it.

Before you can give Denki a play-by-play of what happened—properly this time, and not just your rambled recall—the door slides open, and Hitoshi steps in.

“May I enter?” The regal-looking man asks.

At the exact same moment you say, “no,” Denki says, “of course.”

“I was just hoping to find something to eat.” Hitoshi stops in the kitchen, arms crossed and expectant.

“You haven’t fed your hooker?” Denki whispers and it blows your mind that he can say hooker and you can’t say prostitute. “You can have half my burger!”

“Burger,” Hitoshi repeats the unfamiliar word, and looks around, probably wondering what it could be. Denki takes the hint and proceeds to fish his meal out of the bag. Overly familiar with Shuzenji’s kitchen, he finds a knife to cut the sandwich in two, then hands one half to Hitoshi.

Hitoshi frowns.

“I’m sorry, are you a vegetarian?” Denki asks, and you can tell he’s being overly hospitable in a house that is not his. When Hitoshi doesn’t answer him, but doesn’t stop frowning, Denki asks, “do you not eat meat?”

“This is meat?” Asks Hitoshi, shaking the burger in the air. Some mayonnaise-covered lettuce falls to the kitchen floor.

“I have to clean that!” You yip and wet a paper towel. When you’re on your knees, Hitoshi gives you a smirk of indifference.

“What, do you not have hamburgers where you’re from?” Denki asks, and when Hitoshi refuses to answer him again, he says, “the meat is the patty. It’s beef.”

“Beef.” Hitoshi begins dissecting the thing, throwing the bun halves, pickles, tomato, and lettuce all on the floor. You continue to curse at him while he sniffs at the patty. “What animal is this?”

“Beef is cow, dude.” Denki sounds more skeptical now, which you’d be grateful for if you weren’t already on your hands and knees, scrubbing ketchup out of the tile. “Man, throwing food on the floor is rude no matter where you’re from. Babe, you shouldn’t have to clean that up.”

“If I don’t, who will?” You ask, sardonic.

“There’s not really a floor where I’m from,” Hitoshi says once he swallows his first bite. He places the patty back onto the burger wrap, and steps away from his mess. “At least, there’s no floor when it’s meal time. We just let shells and bones float around until they go down to where they’ll eventually break down and decay.”

Denki asks, “where did you say you were from?”

“He’s a fish, Denki.”

“I didn’t.” Hitoshi gets down on his knees with a wetted paper towel of his own. He swipes at the places you’ve missed, then looks at you. “Tell me, would a not-good person clean up a mess that isn't their own?”

“It’s kind of my job,” you retort and stand so Hitoshi can finish cleaning. Instead, he stands with you.

“And what is his job?” Hitoshi nods towards Denki who looks more and more fretful by the second. “I assume he’s here to provide services. If you’re paying him, shouldn’t he be the one to clean for you? Prepare meals for you? Bend to your whims?”

Denki says, “I’ve got a couple jobs, but I’m not a housekeeper, no.”

“No?” Hitoshi gives out a terse laugh and hands the towel off to Denki. “Clean.”

Denki looks to you for an explanation. You’re about to chew Hitoshi out, when he again says, “clean,” but this time, there’s something attached to his voice. Something that is nothing, but also more. It sends goosebumps up your arms and compels Denki to fall to the floor and obey the command.

“Yes, my lord.” When Denki finishes cleaning and throws the rest of the mess in the bin, he looks at Hitoshi, eyes glossy, waiting.

“Fetch me some water,” says Hitoshi, and after another yes, my lord, Denki begins searching for a glass.

“Quit it!” You shout and very nearly grab on to Hitoshi’s arm, stopping only when you remember the glow and the prickles that accompany his touch. Decidedly, you hurry after Denki and grab the glass from his hands and snap your fingers in front of his face.

Denki blinks, and this time it’s not because he doesn’t hear you, and it’s not because you’re spouting crazy nonsense. He blinks, and it’s a revelation.

“Hypnosis!” Denki says the word like eureka! and you want to shake him, because he should be angrier than he seems.

“I’m surprised you understand or even remember that much,” Hitoshi drawls. “You’re more in-tune than you’d like people to believe.”

And I’m Mother Teresa, you think bitterly. The fish is contemptuous as hell, but he doesn’t read people well. To him, you’re good and apparently Denki’s a genius.

“How did you do that?” Denki asks with growing excitement. “When I was a kid, I was really into magic, but could never get any of the tricks right. You didn’t use any triggering noises or images or anything.”

“There is a bit of magic about you,” Hitoshi says like he’s thinking out loud. “Not enough to pull something like what I just did off unless you have the proper tide jewel. But you do have enough power to utilize a tide jewel.”

“Don’t do that again,” you warn, and pour water from the sink into the glass. There’s purified water in the fridge, but Hitoshi hasn’t earned it. “To Kaminari or to me. The difference between a house guest and a home-invader is who does and does not use hypnosis on other guests.”

“I wasn’t aware that hypnosis is a common occurrence in your residence.” Hitoshi reaches for the glass, but you hold it away from him. Casting out a withering look, he says, “I wouldn’t be able to hypnotize him again, even if I wanted to. Not for a while, anyways. Not without my tide jewel.”

“What’s a tide jewel?” Denki asks. “Is that, like, sea glass?”

Eyes flicking from the glass of water, to Denki, then to you, Hitoshi says, “he knows how to ask a question.”

The questions that you ask get ignored! But instead of saying that, you continue to withhold the water, and say, “then answer him.”

Mildly peeved, Hitoshi turns his attention back to Denki. “You say you have a couple of jobs. What would they be?”

“That’s not answering his question,” you mutter.

“I’ll decide whether I should answer him in a moment. Denki, if you will.”

“Oh, well…” The sheepish Denki brings his hand to the back of his neck, blushing slightly. “I’ve got the PoolPros gig, and sometimes I pick shifts up at The Salty Barrel. I sort of got an affinity for making drinks…and cooking…and fixing things, so they like to keep me around.”

Unamused, Hitoshi pries. “Anything else?”

“Sometimes I pick up odd jobs. Fishing and delivery. I guess I’m pretty dependable because of the boat.”

This catches Hitoshi’s attention. “You have a boat?”

“Sure, yeah. It’s nothin’ too special yet. I’ve been working on it, and it’s coming along, but it’s not ready for what it’s truly intended for.”

“Which would be?”

Denki looks at you and winks, making your ears warm. You know exactly why he got the boat.

“Romantic rendezvous.”

“I see,” Hitoshi says pensively. Then, his eyes go sharp when he notices you fiddling with the ties on your shorts. “Are you two mates?”

Denki lifts a conspiratorial brow towards you, before throwing his arm around your shoulders, pulling you against his body. “Sure, yeah—we’re mates!”

You push away from him, and bite, “not those kinds of mates.”

Although nobody disagrees with you, you sense Denki sulking.

“Ah,” Shinsou muses. “You haven’t yet fought for her hand?”

Before you can groan at the idea, Denki laughs quietly, but his laughter quickly grows uproariously as he considers the idea. Soon, he’s gripping his stomach to stop himself from doubling over. You glare at his feet.

“As if there’s another guy to fight for her,” Denki bellows, wiping a tear away from his eye. “Maybe if she ever went out, but for now, the only person I gotta fight for her hand, is her!”

“Oh, I understand,” Shinsou says, eyes on you. “A battle to assert domination.”

Denki hoots loudly at the idea. “Looks like I’m screwed!”

To your growing agitation and embarrassment, Denki continues to laugh. It’s as if you’re not constantly shooting him down. You’re not pitiful. Not helpless. And you think you’d have some game if you put your heart into it. You just have a type, and the pool guy just doesn’t fit the bill, whether he’s handy or not.

There’s no humor to be found in Hitoshi’s eyes, though. He’s glaring at you, like before, only now he’s looking at you more like you’re a piece of meat—like he’s some kind of predator and you’re his newfound prey. You inadvertently step closer to Denki, as if he could be used as some sort of defense shield, then elbow him in the ribs, pretending that you’re not at all intimidated by this fish-turned-man.

“Nobody’s fighting anybody,” you say, keeping eye-contact with Hitoshi. You’ve been told before that the fact that you’re never the first to look away is a little off-putting. Hoping to have the same uncomfortable effect on your guest, you don’t even blink when you say, “I just have my eyes on someone special.”

At the same time Denki stops his laughing, Hitoshi narrows his eyes—not out of malice, but what seems to be curiosity. That’s as far as you’ll go with revealing any more personal information. You might not be physically spoken for, yet, but at least you’re emotionally unavailable. You vaguely wonder if those kinds of ideals are acknowledged by sea people.

“Yeah, Kiri,” Denki says with a roll of his eyes. So much for keeping things personal. “He’s not interested in dating anyone, though. In fact, he’s pretty much married to the ocean.”

“At least there aren’t other girls,” you say, and with a quick glance at Denki, you add, “or boys.”

Denki exaggerates a woeful, hand-over-forehead pose and cries, “at least we have each other!” Then, he places his hand back around your shoulders. Again, you scoot away from him, and this time, you catch Hitoshi’s lips quirk up, just a bit.

“Alright,” Hitoshi says. “I’ve decided.”

“Decided what?” You ask.

“That the two of you are going to help me.”

The fish-man moves to flatten the burger wrap down on the counter like a map, and proceeds to decimate the other half of Denki’s burger. Denki says, “oh that’s fine…I wasn’t that hungry anyways.”

“Help you with what!” You bark, practically starving for details. Despite Hitoshi and all that he’s done, your interest is piqued, and you feel as though you’re finally going to get to the meat of his situation.

Lining a few fries on the paper wrap, Hitoshi finally says, “a few of my worldly possessions have been stolen from me. They’ve been missing for quite a long time now, and I now plan to take them back. Four of the six items happen to be tide jewels. I figure those will be the easiest to locate and extract.”

Denki snaps his finger. “Tide jewels! That’s what we were talking about! What are those?

Dabbing his pinky into some mustard, Hitoshi says, “artistry…” He dips his ring finger into the ketchup and says, “reign…” he tears a piece of lettuce in half and says, “tide…” and finally, he rips some of the patty and says, “soul.”

“Artistry, reign, tide, soul,” Denki repeats, peeking over Hitoshi’s shoulder. “You don’t happen to be a musician, do you? A magician musician!”

“I’m a connoisseur, but not a practitioner.” Hitoshi breathes. “And you’re too close to me.”

“Well, you’re certainly not an artist,” Denki huffs, taking a few steps back. You move in to see what Denki saw.

On the wrap, the French fries have been warped to look like some sort of three-pronged fork. On the left prong, there’s a dab of ketchup, in the center, mustard, and the right has a piece of lettuce sitting on it. Connecting the three prongs is the bit of hamburger meat Hitoshi had ripped.

“Is this supposed to be a fork or a trident?” You ask, then kick yourself, because it’s obviously a trident. Duh. Mermaids. “Is that one of the things that have been stolen? A trident?”

Hitoshi says, “yes. All four of the tide jewels connect to the trident. With them, the trident could very well be one of the most powerful blessed objects on this planet. If it falls into the wrong hands, the results could be catastrophic.”

“Now, hang on,” Denki begins, brows curved into a frown. “What?”

“So good at questions,” you murmur.

“Each tide jewel has its own magical property. The names speak for themselves, but since the two of you are a little slow on the uptake, I’ll explain.” Hitoshi points at each different spot on his fries-trident, explaining what each point represents.

“The yellow jewel is for artistry and skill. Whoever wields it, whether in its natural form or attached to another object, will learn trades quickly, can craft almost anything at a master’s level, and they’ll have a more creative way of thinking.”

“The red jewel is for reign and rule. Whoever wields this can command any audience. Wars have been fought, kingdoms taken, and women stolen by the power of this gem. It’s almost the most violent of the four, but it can also be used to keep peace.”

“The blue jewel is for the tide. They used to be two jewels, one for tide-ebbing, the other for tide-flowing, but they’ve been molded together after another theft mishap. With the power of this jewel, one would be able to control not only the water of the sea, but water itself. This gem can create storms you couldn’t dream of. This is possibly the most dangerous stone if placed into the wrong hands.”

“Sir, that’s a piece of lettuce,” Denki says.

“Your burger didn’t have anything blue,” Hitoshi growls, “nor did it have anything purple, which brings me to the last jewel. This would be the soul jewel. It aids people with wishes, can offer good dreams, and can allow the wielder to see people’s auras, or souls. This jewel has stopped many malevolent unions in the past.”

Finally, Hitoshi turns back to you and Denki. There’s nothing content about his expression now. If anything, he looks grave.

“The fact that the trident is not in my possession has already had a cataclysmic influence on the world you know now. I need it, and the jewels, or else there may be dire consequences.”

Throat dry, palms sweaty, you swallow thickly, and allow yourself a moment to process all that he’s saying. It may be idiotic, but you believe him. Maybe if you hadn’t seen him in the water earlier, things would be different. You’d be more skeptical. But since you’ve already seen one impossible thing today—two if you're counting the fact that Hitoshi grew legs and magically poofed himself an outfit—you don’t think he’s lying.

However, Denki did not see him in the water. Which is why he’s the first to speak.

“Right,” he says, looking down on you. “Sorry, babe, but the marvel universe did it first with Thanos and his gauntlet. If this is supposed to be a scavenger hunt of some kind, can we skip the game, hints and all, and get to the dinner? I expect there’ll be candles and such for nighttime, so maybe you and I can hang out at the beach, sans the mean magician?” Denki looks at Hitoshi. “No offense, buddy. You could join us if you cheer up a bit. I’d never say no to a threesome with two equally attractive people.”

The water in the glass you’re holding begins to shake. It shakes, and then it moves, and then it lifts up into the air, snaking around like a gelatinous worm, and slowly makes its away to Hitoshi’s mouth. Never before have you seen anyone swallow menacingly, and this has changed it.

“I am not your buddy,” Hitoshi hisses between his teeth, “and this is not a game.”

“He just…” Denki begins stuttering. This isn’t something he can chock up to something as mundane as a magic trick. This is pure magic, and you feel less like a giant dork for how you reacted to Hitoshi showing himself to you, with how distraught Denki seems to be.

“I told you,” you say under your breath, “he’s a fish!”

“I am Hitoshi Shinsou. I am one of Ryūjin, and you will not desecrate my name or my people by belittling me or my power.” It hadn’t occurred to you until now that he’s not only speaking to Denki, but to both of you. The thought makes you shift with unease as Hitoshi’s eyes slide from your friend to you. “Not without consequences. I’ve been burdened with this purpose, and the two of you can choose to help me and reap the rewards that follow, or you can return to your miserable lives, loligagging and ogling the things you know you want, but are too lazy to obtain.”

At this moment, Hitoshi Shinsou seems ancient to you. Trepidation crawls up your spine, chilling you to the bone. You regret most of what you’ve said to him, even the things you’d thought he deserved. You have an inkling that if Hitoshi really wanted to harm you, or Denki, he would. Easily.

“Okay, well-“ Denki, again speaks first, thank god. “You didn’t say there would be rewards.”

Maybe don’t thank god yet. But before you can apologize on Denki’s behalf, the air that you hadn’t realized had got heavier, thicker even, lifts, and Hitoshi eases up, lackadaisical smirk back on track.

“You both wish for something,” he says. “If you help me retrieve what’s rightfully mine, I will graciously return the favor by granting your wishes.”

“We do?” Denki asks. It’s wild to you how easily he could jump back into conversation like this, although, when you look closely at him, you can see that he’s trembling faintly. “What do I want?”

“You wish for a boat,” Hitoshi says, “so I will give you a boat.”

“I have a boat.”

“I’ll give you a better boat.” Hitoshi seems to be enjoying himself now, even going so far as to lean on the table, picturing exactly what he’s describing. “A captivating boat that both women and men find irresistible. It will sail smoother and faster than the other vessels out on sea. You will never want or need for an upgrade for it will never wear or tear.”

“A super boat,” Denki muses, beguiled by the idea. It’s your turn to be skeptical now, because you haven’t wished for anything. At least, not aloud for Hitoshi to hear.

“Then, what do I get?” You ask, arms crossed. You can admit that you’re interested in what he might have to say.

“Oh darlin’, that’s easy,” Hitoshi purrs, and moves from the counter over to you. Slowly, like he’s savoring your anticipation. Lifting a finger to your arm, he slides it across your skin, watching as both the glow and the tingles return. You have to hold your breath to yourself from sighing.

“You want to be loved,” he says, “adored even. And not just by anybody. You want to be with your soulmate, isn’t that right. That may be why you came to this island to begin with.”

There’s no way he could’ve known that you’re new to the island. Nobody said anything about it. But he’s not wrong. Though you can’t say he’s right either. You came to the island in hopes to find…yourself. And though you haven’t yet found yourself, you sure as hell found Kirishima. And soulmate has a nice right to it.

“So if we help you find these gems—“

“—tide jewels,” he intervenes.

“Tide jewels-“ you roll your eyes- “then you will give Denki a super boat, and you will unite me with a soulmate?”

“Exactly,” Hitoshi confirms. “Easy peesy, isn’t it?”

“How do we know you’ll uphold your end of the bargain?” Denki asks, finally out of his super boat daydreams.

“I said you were good with questions.” Hitoshi smirks. “You don’t know. You can’t know. But you can either do this with me, and probably get a super boat and a soulmate out of it, or you can not, and get nothing.”

Denki side-eyes you, and you him. You hold each other’s gazes for a brief moment, and you already know how this would play out if you refuse. Denki would convince you to do it. You don’t do anything, he says with his eyes. Might as well hang around and see how this plays out.

“Fine.” Even though your good conscience screams at you to do otherwise, you let up. “We’ll help you.”

“Excellent.” Hitoshi beams, or at least, he beams in a way only someone who was just threatening two other people can beam. “Then we should start our search today. We’ll probably need to go into town and see if there are any supernatural occurrences or old folktales to check out.”

Going out to town is the last thing you’d planned on doing today. Or maybe the second to last thing you planned on doing. You have to ask, because if you don’t, you’ll go batsy.

“We won’t be getting wet, will we?”

