#he was camp so I had to make it more camp

[cupid-styles]

campfire chronicles (camp counselorry)

in which harry and y/n are counselors at a sleepaway camp and he hates her from the very second he meets her. or, a classic enemies to lovers summer romance.

word count: 9.2k

content warnings: harry's a dick at first, minor mentions of childhood trauma and divorce, small panic attack scene, tiny mention of drowning, not proofread bc im lazy

so basically I started writing this a bit ago and planned for it to be a full series but then things got ... complicated and I haven't really had much motivation to write for harry. there won't be a part two to this but I think I wrapped it up pretty okay so there isn't a cliffhanger or anything!

I'm not sure if this will be the last fic I write on here but if it is, consider it a parting gift! thank you for all the support and love and I hope you enjoy!

masterlist

Harry Styles is the bane of Y/N’s existence.

…Okay, so maybe she’s being just a tad bit dramatic. But she has good reasoning for it — she swears! All she wanted to do was make some money this summer by working at Happy Campers, a sleepaway camp that was looking for counselors to work from early June to mid-August.

She’d initially seen the flier as she shlepped her canvases and painting supplies from the sculpture studio to the art building on the other side of campus (why it was designed that way, she’ll never know — she thinks whichever builder or contractor did it had some sort of vendetta against art students). In a big, bold black font casted against a bright, borderline neon yellow background (seriously, it kind of hurt her eyes, actually), were the answers to her summer plans: COUNSELORS NEEDED FOR HAPPY CAMPERS SLEEPAWAY CAMP! EXPERIENCE WITH KIDS IS A MUST. $15/HOUR FROM JUNE TO AUGUST. 

And yeah, maybe the only “experience” she had with children was babysitting her neighbor’s daughter when she was in high school, but that was apparently enough for Happy Campers. Because within two days of her interviewing with the owner, a sweet, older woman named Linda who’s been running the place for the past 30 years, she received word that she’d been hired. 

From the end of the semester to the beginning of camp, she had about three weeks to learn everything she could about being a solid counselor. She assumed the basics — no cursing, keep an eye on them at all times, try her best not to lose her cool if one of them was particularly bratty — but did some research on the rest.

She wasn’t sure what age group she’d be assigned to, but Linda told her she’d find that information out at training — a three day-long educational overhaul where the counselors were the only ones at camp, learning about everything from lifeguarding to CPR to mental health awareness.

Happy Campers was located only about an hour and a half from her college apartment so it made more sense for her to depart from there instead of her hometown. On the drive up in her shitty Honda Accord (a navy 2008 model she affectionately named Edith), she tried her best to calm her nerves. She thought it was silly for her to be so anxious over surrounding herself with kids all summer, and a small part of her hoped she would get assigned to an older group — 5th or 6th grades would be ideal since they were sufficient enough not to be too clingy.

As the small university city slowly melted away, tall buildings and chain restaurants were replaced by sturdy oak trees and an abundance of greenery. When her drive had officially shimmied down to just 20 minutes left, she rolled down her window and lowered her music, allowing herself to inhale the fresh air. Even at her 45 mile per hour speed (5 below the speed limit, just in case some ticket-happy police cars were hiding out somewhere), she found a spark of hope in the clean, crispy air that infiltrated the interior of her car. 

Maybe this summer was exactly what she needed.

Perhaps the warm, summer air got to Y/N’s head a bit too much. 

The second she pulls into the faculty lot at Happy Campers, she’s inundated with people everywhere. Some are hugging excitedly, greeting one another after what she assumes has been a year away, while others are pulling their hefty duffles from their trunks and throwing them in heaps on the ground. She nibbles on her bottom lip as she tries to find a parking space to pull into, her eyes twinkling some as she spots one. She flicks her right blinker on, prepared to make the turn when an older, much shitter car than hers pulls through. 

Her jaw immediately drops. Was this a joke? Some kind of first-time counselor hazing thing? Instantly, she rolls her window down and tries to get the driver’s attention, but from what she can see, he’s already busied himself with getting his things together and getting out of his car.

“Hey! Excuse me!” she calls out, waving her hands at him. When he slams his door shut and ambles in the direction of his trunk, a backpack slung on his right shoulder, she yells out louder this time, grabbing the attention of innocent bystanders. This time, she catches his attention and he furrows his eyebrows, shuffling over to Y/N’s car. 

“Yeah?” he asks, almost as if he hasn’t even realized that he completely cut her off. 

“That was my spot,” she says, pointing to where his car now resides. If she had to guess, it’s from the early 2000s — 2004 at best, she thinks. “And you took it.”

The curly haired brunette quickly turns to look at his car before whipping back around, “Was it reserved for you?”

“No, but I had my signal on and I was about to turn in—”

“Then it wasn’t your spot.” he replies, tightening his grasp around his backpack. 

“I had my signal on—”

“Yes, I heard you the first time.” he huffs, his tone bored. Y/N’s eyebrows raise at his blase demeanor. “There’s another parking lot. You’ll be fine.”

Before she has a chance to fight back, he turns on his heel to head back to his car. She watches angrily as he pulls his suitcase out with minimal effort despite the fact that it looks like it’s stuffed to the brim. When he notices her still looking at him, he shoots her an angry glare, as if to say, can I help you?

Y/N breathes out angrily through her nose as she rolls her window back up. What a dick!

Harry tries his best not to be an asshole. 

Really, he does! He thinks he does a decent job of walking around campus and attending his classes without being a complete and utter grump (although his friends do tease him about the scowl that manages to wiggle its way onto his face sometimes). He’s gotten better at participating in lecture-wide discussions without accidentally calling the previous person a stupid prick (the guy who received that one actually deserved it, after he claimed that feminism was a liberal farce in one of his gender studies classes). 

However… the one thing that triggers that crabby, ill-tempered part of him more than anything else in the world is Happy Campers. 