Hitoshi scoffs, which isn’t an answer. Maybe you really don’t ask the right questions because when Denki asks, “you said there were six things you need to retrieve. What’s the sixth thing?” Hitoshi winks at you, and grins. And when he grins, your stomach aches.

#bnha x reader #bnha reader insert #reader insert #mha x reader #hitoshi shinsou x reader #shinsou x reader #bnha imagines #mermaid!shinsou x reader #bnha mermaids #trident tale #tt

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jawllines · 4 years ago

Text

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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onlydreamofmysoul · 4 years ago

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Let Them Eat Cake: The Final

We made it! I want to thank you guys so so much for the fantastic support you've given this story, it means the world to me. Bake Off has a special place in my heart and so does this fic, so its been so great to share it with you all!

(Links to all previous chapters can be found pinned on my page under 'Let Them Eat Cake' or pop over to my AO3 - link in bio)

Without further ado, I give you... The Final!

This week on the final of The Great British Bake Off…

“It looks like you’re having a smashing time.”

“Tell us about your first kiss.”

“And the winner is…”

Remus Lupin was having a nice morning.

There had been nothing of interest to note, however he didn’t have an alarm blaring and he was warm and snuggly, so all in all, he took it as a win.

Until one Lily Evans took it upon herself to sneak into his room and throw herself on him like she was a kid on Christmas morning.

“Finals, finals, finals!” She exclaimed, managing to find a tone that was somehow both singing and chanting all at once.

“Jesus fucking Christ.” Remus groaned, covering his eyes with his forearms. “Can I go back in time and just never apply to this fucking competition?”

Lily rolled off him, her big green eyes staring at him concerned. “What's the matter? Do you not want to be here?”

Remus peeked out at her. “No, I don’t want you to be here.” He smirked as she rolled her eyes, flopping back on the pillows next to him.

“Asshat.” She grumbled, hitting his shoulder with a light ‘thwack’. “I was worried for a sec.”

Remus grinned at her and then stared up at the ceiling for a long moment, only the sounds of their breathing and his heartbeat in his ears to keep him company.

Finals, they had made it to the finals.

He still couldn’t quite believe it. “Welcome to the finals.” McGonagall had said to him just before he left the tent, the words playing over and over again in his head, as clear as if she had said them yesterday.

(Which in fact, she had. This was the first time Remus would go to the practice tent and Tonks wouldn’t be there, but there was still an undeniable elation blossoming in his chest).

Five days until filming resumed. Six until the winner was announced. It didn’t seem real.

(But if this were a fantasy, Remus never wanted to return to reality).

“So where’s Sirius on this fine morning?” Lily asked, breaking the silence. Remus turned his head to look at her, completely relaxed and sinking into the bed. It would seem his lazy morning mood had seeped into her instead of her vibrant energy going to him.

“We’re not together every night.” He said, looking at the freckles splashed across her nose. They were darker now than they had been when they arrived. “We’re taking things slow.”

Lily just stared at him sceptically.

“It’s true!” He defenced. “We are!”

“You’re such a bad liar.”

“Am not!”

“Are too!”

Remus groaned and smacked her with a pillow. Victory.

“You never answered the question.” Lily said, muffled under the cushion. Or maybe victory had another champion in mind.

“Okay yes, he’s here most nights, but it doesn’t feel fast.” He defended, and it was true. Somehow it felt almost like they had known each other forever and yet still there was the thrill and excitement that came with everything being so new.

“It doesn’t seem fast either.” Lily reassured. “Maybe for others it would be, but I think it’s right for you two.”

Remus let out a little breath of relief. He hadn’t been worried exactly, but his thoughts had slipped in that direction a few times. More than anything, he just worried about scaring Sirius off, while still feeling secure in himself? Remus really didn’t know, the emotion centre of his body was really sending out mixed signals these days.

He had just decided to say fuck it to logic and stick to how he felt. And he felt good. Really good.

“Not that this little revelation wasn’t nice,” Lily said, “But you still haven’t answered the question I asked. Little tip? If this baking thing doesn’t work out, definitely don’t become a spy. If you were captured you’d accidentally reveal all the information without them even having to ask you.”

Remus groaned. “I hate you. He and James were hanging out last night.”

Lily grinned, satisfied and gave Remus another little shove. “Okay, come on I wanna go bake.”

“You’d think you’d have enough baking for a lifetime.” Remus grumbled but he got up all the same. In actuality, now that he was awake, Remus too was buzzing to get into the tent and get to work. “What’re you planning for this week?” He asked as he threw on a pair of jeans and a hoodie, having taken a shower the night before.

“I can’t give away my secrets!” Lily teased, holding open the door as Remus grabbed his key and they both swept out of the room and down the plush carpeted corridor.

“You are aware I’m gonna find out either way right? Cause if you still haven’t grasped that concept then I’m a little worried to be-”

“Oh hush,” Lily laughed, pressing her palm to Remus’ mouth. “I’m still not a hundred percent sure to be honest.”

They stepped outside, the cool crisp air falling over them, revitalizing them. Remus tucked his hands into his pockets and felt his shoulders hunch a little. His lungs liked the cold, the rest of his body - not so much.

“I’m not sure if I know what I’m doing either.” He admitted. “I have a few ideas, but none of them feel quite right, you know?”

Lily nodded as they reached the practice tent, pulling open the door. “Yeah I think that’s my issue too. There’s suddenly so much pressure and nothing I consider seems to be good enough.”

Remus sighed as he pulled two aprons off the hooks and tossed one to Lily. “I suppose we’ll have to figure it out.” He said, before taking out the recipe cards he had brought with him and began flicking through them for inspiration.

Five days. He could do this.

“Well, well, well, look who we have here.” Remus said with a grin as he trod through the grass, rounding the big oak tree to see Sirius waiting on their swing.

“I know,” Sirius drawled. “It’s almost like we planned it.”

Remus smiled, sitting by his side, holding the rope in one hand as he held out a Tupperware encased offering. “Want some cake?”

Sirius took the box gladly, his hair tied up but the wind had claimed a few loose strands, whipping them around his face like a dark halo. “Always. What kind?”

Remus tucked one foot into his chest, resting his cheek on his knee as he studied the other man. “Try it and find out.”

Sirius' lips quirked at Remus’ teasing tone, looking at the deep brown colour that really could only be one flavour. “Elderflower?” He joked.

Remus laughed and took a bite himself before holding out to Sirius. “Yes,” He said, completely deadpan. “That’s exactly what it is.”

Sirius smiled and kissed him, biting his lip as he pulled away. “You taste like chocolate.”

Remus flushed. “Don’t you mean elderflower?”

Sirius chuckled, rocking the swing a little more, tilting his head back to look at the twisting branches above them. “Look,” He murmured, pointing to a clump of twigs high in the tree. “A bird's nest.” Remus followed his line of sight and watched as a bird swooped overhead and landed in it gracefully.

“That was kinda cool.”

“Let’s hope it doesn’t shit on us.”

“Sirius!” Remus exclaimed, elbowing the other man as he laughed. “Let’s hope your hair can take the hit and shield us.”

“Oi! My hair is what should be protected at all costs, it’s a national treasure. You know, I think I should replace you with Tonks, she knows the importance of hair care.”

Remus smiled, resting his head on Sirius’ shoulder, the fabric of his jacket soft against his cheek. “Tell me something I don't know about you.”

The wind whipped through the branches, but Remus wasn’t cold pressed up against Sirius. The tree sheltered them from the worst of it and the weather was slowly getting a little warmer, daffodils springing up all around the tent. There were many things Remus had always wanted but never saw himself actually achieving. Coming to bake off was one. Making it to the final was another. And perhaps the most notable - finding someone who might love him as much as he loved them. And yet, here he was with all three.

“When I was a kid, I used to want to be a dog so bad, I was always getting in trouble for wearing holes in my pants because I would crawl instead of walking normally. I even refused to answer to ‘Sirius’.”

“Oh yeah?” Remus asked, amused. “What was your alter ego’s name then?”

He could hear Sirius’ smile even if he couldn’t see it. “Padfoot. He was this big black dog. I got the idea after I read about ‘The Grimm’ in one of my cousin’s books and I guess it kind of stuck.”

“Padfoot,” Remus repeated, unable to stop himself. “I like that.”

“Your turn,” Sirius urged, nudging Remus lightly. “Tell me something I don’t know about you.”

Remus’ heart fluttered, stomach rolling a little, he had news for Sirius, and had honestly engineered the entire conversation just to tell him, but now that the moment was here, he was getting nervous.

“I’ve been offered a job in London.”

Sirius froze under Remus’ cheek. “In London?”

“Yeah.”

“London, England?”

Remus chuckled as he sat up to look at Sirius’ stunned face, grey eyes wide, lips parted. “Yes, London, England.”

Sirius blinked. “But I live in London.”

Remus pursed his lips, trying not to smile too much. “I’m aware of this, yes.”

“You… we… we’d be living in the same country. In the same city.”

“That’s what I’m saying.”

“Remus motherfucking Lupin, that's the best thing I’ve heard all week.”

“Your flour is about to tip over.” Tonks commented, carelessly filing her nails over facetime as Remus ran around his station, trying to do several things at once.

“Oh my god Lupin, you’re a disaster, how did you even get into this competition?” Tonks teased as Remus caught the flour but promptly dropped it on the flour, a white cloud erupting, coating everything in a two meter radius in powder.

“Not very helpful.” Remus grumbled as he shook flour out of his hair and grabbed a cloth to wipe down the counter.

“I wasn’t trying to be helpful.” Tonks paused and looked at the recipe Remus had sent her. “You’re gonna need at least double the vanilla extract than what you have there.” Remus grabbed the recipe and looked it over, seeing she was right. “See?” Tonks said gleefully as Remus scratched out the original amount. “That was me being helpful.”

Remus rolled his eyes, but blew her a kiss, wiping the dusty screen of his phone which had not escaped the great flour disaster.

“Come on,” He said as he walked with his phone to the store room, as if Tonks had any other choice than to accompany him. “We’re gonna get some more flour.” He set his phone down on a shelf as he looked for the right flour, Tonks chatting away. If Remus closed his eyes he could almost pretend she was right there with him, the pair of them practising for whatever challenges they were soon to face.

“So where’s Lily on this fine evening?” Tonks questioned. “Don’t you two usually practice together around now?”

“Yeah,” Remus grunted as he picked up his phone, tucking it under his chin with his hands full. “But she was busy tonight.”

“No fucking way, she’s with James?”

“Well, I don’t know for sure.” Remus admitted, “But she sounded pretty suspicious.”

“Ooh.” Tonks gasped and Remus began carefully measuring flour and continuing where he left off. “All the Bake Off love this year.”

Remus laughed as he folded in his sugar, putting the batter in the oven before beginning to prepare the icing. “Oh hush you.”

Tonks just winked, sticking out her tongue. “You know you love me.”

“Ladies and gentlemen, I am pleased as punch to welcome you to this year's Great British Bake off; the final!”

Sirius groaned, head tipping back at James’ enthusiastic introduction. “You did not just say ‘pleased as punch’.”

James feigned being hurt, placing a hand over his heart. “What would you prefer? Pleased as pudding? Pleased as pie?”

Sirius looked straight into the camera, his face blank but his amused eyes giving him away. “Someone please give me a new co-host, I can’t take this anymore.”

James laughed as he threw an arm over Sirius’ shoulder, the two of them easing the nerves of everyone in the tent tenfold. “Don’t worry Sirius darling, you haven’t got too long left with me because, like I said, we’ve reached the final!”

Remus smiled, hiding the hands he was wringing together under the table. It was the weirdest feeling - he was at once completely calm and so incredibly nervous. He couldn’t help but giggle at the antics of the infamous marauders and recalled that morning, lying in bed when Sirius had queried how much bullshit he’d be able to spout without any prior preparation. Remus had told him to go get ready but had promptly led them to activities that were in no way helpful to the rest of the day's events.

(It had been a good way to start the day though).

McGonagall and Dumbledore stood at the front of the tent, looking out at the eerily empty work stations, only three now filled. Remus and Lily were in the front two and Kingsley had come up to slot in behind Lily.

“We have a very exciting two days lined up,” Sirius said as he clasped his hands together, a natural in front of the cameras. Our bakers have no overall theme, so we’re going to get to see a little splash of everything!”

“For our signature challenge, our bakers have been asked to bake something that fits in with the theme of ‘final’’.” James said, taking his turn to speak again. “It can be anything from a cake inspired by the final book in a series or the last thing you had to eat, because tonight, there are no limits other than your imagination.”

Remus snorted and Sirius’ eyes found his as he elbowed James lightly. “Dramatic much.” He drawled before rubbing his hands together gleefully. “Are you ready?”

“On your marks,”

“Get set.”

“Bake!”

Remus hadn’t realised how much he would miss Tonks in the tent. He had missed her all week, but it wasn’t as if they ever had much chance to chat while they were filming, so he had thought it would be a little easier. But the tent was unusually quiet without her clattering at her station, inevitably breaking at least one piece of crockery per challenge.

“It’s too quiet,” Lily murmured, echoing Remus’ thoughts. “I almost feel like we’re not allowed to talk.”

Remus chuckled, remembering exams in home economics when he had been in secondary school and the teacher who would happily dole out zero marks if she so much as saw your lips move.

He grinned, taking a bowl he didn’t need from his station and ‘accidentally’ dropping it on the ground, the ceramic splitting with a loud crack.

“Oops!” He said loudly, glad he hadn’t ever tried to go into the theatre business, he was truly a terrible actor, and ran to grab a broom, not without winking at Lily who blew him a kiss.

“Much better, thanks!” She yelled after him and he just chuckled, disposing of the broken bowl, but not without slipping a shard into his apron pockets to take home with him as a little reminder.

Sirius meandered over after a little while as Remus put a tin in the oven to cook the soon-to-be sponge fingers for his tiramisu.

“You seem to be having a smashing time.” Sirius teased, his eyes alight.

“James already made that joke a few weeks ago.” Remus said laughing as he poured double cream into a bowl. “It’s really not that funny.”

Sirius just stuck out his tongue and moved to the next station, but Remus knew that had it been just the two of them, it was far more likely that Sirius would have taken much offence to the attack on his sense of humour, and a good snog would have been needed to make up for it.

James arrived no sooner than Sirius had left, peering into the bowl of ingredients that Remus was whipping, looking very much like he was contemplating dipping his finger in for a taste.

Marlene arrived, camera on her shoulder, surveying Remus’ station, sceptically watching Remus grate his dark chocolate.

“So Remus,” She began, fiddling with the lens to zoom in on his hands. “What has tiramisu got to do with the ‘final’ theme?”

“Well,” He said, suddenly feeling shy, wishing he didn’t have to explain. “Tonks, Andromeda Tonks, that is, had been planning to make a tiramisu for this episode, but she unfortunately was eliminated last week, so instead I’m making it.”

Some of the crew members cooed softly and Remus rolled his eyes, even as he blushed. “Yeah, yeah, yeah, I’m a big softie.” He glanced at Marlene once, smirking, then returned to his work, “Now fuck off and let me get on with it.”

“One of these days, Remus motherfucking Lupin,” Marlene grumbled as she walked away, not before snagging a square of chocolate to munch on, “One of these days I’m going to get you back.”

Remus’ dish was made pretty quickly, the most important part was leaving it in the fridge for as long as possible, so as soon as he had carefully layered the sponge and cream and chocolate of course, he set the fridge to the lowest temperature and put the big dish in. He had an idea of how he wanted to present it, but that all depended on whether or not it would be set properly.

He cleaned his station and set up everything he needed for when the dessert was set, but that only took ten minutes. Watching Lily and Kingsley rush around their stations while Remus had nothing left to do made him feel like he was back in school, the horrid panic of completing a test, thinking it was easy, then looking up to discover everyone else was still working intently. He put himself to work to avoid the fluttering in his chest, different to the loved up buzz he had been experiencing recently, no this tightness was more akin to the ‘oh no have I had ten shots of espresso’ variety. Remus wasn’t the biggest fan.

He made tea for the crew, including the judges and presenters, checked the progress of his dish, then made himself walk away from the fridge, lest he open it too often and slow down the cooling process. He chatted with Lily a bit while she worked and did an interview with James and Sirius, some more filler content now that there weren’t nearly as many bakers to keep up with, but the airing time of the show hadn’t changed.

“Need a hand?” He offered, turning to Lily who was crouched by her oven, gazing intently at her cake. “Nah I’m good.” She said, not looking up, “I don’t have anything to do until this little guy is cooked.”

“They never tell you how much waiting around there is.” Remus groaned, hopping up on his worktop. “I have been just sitting here for the best part of over an hour and I bet none of this is going to make the final cut.”

“You’d be right there!” Marlene chimed in, passing them on her way to video whatever complicated technique Kingsley was currently demonstrating. Remus raised an eyebrow at Lily, sighed and jumped off the counter. “I’m gonna check on my cakes now, thank you very much.”

Remus both loved and hated how there was no official ranking for the first challenge. He definitely loved it on days where he hadn’t done very well and didn’t want his failings it be broadcasted even more than they already had been, but today, with only three contestants left and the competition tangible, he wanted to know how much more impressive his next two bakes were going to have to be.

He supposed it didn’t really matter - he was going to do his very best no matter what.

Lily had made a cake shaped like a knitted hat, the piping terrifyingly realistic, in commemoration of the last hat her grandmother had made before she passed away. Kingsley had a coffee flavoured graduation cap to honour his girlfriend who was in her final year of college.

“We’re a bunch of sentimental saps.” Lily muttered to them both as they all walked out of the tent to go for lunch, the judges' praises ringing in their ears. They all seemed to be standing on equal footing for now.

“I know,” Remus groaned, throwing himself down on the grass under the sun. “I should have just done like, the final countdown or something.”

“Tonks is never gonna let you live this down.” Kinsley piped in.

“God, don’t remind me. I might just have to kill her before the episode airs, you know, save my reputation and all.”

“Oh, a spot of murder, how lovely.” James chirped as he and Sirius arrived, having been sent to retrieve all of their lunches, the three bakers claiming that they were too tired and as they always fed everyone else, it was time to switch it up.

James passed out sandwiches, pulling them from a bag, while Sirius handed Remus a salad.

Remus kissed Sirius on the cheek, “Thanks sweetheart.”

It took Remus a moment to realise what he had done, a moment more to remember that it was only Kingsley who hadn’t already known about their relationship. Kingsley who was looking very nonchalant and in no way surprised.

“Oh,” He said between bites, looking at Remus and Sirius’ panicked looks. “Was this meant to be a secret?”

Remus just burst out laughing, any tension that had appeared, vanishing in seconds. “I suppose we’re not very good at hiding it, huh?”

“Oi, speak for yourself.” Sirius jostled as he unwrapped his sandwich. “I’m an excellent secret keeper.”

“Alright everybody, welcome to the technical challenge of this year’s final!” James reintroduced them, everyone having returned to their stations, fresh aprons tied around their waist and judges standing at the top of the room watching over the proceedings.

“For our last technical challenge, the judges are asking you to make a classic sponge cake, but with a little twist.”

Remus eyed the mysterious pile of ingredients under the cloth on his table. He both loved and hated that blue and white gingham pattern, hated it because he wasn’t the biggest lover of surprises, and loved it because�� well, because it was cute.

(Not every answer was super deep. The Pinterest boy in him was in love with the entire aesthetic of The Great British Bake Off).

“Our lovely judges have also requested that you make at least twelve meringue kisses to top your sponge cake.”

Remus raised his eyebrows in surprise - it wasn’t like the judges to add anything to something as classic as a sponge cake, but who was he to question? This was the final, anything was possible.

James and Sirius chattered on for a few more minutes, and then they were off, the three contestants whipping off their gingham cloths like a magician unveiling his assistant. Remus barely glanced at the vague recipe before setting off to make the meringues first. Their small size was deceptive and that’s why Remus thought the judges had included them - but they would take the most time to bake and cool.

He set about whipping egg whites and sugar as Marlene arrived by his side, taking a moment just to pan the camera over everything he was doing.

“Meringue kisses,” Marlene said, with a smug sounding tone. “Such a cute name. Go on Remus, tell us about your first kiss.”

Remus laughed, caught off guard, nearly spilling the extra sugar he was adding to the bowl. “Alright, which first kiss do you want to hear about? Cause technically I have a few.”

Marlene giggled with him and Remus felt like he was a schoolgirl, chatting about boys and kisses, like they were the beginning and end of everything. “The very first one.”

Remus could help but laugh again, shaking his head fondly at the memory. “It was awful.” he said, chuckling to himself. “I was thirteen and I kissed this girl called Mary on a dare.” He paused to look at the camera more directly. “Mary if you’re watching this, I’d apologise but we both know I’m right. That was a shit kiss.”

Remus grinned as he realised Marlene was going to let that explicative slide for the purpose of the story. Victorious at last.

“What about your other ‘first’ kisses.” Marlene prompted, overall looking thoroughly delighted by the stories. Remus paused for a moment to stop his mixer and run a spatula around the edge of the bowl to ensure everything was mixing well, before turning the mixer back on and stepping back.

“Well my first kiss with a boy was a year later and since my previous make-out experience consisted of the one kiss you already know about, I think it’s fair to say; that was pretty crap too.” He grinned at Marlene and started measuring the butter for his cake. “But it did solve the whole ‘sexuality crisis’ thing I had going on, so that was fun.”

He deemed his meringue mix whipped-enough so he carefully spooned batches into an icing bag and began piping tiny amounts onto a baking sheet.

“Then I suppose, there’s your first kiss with someone who really matters,” He said carefully, not looking up from his work. “With the person who’s so amazing that every kiss feels a little bit like the first one. Kinda makes you feel like every other kiss you’ve ever had was just practice for this exact moment.”

Remus was aware that his cheeks were a little pink, but then again, when were they not?

“And you’ve found that person?” Marlene asked softly, as Remus piped his last little swirl. He didn’t have to think about it, but he did suppose he should tell the person in question before quite literally broadcasting it to the nation. So instead he just winked.

“Sirius,” Remus said softly, later that night as they lay in bed, a movie playing in the background, Remus’ adrenaline still high from winning the technical challenge. “I know it’s early, so I'm not expecting anything back but since I might have just heavily implied it on national television I figured I should probably tell you that I’m in love with you.”

Sirius’ head didn’t move from Remus’ chest, instead he reached out and grabbed Remus’ free hand, pressing his knuckles to his soft lips. “I know.”

“You do?” Remus asked incredulously, trying (and failing) not to splutter.

Sirius chuckled, his voice deep. “Yeah, you said it in your sleep last night. Plus, I watched over the footage from today and I saw.”

Remus blushed. “Oh.”

Sirius twisted in his arms so Remus could finally see his eyes. They were sparkling and a playful smile twisted on Sirius’ lips.

“I love you too, you know.” Sirius said casually, as if commenting on the weather. Remus let his head drop back onto the pillow as a whoosh of relief escaped his mouth. Sure he hadn't expected to have Sirius say it back but this feeling was like nothing he had ever experienced before.

“Well no, I didn’t, actually.” Remus quipped, much to the ceiling’s amusement. “But it’s good to know.”

Suddenly Sirius was leaning over him, his hair falling around their faces like a dark curtain. “So are you gonna kiss me or what?”

Remus bit his lip, failing in his attempt not to smile. “Nah,” He said, a blatant lie as he raised himself onto his elbows and pressed their lips together. Sirius twisted so he could support himself on one arm, cupping Remus’ face with the other. “I loved what you said earlier,” He murmured against Remus’ lips. “About the first kiss thing. And I really, really love you.”

Remus just grinned against Sirius’ lips and pulled him closer. “Love you too. Now shut up and kiss me.”

“What’re you looking all smug about?” Lily teased, bumping their hips together as they strolled down to the tent. Remus had so many reasons for the butterflies in his chest, he could hardly stop his hands from shaking, but the smile hadn’t left his face since he woke up.

“Oh you know,” He said, waving his hand in feigned nonchalance. “I’m just a boy in love.”

“Fuck off, you said ‘I love you’?” Lily asked, her voice going up an octave.

“Mhm,” Remus confirmed, nodding. “So now you need to woman-up and kiss James fucking Potter like we both know you’ve wanted to do since the first day.” Lily looked as if she might protest, but Remus cut her off. “We both know I’m right. Plus, it’s fairly obvious that the feeling’s mutual, so for the love of all things holy, put the rest of us out of our misery and just snog the poor bugger.”

Lily laughed, even as she blushed and tried to shrug Remus off. “You know,” She started, shooting him a glare that was in no way intimidating. “I’m really not sure I like ‘in love Remus’.”

Remus just winked and kissed the top of her head, smirking wickedly. “I think we both know that’s a lie.”

“It’s here, the final.”

“We’ve already completed half of the final James.”

“Yeah but this is like… the final part of the final.”

“Someone please tell me why I’m friends with this bloke.”

“Oi!”

“Anyways!” Sirius interrupted. “I suppose James wasn’t fully wrong. We made it to the final stretch.”

“It’s time,” James took over, “For my personal favourite challenge. The showstopper.”

Sirius clasped his hands together in front of himself and Remus had to stop himself from staring at the movement. “For our final showstopper, our judges would like to see you recreate a memory.”

“It could be anything,” James continued, “From a chocolate Easter egg to a fondue waterfall, but it has to be your own memory and most importantly, it has to be edible.”

“Otherwise; we’d be the Great British Fake Off.” Sirius quipped and everyone in the tent collectively groaned, which only seemed to spur Sirius on even more.

“If our bakers are ready, I think we’ll begin. Ready Prongs?”

“Ready Pads.”

“On your marks,”

“Get set,”

“Bake!”

And maybe for the first time starting a challenge, Remus’ hands didn’t shake.

“Wotcha-makin?” Sirius asked, leaning around one side of Remus as James curved around the other.

“Cake.” Remus replied, not looking at either of them as he carefully evened out the batter in his tin before popping it in the oven. He then turned to face the two presenters, giving them exactly thirty seconds of his time for a round of rapid fire questions before he had to rush straight back into his work.

“What are you making?”

“A swing in a tree.”

“What kind of cake are you working with?”

“Mostly chocolate, but I have a few other elements working in.”

“What’s the memory you chose?”

Remus smiled softly. “One of my first real kisses.”

Sirius and James thanked him and left again, allowing him to get back to work. Remus had already filled Sirius in on all the details of his cake, he had even checked that it would be okay to use that idea in the first place. Sirius had just kissed him in response, enthusiastically and at length. The bakers had given all their details to the presenters and the camera crew before, so they could insert a voice-over effect to inform the audience of what was happening as the contestants were even more busy and focused than usual and weren’t giving too many interviews.

Remus had chosen several circular cake pans, in a range of different sizes and was going to stack all the cakes they produced on top of one another to create the tree trunk. The top of the tree was going to be made of a mix of white chocolate melted over Rice Krispies (with a little dash of green food dye thrown in) and moulded to look like the leafy crown of a tree in the summer. The swing would be the hardest to add, made of carefully moulded chocolate, Remus would have to be careful not to make the seat too heavy so that the ‘ropes’ and the actual tree itself would support its weight.

After taking all of his cakes out of the oven and setting them out to cool, and creating the swing set, Remus made the chocolate buttercream icing that would decorate the tree trunk. He carefully layered his cakes, using a knife to cut off the rough edges and make the cake slope gently upwards before slathering on thick layers of icing. Taking out a small, delicate knife, Remus carefully cut lines and patterns into the icing, aiming for it to look like the bark of a tree. Finally satisfied, he began melting the white chocolate to make the tree top.

“Looking good Re!” Lily enthused from behind her, forearms splattered in icing as she decorated her own cake, a letter with a bright red seal. Kingsley was working away too, apparently recreating the cover of the CD he bought the day his daughter was born.

“Celine Dion,” He had told Remus yesterday, chuckling. “I had never listened to her before, I don’t even know why I bought it, I just left the hospital with a need to celebrate and the music shop was the first place I came across. But what do you know? It turns out that my little girl loves it.”

Remus grinned at the memory, sweet even to him and admired Lily’s cake out loud. “It’s the acceptance letter to my college,” She was explaining to the camera. “I got a full scholarship, so it’s pretty special.”

Remus turned his attention to his now-melted chocolate and added the green carefully, not wanting to make it too light or two dark. He had found that five drops got him the colour he was looking for - the pale chocolate requiring that little extra for the colour to darken. He then added the cereal and stirred it in together, folding it in with his spatula.

He gave his hands a thorough wash again as he waited for the mixture to cool just enough that he could mould it, but not so much that it set, and got back to work, spooning the green mix on top of his tree trunk until there was enough for him to start shaping it. He attached the chocolate swing very carefully as soon as he was satisfied and brought it straight to the fridge to set.

And then he was done.

He looked around the tent, thinking surely this couldn’t be it, he must have something more to do, but no, there was nothing left. His cake was made and decorated and now only time could tell what would happen next.

Feeling a tad useless, Remus set about cleaning his station and clicked the kettle, fulfilling his tradition in providing the crew with tea. He had just made his own one when James announced the official ten minute warning. They were nearly done.

Suddenly Remus’ heart was in his chest. He had been impeccably calm until this moment, a fact that had surprised him but he hadn’t questioned as it was much easier to bake when your hands weren’t shaking and your heart wasn’t thundering. But all the adrenaline rushed into him now as he realised that one way or another, he was finished with the Great British Bake Off.

At the ‘two minutes’ call, Remus took his cake out of the fridge and gave it a final look over. He tweaked the carving in the tree trunk and double checked that the swing would hold its place and then Sirius asked everyone to step away from their creations.

Dumbledore and McGonagall re-entered the room. Remus’ pulse matched every step they took.

“Kingsley,” They called, and the man in question carefully walked his cake to the table at the top of the tent. Remus watched as the judges 'oohed' and 'awed', admiring the level of detail, right down to the serial number Kingsley had apparently memorised.

Lily went next, her piping skills on display, demonstrating her lovely cursive handwriting that read her own name and an edited home address, signed and sealed by the headmaster. In their practice bakes, Remus had seen many versions of the cake on display but he had no doubt that this was her best work yet.

Finally it was Remus’ turn, and he walked up to the front carefully, trying to keep his breathing even. He had a mental image of himself falling and his cake going everywhere but he batted it out of his mind. His cake was the tallest by far and god, he could only hope, the best.

Sirius caught his eye as they cut the cake and winked. To anyone else, it would look like a presenter trying to calm the nerves of a contestant, but Remus heard the words that had been whispered to him that morning as the sun rose.

“You’re gonna win this.”

Remus had blushed and batted him away, but Sirius had looked at him earnestly. “No, Re, seriously. They base these things on who does best that week. And you’ve already won the technical. If you go and blow them away today, just like you always do, you’ve got this in the bag.”

Remus blushed and hit his face in a pillow but he linked their legs together.

“Besides,” Sirius teased, rolling on his back and tucking his arms under his head. Cocky. “You’ve already won the best prize.”

Remus had playfully kicked his ankle and Sirius’ resounding laugh still echoed in his ears.

“Ah, Mr Lupin,” Dumbledore began casually as he picked up a knife, perhaps unaware that he held Remus’ future in his hands. “This is rather impressive.”

Remus swallowed as the slices were cut and set onto plates. “Thank you.”

“You have no adventurous flavours for us I see,” McGonagall observed as she picked up her fork.

“No,” Remus confirmed. “Chocolate is my speciality, and well, I wanted to keep it simple.”

That seemed to be all the commentary they wanted as they both nodded with a small smile and took a bite.

“Excellent Mr Lupin.” McGonagall said. And that was it. They were done. The judges thanked them all and retreated to the back room to do whatever it is the judges do and make some decisions. The cast broke into a round of applause and Remus tugged Lily under his arm, Kingsley joining the little hug soon after.

“Can you believe that’s it?” Lily asked them and the two boys just shook their heads.

“No more non-stop baking.” Kingsley sighed. “I don’t know if I’m sad or relieved.”

“Both.” Remus laughed. “Definitely both.”

“Okay you lot,” James interrupted. “We have a little something for you outside.”

They all grinned. As loyal bake-off fans, they all knew what was coming. They walked outside the tent to picnic tables set up and laden with the cakes they made that day, along with all the eliminated contestants of that year and the families of the finalists.

Remus beamed at Tonks before sweeping his mother up into a hug.

“I’m so proud of you!” Hope said to him as she gripped him close. Remus chuckled as he bent to half his size, squeezing her just as tight. “Thanks Mam.”

“Now introduce me to this man of yours.” Hope teased, speaking low even though the microphones were elsewhere and they were surrounded by noise. Remus flushed, but he beckoned Sirius over with a tilt of his chin, so subtle no camera could have caught it. Remus had told his mom about everything and she had been begging for more information, only just stopping short of looking up celebrity gossip, although she did send Remus one or two pictures of Sirius on red carpets with the caption ‘your children would be beautiful’.

Sirius looked more nervous than Remus had ever seen him, holding his hand out to be shaken, but Hope just pulled him into a hug.

“It’s lovely to meet you Mrs Lupin,” Sirius said, looking a little surprised as Hope cupped his face in her hands and gave him a proper look. Remus hid his laugh in his elbow as Hope patted Sirius’ cheek fondly. “You’ve got good taste.” She said to him, tilting her head towards Remus, who blushed.

“The best.” Sirius agreed.

“Remus!” Tonks yelled, tired of being ignored and pulled Remus’ attention elsewhere. “Your cake was brilliant!”

Remus laughed running his fingers through his hair, the pink staining his cheeks permanent it would seem. “Thanks Tonks.”

The bright haired woman just grinned and wrapped an arm around Remus before cheerfully introducing herself to Hope. Sirius excused himself as he had to go with James to chat with the judges and Lily joined them with her parents, Kingsley standing with his family and talking to Fabian about knitting of all things. They sat in the garden, the sun shining bright, a few fluffy white clouds lazing their way across the sky. They chatted about everything and nothing as they munched on an endless amount of cake, Remus just sipping on tea as he hadn’t had the foresight to make anything gluten free. He was distracted, Lily and Kingsley were too and everyone around them knew it, not minding when they drifted in and out of the conversation. As nervous as he was, Remus knew this moment right here was his favourite, living his literal dream, surrounded by friends and family. That even gave him a sense of calm.

Until the presenters and judges emerged from the tent, all wearing welcoming smiles that revealed nothing. They stopped at the table draped in a pristine white cloth and topped with three beautiful flower bouquets and an engraved glass cake stand. There was no big cash prize in the bake-off, and Remus loved that. It made it all the more endearing to him, and it only allowed for the most passionate bakers to enter, the ones who baked for the love of it, not for money.

For once, James and Sirius were quiet, not needing to grab anyone's attention as the focus was already entirely on them. The three remaining bakers lined up before them as they had previously been instructed by the crew, and then the judges began speaking.

“This year, we had the most wonderful collection of bakers,” Dumbledore started, having to pause already as the applause had already commenced. “And our finalists even more so. I do believe this was the most difficult final we’ve had to judge in a long time, isn’t it Minerva?”

“It was,” McGonagall agreed, nodding. “We had a truly fine selection and the most beautiful array of cakes today. But in the end, there can only be one winner.”

Remus was certain everyone in attendance could hear his heartbeat. Lily’s hand was clammy in his own.

“It is with the greatest pleasure that I can announce that this year’s winner of The Great British Bake Off is…”

James and Sirius picked up a bouquet of flowers each, as did Dumbledore, McGonagall presenting the cake stand. Lily squeezed his hand, and Kingsley’s on the other side too he was sure.

“Remus Lupin.”

Remus blinked even as Lily threw herself on him in a bone-crushing hug, the judges approaching him to present him with his prize. Distantly he saw Sirius and James handing flowers to Kingsley and Lily, but he was in a daze. Dumbledore kissed him on the cheeks and McGonagall shook his hand with a knowing wink and suddenly Remus’ arms were heavy with flowers and expertly crafted glass.

Kingsley shook his hand, patting his shoulder in congratulations and James pulled him into a little side hug. Remus beamed at them, the crowd still cheering and clapping behind him as he reached forward and grabbed Sirius’ shirt, pulling him in for a kiss.