It’s not because he hates the place or anything of the sort. His parents didn’t send him away when he was 7, making him spend his summers in nature year after year while he yearned for the bustling city he’d been born in. It was actually the complete opposite. He’d had to beg his mum the first year he saw the posting for it in the halls of his elementary school, immediately thrilled by the promises on the yellow paper: Boating! Swimming! Archery! Campfires! Harry couldn’t think of a better way to spend the next two and a half months of his life!

At first, his parents assumed he’d let it go after a day or two. He’d never spent a weekend away from them, let alone an entire summer. And while his mum wasn’t proud of it, she knew her son lived in the shadow of his older sister. More likely than not, she’d just end up enrolling them both in the same soccer day camp like she did last summer, and the one before that. 

Much to their surprise, though, Harry wouldn’t let up about Happy Campers. Every morning when he woke up, he asked if they had made a decision yet. When he got home from school that afternoon, he brought up the exciting activities they offered, listing off fun facts he’d Googled in the computer room about the benefits of being in nature. So when May finally tottled around and Harry was still talking about this magical sleepaway camp, they realized they had no choice but to get him a spot.

His first summer there was more fun than he ever could have imagined. He met kids his age from all over the country, spent his days learning new skills and swimming in the lake, and ended the evening with spooky stories and s’mores around a fire. Soon, a pattern began: His parents would all but drag him home at the end of the summer, he’d go to school for the year, and then begin counting down the days until the next session began. For years, Happy Campers was the only place Harry wanted to be.

When he eventually aged out of being a camper, Linda approached him about coming back as a counselor next year. He was 14 at the time and completely ecstatic — really, he couldn’t have said yes quicker, especially since things at home were getting tougher. 

His parents were in the middle of an ugly separation, his sister was older and wanting nothing to do with him, and everything about school was confusing. From social status to crushes and grades, he wanted nothing more than to hide away at Happy Campers for as long as humanly possible. For each of his teenage years, he returned as a counselor, eager to forget about his home life and go back to the only things that made sense to him: Swimming in the lake, spending lengthy, sweaty days in the sun, and making sure these kids had unforgettable summers. 

When he was at camp, nothing else mattered. He escaped from breakups, family fights, bad grades, and hard life decisions, using the site as a crutch to get through to the other side. 

So it’s possible that he’s a bit… protective of his final year at Happy Campers. 

After this summer, he’ll only have one semester left as a student in his university’s political science department. From there, he already has a job lined up at a politician’s office in their communication sector. But it also means that he’ll be working full-time, ergo… no more Happy Campers.

This place is his second home. He knows it’ll be difficult saying goodbye to it, but dammit if he’s not determined to have an incredible last few months as a counselor — yeah, maybe he’s a bit careless when it comes to acknowledging the newbies, who seem helpless, clueless, and all-around confused. But he’s not there for them. He’s here for himself, and the kids.

So, fuck the weak little new girl who couldn’t even snag her own parking spot in the faculty lot. She’ll probably be heading home before the first month anyway.

“Hello counselors, and welcome to Happy Campers!”

Harry has to admit that even in her old age, Linda still has the same jolly, feel-good attitude she did the first summer he attended. 

And while he loves her — truly, he does, and he even called her up when he found out this year would be his last — he can’t help but slowly start to zone out as she launches into her annual speech about being a welcoming, safe, and (you guessed it) happy counselor. 

Harry’s been certified and trained for just about every safety precaution imaginable. 

Campfire safety tips? Yup.

Sun and heat protection? Obviously. (And he knows what to do in the event of sunburns — because there’s always a few — and, in the rare case, sun poisoning.)

Fire safety? Duh.

Lifeguarding? He’s been trained since he was 15 and does weekly laps at his school’s indoor pool.

Emergency procedures, food service, behavior management techniques, appropriate camper and staff behavior, and Happy Camper-specific regulations for supervision? God, he could recite them in all his sleep.

He can feel the mood of the room gradually begin to slump as Linda continues droning on about the importance of memorizing the handbook. Really, all anyone cares about right now is receiving their camper assignments. It’s the one mystery Linda tries to keep until the first day of training. Supposedly, placements are done at random, but Harry’s received his favorite group every year: 5th grade boys. They’re competent enough to take care of themselves (that means they know how to shower, go to the bathroom, and change their clothes without Harry’s assistance), but they’re a ton of fun, too. It’s the perfect age so he knows it’s a given that Linda assigned him to the same age as usual, especially since it’s his last time. 

The room noticeably perks up when Linda announces that she’ll be unveiling assignments before they break for lunch. He can feel the nerves radiating off of most of the counselors — he would be anxious, too, if he didn’t know who he was spending his summer with. He can’t think of a worse fate than being lumped in with a newbie or getting one of the younger groups — ugh. Last summer, Pauli, one of his counselor friends, got 3rd grade boys, which ended up being a mess of homesickness and actual sickness from lack of self-control at ice cream sundae night.

Harry’s sitting in his uncomfortable fold-up chair, arms folded over his eat your honey tee-shirt as he waits for Linda to finish up so he can demolish a lackluster sandwich in the mess hall. He pinches his bottom lip between his fingers, then jiggles his leg, then crosses his ankles. He’s bored, and tired, and hungry, and—

“2nd grade boys, Harry Styles,” Linda booms over the microphone, “2nd grade girls, Y/N Y/L/N.”

What?

This has to be a prank. Linda’s a lighthearted woman and, yeah, maybe he’s hardly seen her joke around about camp-related activities in the 16 years he’s known her, but maybe she decided to start now.

Right?

But then she claps her hands and announces that their lunch break has officially begun, and Harry’s up and out of his chair faster than you can even say second grade. Long, hurried strides take him in the direction of his boss, his eye borderline twitching at the thought of dealing with little kids instead of his usual fifth graders. 