The crowd roared behind them and suddenly Remus realised where he was and what he was doing as he pulled away. “Shit, I’m sorry.” He said frantically. “I wasn’t thinking, I fucking shit- Christ- sorry!”

Sirius laughed and wrapped an arm around Remus’ waist. “I’m not. I love you, and I don’t care who knows. Now shut that filthy mouth of yours and kiss me, you absolute wanker.”

So Remus did.

The newspapers the next day had many headlines, but Remus’ personal favourite? ‘BRITISH BAKE OFF - STAR AND BAKER!’

THREE MONTHS LATER

The bakery was loud and busy and completely hectic and Remus loved every single second working there. Not a day went by that he wasn’t teased about his bake-off status and he was working on his degree here in London. Basically his life was everything he ever could have dreamed it would be.

“Remus, there’s someone here for you!” His co-worker, Katie, called from the front of the shop and Remus grinned, not even bothering to take off his apron as he wiped his hands against the fabric, opening the door with his shoulder, thanking Katie for the message even as his eyes scanned the shop floor.

Sirius.

Standing there in his leather jacket, his hands tucked into the pockets, motorcycle resting outside the door. “Hey,” He greeted, with a lazy smile. “You ready?”

“Yeah,” Remus nodded before freezing. “Wait no, I have to ice a few more pastries, they’re our best-seller.”

Sirius rolled his eyes laughing. “Oh,” He said, waving it off. “Let them eat cake.”

FIN.

#let them eat cake #LTEC #let them eat cake the final #wolfstar #remus lupin #sirius black #wolfstar bake off au #tgbbo #the great british bake off #lily evens #james potter #let them eat cake onlydreamofmysoul

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hopelesshawks · 4 years ago

Text

Official Acounts Part 34- Falling 18+ NSFW Version

Summary: (y/n) was perfectly happy remaining anonymous, even if her best friends were all pro heroes and she worked under THE Hawks. Handling the technical aspects of hero work from the background suited her just fine, thank you very much. That goes out the window when suddenly her twitter blows up thanks Denki and the famed no. 2 hero is asking her to run his own official twitter as a result

If you don’t want to see Official Accounts content blacklist #hopelessoa

This version is 18+ so minors DNI. There is a SFW version available here for you

Warnings for mention of reader having a vagina, fingering, wing kink, feather play, and graphic description of unprotected sex

Masterlist

It’s been awhile since you’ve done this sober. You should probably be terrified. Actually you should definitely be terrified, you just walked off a building with all the confidence of someone wearing a parachute while actually having nothing but an evening gown and heels. Yet as you stare up at the night sky, wind rushing past you as you fall, you’re not scared at all.

Keigo will catch you.

You repeat it in your head like a mantra. Even as time seems to stretch on, you close your eyes and remain unafraid.

Keigo will catch you.

Images of the past several days living together float into you consciousness like dreams. The tear filled confessions, the quiet moments shared over mugs of tea, the good, the bad, the ugly, all of it. Each one a cherished memory and each one reinforcing what you already knew in your heart and with every fiber of your body.

Keigo will catch you.

He will catch you and maybe then he will understand that you’ve meant every word you’ve ever said to him. Maybe then he will understand that your reassurances aren’t empty. You tell him he’s better than Endeavor could ever hope to be because you know beyond any shadow of a doubt that it’s true.

For the second time in his life Keigo watches you disappear from view off the side of a building. Once again his blood turns to ice in his veins. Once again he wonders how it’s possible for someone to so confidently put themselves at such grave risk. Once again he is blindsided by it even if he probably shouldn’t be. But there are also a few notable differences this time around:

One, the two of you are much higher up

Two, there is no Bakugo to catch you

But three, and this is important, he has his wings.

So this time, when his heart seizes in his chest and his muscles twitch on instinct, he isn’t frozen in place. Quite the opposite actually. He shoots forward and then down to race to catch you. There’s no missing your bright red gown and within moments of spotting you he’s grabbing you out of the air. He quickly redirects the two of you until you’re soaring back upwards. With your arms wrapped around his neck and his around your waist he makes sure he has a good hold of you before doing a quick appraisal to make sure you’re alright. “Are you absolutely insane! You could’ve died! I swear to god (y/n) you’re going to give me a heart attack,” he rambles as his eyes roam across your form to make sure you’re alright. He’s so focused on making sure you’re ok that he doesn’t even notice at first that you’re laughing. “How are you laughing right now? Are you aware you could’ve died? I’m not even-“ It’s your turn to cut him off with a kiss.

You hadn’t necessarily planned to do it. As of that morning you still hadn’t been sure if you’d ever pursue something romantic with Hawks again. But watching him fret over you just now, needlessly you might add, you had been filled to brimming with just how much you loved and trusted the man in front of you. You couldn’t possibly have hoped to contain it all so you had surged forward to share it with him. He deserves to know he is loved, you realize, and the more you’ve gotten to know him the more you think he’s blind to all the love he is surrounded by. His father and then the HPSC may have denied him that growing up but now Keigo’s life was filled with so much love. From Mirko, from your friends, and from you. So much from you. You need him to see that like you need oxygen to breathe so you kiss him with all of that love and you make it a promise. A promise that you’ll start with this but it’s only the beginning.

Just as you had been that first date, Keigo is thrown at first when your lips meet his. It doesn’t take him long to catch up with the program though and soon he’s kissing you back just as earnestly. It’s almost overwhelming how much emotion he feels in that one kiss. He wonders if this is how you felt back when he had kissed you on that first date. He ends up dismissing the thought almost as soon as he’s had it. No this kiss, the love he feels in it, is genuine in a way he couldn’t be back then. It is unreserved and authentic and real in a way he couldn’t give you back then. He finds himself glad, in the end, that you had ended that first romantic relationship. It would have forever been marred by the circumstances from which it arose. Now the two of you are meeting as equals, vulnerable to each other by your own choosing. It is a love born not from guilt or suspicion, but from a deep and understanding friendship and that makes it all the more precious.

The two of you stay that way for what feels like an eternity, kissing above the city lights, until finally you have to break for air. As the two of you lock eyes you can’t help but laugh a little. “I knew you’d catch me,” you whisper into the stillness between the two of you. “How?” he asks with a quiet reverence for your faith in him. “I trust you,” is your simple response. “I trust you too,” he replies immediately with so much wonder in his voice that your heart swells all over again.

Both of you can’t help but laugh both in wonder and in disbelief. This wasn’t what either of you was expecting from this night but you’re so, so glad it came to this. You feel as if you could vibrate out of your skin at any moment as you take in the incredible man in front of you. “You said you trust me right little dove?” Hawks suddenly grins at you. “I did,” you reply without hesitation. “Good,” is all he says before suddenly you’re both plummeting. You shriek in surprise but it quickly turns into a laugh as you see the stupid grin on his face. You hold each other tightly as the world streams past. Only after dropping several stories, including past the banquet hall the two of you are supposed to be in, does he re-engage his wings and send the both of you back to the rooftop. “I’m starting to get why you like jumping off buildings so much little dove,” he laughs. “You didn’t before?” you ask. “I never much liked falling.” “That’s because you didn’t have someone to catch you before.” “Are you saying you’ll catch me little dove?” “Every time,” you promise. “I’ll catch you every time too,” he promises in return.

Hawks had flown you both home almost immediately after your promises to each other. He needed you. All of you. Endeavor and the HPSC be damned. So he had flown back to your apartment at break neck pace, delighting in every shriek and giggle you emitted as he let himself be just a little bit more reckless than normal in his flying. By the time the two of you were landing on the balcony you looked just as wild and windswept as he did. Your eyes are shining so, so brightly he feels he could get lost in their (y/e/c) depths. So he kisses you like he’s a man drowning and you’re the only oxygen in the room.

You don’t even fully remember how you got from the balcony to your room but it’s hard to care about that when Keigo’s lips are on yours and he’s pressing you tightly against him. You can feel him hardening through his suit pants and you’ve never wanted anything more so you let him walk you back to the bed as you fumble with the buttons of his shirt. You run your hands over his bare chest and then finally push his shirt and suit jacket off all at once, his hands leaving your waist so it can slide off and onto the floor. As your hands go to his belt, his go to the zipper on the back of your dress. The two of you are almost frenzied in your actions. There will be a time for slow, a time when Hawks will unwrap you like a precious gift and appreciate your every inch but not now. Now is about desperation. Now is about making up for lost time. By the time your dress has hit the floor your bra is joining it and your panties aren’t far behind.

Only once you’re both nude does he push you onto the bed. The moment your back makes contact with the mattress he’s back on you, his bare erection pressing into your hip as your mouths once again connect. The kiss is greedy and demanding, both of you aching for the other in a way you didn’t even know was possible, your hips grinding up to meet his to give you both a taste of what you’re truly craving. He takes one hand down to tease at your folds, moaning into your mouth when he realizes how wet you already are for him. Your mouths part as you cry out his name and his fingers wander to your sensitive clit. Your hands reach for something, anything to latch onto and you end up grasping onto some of the feathers at the base of his wings. “Fuck!” he groans loudly as stars explode behind his eyes and he has to carefully cant his hips away from yours to stop from spilling right then and there. As it is you can feel a damp spot on your hip where his precum had gathered. “I didn’t know they did that,” you pant breathily. “Me neither,” he admits, equally out of breath as he tries to regain his composure. You experimentally give them another pull and the way Keigo’s hips jerk instinctively and he moans is absolutely sinful. “Watch it, kid,” he growls. “Or what?” you smirk. You gasp as he roughly inserts two fingers at once inside you and begins scissoring you open. “Don’t start something you can’t finish,” he warns as two of his feathers begin to travel slowly up your torso and one makes its way up your inner thigh. “Kei what are you-“ you don’t finish the thought, instead gasping again as the two that had been running up your torso begin circling your nipples and the other provides sweet friction to your swollen clit.

“Oh god Kei, please. Please. I need you,” you beg as the stimulation continues to take you to new heights of pleasure. “Going to need you to be a bit more specific than that little dove,” he teases as he bends his head down to nip at your neck and begins to pump his fingers in and out. “I need your dick inside me. Now,” you groan unabashedly and it makes Keigo curse under his breath and his erection throb as more precum beads at the tip. “I can do that,” he finally pants as she shifts to line his penis up with your entrance. He carefully removes his fingers and you whine at the feeling of emptiness but he shushes you soothingly. “Don’t worry you won’t be empty for long,” he assures you before slowly pushing his thick cock inside of you. It takes a moment for you to adjust to his girth but he’s oh so patient. In all honesty he isn’t convinced that if he had shoved it all in at once the fun would’ve ended as quickly as it began. So he slides into you slowly under the guise of teasing you but actually is making sure to compose himself as he feels your tight walls clenching around him. After what feels like an eternity he is fully sheathed inside of you, your hips flush together and his feathers having finally paused in their ministrations as well. “You ok?” he asks. You nod. “Can I start moving?” “Please God do.”

His thrusts start out nice and slow, easing you into the pleasure, but it doesn’t last long. The first time he manages to hit the one spot inside of you that has your head falling back and the most beautiful of moans falling from your lips is also the last time he manages to keep it slow. Each successive thrust after that is progressively faster and faster as you wrap your arms around his shoulders and hang on for the ride as he delivers thrust after thrust exactly where you want it inside you. He continues to pound you into the mattress but shortly afterwards his feathers are going to work on your nipples and clit again and from there it’s a rapid ascension to the peak of your pleasure. It’s like every one of your nerve endings is triggered as you get closer and closer to climax. “Keigo I’m gonna-“ “Yea? You gonna cum for me baby? Go ahead do it for me.” You don’t need to be told twice. Finally your orgasm comes ripping through you with all the force of a hurricane as you let out a silent cry. You grab hold of his feathers once more as you ride out the most intense orgasm of your life. That and the feeling of you clenching around him is enough to send Keigo right over too. He moans into your neck as his hips stutter to a halt and he pumps you full of his seed, finally claiming you as his.

It takes a little while but eventually the highs finally fade and Keigo collapses into your bed next to you, both of you sweaty and out of breath. “Fuck,” is all he says. “I agree,” you laugh. He reaches over and pulls you in to cuddle against him as his feathers do the work of moving your blankets and then tucking the two of you in. “I trust you,” you tell him. “I trust you too,” is his immediate response. It’s too early for “I love you”. You both are well aware of that. Somehow though “I trust you” means just a little bit more in this moment.

Author’s Note: Sorry this took so long but I hope it was worth it!!! Enjoy ❤️

Taglist [open]: @cathy8taffy @katzurras @grumpyfroggies @captaincyberqueen @itskindofafairything @420-uwu @someweirdshitman @oliviasslut @the-adzukibean @a-fucking-sero-kinnie @ladyzayismultifandom @pixelwisp

#hopelessoa #hawks #wing hero hawks #hawks x reader #hawks x y/n #hawks smau

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arc-saber · 3 years ago

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The Way Forward - Did I write a Mandalorian Fic?

I fic-ing did. Or part of it. Look. I was bored and I’m almost always thinking about Star Wars. It was bound to happen.

No, but really. I’m not really a fanfic writer. I’m not great at it. and clearly, I start with a single, stupid idea and get side-tracked until I have a WAY TOO LONG bit of story. But my main pet peeve about a lot of fic is inconsistent characterization. So then I was like “WELL CAN U DO ANY BETTER, SMARTASS?” Answer? Mmnnmmnsssnng? I dunno. We’ll see.

Din Djarin finds himself in a predicament some years after parting ways with Grogu. Someone unexpectedly shows up to help. I W0ndEr WhO!?

Forgive my lazy backstory-ing... Story below the cut.

PART I

The Dark Saber. It had once been described to him as a symbol more than an item of power on its own. But its history said otherwise. It was both. The ancient blade was not only a feat of engineering that wedded ancient sorcery and Mandalorian tactical sense, but it was the manifestation of power on Mandalore itself. It had been forged, stolen, retrieved, lost and found again — its past was as dynamic as the story of Mandalore itself.

But today it was a tool and Din Djarin was using it to cut a hole in a scrapped hull so that he didn’t burn to death in a sudden deluge of acid rain.

The screeching metal and insulation giving way to the unyielding blade manifested on his helmet’s HUD as static while the rest of his feed grew grainy with sensor damage from the rain. Very technically, Din had known what he was getting into when he arrived on Lotho Minor, but he hadn’t been presented with a lot of options during the chaotic spiral landing he’d been forced into by his pursuers. It bothered him that he hadn’t known their affiliation and it was a troubling indictment of his life that there were too many groups with cause to target him as a general mark to make an educated guess … let alone the number of people scattered across the galaxy who had cause to target him specifically. It also bothered him that he didn’t know if these particular pursuers had broken off when he’d plunged into the junk planet’s acidic atmosphere. Or if it was personal and they had followed him to the surface.

With a heavy kick, he toppled his impromptu door into the cavity of the remains of a freighter and plunged inside after it. His armor had deflected most of the acid damage, but everywhere that beskar wasn’t was smoking and starting to sting as the rain soaked through the padding. He knew he should strip off what he could and try to allow it to dry, but after depositing himself with gravity against the far bulkhead, he was having trouble finding the will to move just yet.

About two clicks away, his shabby X4 gunship was little more than a smoking heap — his less than graceful descent having caused some pretty severe hull damage, not to mention now whatever connectors the rain was melting away. So unless he could miraculously a) find the parts he needed buried in Lotho Minor’s literal mountains of scrap or b) even more miraculously find an operational ship to get himself off the surface, he was stranded. Letting his head tilt back wearily, he let out a sigh that felt like it had risen up in him like a bubble through pitch. He was tired. He had been tired for three years — possibly longer than that — but when he’d been caught up in the concern for someone other than just himself, it had distracted him from it. His people. Then of course the kid. He sighed again, feeling as though the first hadn’t quite reset him as much as he needed. He should be relieved to only be responsible for his own skin again; what would he do here if he was also trying to keep a helpless child alive along with him? But the fact remained: whenever that brief time he’d spent as the child’s guardian crossed his mind, he missed it. Missed Grogu.

He didn’t know why lately in particular the odd little sorcerer had crossed his mind so often, but now hardly a night passed when he didn’t factor into Din’s fitful dreams somehow. Most of it was pure memory, but some seemed different — moments when he felt like he was being reached for. It was probably a result of wishful thinking. And right now, wallowing was not going to fix his situation. When he’d either sat out the worst of the acid evaporating, or simply dulled to the sting of it, he laboriously reached for the lightrod that was tucked into his belt. Raising it over his head, he could just make out the shapes of the ship’s interior by its meager glow. Most of what was left of the freighter had been picked clean by whatever locals there were here. Staying put would give him shelter, but nothing more than that. He lowered the lightrod again, disappointed, and pushed himself back to his feet. His unceremonious entry had granted him about a three foot opening through which he could now peek out and try to assess the weather.

A flash of movement and light bouncing off a metallic barrel was all the warning he got. Din jerked himself back behind the hull, milliseconds before a red blast scored the metal right next to his head. Falling back with a grunt, he wedged himself into the dark as much as he could while drawing his own blaster. He checked the charge. Decent. Outside, the sound of footsteps had distinguished from the rain just enough for him to guess at two pursuers. He edged back to the opening and did a quick double glimpse, ducking down as he popped his head out the second time, lining up a shot with the movement he saw. Two figures. Humanoid for the most part and well equipped against the hostile environment in full vac suits. “Dank — “ Another blast lit up the hull briefly overhead. “Ffffarrik.”

His free hand went to the hilt that hung at his belt. He could stay here and deplete his charge trying to take them both out before either got to him�� or use the blade in the one capacity it had that had never failed him. Intimidation. Din could use a sword. He could use pretty much anything. But it wasn’t his first choice. If the Dark Saber was any other blade, he wouldn’t consider it, but the few times he’d ignited it, the effect was notable. Most people didn’t know exactly what it was, but they knew enough that they didn’t want to try to fight it. Maybe that was part of the reason he hadn’t dumped it down a canyon somewhere for Bo-Katan Kryze to go find on her own. It had caused him enough trouble over the past few years that that would make the most sense. Yet he held onto it and because of that, had suffered not a few varied encounters with Kryze and her clan and their attempts to force him into a tradition and history he knew nothing about and found he didn’t care for. That wasn’t his path — his way. It was something else entirely that had, before it knew him, labelled him a zealot.