“Linda!” he calls out, attempting to grab her attention over the hasty sounds of everyone leaving the room. 

“Oh, hi Harry!” she grins, turning to face him, “Lovely to see you again. Are you excited for the summer?”

“Um, yeah,” he rushes out as he lifts a hand to tug at the roots of his hair. “Quick question though, why am I paired with—”

“Y/N!” The shrill call of Linda’s voice cuts Harry off and he grits his teeth. He glances to his side to see the girl from the parking lot — the one who all but bit his head off for taking a free parking spot. He resists the urge to roll his eyes and redirects his attention to the older woman standing in front of them. 

“Linda, I really need to talk to you—”

“Harry, this is Y/N, your fellow counselor for the second graders,” Linda grins as she slings an arm around Y/N’s shoulders. The girl blinks, her eyes narrowing as she recognizes Harry. It’s clear that she remembers him too, so she straightens her posture some and ignores him. “Y/N is new to our counseling program but I think you two will get along great!”

“That’s great, Linda, but I really just need a second with you—”

“I do, too,” Y/N pipes up from beside him and it makes Harry’s jaw clench even tighter. “I think I mentioned in our interview that I’m not the most comfortable with younger kids—”

“Yeah, and I always have 5th grade boys, so I’m not really sure what’s—”

Linda claps her hands loudly, bringing both of their complaints to an immediate stop. When they both part their lips, jaws slightly ajar, she smiles gently. 

“Harry, I know this probably isn’t what you were expecting, but it’s your last year and I figured it would be good to change things up,” she says. He goes to reply, but she places an open palm up, wordlessly signaling to let her finish talking. “And Y/N, I know you requested an older group. But Harry’s one of our most experienced counselors, so I know it won’t be too much of an issue if you were paired up together.”

They both stand there silently. 

“Unfortunately, assignments are final. If you have an issue with it, you’re welcome to leave. There is a lengthy waitlist of people who weren’t hired.”

When neither of them respond, both slightly surprised by Linda’s sudden strike of authority, she grins. 

“Good, then! I’m looking forward to seeing you two work together this summer,” she pats each of them on the shoulder, sending them an enthusiastic smile. “Now hurry up and get to the mess hall for lunch! We have an afternoon packed with trainings!”

The sound of Linda’s Teva sandals scurrying away is the only thing that permeates the awkward silence between the two. A moment later, when Y/N has finally somewhat awoken from her brief rendezvous with the five stages of grief, she mutters the same thing that’s on Harry’s mind: “Fuck me.”

The first two days of training are hopelessly boring. 

Y/N spends every second of her day in some sort of seminar, educational meeting, or training. When she’s not listening (or pretending to, anyway — she thinks she’ll be able to manage a decent job at “conflict resolution” between seven year olds), she’s doing hands-on certifications. She has to prove that she knows how to do CPR, the Heimleich, administer EPIPENS, allergy shots, and asthma pumps, and, maybe worst of all, pull a 45-pound mannequin out of the lake. (It’s in case one of the campers accidentally drowns or flounders in the water, but she hates the fact that the dummy they’re using looks like it’s likely from the 1980s, far too worn out to be using in 2024.)

Every night, Y/N hits the paper thin mattress in her cabin like she hasn’t slept in years. She barely has enough energy to shower and brush her hair before her eyelids are fluttering closed. She hasn’t even met her roommate yet, and the only reason why she knows she has one is because all of her things are neatly organized in the main room and bathroom. 

On day three of counseling training (and the day before camp officially begins), Linda announces that they’re to spend the next few hours getting to know their co-counselor and planning activities for their groups. The girls and boys aren’t expected to do everything together but there’s a certain level of socialization expected, especially on rainy days when regular outdoor routines are washed out. 

Y/N’s torn — she’s glad she doesn’t have to be on her feet all day, going between laborious certifications to boring meetings, but she definitely doesn’t want to spend any extra time with Harry. Since learning that they were lumped together for the summer, she’d seen him around, but neither of them made any attempt at conversation. She passed by him in the mess hall every meal, saw him at lifeguard training, and sat two rows behind him at the mental health and wellness seminar, but they ignored one another as if nothing had occurred on the first day. 

Truthfully, that was fine and dandy for Y/N. She knows they don’t have to be friends or even acquaintances. Co-existence was the primary goal, but she was unsure if that was possible when he seemed to be a total and right dick. 

That morning, after Linda’s daily morning announcements, she instructs all the counselors to find their partner and get to know one another. Y/N nibbles on her bottom lip as she searches the room for him, trying to find the head of brown curls (it was the one identifying factor she remembered about him, besides having a British accent). Of course, he ends up finding her first because she chose today of all days to cover his hair with a navy baseball cap. He’s already scowling at her before she even says anything and she holds in a sigh as he plops down next to her.

“Listen, I don’t really want to spend the entire summer fighting with you—”

“Who said anything about fighting?” Harry asks, wrinkling his nose in her direction. Y/N’s eyebrow involuntarily quirks, clearly confused by his response. “What makes you think I care to even fight with you?”

“...Okay,” Y/N replies slowly, “That’s fine, I’m just saying we should try to coexist for the sake of the kids.”

“Right.” he chuckles humorlessly, lifting his cup of coffee to his mouth. The insulated mug looks helplessly small in his large hand and she flits her eyes back to his face. “You’re new, right?”

She blinks. “Yes.”

“I’ve been coming here since I was in second grade. For years, I was the only person who got to counsel the fifth grade boys but for whatever reason, Linda decided she wanted to stick me with the youngest group. That’s whatever—”

“Well, she said it was because she wanted to shake things up—”

Harry sends a harsh look her way. “I’m not finished,” he says, and Y/N’s mouth clamps shut. “The whole second grade thing would be way more chill if I wasn’t stuck with a new counselor who hasn't spent a day in her life outside of the city, but I’m not. For whatever ungodly reason, Linda assigned us together, and I’m pissed. Alright?”

Despite the frustration and anger building in Y/N’s chest, she swallows it down. Instead she takes a page out of the conflict resolution training they had yesterday (maybe it was useful) and nods her head. 

“I understand that, Harry. You’re allowed to be pissed. But you have to understand, I didn’t do anything wrong here.”

He snorts, “You shouldn’t have signed up to be here. That’s what you did wrong.”

Y/N’s eyebrows shoot up to her forehead. 

“So because I wanted a summer job, I’m a bad person? Have you ever considered that you’re just being a prissy little bitch because you didn’t get your way?”

“I don’t really give a shit what you think,” Harry replies, shrugging his shoulders, “Because this is my summer. So whether you like it or not, we’re playing by my rules.”

“Yeah, okay,” Y/N guffaws. She stands up from her metal chair, deciding she’s finished with this conversation for now. She won’t allow Harry to demean her life decisions just because he’s unhappy with where he got placed. “It’s fucking summer camp, asshole. Lighten up.”

Y/N spends the remainder of her day brainstorming ways to entertain second graders. 

She doesn’t really care if Harry doesn’t want to cooperate, or even coexist with her. If he wants to be immature, fine! If he wants to blame her for all the things that are already going wrong with his summer, fine! She tried her best to negotiate with him and, quite frankly, it’s not on her to settle a grown man’s temper. 

At a certain point, when the anger and annoyance and frustration has cooled down some, she finds it a little relaxing. She sits by the lake and allows herself to dig her toes in the cool sand. Yesterday, she’d spent the better part of her afternoon absolutely baking beneath the bright sun, listening to one of the higher-ups talk about swimming safety. Today was far more peaceful, even with the little worms of anxiety slowly beginning to wiggle their way into her brain. As she jotted down a list of activity ideas for their kids, she tried not to get too nervous about their arrival tomorrow. 

She doesn’t have too much time to worry, though, since when she makes her way back to her cabin that evening, she finally meets her bunkmate, a sweet girl named Zara. It’s her third summer returning as a counselor so she’s far more acquainted with everything than Y/N is, and she pledges to help her out as much as she can. It relaxes her nerves even more as she climbs into the tiny shower to wash off the sun and sweat from her body before she heads to bed for the night. At home, she’s always been the type to stay up far too late, but between the hazy sunrays and jampacked days, she’s been finding herself way more tired than usual. 

When Y/N finishes her shower with her hair brushed, moisturizer applied, and pajamas on (which was really more of a pair of sleep shorts and a ratty tee-shirt from her high school’s club volleyball team), Zara flashes her an excited grin.

“Harry came by,” she says before Y/N’s even made it to her bed, “He was looking for you.”

Y/N tries not to roll her eyes at the mention of his name. She didn’t want to say anything mean in case they were camp buddies, or whatever the fuck it was called, but she had to admit, she’d think just a bit lower of Zara if she was friends with Harry.

“We’re both working with the second graders this year. He’s pissed so we didn’t do any planning today.” she replies, running a hand through her damp hair as she sits on the edge of the flimsy mattress.

“God, you’re so lucky. He’s so hot, isn’t he?”

She resists the urge to gag, “I mean, maybe he would be if he hadn’t been a total dick to me earlier.”

“I’d ignore that if it meant I got to look at him all day,” Zara giggles, grabbing a folded up piece of paper from the edge of her neatly made bed, “Anyway, he dropped this off for you. Chances are it’s a steamy love note?”

“Slim to none.” Y/N mutters as she accepts the paper from her roommate. She nestles beneath the scratchy covers and flips it open, her eyes immediately meeting a sheet full of messy handwriting.

-DIY paper kites

-painting

-indoor scavenger hunt

-talent show

-charades

-friendship bracelet making

-tie dye 

-rock painting

Sorry for being shitty today. I’ll try to be better. No promises.

-H

She waits until Zara’s snoring softly before she folds the paper back up and stuffs it into the spine of her journal, right where she wrote down her list of activity ideas.

On the first official day of camp, Y/N quickly learns a few things. 

One: Second grade girls aren’t as scary as she had anticipated. They’re actually quite sweet, if not a bit nervous and apprehensive. Y/N understands that — in fact, she’s felt the same way since arriving at camp a few days ago, so she finds herself bonding with the small group of girls more than she thought she would.

Two: Even if Harry says he’ll try better, he’s probably lying. 

Now, she hadn’t expected him to do a complete 360 and show up to her cabin at 6 a.m. with an apology coffee and muffin. But it would have been nice if he did as much as acknowledge her existence, especially in front of the kids!

That morning, Y/N even wakes up with slightly high hopes as she spends her first few hours of consciousness helping her campers get acclimated to their new lifestyle. But that afternoon, when the girls and boys groups get together for quick introductions and bonding, Harry doesn’t even care to introduce her. Instead, he stands there, effortlessly capturing the attention of every last one of their kids, and just… skips over Y/N!

He skips over her!

Y/N has to clear her throat and step forward, forcing a friendly grin onto her face like she isn’t prepared to rip Harry a new one as soon as they bring their group to dinner. 

“And I’m Y/N! My second grade girls know I’ll be taking care of them this summer, but I’ll be around to help Harry with the boys, too,” she says. 

“Right, yeah—”

“I can’t wait to get to know each of you this summer,” Y/N continues on. Truthfully, she hadn’t planned to proceed with some type of spiel, but she’s in the mood to be spiteful. How couldn’t she, when Harry refuses to even recognize the fact that she’s just as important? “My door is always open and I’m so excited to have a wonderful few months with you.”

The kids have zoned out by now with their blank, moony gazes. Swallowing awkwardly, she takes a step back as Harry sends her a dirty look. 