He ignited the saber in his off hand, keeping his blaster at the ready. They were close now, but they had slowed down in the absence of return fire, approaching his shelter with caution. They would crowd to one side of the opening, one coming in first to provide cover, the second following up with the needed accuracy. Sure enough, he felt the hull vibrate as his pursuers flattened themselves against it. With little time, Din stepped back to give himself enough room to plunge the dark blade straight through the hull at about where he figured the second body would be. It met some affirming resistance and a modulated shout of shock came from the other pursuer. Din had hoped the sight of the blade would have scared off the remaining enemy, but with a stubborn war cry, the other was suddenly upon him, having whipped around the opening with a barrage of blasts chasing Din chaotically back to the back wall. When he felt one ricochet off his beskar, he’d lunged forward into a roll, losing the hilt of the Dark Saber in the process, but coming up at an advantageous position to fire his blaster.

A direct hit. He saw the flare of energy meeting his enemy’s breastplate and had almost enough time to lower his blaster with a spin towards the holster before the full weight of his attacker plowed into him. Confusion barely had a moment to sink in before he realized his error. He wasn’t the only one in beskar. Now this up close and personal, he could see the vac suit peeling away from the coated breastplate of Mandalorian armor. He only had a very brief moment to gasp out an admittedly daft: “What — ?” before the second attacker, proving to not be as skewered as he’d have liked, flung themselves into the opening, one injured arm hanging at their side, but the other wielding a blaster in an attempt to train on Din amid his grapple with the other.

“Wait— wait!” but they weren’t there to talk. He knew precisely what they were there for, and it was laying on the ground a few feet from any of them. Din had tried to yield the Dark Saber before. A few times, actually. But its inherent rules seemed to have cornered the clans, and him, into a more deadly negotiation for it. They would take it when he was maimed or dead. So now he would just as soon they didn’t take it. His attempts at getting their attention had only earned him a hard elbow to the neck, tossing him effectively into survival mode. With an uncomfortable twist of the body, he got a foot up on the bulkhead behind him and activated his jetpack. The unexpected surge caught his attacker off guard and plowed both of them straight out the opening, into the second shooter and rolled them for several yards along the littered ground.

The impact of their landing flung them apart, but the advantage of that for Din was an advantage for all of them and he was still outnumbered when he rolled to his feet, blaster raised. He swapped his aim from one to the other of his attackers, trying to give the impression that he had both of them covered at once while they simply had to train their blasters on him and start to close in slowly. “Are you with Bo-Katan?” he called out, hoping to get at least one talking. They did pause, but the grim chuckle told him he’d not only guessed wrong, but he also might have encountered a rival of Bo-Katan’s for the throne of Mandalore. “Of course.”

The prospect that he might die here — on a literal garbage planet — only filled him with weary resignation. But then — for just a moment — immense disappointment as he suddenly remembered a promise he’d made to Grogu as they parted. “Sorry, kid,” he murmured to himself as he stood on the brink of lowering his head and his weapon.

But the two others had stopped and craned around, one rapidly looking back at Din as if they suspected whatever he’d murmured had just summoned a problem for them. Unbeknownst to them, it was simply his outlandishly bad luck that had summoned a problem for all of them.

With a shriek like wrending metal — and indeed that was probably partially what it was — one of the mountains of scrap that had previously been looming over them, gave a violent buck, smaller bits of scrap now joining the acid that pelted them, shaking free from the towering metal monster that emerged and resolved into a four legged, open-mawed form that seemed to be made of the planet’s refuse itself, but fuelled by an oily hot fire from within its belly. As it swung around, a pronged foot came inches from flattening Din where he stood. He reeled back from the monstrous intrusion, no longer able to see his previous two attackers while he scrambled to get away from the brand new horror making itself his problem.

No words. No thoughts. Just survival as he reflexively activated his jetpack again and pushed off at an acute angle front he ground and away from the beast as it dove past him, mouth gaping for an improbable bite of pure scrap metal from the side of one of the hills. Perhaps the monster itself was distracted by its meal, but the teetering hillside caved and an avalanche of spare parts was suddenly rolling down from higher than even Din’s current altitude. Bits and pieces rang as they bounced off his armor and he strove to outrun the larger chunks he knew were coming. He managed to dodge the caved in hull of what looked to be part of a Mon Calamari cruiser, but found himself straight in the path of an untold tonnage of metal that was soon sweeping him out of the air and along with it in a tumble of junk that splayed out between the hills like a river of metal… and then in a breathless moment, charged straight over the edge of a dark ravine, carrying Din down with it.

#star wars #the mandalorian #din djarin #fanfic #luke skywalker #grogu #i dunno i tag like i'm dying #will it get sexy!?#PROBABLY A LITTLE!?#dinluke #hopefully #we'll see if I can pull this out of a nosedive

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9h4mn · 4 years ago

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because it's love | oneus

➞ oneus as side characters that likes the fl

➞ angst, one sided love

➞ side characters, at times they bring more light to the show then the mcs themselves. how are the 6 guys of oneus as side characters that likes the fl?

note:

mc - main character

fl - female lead

ml - male lead

warnings: constant switching between stage name and real name, overly possessive mls, terrible fls, sad oneus

ravn:

the pretty boy type

i mean look at him and tell me he doesn't fit this trope

this type of side character is too pretty to be one. many would even argue that he looks better than the ml. he is also portrayed as somewhat vain and plain out confident in his looks

as this is youngjo, he doesn't come out as cocky. he really should be confident because he has the looks to match

so girls (and some boys) confessing to him weren't that much of a surprise. whats surprising however is the fact that not once had he accepted their confessions

people would try to solve the mystery between ravn and his muse but alas it was a mystery better left unsolved

his muse comes in the form of the fl. same neighborhood, same schools all their lives but there was never a chance for them to get close

and his only notable appearance in the fl and ml's story was the time a pissed off ml had punch youngjo to warn the others who stares far too long at the fl

that day ravn didn't knew what hurt more; his face, his ego, or his heart

deep inside that wasn't his concerns. he simply hoped that he wouldn't see fl's scared expression ever again

but how was he to know when the ml used his parents' influence to drive ravn away?

seoho:

the comic relief type

(|||❛︵❛.)

this type of side character has a life where its basically treated as a comedy. whether or not he's doing things intentionally, it will always be treated as a joke and yes it includes him feeling actual pain

seoho had liked his life where he could make everyone smile

he hated seeing sadness or frustration clouding a person and even if he isn't close to them, he tries his best to cheer them up

and while there are times it brings so much humiliation for seoho, their smiles are more than enough

that was what he had thought before he met fl

the fl was the apple of his eyes and that one thing that makes everything better

yet...

why was she laughing at him?

why was she not laughing with him?

how come she never takes him seriously?

he had tried so hard to change his approach or demeanor for even just a second of her stopping with that sneering look but it never happened

he was treated as a joke, he is just a joke for her

but at least she's smiling — he had tried to reason out with himself

true enough if he was in some romcom, a laugh track would insert itself as he was hurting

seoho was there for everyone but who was there for him?

leedo:

the caring type

he looks scary but we all know that isn't the case

this type of side character is just so nice and caring. they might not outwardly say they care but by their actions you could tell that they do

gunhak seriously looks unapproachable but the way he smiles and moves, it erases all the prejudice you had at first glance

that and maybe because he works with children

(yes its kindergarten teacher! leedo time)

parents had thought that their kids would have feared him but now he is their favorite teacher

listen he's just soft for the kiddos and the parents could see that

the fl is also a teacher there and her cubicle is even just across gunhak's

the way how he hovers the fl like some mother chick was not seen as suspicious. almost everyone got that same treatment

it seriously had hurt when the fl has just brushed off his efforts as him being nice. it wasn't that noticeable but he gave the fl more effort than he does to everyone else

though it didn't compare when fl got a boyfriend. it hurt really bad for leedo especially when he sees how well the ml treats her

that should have been him if only he had the courage

keonhee:

the loud type

not to be confused with seoho's

this type of side character is just loud. happy? he screams. sad? he screams. scared? he screams. surprised? he screams. basically screaming is almost his natural response

he tries to control his volume but seriously it is out of control

its a miracle that he still has friends that has no problem being out with him

keonhee is that loud

nearby his university was a cafe that he almost always frequent at

the food and drinks there were really his style... that and it was affordable for a college kid

what connection does that cafe have with the fl? she works there

originally keonhee had thought nothing much of the fl but when she pulled "oh, keonhee right? same order as last time?" he was gone

such simple thing and yet it had managed to steal his heart

that was the beginning of many more mixed signals from fl and keonhee naively thinking of it as a good sign

and then he had witnessed fl running up to ml's — a well known playboy if i may add — arms and kissing the living daylight out of him

fl was just being nice, he shouldn't have assumed

he cried himself to sleep that night

hwanwoong:

the "gay" best friend type

note: emphasis on the air quote ""

this type of side character is the fl's best friend. he is rumored to be gay — the fl herself thinks he's gay — but the truth is he is just one effeminate guy

and what was the problem of being more feminine? hwanwoong saw nothing wrong with it

unfortunately he has to deal with how people treats him with the assumption that he's gay

such a backward society. he could only imagine how much worse it is for those who are truly part of the lgbtq+

no wonder he became known as some social justice warrior... and truthfully it was quite a good distraction to reality

yes it deepens his gay rumors but it was a reasonable excuse for him to not see the fl and ml being lovey dovey with each other

his duo with fl turned into a trio but unlike her promises — and hwanwoong himself did knew better than to believe her — he was an outsider

maybe it was just wistful thinking when back then he believed she'd end up liking him back

even the ml isn't threatened by his presence and every day hwanwoong had hoped it wasn't that cause

maybe by then she'd realize that he too is a man in love

xion:

the ml's brother type

i apologize in advance for the dong twins enthusiast

this type of side character is the brother of the ml. him and the ml are typically seen bickering childishly but they in fact cares for each other

basically just dongju and dongmyeong being true siblings

growing up with his twin had meant a lot of shenanigans — good or bad who cares it was the two of them against the world

around middle school, they both had began having their own crowd and it even reached to high school

they were still brothers but it doesn't necessarily mean that they are close

enter fl. dongju had always told himself that he didn't trust fate but the day he met her he had hoped that they were fated for each other

unfortunately he didn't have that much chance to approach the fl. not only was it hard but it was also because he kept on hesitating

crushing on someone that badly was just new to him

but of course there is no happy ending here

dongmyeong had introduced fl as his girlfriend and the inferiority complex had really slapped xion on the face

he found himself constantly asking why that even he no longer remembers what he's been asking for

whether or not fate is real, it works quite mysteriously

#oneus #onewe #oneus headcanons #oneus imagines #ravn #seoho #leedo #keonhee #hwanwoong #xion #kim youngjo #lee seoho #lee gunmin #kim gunhak #lee keonhee #yeo hwanwoong #son dongju #angst #scenario

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sinceileftyoublog · 3 years ago

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Philippe Cohen Solal & Mike Lindsay: A Pop Tribute to Outsider Art

From Left: Mike Linsday, Hannah Peel, Philippe Cohen Solal, Adam Glover; Artwork by Gabriel Jacquel

BY JORDAN MAINZER

Outsider visual artist and writer Henry Darger’s fame was essentially happenstance, so it’s fitting that Philippe Cohen Solal’s decades-long obsession with Darger is chock full of coincidence. In 2003, the member of longtime neotango group Gotan Project found himself with a day off on tour in New York City and decided to venture over to the American Folk Art Museum, a choice that would change his life and culminate in Outsider (¡Ya Basta!), April’s collaborative album with Tunng’s Mike Linsday, the first adaptation of Darger’s words in music.

At the museum, Solal, unaware not only of Darger but of outsider art in general, saw a Darger work, and, as he told me over the phone earlier this year, “fell in love.” Looking closer at the details of the work, he saw something he recognized: the name Kiyoko Lerner, who had lent the work to the museum. The very same name of a woman he was set to meet the next day in Chicago as recommended by a mutual friend back in Paris. The friend suggested they meet due to their love of tango. “We met and talked a bit about tango,” he said, “but quickly, I asked her about Henry Darger.” She began to tell him exactly who she was, the story that’s become increasingly well-known in the annals of Chicago cultural history.

Lerner and her late husband Nathan (himself a prominent Chicago photographer) were Darger’s landlords; Nathan discovered Darger’s work in his “very messy room” shortly before Darger’s death in 1973, most notably his 15,000+ page novel In The Realms of the Unreal as well as his magazine-traced illustrations and watercolors accompanying the book. (The book, a fantastical epic about child slave rebellions, would go on to inspire visual artists and musicians for decades; indie rock band Vivian Girls took their name from characters in the book, and Darger would even be referenced in The Venture Bros.) Nathan immediately knew he had something special, and he and his wife took control of Darger’s estate. Darger would start to become formally recognized by the art world, his work prominently featured in museums and documentaries. Nathan died in 1997, and Kiyoko would continue to operate as head of the estate and donate her collection to various museums across the world.

In 2006, Kiyoko flew to Paris and met up with Solal at the first Darger exhibition in the city, at La Maison Rouge. It was immediately when he left the show that Solal had the idea to make music inspired by Darger’s art. “At the time, I didn’t [even] know that [Darger] wrote lyrics,” Solal said. “I had no clue.” In reference to Darger’s war between children and adults, Solal had the idea to write “adult music for children,” or vice versa, and wrote a track that wouldn’t even end up 15 years later on Outsider. He visited Kiyoko at her Chicago apartment. “I spent a few days immersed in his art. I didn’t know precisely what I wanted to do, and then I discovered he wrote lyrics. It very much changed the project.” Nobody had thought to put Darger’s lyrics to music, and Solal wanted to put his stamp on the increasingly large pool of reinterpretations of or references to Darger in the arts and culture world at large. Kiyoko put him in touch with art historian Michael Bonesteel, who led Solal to more lyrics.

Not wanting to go at it alone, Solal got the idea to do a collective project adapting Darger’s lyrics to music with various friends. He reached out to the likes of Calexico’s Joey Burns and Lambchop’s Kurt Wagner, but Lindsay was the one who really stuck. Solal and Lindsay were fans of each other’s bands, and the latter visited the American Folk Art Museum while on tour at Solal’s recommendation, he himself rediscovering Darger’s work. In 2015, there was another Darger retrospective at the Paris Museum of Modern Art, and Kiyoko, who attended, suggested to Solal that he reveal his song adaptations of Darger. “I didn’t tell her I only had one song at the time,” he laughed. That was his inspiration to reach out to Lindsay. “I thought maybe I’d do a 5-track EP. I called Mike and reminded him of my project and asked him, ‘Are you ready to work on that with me?’”

Solal and Lindsay separately wrote the melodies and basic arrangements of the songs that would end up on Outsider, and they recorded and produced the record together. Lindsay introduced Solal to Northern Irish musician/singer/multi-instrumentalist Hannah Peel, who would voice the Vivian Girls. Solal asked Adam Glover, a singer he knew through his manager, to be the voice of Darger himself. (“He was very young...but he can sing like Sinatra or Dean Martin,” Solal said.) The four created an album with Darger’s words using traditional pop instrumentation and song structures but also children’s instruments; Peel even created her own music box to play some of the melodies. Sometimes, the words were spoken, as on “Hark Hark, My Friend, Cannon Thunders Are Swelling”, while other times the vocals are isolated in harmony, as on “We Sigh For The Child Slaves”. “We know more about Darger as a painter and visual artist, so it was important to have Darger as a storyteller,” Solal said. Furthermore, the group wanted to capture the raw spirit of Darger’s art by rendering the voices distorted, shifting their pitch to make them sound almost out of tune. The instrumentation, meanwhile, ranges from slinky electric guitars to strings, and even barroom-style piano on the penultimate “We’ll Never Say Goodby” [sic]. “With our small team, it was lean and simple to do this music,” said Solal. While most of the titles and words were taken directly from Darger, down to the spelling of “Goodby”, the album touches on Solal’s story, too. Instrumental interlude “851 Webster Avenue” is named after the address of Lerner’s apartment Solal visited for the first time, when his fascination with Darger really took off.

Solal can’t exactly pinpoint what ever fascinated him about Darger, both in general and as the world changes, but he has some clues. “At the time, what was interesting to me was it was clear [Darger] was a self-taught artist, and maybe I felt a bit moved by that because I’m a self-taught musician,” Solal said. “I never went to music school, but I understood that without any specific art education or practice at an art school, you can create something...Henry Darger is an amazing example of someone who created his own world.” Darger’s style of illustration, his drawings traced from magazines, made up for the fact that he wasn’t a technically great drawer, and it complemented his heightened sense of color. Moreover, Solal feels kinship with some aspects of Darger’s childhood. Part of the inspiration for In The Realms of the Unreal was that Darger himself was sent to an asylum that put children to work. “When he was a kid, everybody called him crazy,” said Solal, “But I’m sure he didn’t think he was crazy. I remember when I was 9 or 10, I thought I was crazy. Nobody called me crazy, but I thought I was.” He found commonalities in, simply, being misunderstood.

Solal also questions what it means to be an “outsider” artist; in reality, Darger spent most of his time inside, confined in a room creating fictional worlds. Funny enough, according to his diaries, he was fascinated with the weather, tracking the accuracy of the predicted versus actual weather, but that’s about all for the outside world. On the day JFK was killed, for instance, Darger had nothing about it in his diary entry. He chose to interact with the world through the magazines he would trace, and through collections of items like Pepto Bismol bottles, National Geographic issues, and broken glasses. He wasn’t much for interpersonal relationships. Not only was Nathan Lerner unaware of Darger’s artistic enterprises, but neither were the young artist couple with whom Darger actually shared his apartment. Solal thinks that Darger’s resistance to presenting himself as an artist was as a result of his childhood experiences. “If the outside world was not so mean to him, maybe he’d be less scared to show who he was to the rest of the world, even just to his neighbors,” he said. “It’s funny that we call him an outsider. He was more an insider but was protecting himself from the outside world.”