“You done, then?” he mutters. 

Blinking, Y/N nods curtly.

“Great,” he mumbles, “Well, I think it’s been a long day for everyone, so why don’t we head to the mess hall for dinner? Tonight, we have a camp-wide bonfire and s’mores on the agenda so don’t eat too much!” 

Thankfully, the kids didn’t notice the tension between Harry and Y/N, and excitedly get up from their spots on the ground to follow them to their next meal. Already, Y/N notices that the boys are attached to Harry, asking him a million questions about anything and everything. She hears thrilled chatter from tiny, high-pitched voices as she silently walks next to her own campers. 

“Harry, why do you talk funny?” (He briefly explains that he was born in London, which he refers to as a far away place in a country called the United Kingdom.)

“How old are you?” (He’s 22, just a year older than Y/N.)

“Do you have any sisters? I have one at home and she’s so annoying!” (He has one and she’s in London.)

“Do you have a girlfriend?” 

For some reason, that one makes Y/N listen just a little bit harder. She’s not sure why — maybe it’s because he’s been so persistently rude to her that she simply can’t imagine any girl willingly committing herself to him. She’s not stupid enough to deny the fact that Harry is attractive in the most conventional way, with his broad shoulders, curly hair, and ridiculously tattooed body, but she didn’t think that was enough of a justification to put up with his bullshit.

Harry chuckles at the question that comes from a boy with blonde hair and squinty eyes, hidden behind a thick pair of glasses. 

“No,” he answers, shaking his head as he pulls open the door for the mess hall, “No girlfriend for me. Besides, why would I need one when I have all of you to keep me entertained for the summer?”

Y/N swallows tightly at that.

The first full week of camp is exhausting.

Every day, Y/N has an alarm set for 7 a.m. She showers, brushes her teeth, and does something with her hair so it’s not sticking to her sweaty neck all day. She pulls one of her four camp tee-shirts on (they all have huge, blocky lettering on the back that reads COUNSELOR), a pair of shorts, and the only pair of comfortable sneakers she owns. (She doesn’t know how Harry walks around in his dirty white Vans day in and day out. She owns a pair herself and they have minimal support, so it further annoys her that he gets to wear cute shoes while she’s stuck in a pair of running shoes.) 

From there, she’ll usually have a short and sweet conversation with Zara, who’s just as tired from taking care of her fourth grade girls. After that, she ambles across the campsite over to her group to make sure they’re all awake and getting ready for breakfast. They usually all are, with the exception of Livvy, who is particularly awful at waking up in the morning. She always has a grumpy look on her face as Y/N leads them to the mess hall for their first meal and, for some reason, it always makes her laugh to herself. 

Y/N accompanies the girls while they eat, making sure to get some sustenance in her stomach as well. She typically opts for some fruit and a bagel or toast, accompanied by the shitty watery coffee from the machine in the corner. After breakfast, Y/N plucks the schedule from the bulletin board outside the mess hall (Linda writes out a new one every day, ensuring that every group is able to try out different activities). Mornings are usually a variation of sports, then lunch, and then more relaxed activities, like ceramics or jewelry making. The second graders always have swimming at 3 p.m., which would maybe be a nice way to decompress after a hot, muggy day in the sun, if not for having to be around Harry.

She’s figured out that there’s two variations of Harry: On good days, he’ll ignore her. He’ll grab a chair, stick it in the sand, and scroll on his phone until the 5 p.m. dinner bell rings. On bad days (which usually means one of his campers gave him a hard time), he’ll torture her. He’ll critique every aspect of her approach to interacting with the kids and tell her what she’s doing wrong. (Tuesday, for instance, was a bad day. Apparently, Franklin had a total freak out about not wanting to play soccer that morning and decided to be Harry’s worst nightmare all day long, screeching about how much he hated camp. As a result, Harry showed up to swimming and spent an entire hour critizing Y/N: “You need to bring more snacks with you during the day. What if one of them gets woozy during sports? And you better carry at least three bottles of sunscreen or I swear to god, I’ll report you to Linda. That would be a stupid rookie move.”)

The whole thing is giving her emotional whiplash and is just as exhausting as being a counselor to kids all day. If Linda hadn’t had such a poor response to the two of them wanting to switch at the beginning of training, she would already be in her office and pleading her case. So when Friday rolls around and she can just tell that Harry’s had a bad day based on the dim sunglasses covering his eyes, she decides she’s not going to put up with it anymore — not for a single second longer.

She’s unsurprised when, as she’s keeping an eye on her girls playing Mermaids in the shallow end of the lake (a quintessential summer swimming game, she thinks), Harry plops down in his usual chair with a scowl on his face. Her eye roll is hidden behind her own pair of shades, and she attempts to ignore the anger radiating off of him as she digs her toes in the sand. Again — this whole situation has the potential to be relaxing. All she’s missing is… well, Harry leaving.

“Livvy told Ethan that you come into their bunk every morning to wake her up,” he says, lifting his metal reusable water bottle to his mouth, “You really shouldn’t do that. She needs to learn how to get up on her own.”

“Mind your business, Harry.” she replies, short and curt. She inhales through her nose as a breeze passes through the manmade beach.

“That is my business.”

“It’s really not,” Y/N snaps, whipping around to face him. She tears her sunglasses off her face so he can see the red hot anger burning in her eyes. “And I’m so sick of you being rude to me every single day. I’m not a punching bag, Harry, I’m a human being. If you don’t like your situation, fine, but that’s not my problem. So keep your shit to yourself for the rest of the summer, alright?”

She scuttles up from her spot, grabbing her sneakers and towel before marching halfway across the beach to where the girls are playing. Fury is still raging through her as she plops down at the shoreline with a harsh exhale. She allows the rolling tide to wash over her feet and tries to focus on the cold water instead of the insufferable man still sitting there dumbly.