Perhaps, subconsciously, the more that creative folks learn to look through Darger’s eyes, the less likely his, or any genius goes unnoticed. Solal remarked that many of the folks involved in Outsider almost had to “unlearn” their craft. Andrew Scheps, who mixed the album, at first didn’t know the context and gave Solal and Lindsay a product that was “too clean;” Lindsay explained Darger’s story and the importance of having strange-sounding narrative effects in the records. “When he worked [after that] on the mix, we found Henry was back in our songs,” said Solal. The individuals involved in coming up with animated videos for each of these songs, French animator Gabriel Jacquel with art direction by Pascal Gary (aka Phormazero), also had to abandon their fundamentals and learn to draw like Darger. Overall, exploring his work provides admirers like Solal the opportunity to dig deeper, from figuring out how to bring Outsider on stage to “finding new ways to tell the story,” like podcasts, interactive maps, short films, and Spotify playlists of Darger’s favorite music. “This man is full of mysteries,” he said. “I hope my future is Outsider for a while.”

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northcarolinanative · 5 years ago

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𝙲𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚒𝚘𝚗 (𝟷𝟶)

Chapter 10: Pogue

A/N: Hey guys!! Thank you for all the feedback on the last part!! It means the world to me!! I hope you like part 10!! It is so crazy that I have written 10 parts of this story, and hopefully more haha! As always my message and inbox are open for requests or just to talk!! Also a TW: Physical Assault and Violence, cursing, depictions of harm, Rafe being an asshole per usual.

Description: John B’s Sister comes home from staying with their mom, only to find out that her brother is missing and her dad was murdered. JJ may have just lost his best friend. She and JJ have to figure out what to do and how to pick up the pieces.

Need to catch up? Ch.1 / Ch.2 / Ch.3 / Ch.4 / Ch. 5 / Ch.6 / Ch. 7 / Ch. 8 / Ch.9

I was frozen in my spot. My blood went cold, I didn’t know what to do. He killed the sheriff and ran my brother away from the island and into the sea because he couldn’t stand up and own up to his actions. He had the guts to pull the trigger, but not to own up to it. I tried to move my feet but they were frozen in place. I felt the goosebumps begin to raise on my arms as he took a few steps toward me. I had never really been a fighter. There wasn’t much need on the mainland, and here I was always surrounded by JJ and John B, who fought for me, even if I didn’t agree with it. At this moment I was scared and really wishing I had taken them up on that offer.

He didn’t speak until he was steps away from me. His glance was harsh, and his eyes were dark. They were sunken into his face, and his cheekbones more prominent. He looked terrible, but he deserved to be eaten up from the inside out. “You have a lot of nerves coming in here,” he said. His walk almost like a stalk, slow and predatory. I just looked at him, I tried to put on my most confident facade, but I was shaken inside. I never liked Rafe, but now I'm scared of him, he killed someone, then went about his life. “You’re brother killed the Sheriff and you’re here, for what, to beg for our money?” He scoffed at me moving faster.

“Do I look stupid? You killed Peterk–” I was cut off but Rafe pushed me against the wall with his hand around my throat. “Don’t you ever say those words again” he tightened his grip on my throat. I felt his fingers dig into my skin. “You fucking pogue” He gave me the last push before releasing me.

I sucked in a breath. I was seething, I could practically feel the anger running through my veins. I walked toward him, I didn’t want to show fear. “What makes it okay for you to be walking around here after what you did? Huh? You’re a kook, right?” I put my finger in his chest. “That’s why my brother is missing at sea and you aren’t rotting in a jail cell right now.” My words came out through clenched teeth.

Rafe was quick to grab my wrist and twist it harshly away from me. I kicked back into his knee trying to get free. He backed me up against the wall again, using his height and power against me, his arm under my chin pressing my chest hard. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.” He spat his words at me.

“What is it a secret?” I squinted with sarcasm dripping from my voice. “What? That you Rafe Cameron are a manipulative murd--” I was cut off with a hit to the left side of my face. I didn’t have time to brace for the impact and fell to the ground. By now we had drawn the attention of the other club members.

Rafe kneeled down next to me. “Next time you’ll keep your mouth shut bitch.” He stood up beginning to walk away.

“What is going on out here?” Mr. Jones walked out looking between me, on the ground holding my hand over my now swelling cheekbone, and Rafe.

“You see Y/N Routledge here, was trying to follow after her brother, coming after me,” Rafe said before turning the corner, back to the parking lot.

“No. He was tormenting me, Mr. Jones! You know me!” I started to beg. “I wouldn–”

“You’re Routledge’s kid?” He asked me. I just nodded my head looking down at the ground, unable to look at his face. I knew what was coming. It was inevitable. “I don’t think that it would be good for you to work here this summer. With everything that happened with the other Routledge kid…” He paused putting his hand on my shoulder. “It has nothing to do with you, but I don’t want people to mess with you like what just happened out there. I’m sorry Y/N”

I nodded a quick, “I understand.” I walked out keeping my head down again. I pushed open the large stained glass doors. Instantly missing the cool air-conditioning of the country club. I pulled my hair back to stop it from sticking to the back of my neck.

“Y/N” I flinched away from the voice. “Y/N is that you.” I turned, recognizing the voice. I saw Pope jogging toward me, his hands full of groceries. “What are you doing at the country club?” He asked.

“I could ask you the same thing?” I said, forcing a smile, only for a pain to shoot through the side of my face.

“Wait what happened to you?” Pope said, dropping the grocery bags and touching my cheek. “You’re bleeding.” He took his hand down to show me the red blood that was on his thumb. I looked shocked, I guess the adrenaline was still kicked in. “I’m going to run the last of the deliveries to The Wreck, let's go there and get you cleaned up?”

“Oh no. I really don’t think I should be around Kiara right now.” I said shaking my head and heading off toward my car.

“Y/N. don’t be stubborn, you need to take care of that, you’re covered in bruises and you know that there isn’t great equipment at the Chateau right?” Pope had picked up his bags matching pace with mine. “Plus Kie feels really bad about what she said. She’s dealing with this a lot differently than you and JJ.”

I opened the back of the car, helping him put the remaining groceries in the back of the car, giving in. I knew that I would need to work things out with them eventually. “I hope she shares with me what you said. I’m not gonna let what she said go easily, it hurt Pope.” I finished, raising my eyebrows in his direction before closing the hatch rather harshly.

We settled into the car, each of us putting our seatbelts on. “Are you okay to drive? You don’t have a concussion do you?” He said putting his hand on the gearshift before I moved to drive away.

“I’m fine, no head injuries. I promise.” I held up my pinky finger. I felt like we were kids again, it was something that we all used to do. Kie and I started it of course, but somehow drug the boys into joining us.

Pope shook his head, but smiled and linked his finger with mine. “I just texted Kie to tell her we are on the way.” Pope’s eyes scanned over my face and neck “Your neck is turning purple. Seriously Y/N what happened back there?”

I just shook my head. “I don’t want to talk about it okay?” I looked over at the phone in his hands. “Do you think you text JJ? Tell him I’ll be at the Wreck?”

“Yea,” Pope said. I heard the question in his voice as he stared down at his phone.

“I told him I was going to find a job, don’t want him to come looking for me ya know?” I said forcing a smile. “So, I know how the rest of us are doing, but how are you doing with all of this?” I asked. No one had seemed to ask Pope's opinion in the midst of the argument the other day.

“Oh,” He paused before I heard him take in a deep breath. I turned the car back onto the main road toward The Wreck. “I don’t know. I just miss his, like we’ve all seen each other every day since I can remember, and now he’s like not here anymore. Part of me wants to believe he’s out there.”

I thought about telling him what JJ and I had found, but I felt like it was too soon. I didn’t want to give him the same hope, then have to crush it if it wasn’t going to. It might have also been me being selfish because of what happened the other day, but I wanted to wait to tell them.

“I get it, I was expecting to see John B walk through that door when I got back, but instead I got JJ,” I said with a giggle. This comment seemed to lighten the mood of the car as it sent Pope into a fit of laughter.

JJ. He wasn’t going to let this go, he wouldn’t take me not wanting to talk about it for an answer. I didn’t want him anywhere near Rafe. If I was being completely honest with myself, Rafe scared the hell out of me. He was a murder, and the way he treated me, with no caution to try and silence me, showed that he had no remorse.

I pulled myself from my thoughts as we pulled into the parking lot at the Wreck. I helped Pope with the grocery bags. I ignore the pain in my wrist as I load groceries into my arms.

“Ah, Pope!! Always right on time with the groceries, just when I need them” Mr. C said as He walked into the room, Kie close behind. Mr.C took groceries from my arms before turning back to the kitchen. She was notably shocked to see me standing there with groceries. As she looked over my face her eyes grew wide. “Y/N What the hell?”

“I was hoping you could help her get cleaned up?” Pope asked following Mr. C into the kitchen. Kie nodded her head.

I could see the look of worry on her face. “Follow me,” She said. We slide around workers through the kitchen and into the back office. “Sit here, okay?” she sent a slight smile my way, patting the edge of the empty desk. She reached into a drawer pulling out a first aid kit.

“Don’t you think that’s a little dramatic Kie, it's a few bruises,” I said laughing with her.

“John B would kill me if I didn’t take care of you, you know?” She smiled and started to unwrap the alcohol wipes. I felt the sting of the disinfectant, flinching away when she first started to clean the split on my face. “Look I am really sorry about what I said yesterday Y/N. It was totally uncalled for what I said. I know that it doesn’t excuse my actions, but I didn’t want to get my hopes up, because it would only hurt that much worse in the long run if it turns out to be true.” He started to rub cooling cream over the bruising around the cut.

“Kie it’s okay” I breathed. I was glad I didn’t tell Pope about the discovery that JJ and I found. “I understand that. We’re all coping in different ways. I shouldn’t have jumped onto you as I did either. We all process differently.” I sent her a small smile. While I forgave her, I found it harder to want to open up to her. In the past, I might have come to her with boy issues or even the encounter with Rafe right away.

“Y/N is this a handprint around your throat,” Kie said, staring deep into my eyes. I felt tears start to fill in my eyes. The pain in my cheek started to finally hurt, I could feel it throbbing. I quickly looked down. Kie moved my head looking up so that she could apply the same cream to the red mark on my neck. I heard a commotion outside the door, quickly moving to look at the door. “Probably just someone dropping something in the kitchen.” She smiled softly at me. I looked down at the floor as she capped the cream on the floor. “So are you gonna tell me what happened, who beat you up like this?” Kie asked, her voice dripping with worry.

“You know, I’d really like to know who I have to kill?” JJ said entering the room. He took a quick glance over me. He practically pushed Kie out of the way to wrap his arms around me. I hooked my chin over his shoulder to see Pope in the doorway to the office. I wrapped my arms around his neck. His hug was tight and protective. “JJ. Thank you, but if you don’t let go so I can breathe you might kill me.” I laughed at my joke.

“How are you joking right now?” He pulled back and put his hands on either of my shoulders.

“I’m fine J. Really. See?” I moved my legs on either side of him and wiggled my arms.

He scrunched his eyebrows looking at me. I could see the hurt in his eyes and I smiled, feeling the tears coming back to the forefront of my eyes. JJ moved his thumb to carefully trace the cut in my cheek with his thumb, letting his finger trace down my jaw to the darkening handprint on my throat. I heard him take in a deep breath as he saw it. “Y/N Cut the shit. Who did this?” He asked. I could see the anger growing behind his words. Kie came up beside me with Pope following behind her.

“Seriously, you can tell us?” She said. I could see the pity in her eyes. That is what I didn’t want, pity from any of them.

I looked back at JJ. and hung my head low. “I went to the country club, that’s where Pope found me, to try and get my job back. I worked there every summer, and I know I would need the money.” I started, JJ’s eyes met mine. He was focused on everything that I was saying. “And Mr. Jones had me step out and wait while he scanned in paperwork or whatever. And I ran into someone there, who wasn’t happy that I was back.”

“Obviously. Who was it Y/N?” JJ asked. He wasn’t being pushy, he just wanted to help.

“It was Rafe,” I said, swallowing after the name left my mouth.

JJ turned away from me. He ran his hands through his hair, I heard his breathing pick up. I saw Kie and Pope’s faces look just the same. “I am gonna kill him. What can’t he get away with?” JJ was seething.

“No, I provoked him. He came up to me and started talking about how JB killed Peterkin, and I snapped. I told him I knew that he did it, he killed her. He tried to shut me up, obviously, until Mr. Jones came out and he left. I didn’t get my job back, but are we surprised?” I let out a cynical laugh.

“Hey hey” JJ walked back up to me. I could feel the anger radiating off of him, but his composure seemed calmer. He was so close. He was standing between my legs. My thoughts going back to the conversation we had last night. He put his hand on my chin forcing me to look up at him. “You did not provoke him, Y/N. He’s a murder, who’s walking free. You did the right thing calling him out. Don’t think for a second that this was your fault, alright?”

“Alright.”

Masterlist

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natsumiheart · 5 years ago

Text

A rant talking about and defending Saihara Shuichi from haters for like an hour for his birthday.

(Warning: This post is long, again.)

Over the last (two-three???) years after DRV3 has been released I actually came across Shuichi haters here and there, and I have seen their arguments as to why they think he sucks, why he should’ve died, why Kaede should’ve survived instead, etc. Making full on posts on amino, or just scribbling his face on drawings of him and reposting the edited art on instagram. (Don’t do that to anyone’s art that’s disrespectful as hell, disgusting.)

So after I’ve seen all that, I’m going to explode and defend Shuichi right here on his birthday. I rant a lot so it’s not really new or anything so! Enjoy?

> “Shuichi doesn’t deserve to be a detective, he’s so dumb and afraid of the truth.”

Shuichi IS afraid of the truth, but he’s smart as hell. Let’s discuss something, would you, in all honesty, want Shuichi to be exactly like Kirigiri? Because most of the people who believe Shuichi is actually not smart had these expectations for him.

First off, that would be very unoriginal and unlike the writing in danganronpa. What I like about the games is how every character is written, they are all so different and unique. Just because Shuichi is the ultimate detective doesn’t mean he is going to be Kirigiri level or act like her, same as Nagito and Naegi who have the same talent and yet are so different.

The second point is that Shuichi’s specialty was doing small cases for his uncle so that he can focus on important things, which basically included finding lost pets and infidelity cases (catching cheaters). He solved only ONE murder case, he isn’t at Kirigiri’s level who may I remind you was born in a family full of detectives and had undergone strict training by her grandfather Fuhito who wanted her to be a detective no matter what. They are two different characters with completely different backgrounds, personalities, and mentalities, so they shouldn’t be compared for having the same talent.

Third thing, Shuichi ended danganronpa. He’s not stupid, he figured out Tsumugi was getting them into a trap with the hope and despair options and exposed her for wanting them to choose hope so danganronpa continues. He also figured out that Kaede’s plan to kill the mastermind failed as soon as he found a shotput ball in a trashcan. He is an actual detective, just went through shit making him afraid of the truth (which I’ll discuss next.)

People who say Shuichi doesn’t deserve to be a detective should be legally not allowed to have ice cream, no cookies and cream flavor, no oreo flavor, nothing is allowed. (I’m jk ahahaha… maybe-)

> “Shuichi is weak.”

Shuichi didn’t have enough self-confidence in himself at first, but there’s a huge reason for it. It’s the same reason why he started being afraid of the truth. Because every single time he tried doing the right thing, life came back and bit him.

He solved a murder case, turns out the killer was taking revenge for his family. He told Kaede about the possibility of a traitor, she ended up using their plan to try and kill the mastermind and was executed for killing Rantaro. He solved Miu’s case and Gonta was executed, Kaito literally stopped talking to him when all he was trying to do is keep them alive.

His parents also neglected him as a kid, probably making him think the problem is with him until he started being bitter towards them instead. These situations and the way Shuichi was raised led to him having self-confidence issues, always doubting what he was doing, if it was the right thing, and if he deserved to be a detective. (and I don’t think he should be blamed for feeling this way, heck.)

But in the end Shuichi had to believe in himself and all his feelings and deductions to end danganronpa in chapter 6. If anything, in my opinion, Shuichi is one of the strongest characters in DR for dealing with so much, he’s no longer “weak” by the end of the game but I don’t think he was in the first place.

TLDR; he’s not weak, just went through a lot and probably suffers from anxiety rip.

> “Shuichi is also extremely physically weak, a noodle, a twink, etc.”

Shuichi is in fact not weak, he is shown to be able to do up to 50 pushups a day. I can barely do one (yes the real noodle was actually me all along) He may not be the strongest man alive, but he’s not that lacking in physical strength. At some point even during the training with Maki and Kaito he reaches 50, then Kaito says he lost count and makes him start over.

If you check the caged child scene, he lifted the cage with Kokichi (Who was saying he shouldn’t have lied about being strong because it was really heavy.) So he can at least lift up a cage too.

> “Shuichi’s real self is some murder obsessed psychopath that assaults others.”

That was never confirmed by the game, it is just a fanon version of pregame Shuichi that some fans believe in. We never know if those tapes that Tsumugi showed were real or not, since the pre-memories Shuichi that we saw in the beginning of the game was more of a nervous and scared boy who said he was kidnapped (Also Kaede had to yell at to calm down, which is a notable difference to her reaction when he did the same thing the second time they got out of the lockers.)

I believe those characters we saw in the beginning were their pregame selves, Kaede wasn’t as nice and had lost her faith in humanity (but she probably knew what DR is because she was trying to ask, and didn’t exactly look happy about it), Rantaro suspected what was going on because he experienced the same thing before, and Shuichi was confused and most probably scared (I have a feeling he’d know what’s going on if he really is a huge fan of DR). The reason Tsumugi got the idea of “a weak detective that gets more confident” is because of his pregame personality. So pregame Shuichi is actually way less confident than his ingame self and it shows mostly in chapter 6.

But that’s just how I view it, take of it as you will. In the end pregame Shuichi and Ingame Shuichi are two different characters, just like pregame Kaede and ingame Kaede. So even if pregame Shuichi was like that I don’t think his ingame character should be held accountable for it. (and like I said, that's just a fanon version of him, not confirmed. You can’t even tell from the tapes if he assaults people like everyone claims he does.)

> “Kaede should’ve survived instead, she’s a way better protagonist!”