“Y/N?”

Her head rises when she hears the small voice of one her campers. It comes from Alison, a sweet, kind girl with unruly ginger locks and a smattering of freckles over her face.

“No! Don’t ask her, she’ll tell on us.” Lucy urges from beside her, a frustrated pout on her lips.

“She said we could always come to her,” Alison whispers loudly. Y/N’s heartbeat increases just a tad, worried that something’s gone wrong right under her nose. “Y/N, I have a question, and I was wondering if you could answer it.”

Y/N clears her throat, “Well, I promise I won’t tell anyone about it as long as it’s nothing too serious… you guys know I have to, like, report if an adult’s being inappropriate or something, though, right?”

“Yeah. Stranger danger,” Claire nods matter-of-factly, “My mom gave me a talk before I came here. No letting people touch you an’ stuff.”

“That’s right,” Y/N agrees with a small smile. “Is it anything like that, Alison?”

She shakes her head. 

“Okay, so yeah. It can be our little secret then.”

Despite the persistent frown on Lucy’s face, Alison nods. 

“Okay… well, we were wondering… is it true that when a boy is mean to you, it’s ‘cos he likes you?”

Y/N purses her lips. “Um… I mean, some people say that. I don’t necessarily know if it’s true, though.”

“Has it happened to you?” Claire asks hopefully. 

“Has a boy been mean to me because he likes me?”

The three girls nod enthusiastically. 

She thinks back for a moment — she’s only been in one real relationship before, followed by a series of flings with lackluster people that haven’t always been the best. She doesn’t think they were mean to her because they were attracted to her, though. It was probably because she failed to have a backbone in their situationships.

“No,” she finally answers with a shake of her head, “No, and if someone likes you, they’ll care about showing it. They’ll do nice things and compliment you and… and they won’t make you wonder all the time.”

Each girl looks just as confused and lost as Y/N feels.

“...And we shouldn’t be worrying about boys this summer anyway,” she quickly tacks on, attempting to save the conversation, “Girls rule. Right?”

When grins break out on their faces, she’s thankful that second graders aren’t as emotionally aware as adults.

For the next two weeks, things go as smoothly as expected. 

Y/N is relieved that, for once, Harry heeds her advice. They barely speak with the exception of deciding on an activity to do with the kids, and even then it’s as short and succinct as humanly possible:

“Friendship bracelet making?” 

“Sure.”

In their brief moments of downtime, Y/N sticks to hanging around Zara and her friends Sarah and Mitch. They’re all very nice — she and Zara have a lot in common, and Sarah and Mitch have been working as counselors for the past two summers. They’re both friendly with Harry, and Y/N is shocked (but not entirely surprised) to find out that he isn’t a total dick with everyone, just with her. Sarah’s somewhat puzzled upon finding out that he’s been giving her a hard time in just about everything, clicking her tongue against the roof of her mouth when Y/N explains how they ended up at this point.

“He’s fairly protective of this place,” Sarah replies. Her tone is soft and soothing so it’s incredibly difficult to argue with her on any line of defense against him, even if she’s not intentionally doing so. “He shouldn’t be so mean to you, but I think this is his safe haven. Mitch said that he’s been going through some stuff and… well, I’m sorry you don’t get to experience the nice version of him.”

So am I, Y/N thinks to herself.

It’s what she’s ruminating on as she sits in the bleachers, watching her girls play soccer. (Well, half of them are playing soccer. The other half are in a circle, making lanyard keychains, and giggling about Henry Moore, a boy in the fifth grade group that apparently every girl has a crush on. It makes Y/N’s heart warm and her chest concave slightly; to watch girlhood in its purest form with the hopes that no one ever hurts them.) 

She wonders when things got this way. When fun, gleeful crushes that made her feel like a shaken can of soda, fizzy and lightheaded, faded away and were replaced with mean guys who had no reason to despise her. She swallows the lump in her throat that formed without her permission and digs her sneakered heel into the gravel below the bleachers. 

When she hears the familiar sound of rambunctious boys approaching, she quickly tucks her sunglasses behind her ears, wary of the watery eyes behind them. She sees Harry, basketball in hand, in his usual camp garb — athletic shorts and some variation of a borderline inappropriate graphic tee-shirt; this one has the words I like to watch scrawled across the chest. Y/N rolls her eyes from behind her sunglasses. She’s sure Linda would hand his ass to him if she saw him wearing that. Really, she wishes she would.

The groups intermingle effortlessly. That was one thing she was thankful for — that most of their campers got along and it was easy to take a break when they ended their days doing whatever activity together. The soccer game proceeds, now bigger with formed teams, while a few of the other boys join the lanyard circle. Wordlessly, Harry climbs up on the bleachers Y/N’s currently perched on, taking a seat two benches above her. 

It’s their usual routine of silence and she can probably predict what he’s doing. Right now, he’s probably shifted his black sunglasses from the bridge of his nose up to his wavy brown hair and squinting at his phone. He has a pink phone case, and the device always manages to look stupidly small in his hand while he uses his oversized thumb to scroll through whatever social media app has his attention. 

Y/N holds in a sigh, leaning her head to the side and pressing her ear against her shoulder. She allows her eyes to flutter shut for a few brief moments, inhaling through her nose and listening to the kids’ high-pitched chatter. It’s only when she feels the presence of someone beside her that she opens her eyes, eyebrows thick with worry when she sees Micky, one of Harry’s campers, standing in front of them.

“What’s up, Mick?” Harry asks from above her. She resists the urge to scowl — she could have handled it without him, and she hopes that whatever he needs, it’s a ridiculous request that he’ll have to handle and—

“I miss my mom.”

Y/N’s eyes widen when Micky’s eyes suddenly flood with tears. Quickly, she pushes her sunglasses back into her hair, her lips instantly parting into a sympathetic frown. 

“Micky,” she coos, her heart melting at the sight in front of her, “It’s okay. It’s okay to miss your mom, I know how you feel.”

He’s a mess of tears and snot, his little hand reaching up to knuckle at his bloodshot eyes. Y/N looks up at Harry, who seems just as worried and equally lost. He shuffles down to the same bench Y/N sits at so he’s eye level with him and presses a gentle hand to his shoulder.

“C’mon, you gotta breathe, Mick,” he encourages, rubbing his shoulder soothingly. He only continues in his tearful fit, not listening to a word either one of the counselors say. Helpless, Harry turns to Y/N, his eyes encompassing all the nerves running through each of them. 

“Mick, you have to listen to Harry,” Y/N says, reaching out to grab his hand. She squeezes it in an effort to gain his attention. “Breathe, sweetheart. Look at Harry. He’s gonna help you breathe, okay?”

Thankfully, Micky’s eyes bat open. Harry’s taking slow, deep inhales and exhales and he does the same, though his are shuttered with weepy quivers. 

“You’re doing so good,” Y/N smiles, giving his hand another squeeze. “There you go, just keep following Harry.”

Eventually, his tears stop some and his breathing regulates itself. Harry guides him onto the bench, wiggling his smaller form between his and Y/N’s. 

“It’s totally normal to miss your mum,” Harry says, leaning his elbows back. “But think about all the awesome times you’ve had here so far. You’ve been absolutely killing it at Four Square and you’re a master at ceramics. She’s gonna be so pumped when she sees that cup you made.”

“I’ve never been away from her for this long.” Micky peeps out in a small voice. Y/N swallows, her heart cracking just a tiny bit more.

“Micky, you wanna know a secret?” she asks. Harry and Micky both turn to her and she holds in a snort at the former’s intrigued facial expression. “This is the longest I’ve been away from my parents, too.”

“Really?”

“Mhm,” she nods, “And I miss them so much. But I’m having a really good summer here. Are you?”

Micky thinks for a moment. A second later, he nods.

“What’s been your favorite part?”

“I really like swimming,” he replies. Y/N grins. “But I like you and Harry more. You guys are my favorite.”

Her eyebrows raise involuntarily and Harry coughs into his hand. 

“You’re just like my big sister and her boyfriend,” he continues. Y/N’s eyes dart over to Harry, who looks like he wants to run for the hills. “They’re always really nice to me. And sometimes they fight and that makes my sister grumpy. But they always come back together. And even if they’re mad at each other, they never stop being nice to me.”

“Well, that sounds really nice, Mick—”

“And one time, he was dropping my sister off at home and I looked outside my window ‘cos I had a present for him but the windows in his car were all foggy and I don’t really know why but—”

“Harry, didn’t Linda say that there were orange popsicles at the nurse’s cabin today?” Y/N asks through a squeaky voice. He blinks and nods quickly, excitedly wagging his finger at her in agreement.

“Yes! She did!” he exclaims, popping up from his seat, “Micky, do you want an orange popsicle? Maybe Y/N can take you?”

“Oh yeah, those are my favorite!” 

Y/N is eager and happy to escape this terribly awkward moment. 

Y/N doesn’t see Harry for the rest of the afternoon. 

That’s fine with her, since she thinks she’s still blushing from Micky’s little Peeping Tom recollection. She brought him to the dining hall after he ate his popsicle and gave his mom a call and, by then, he was back to normal, excited to eat dinner alongside his fellow campers. Y/N picked at a lackluster meal of beef tacos, though she was happy to listen to Zara, Sarah, and Mitch chatter on about… well, whatever it was they were talking about. 

After dinner, there’s a bonfire, and then it’s lights out. She’s exhausted by the time she gets her girls back to their cabin, ensuring that they’re all tucked in for a restful night. She closes their door with a depleted sigh, listening for the quiet click of the hinge before she jogs down the stairs and starts her walk back to her own dwelling.

Only, she nearly jumps five feet in the air when Harry’s standing there.

“Fucking Christ!” she whispers as her heart slams against her ribcage, “Is there a reason you’re standing there like a fucking creep? Or are you taking a page out of Micky’s weird little sneaky book?”

Harry snorts at that before shaking his head. “Sorry. I just put the boys to bed and I saw you were leaving. I wasn’t being creepy, I promise.”

“That’s something a creep would say.”

“I realize that,” he replies, digging his hands into the pockets of his athletic shorts, “But I mean it. I’m nowhere near as creepy as Micky.”

“Shut up,” she mutters, trying to wipe the smile off her face from his joke. “He didn’t know any better.”

“I know. I’m just kidding.” 

They stand there across from one another for another beat or two before he juts his thumb in the direction of the counselor cabins. 

“Can I walk you back to yours?”

Y/N swallows. And for reasons she doesn’t quite understand, she says, “okay.”

At first, it’s silent. The only sound is the gravel crunching beneath their shoes as Y/N tucks her arms over her chest, goosebumps forming over her skin from the night chill. Finally, Harry ventures a glance at her. 

“I want to apologize,” he says, and at first, Y/N thinks she’s hallucinating. “I’ve been really awful to you and… I shouldn’t have been.”

A snarky response sneaks past her lips before she has a chance to take it back: “Did you just realize that?”

“No,” Harry admits. She’s surprised he doesn’t reply with something equally as sarcastic. “I realized it a few weeks ago, when you yelled at me at the lake. I didn’t realize how shitty I was being to you but… then Sarah talked to me and asked why I was being this way with you, and I didn’t even have a good answer for her because you’ve been so good with the kids and you clearly do care about them and giving them a good summer. And I just felt like such a fucking idiot.”

Y/N hums non-committedly. 

“And then today with Micky, it just reminded me a lot of myself when I used to come here as a camper. This was my safe place for many, many years. There’s a small part of me that thinks it still is. I used to have panic attacks midway through the summer when I would think about life back home and the bullshit I was escaping.”