Now this is a controversial topic in the fandom, I think. Because some people love Shuichi more than Kaede and vice versa. I think people can love Shuichi but also want Kaede to be the protagonist, So I’m not going to touch on the topic of whether our favorite pianist could be a good main character or not. (We only experienced a chapter with her, we can’t tell what would’ve happened if Shuichi died instead and we continued the story with her so we can compare who is a “better” protagonist.)

But I’ll explain why Kaede HAD to die.

Kaede didn’t die for Shuichi’s development, she died because she was practically a perfect character. People suspected her dying before the game even came out! She had an actual talent, she was positive as hell, she tried uniting everyone as best as she could, she was confident and sometimes even bossy. Those were all warning flags to the fandom.

But thing is, Kaede isn’t perfect, paranoia got to her too and because she wanted to save everyone so bad she tried to kill the mastermind and died thinking she killed someone. I personally love how everything played out (except for the part where it turns out she didn’t kill anyone anyway, but I can see the appeal of the plot twist) but that’s just my opinion.

Point is, Kaede didn’t die for Shuichi to become the protagonist, there was a reason everyone suspected she’d die before the game came out and before they knew the role would go to Shuichi instead.

Also a lot of people tend to forget that Shuichi was the one who ended danganronpa. I’m not sure Kaede would’ve been able to because she probably would agree with Kiibo and chose hope, she’s not a detective after all.

Now onto the smaller arguments that I saw

> “His design is boring”

Let me see you make a better one 👀

I’m just kidding don’t kill me, but I’m pretty sure the thousands of fanarts of him prove that a lot do not agree with that point. (Me included, he is pretty boi.)

> “Playing as him sucks because he cries a lot.”

Are people are not allowed to have feelings now? The portrayal of his feelings is what made him my favorite DR protagonist, so saying you hate him for crying a lot makes it obvious that you’re either grasping at straws for reasons to hate him, or you seriously lack empathy... I don’t even think he whined / cried as much as the haters claim he does.

> “He stands in the way of my ship!”

…. Wow, I’m actually at a loss of words. I only have one advice if you hate a character for standing in the way of your ship: grow up. It’s good for your emotional health I promise.

#rant #shuichi saihara #danganronpa #drv3 #ndrv3 #New Danganronpa V3 #oof thats all i remember for now #my sideblog is gonna be filled with shuichi fanart reblogs soon #youve been warned 😂#i think writing this took more than an hour PPFPFF #sorry for the sprinkled salt im seriously done with some people 😂#i think its totally alright to dislike a character its your opinion #but dont shove it down people's throats with shitty arguments like these #everytime someone calls shuichi weak infront of me #my nonexistent faith in humanity dies even more

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sevysnep · 5 years ago

Text

Severus Snape x Female Reader

By request of @beebofrank13

This is my first fic ever! Sorry if there is any mess ups or grammatical errors.

I hope you all like it!!

(Y/N) = your name / (Y/L/N) = your last name

(F/N) = friend name

(Y/H) = your house

(Y/O/N) = your owl name

Seventh year student, (Y/N) (Y/L/N), had been quietly reading in the (Y/H) common room while listening to the dying crackle in the fireplace until (Y/O/N) had came and landed onto the back of the couch she was laying down on. (Y/O/N) dropped a letter onto the arm of the couch that her head had been laying on before she got up to check the letter. (Y/N) grabbed the letter and opened it as quickly as possible seeing that it was from her best friend, (F/N), who goes to a muggle school back where (Y/N) grew up. (Y/N) opened the letter and read it with a smile until she couldn’t smile any longer.

(Y/N), I know you haven’t heard from me in a long time and I’m sorry for not writing you sooner. Its just tough keeping up with everything going on at home and at school lately that I forget a majority of the time. Anyway, I have some bad news that I wish I didn’t have to be telling you right now.... well here goes nothing.... my parents told me that I can no longer be your friend. They banned me from writing letters, calling you when you go into London, seeing you when you are on breaks, or anything for that matter. They said you were dangerous and could hurt me if you ever got mad at me because of your wand and the knowledge you know that the muggle communities don’t. I hope you know that I want absolutely no part of this and I haven’t stopped crying during the day and especially while writing this. I’m so sorry that I have to do this and I will fight them everyday until i’m finally old enough to make my own decisions and talk to whoever I want. So this will be my last letter for a long while and I’m so sorry. I love you (Y/N). Please don’t forget that or me. Love, (F/N)

The first thing (Y/N) thought to do was run and keeping running until she felt far enough away from their problem. So she did. She ran and ran until she was down in the dungeons crying in the darkest corner they could find. So many thoughts had been streaming through her mind that she didn’t hear how loud she was crying and it had seemed to invite some company that may not have been wanted at that time.

“Ms. (Y/L/N), what do you think you are doing out of your dormitory after hours?”

(Y/N) didn’t even have to look up at the mystery person because she could recognize that dark and silky voice from anywhere. She let out a huge sigh of sadness and irritation before looking up and meeting the deep onyx eyes of none other than the Slytherin head of house and the most feared professor in Hogwarts. Professor Severus Snape. (Y/N) felt a little bit of comfort knowing that Snape had found her there instead of another teacher, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t scared to be around him. She wasn’t scared for the reasons of him being cruel, but for the reason that she had come to grown feelings for the professor. (Y/N) had excelled in potions since her third year so in her fifth, Snape had asked her to come to after class lessons to learn some more advanced potions and to help him keep his classroom as clean as it could be. She was reluctant at first because of his notable reputation and actions towards other students, but decided to accept because it could help her in the future and would give her more time to do something she loved. Over the two years that they have shared together, Snape has always kept up his cold and hard barrier even in a private setting, but (Y/N) had come to appreciate him for his potion making skills, intelligence, and his remarkably handsome looks that no one else ever seemed to notice. So to have Snape be the one to find her, was a little intimidating and had her heart pounding harder than it was before.

“I am sorry professor, I just received some very upsetting news and my body took over and started to run. I just found a dark place and started to let everything out,” (Y/N) said with a cracking voice while looking at her professor and waiting to see if his scowl ever went away which it didn’t. “What is so upsetting that made you feel entitled to break school rules?” Snape said with a raised eyebrow to show he was very serious about his question and conviction towards her. (Y/N) didn’t like how her professor had no sense of empathy towards anyone and that was always one thing about him that seem to really get her mad. “Well if you must know professor, I don’t think I am entitled or better than anyone else for that matter which I know you are probably thinking as well. I just got a letter from my best friend back home and she told me she couldn’t talk to me again. Her parents have banned her from having any type of communication from me because they said I was...” (Y/N) had to stop talking to take a deep breath before continuing because she didn't want to start crying and seem more like a child than she knew she already seemed. “Her parents said I was dangerous and I think that they think I am going to hurt (F/N) which I would never do. So there professor, there is my bad news that you probably think is so unproblematic that you can’t understand why I would cry and better yet, run to where I could,” (Y/N) said basically spitting venom saying the last part of her statement. She was staring at him before she dropped her gaze and just stared at the ground with clenched fists and tears in her eyes.

“Ms. (Y/L/N), you will not speak to me in the way ever again or you will be serving detention with me for the rest of your last year at Hogwarts and I’m sure you wouldn’t enjoy that now would you?” Snape said with a sternness in his voice that you could tell he wasn’t joking around about it, as if he ever would. (Y/N) had never felt worse about herself for acting like that and disrespecting the professor she cares about the most. Through a cracking voice she was able to respond with a simple “Yes sir,” before she had tears spilling onto her cheeks. She got up off the ground and turned to walk away from the looming professor. (Y/N) wasn’t too far away from the professor when he called to her with his dark voice.

“Ms. (Y/L/N) stop walking and come back here. You can’t just walk away from your superiors,” Snape said with power, but never once did he raise his voice. (Y/N) stop walking, but she didn’t turn around or walk back to him. She stayed facing the way she was walking and didn’t plan doing anything besides that. “Ms. (Y/L/N) do as you’re told and come back so we can finish this conversation,” Snape said once again obviously not letting his guard down. (Y/N) didn’t move out of fear and anger. She was crying because she hasn't been talked to like this by him in so long which scared her because she didn’t know if he wouldn’t let her study with him anymore or tell Professor Dumbledore that she was out of bed after hours. Yes, she was scared, but her anger was keeping her feet glued to the floor. She hated when he made her seem much worse than she is or the situation worse so she didn’t want to see him and definitely not speak to him anymore. She continued to ignore him and his calls to her until he said something that has never made her heart pound so hard.

“(Y/N), turn around right now and come to me or I will make you do it.” Professor Snape said with such anger in his voice. (Y/N) didn’t know whether she should be scared by his tone or doe eyed from the use of her first name, but she knew to do one thing. She turned around to look at him with dried tears on her cheeks and fresh ones about to spill over. “Professor, I am sorry for leaving my room and the attitude. You can yell at me, give me detention, or tell Professor Dumbledore, but please don’t stop our lessons. They are the only thing that get me through my usual terrible days. I enjoy potions to lose it all. I’m sorry prof..” “(Y/N) stop it. Now. Just come back and talk to me before I make any decision of the sort,” the angry professor said after cutting (Y/N) off from finishing her sad ramble. She started walking back towards her professor and when she reached him, she looked at the floor and didn’t say anything. “Look at me. I know you aren’t afraid of me,” Snape said while looking down at her waiting for a response. (Y/N) looked up and her professor and almost started crying again when she could see the disappointment in his dark eyes. “Sir, why did you call me back just to belittle me? Your eyes say it all,” she wanted to slap herself for saying that out loud because she basically just told him that she has looked and studied him enough to know his moods by looking into his gloomy eyes. “I didn’t call you back to “belittle” or be rude to you. I told you to come back so I could tell you that you need to talk to her no matter what her parents say. I know that I am your teacher and I should be telling you to defy superior’s rules, but I know how difficult it is to lose a friend,” Snape said and (Y/N) could tell that he was getting upset and she wanted nothing more than to give him a hug even though he wasn’t capable of emotions. “Professor, you don’t have to tell anything personal if you do not feel comfortable about it,” she stated truly feeling bad for the man she cares about it. “(Y/N) please stop talking and listen to me.” “Yes sir,” she replied as he continued his story.

“When I was going to school at Hogwarts, I was never the liked kid in school and It didn’t help that I was a Slytherin and everything thinks that we are all terrible people and destined to become Death Eaters. I had one friend and she was always loyal to me and would stand up to people who would belittle me. One day, people had been saying things to be and for some reason I snapped. I lost her and I had been too afraid to apologize to her and she died before I ever could. Go talk to your friend and never let her go because you never know when either of your last days will be.” Professor Snape looked at the ground with clenched fists as well as anger and sorrow in his eyes. (Y/N) didn’t know what came over her, but she reached out and grabbed his hand. She expected him to pull away and yell at her for even think about touching him, but he didn’t. He flinched a little bit, but relaxed under her touched and gave a small squeeze back to hers. “Professor I am so sorry for what you had to go through. No one should ever go through that especially someone like you,” (Y/N) said with all of this newly found courage. “Thank you for the advice and I will go right back to my dormitory and send her an owl telling her I feel about all of it. Thank you so much professor,” (Y/N) said as she gave one last squeeze to his hand and started to walk quickly back to her dormitory. “(Y/N), always tell everyone the truth of how you feel and from now on, call me Severus in private. I think we see each other to be on a first name basis,” Snape said and he turned around the head back to his quarters. “Thank you again and goodnight... Severus,” (Y/N) called back to him and watched him walk away in to the shadows where he always tends to lurk before she headed back to write the letter back to an important person she can’t stand to lose.

#severussnape #severus #snape #snep #sev #female #professor #Harry Potter #hogwarts #slytherin #ravenclaw #hufflepuff #gryfindor #gryffindor #severus snape x reader #professorsnape #alanrickman

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wordssometimesfail · 6 years ago

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Textual Reddie & Queer!Eddie: A Masterpost

So I’ve been planning on doing something like this for a while, but it had fallen to the wayside until @skinks and I started talking about Reddie again, and my weak little heart was rekindled.

Speaking of reKINDLEd (ehh? Ehhhhh?), my Kindle copy of IT is full of highlighted textual support of unresolved Reddie feelings, and a queer reading of Eddie specifically. And lo, a disjointed essay-type meta was birthed. This fucker’s about to get long, so if you’re interested, dive on under the cut – but be forewarned, there are massive spoilers for the book and (probably) Chapter 2 below!

(Seriously, cannot emphasize the MASSIVE SPOILERS enough. If you don’t know what happens and you don’t want to be spoiled, don’t read this.)

As a very general disclaimer, I am not going to be including everything that I highlighted. There is a fuckton, including a lot of small moments of Richie and Eddie interacting that don’t showcase anything other than their closeness. I’ll be paring it down here to moments that prove a larger theme, and some standout cuteness. With that said, IT is a 1,300-page behemoth, and it’s definitely possible that I skipped over something. If you know of anything significant that I missed, feel free to reblog with additions.

Note: I will be using terrible, half-assed MLA citations for this. Pagination is from my Kindle copy of the novel. All quotes will be italicized to help differentiate them visually from my points (if something was italicized in the original text, it’ll be unitalicized here). Unless otherwise stated, all bolded emphasis is mine. “--” will be used in place of em-dashes, “/” will be used to denote paragraph breaks.

PART I – ASTHMA

“When Eddie’s nervous he reaches for his aspirator.” (King 372)

It doesn’t get much more explicit than this. We’re told in no uncertain terms that Eddie’s psychosomatic asthma is rooted in nervousness, in things that make him scared and uncomfortable. The trigger for this particular explanation is being overwhelmed by the age and significance of Boston, but in an earlier scene:

“These shoes no longer looked just right... but he supposed they would do for where he was going. And for whatever he might have to do when he got there. Maybe Richie Tozier would-- / But then the blackness threatened and he felt his throat beginning to close up.” (King 112)

This is Eddie’s first on-page asthma attack. It hits him the first time we see him as an adult, having just received his call from Mike to return to Derry. And yet it’s the thought of Richie, not It or Derry, that makes Eddie nervous enough to need his aspirator. Notably, the thought goes unfinished. We don’t know, nor do we ever find out in explicit terms, what Eddie thought Richie Tozier would.

Of course, asthma is the most prominent symptom of Eddie’s hypochondria, so the attacks crop up often in the text. The most interesting of these attacks for our purposes (other than Eddie becoming nervous at the thought of Richie) is the following:

“‘The first of the ‘new murders’ [...] began on the Main Street Bridge and ended underneath it. The victim was a gay and rather childlike man named Adrian Mellon. He had a bad case of asthma.’ / Eddie’s hand stole out and touched the side of his aspirator.” (King 646)

Mike (speaking) tells the gang about the death of Adrian Mellon, and takes care to note three things about him: he was gay, he was childlike, and he had asthma. The connection between Eddie and Adrian is drawn quickly and obviously as Eddie reaches for his aspirator, seemingly out of reflex - but what we can also infer here is that this is making Eddie nervous. He could be nervous because a man with asthma was just killed by It, and he, too, is a man with asthma. He could also be nervous because the parallel that Mike and the prose have none-too-subtly drawn between Eddie and Adrian implies that they have more in common than a respiratory problem. But what?

PART II – EDDIE/ADRIAN

“[The other Losers] are being called--I know that much. Each murder in this new cycle has been a call.” (King 1116)

Mike writes this in the fourth interlude, referring to the way that It’s murders 27 years later all seem to be calling out to the Losers’ Club. By drawing a parallel between Eddie and Adrian through their asthma, King leads us to believe that Adrian’s murder specifically called to Eddie. He also leads us to consider how else they might be linked.

Adrian is virtually Eddie’s opposite. He’s out and proud and in a loving, unstrained relationship. He flirts openly with other men, teases his aggressors, and, to contrast with the neurotic and nervous Eddie:

“‘He didn’t have much in the way of protective coloration. He was one of those fools who think things really are going to turn out all right.’” (King 27)

His openness, however, is what gets him killed. While being harassed by some homophobes, Adrian teases and antagonizes them, and the next time they see him they assault him and unwittingly gift him, half-dead, to Pennywise.

It especially kills me that Adrian’s asthma is not significantly mentioned in his chapter. He makes a comment to his boyfriend that the “air’s better” (King 36) in Derry, which could imply that he has had less problems since he moved there, but the word “asthma” is never used. It’s not relevant to his story, and it’s not brought up until King has to draw a parallel between Adrian and Eddie. Because it’s not relevant to Adrian’s story, the connection that King draws between them feels almost half-assed and weak, until one considers their contrasting personalities and contrasting happinesses in their respective relationships. Along that same line of thinking, the implications of having Eddie directly paralleled by a gay man killed for being gay cast a suspicious light on Eddie’s presumed straightness.

If we accept that Eddie and Adrian are linked, that Adrian’s murder was a specific call to Eddie, then it goes without saying that there is a strong implication here that Eddie is closeted. He is being contrasted with an out gay man who fears no consequence for being out in a small, violent, hateful town. Eddie’s neuroses and fixation on his psychosomatic asthma are contrasted with a man who hadn’t a care in the world - not even his (presumably) real physical condition. The fear and self-hate that dogged Eddie his whole life never bothered Adrian Mellon, until it killed him.

If we accept that Eddie and Adrian are linked, and what that implies, then we can infer that Adrian is what Eddie could have been, were he happy, open, and out - and what happens to Adrian is the exact kind of thing that may have kept poor, terrified Eddie in the closet.

PART III – SEX, QUEERNESS, AND SELF-LOATHING

So, I think we all remember the leper scene--creepy in the 2017 movie, even creepier in the novel. One notable book-only detail is that the leper “[offers] to give Eddie a blowjob for a quarter” (King 400) in addition to chasing him around and being generally disgusting.

“Come back here, kid, the hoarse voice whispered. I’ll blow you for free. Come back here! / No, Eddie moaned at it. Please, go away, I don’t want to think about that.” (King 394)

Eddie is immediately terrified by the mere thought of getting a blowjob, of being touched by someone diseased, of being touched by a man. He doesn’t even want to think about it... and then the question becomes, does he not want to think about sex with the leper, or sex at all? Regardless, it seems pretty normal for an eleven-year-old boy to be scared of a blowjob from a strange adult with open sores on his face. But there is, of course, more to unpack here.

Another difference between book and film comes when Eddie recounts the tale to Richie and Bill...:

“‘He didn’t have leprosy, you dummy,’ Richie said. “He had [syphilis].’ / […] / ‘It’s a disease you get from fucking,’ Richie said. ‘You know about fucking, don’t you, Eds?’ / ‘Sure,’ Eddie said. He hoped he wasn’t blushing.” (King 400)

All of a sudden Eddie isn’t just afraid of disease, but of a sexually transmitted disease. Pennywise’s angle on Eddie is a big fuck-off combo of decay and sex--specifically gay sex. Not only is the “leper” a man offering him sexual favours, but Bill is quick to point out that men can get syphilis from “another g-g-guy if they’re kwuh-kwuh-queer" (King 402). Queerness and gay sex are therefore lumped in with Eddie’s fear of the “leper” from word go.

Since he’s a pre-pubescent child (in that same scene, Eddie recalls trying to masturbate and nothing happening), Eddie’s disinterest in and general apprehension towards sex makes sense without bringing the element of internalized homophobia into the mix. But this is my post, I can do what I want, and Stephen King already brought it into the mix for me.

Eddie is frightened by the thought of queer sex at another notable point in the novel as well, when he recalls a vignette from his and the Losers’ past:

“Patrick Hockstetter was down [in the Barrens]. Before It took him Beverly saw him doing something bad. It made her laugh but she knew it was bad. Something to do with Henry Bowers, wasn’t it? Yes, I think so. And-- / [Eddie] turned away suddenly and started back toward the abandoned depot, not wanting to look down into the Barrens anymore, not liking the thoughts they conjured up. He wanted to be home with Myra.” (King 720)

Myra, for those who haven’t read the novel, is Eddie’s wife. If you’re one of those people (or even if you haven’t read it in a while), you might also be wondering what exactly Patrick Hockstetter did to Henry Bowers in the Barrens that made Eddie balk and suddenly crave his wife’s company. Well, my friends, Patrick tried to give Henry Bowers a blowjob. Eddie has to turn away from the mere thought of two men (well, boys) engaging in a sex act. He has to return to his wife, the implication here being that she is there to shield him from queerness, from queer sex.

And the scene between Patrick and Henry, which we do see later from Bev’s point of view, is extremely telling as to why Eddie has to turn away. Henry gets violent and angry when Patrick propositions him, just like Adrian Mellon’s assailants got violent and angry, just like Eddie’s own mother gets defensive and cruel at the thought of a pair of (unconfirmed) gay men in their town with a nicer house than hers:

“‘Any two men who bother keeping a house so nice must be queers,’ Eddie’s mother had once said in a disgruntled sort of way, and Eddie hadn’t dared ask for clarification.” (King 712)

Eddie here is afraid to even question the root of his mother’s assumptions, or the very fact of her prejudice. Questioning, experimentation, being openly anything other than straight in Derry only earns you bile and violence from the rest of the town, and Eddie knows this. Why would anyone come out? How could they? Isn’t it better to just turn away and leave the thought unfinished?

And it is explicit that Eddie feels somehow wrong and incomplete, in addition to his general aversion to all things queer and sexual. At one point, compounding himself and the homeless “leper”, Eddie has an internal monologue that ends as follows:

“I got me a disease that’s eating me up. My skin’s cracking open, my teeth are falling out, and you know what? I can feel myself turning bad like an apple that’s going soft. I can feel it happening, eating from the inside to the out, eating, eating, eating me.” (King 405)

By conflating himself with the “leper”, Eddie makes the disease his own. He makes his fear of the “leper” falling apart a fear he has about himself. He fears something within himself, something rotten, turning him “bad” - bad like offering a blowjob to Henry Bowers in the Barrens. It’s a literal fear of disease, to be sure, but that sense of being rotten to the core, being bad on the inside in a way you cannot change, also feels like an apt metaphor for internalized homophobia in light of the subtextual queerness of the rest of Eddie’s fear. And especially in light of another scene in which he feels inferior, rotten, wrong:

“Simply reaching for the cubes of bread [at communion] became an act which required courage, and he always feared an electrical shock... or worse, that the bread would suddenly change color in his hand, become a blood-clot, and a disembodied Voice would begin to thunder in the church: Not worthy! Not worthy! Damned to Hell! Damned to Hell!” (King 1247)

We will absolutely come back to the fact that Eddie uses Voice with a capital V, but for now let’s focus on the rest of the scene. Eddie’s fear of being damned and unworthy is rooted in a story his Sunday School teacher told him, about a boy who blasphemed. Even as a small child, he has anxiety about his existence or behaviour cursing him – making him diseased, or turning bread into blood. And, of course, for the purposes of this reading, we can’t ignore the fact that queerness and American Christianity don’t typically go hand-in-hand. This compounded with the suggestion that he is rotten from the inside out suggests that Eddie has some reason to think he has blasphemed – and his persistent association with queerness suggests that this reason may be the knowledge or suspicion that he isn’t straight.

Eddie’s worries even follow him into adulthood:

“Get off it, Eds, Richie’s voice seemed to whisper. You ain’t solid at all […].” (King 715)

I included this quote because it reinforces my point about Eddie not feeling whole or right within himself. It’s not quite time for the Reddie part of this meta, but I would be remiss if I didn’t point out that Richie is nowhere in this scene and has absolutely nothing to do with it, and still it’s his voice that voices Eddie’s subconscious fears about not being “solid”. Again, I will be going into this in more detail later. First, there’s one more element of this queer reading of Eddie that needs to be tackled.

PART IV – THIS ONE QUOTE GETS TO BE ITS OWN PART BECAUSE MY GOD

Most of you are probably familiar with Anthony Perkins, even if you don’t know you are – if you’ve ever been exposed to Psycho, either by watching it or through pop-cultural osmosis, you'll know him as Norman Bates. You also may or may not know that he was famously closeted. He reportedly only had relationships with men until he met and married Berinthia Berenson in his early 40s, and never came out during his lifetime. (Obviously one’s sexual history doesn’t necessarily determine one’s sexuality, but most sources I can find suggest that he was gay, not bisexual.)

Now, if you read Eddie Kaspbrak as gay, this may sound somewhat familiar. Married a woman, never came out, horror icon, it’s all there. But why do I bring it up? Well, because of this:

“Eddie--it was weird but true--had grown up to look quite a little bit like Anthony Perkins.” (King 628)

On its own, it’s a seemingly innocuous, if oddly specific, pop-cultural reference. Nothing to write home about. Compounded with everything else we know about Eddie, and everything else I’ve covered above? It’s telling as balls. King could have simply described Eddie, as he does immediately after this line, but he takes the time to compare a character repeatedly associated with queerness and sexual repression to a closeted gay man who eventually married a woman.

(Note: admittedly, IT would’ve been written in the early-mid 80s, at which point Perkins was not officially known to be gay, but according to my father there were plenty of rumours. He was, additionally, known as a repressed, shy “mama’s boy” who was made nervous by female attention. Sound like anyone else we know?)

PART V – REDDIE

And now for the main event.

If I unpack every individual piece of Reddie goodness to the degree that I’ve unpacked Eddie himself, we’ll be here for another 2,500 words. So, I’m only going to hit three major points:

PART VA – CLOSENESS

Richie is all over Eddie. He frequently pinches Eddie’s cheeks, calls him cute, and is all-around physically and verbally affectionate with him. Some notable examples:

“Richie […] pinched Eddie’s cheek. / ‘Don’t do that! I hate it when you do that, Richie.’ / ‘Ah, you love it, Eds,’ Richie said, and beamed at him.” (King 384-85)

This is their first on-page interaction, mind you. This moment sets the stage for the rest of their relationship.

“Richie jumped to his feet a second time and pinched Eddie’s cheek. ‘Cute, cute, cute!’ Richie exclaimed.” (King 390)

“‘[My aunts] all pinch my cheek and tell me how much I’ve grown,’ Eddie said. / ‘That’s cause they know how cute you are, Eds--just like me. I saw what a cutie you were the first time I met you.’” (King 446-47)

Listen. Do you think I’ll ever get over this? Do you think I can move on, knowing that this exists? Richie teases everyone, but he only ever uses “cute” for Eddie.

“‘Take it easy, Eds,’ Richie soothed, and leaned toward him. / ‘Don’t call me Eds and don’t you dare pinch my cheek!’ [Eddie] cried, rounding on Richie. ‘You know I hate that! I always hated it!’ / Richie recoiled, blinking.” (King 668)

This scene takes place when they’re adults, and I love it for a number of reasons – the easy return to form for both of them, Richie genuinely trying to comfort Eddie, and Richie’s surprise at being snapped at. My heart goes out to the man.

“‘I hate it when you call me Eds.’ / ‘I know,’ Richie said, hugging him tightly, ‘but somebody has to toughen you up, Eds. When you stop leading the sheltered igs-zistence of a child and grow up, you gonna, Ah say, Ah say you gonna find out life ain’t always this easy, boy!’ / Eddie began to shriek with laughter.” (King 1334)

There are quite a few scenes where they make each other laugh, but this one is my personal favourite.

And the cherry on top:

“[Richie] slapped Eddie’s can.” (King 1322)

The context of this is less than shippy (they’re squeezing through a tight passageway, Richie is behind Eddie and needs him to move forward), but there are few ships that can say that party A has canonically smacked party B’s ass, and I think we should appreciate that more as a fandom.

There’s also a strong element of protectiveness – Richie is very protective of Eddie in a way that Eddie’s mother isn’t. He genuinely pays attention to Eddie’s needs and tries to do right by him:

“It was Richie and Bev who went to Eddie. […] Richie dug his aspirator out of his pocket. ‘Bite on this, Eddie,’ he said, and Eddie took a hitching, gasping breath as Richie pulled the trigger.” (King 903)

“Richie heard Eddie cough twice […] and then fall silent again. He shouldn’t be down here, he thought […].” (King 968)

“...Eddie [agreed to follow Bill into the sewers] last. / ‘I don’t think so, Eddie,’ Richie said. ‘Your arm’s not, you know, looking too cool.’” (King 1251)

“Richie turned Bill toward him, looked at him as you would look at a man who is hopelessly raving. ‘Bill, we have to take care of Eddie. We have to get a tourniquet on him, get him out of here.’” (King 1396)

Hey fun fact? Fun fucking fact, Eddie’s already dead in this scene and Richie knows that.

On a cheerier note, and to add one last dimension to Eddie and Richie’s closeness, Richie is the only person with whom we see Eddie intentionally swapping spit/germs (outside of ritualistic bloodletting). Not only does Richie use Eddie’s aspirator at one point, but there’s also this scene:

“‘I can carry [the Parcheesi board],’ Eddie said, a little out of breath. ‘How about a lick on your Rocket?’ / ‘Your mom wouldn’t approve, Eddie,’ Richie said sadly. […] ‘[…] Ah say you kin get germs eatin after someone else!’ / ‘I’ll chance it,’ Eddie said. / Reluctantly, Richie held his Rocket up to Eddie’s mouth... and snatched it away quickly as soon as Eddie had gotten in a couple of moderately serious licks.” (King 1243)

The obvious humour of this scene aside (poor Richie, having to share), the fact that hypochondriac Mama’s boy Eddie doesn’t mind Richie’s germs in particular is both sweet and interesting. The imagery here, of Eddie licking Richie’s Rocket despite his mother’s disapproval (compounded with the pre-established association between Eddie and blowjobs) is just... interesting, to say the least. As is the fact that I totally stole this scene and reversed the roles for the sake of a fic that I would like to pimp as a reward for making it this far into this monstrosity. It has a happy ending, don’t worry.

What does all of this put together signify? Richie and Eddie are close. They clearly love each other as friends, and the almost flirtatious touching, cute-calling, teasing, protectiveness, and Rocket-licking can also all signify the beginnings of something else as well. If nothing else, it’s fun, sweet fic fodder.

PART VB – THE VOICE (WITH A CAPITAL V)

This is one of my favourite details. Eddie thinks of all the Losers from time to time, but Richie is straight-up one of the voices in his head. Richie refers to his impressions and characters as Voices with a capital V, and Very often, Eddie will think in them. He’ll hear jokes in them, Pennywise will taunt him with them, he’ll hear the very criticism and hate that he fears hurled back at him in Voices. Right from the start:

“‘Had any good chucks lately, Eds?’ [Eddie] says out loud, and laughs again.” (King 374)

As he drives to Derry, Eddie is already laughing and delighting in the thought of his friends (specifically Bill and Richie) and the way they used to be. Later in the same scene:

“‘Sure, kid, EV-ery day,’ he says in a Richie Tozier Voice, and laughs again.” (King 376)

King quickly establishes that Richie’s Voices are a source of joy for Eddie, and that Richie himself is one of the Losers that Eddie is most looking forward to seeing. Indeed, in several scenes (including one of the ones quoted above), we see Eddie laughing at or with Richie when he does his Voices, both in the present and the past. But Eddie’s love of the Voices gets twisted by his own subconscious fears – I mentioned earlier that it is a Voice with a capital V that tells Eddie that he’s damned to Hell during his imaginary blood-communion. And it’s Richie’s voice that reminds Eddie that he’s not “solid”, to cap off a scene where he literally runs away from thoughts of queerness and sex. Eddie’s fear of himself becomes conflated with the Voices in a way that suggests his fear is of Richie, of Richie’s hatred, contempt, and dismissal. He is afraid that Richie sees him as unworthy, damned, unsolid. He is afraid that Richie sees the thing that’s eating him from the inside out.

Eddie wants to be home with Myra. It’s easier to keep Richie and his Voices in his head than to risk what they would (--) do if they saw all of Eddie clearly.

PART VC – EDS & EDDIE’S DEATH

Yes, we all know and love “Eds”. We love Richie being a little shit, we love Eddie being his tsundere self, and we love that Eddie canonically has a soft spot for the nickname:

“Man, he had hated it when Richie called him Eds... but he had sort of liked it, too.” (King 374)

We also love (or hate) that “Eds” factors into Eddie and Richie’s final exchange in the novel:

“But there was something else [Eddie] had to say [before he died]. / ‘Richie,’ he whispered. / ‘What?’ Richie was down on his hands and knees, staring at him desperately. / ‘Don’t call me Eds,’ he said, and smiled. He raised his left hand slowly and touched Richie’s cheek. Richie was crying. ‘You know I... I...’ Eddie closed his eyes, thinking how to finish, and while he was still thinking it over he died.” (King 1386)

(A.k.a. the scene that nearly made me throw my Kindle across the room.)

This ties into a broader theme with Eddie that I only began noticing when I started compiling my notes for this meta – his thoughts, when connected to other men, queerness, or sex, often go unfinished. He cuts them off before they stray somewhere that makes him nervous (the thought of Richie giving him an asthma attack), before they stray anywhere at all (the memory of Patrick and Henry making him yearn for Myra, not wanting to think about blowjobs), or before they even become thoughts (not daring to question his mother’s homophobic comments). And here, when he has to say one thing before he dies, when he’s finally allowing himself to conclude a sentimental, intimate thought that he doesn’t even know how to word... he’s cut off one last time.

And we don’t know what he was going to say. We can speculate, we can infer, but we don’t know, just as we will never know what “Richie Tozier would”.

Richie Tozier seems to know, though. When he realizes they’ll have to leave Eddie’s body behind, he kisses Eddie’s cheek (just as Eddie touched his in his final moments, and in contrast to the way he used to pinch them) and...:

“Richie got up and turned toward the door. ‘Fuck you, Bitch!’ he cried suddenly, and kicked the door shut with his foot. It made a solid chukking sound as it closed and latched. / ‘Why’d you do that?’ Beverly asked. / ‘I don’t know,’ Richie said, but he knew well enough.” (King 1427)

Richie’s shutting the door on Pennywise and the sewers and the whole horrible tragedy of it all, yes. But he’s also furious with the grief of losing Eddie, and shutting the door that will now forever separate Eddie’s final resting place from the hole where he died. Bev’s question allows Richie to do just what Eddie did, too – keep it quiet, cut it off, not acknowledge what he’s avoiding or what he’s just lost. Still, he knows well enough.

PART VI – CONCLUSION

I don’t know for sure that King intended for Eddie to be closeted, but I think he did. He’s gone on the record that he believes in leaving stuff like this for the reader to figure out. There are a lot of scenes, a lot of small moments, that suggest that Eddie is gay, and while many of them make sense without that reading, the entirety of the picture they paint does not. I’m partial to Reddie, and as I’ve demonstrated above, I believe there is a lot of textual evidence to support the theory that they had feelings for each other. Eddie’s death alone, and the fact that the last thing he had to say needed to be addressed to Richie while Eddie held his face in his hands, is... a LOT. But I’ll be honest – my loyalty is to queer!Eddie on its own.

If Eddie Kaspbrak is gay, then his story is ten times more heartbreaking. It’s a story of fear, not just of the supernatural but of the very real hatred and pain he would have faced being openly gay in Derry. It’s a story of fearing that something inside of him was rotten and sick and sinful, and that one of his closest friends in the world thought so too. It’s a story of self-loathing. And it’s a story without an end, because Eddie could never let himself think of how to finish admitting what he needed to admit to himself. The truth was lost in asthma attacks, in Myra, in death. In that sense, it’s fitting that King never explicitly stated that Eddie was gay, if that was indeed his intent – it's one more thing we’ll never know for sure, because Eddie couldn’t bring himself to tell us.

THAT BEING SAID. My loyalty is to queer!Eddie. Which means that my loyalty is to making this shit better, exploring and dissecting the hell out of it, and fixing it. Give Eddie Kaspbrak the ending he deserved! Let him finish his thoughts! Take these quotes, draw inspiration from them, and let’s all cling to each other in preparation for Chapter 2.

#it stephen king #stephen king's it #reddie #eddie kaspbrak #gay eddie kaspbrak #it meta #reddie meta #Aaliya writes #I have been working on this... for a long time #please tell me what you think and what I've missed #unless what you think is that eddie isn't gay because why are you here then #why did you read this #who are you

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