She swallows. A pit forms at the bottom of her stomach when she thinks about a young Harry having the same reaction as Micky did today.

“And I don’t know, I just thought about… how if I had you as a counselor, I would feel really comfortable and happy,” he continues, “And… minus the weird shit Micky said, I was happy to hear that he likes us together.”

Her throat dries a bit at that but she forces herself to swallow as he looks at her for a response.

“Thank you,” she finally mumbles out. They’re stopped at the side of her cabin now, and she desperately hopes that Zara is fast asleep and can’t hear an inkling of their conversation. “I appreciate that. I wish we hadn’t… y’know, gotten off on such a rocky start, but… you are really good with the kids. And I think that we do work well together, even if we’re barely speaking to one another.”

He smirks at that before shaking his head, his gaze falling to the grassy plane beneath them. 

“It was all very immature of me and for that, I really am so sorry, Y/N.”

“It’s okay,” she murmurs, leaning back against the wood siding of the lodge, “Water under the bridge, yeah?”

Harry looks back up, his eyes finding hers. With his teeth nibbling on his bottom lip, he nods. 

“Water under the bridge,” he agrees.

And she can’t figure out why, but the second their gaze locks, her world slows just a bit. Her chest stalls, her breathing hitches in her throat, and… has Harry always looked this good?

“Y/N,” he rasps out lowly. Her eyes flutter down to his neck, where his throat bobs beneath a swallow. Quickly, she blinks, her eyelashes flittering when she looks back up at his face. 

“Hm?” she asks softly.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” he mumbles, inching towards her slowly. 

“Like what?”

He breathes out a quiet laugh. “Like you wanna kiss me.” 

She shrugs and he reaches out, gentle and tentative, his fingertips finding her chin. She allows his touch as he strokes over her skin, careful not to make any sudden movements as if she’ll scare him away somehow.

“Do you wanna kiss me?” he presses, his palm cupping her cheek. His hand is warm and her face is cool, and it feels so, so good.

“Do you wanna kiss me?” she repeats, eager to turn the question around.

He smirks. Lopsided and playful.

“Asked you first.” 

“You’re acting like the kids we’re responsible for,” she murmurs, nuzzling tenderly into his hold. “By the way, did you hear Henry Moore kissed Crystal Baker? The girls are devastated.”

Harry chuckles, low and sweet, before shaking his head. Butterflies swarm her stomach at the crinkles that form at his eyes and she bites her lip.

“Sounds like we’ll have to have a feelings circle tomorrow,” he says. “But right now, you’re the only thing I care about.”

Y/N hums, eyelashes fluttering at his breath ghosts over her lips. She doesn’t know when he got this close, but she also doesn’t know how she existed without having him near all this time. His other hand finds her hip, giving it a small squeeze. The fabric of her tee-shirt bunches in his grip and she resists the need to shudder.

“Can I kiss you?” he whispers, his towering form feeling as though it’s all-encompassing now. She thinks that if it were up to her, she would allow him to lay all his weight on her. 

Her brain is foggy and fizzy now, but she’s conscious enough to nod, a short affirmation, before he ducks forward to connect their lips. His lips are soft and plushy and she’s happy to kiss him back, especially since he tastes like the raspberry popsicle he ate at the bonfire. She shivers when he moves his hands up to the siding of the cabin, caging her in so she’s completely pinned against him. She’s neither particularly submissive nor dominant in the bedroom — a qualified switch is what Zara called her — but she’s eager to have her hands on him, one palm flush against his chest while the other presses against his cheek. The stubble of his facial hair scratches against her skin but she doesn’t care.

The kiss ends far too quickly for her, but when they part, noses nudging against one another, they’re both breathless with swollen lips. It makes Harry chuckle softly and he ducks down once more for a peck.

“Think you’re a bit insatiable,” he mumbles. “Pretty sure you would’ve kept going for hours if I didn’t stop you.”

“Probably.”

He laughs, quiet and soft, at her unashamed response. “That’s fine. Good, actually. I think I could live with that.”

“‘M sure you could.” she replies, a smirk edging at her lips.

“You’re not gonna go running off into the night now, are you?” 

This time, she laughs, shaking her head.

“No. I’ll be here in the morning, bright and early.”

He smiles and presses a kiss to her forehead. “Henry Moore feelings circle at 9 am sharp?”

“Wouldn’t miss it.”

When Harry sends her off to her cabin with a pat on the bum and a kiss to the cheek, she has to bite her lip from grinning too hard.

#writing #harry styles #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfic #harry styles writing #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x you #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x reader #harry styles imagine #harry styles one shot #harry styles oneshot #harry styles blurb #harry styles fluff #harry styles angst #harry styles smut #one direction #harry styles fic rec #fine line #harry's house #hs4 #harry styles album #harry's house album #harry styles fan fiction #harry styles fan fic

[tinycoffeeroom]

miami heat | lando norris

face claim: none ♡

request: here !

a/n: this is SO late but it took me forever to move past the writers block of a text only fic </3 still thinking about lando's race win...

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You and Lando had been inevitable. Your dad was a long time racing fan, often attending karting events around the country and dragging you along. As time passed, you learned to love it too, often waiting for your dad at the door when he got back from work so the two of you could quickly throw some clothes into an overnight bag and travel off to whichever race track you’d be camping in that weekend.

It helped that your cousin was a kart racer, both you and your dad using him as an excuse for attending so many races. Your mum would sigh, pull out the premade lunches from the fridge and stuff them into a small blue cooler before seeing the two of you off at the door. 

When your cousin got the call up to F4, you’d been overjoyed for him. Being able to watch his dreams come true filled you with so much pride. It also gave you and your dad another excuse to attend more F4 races, now offering to pick your cousin up and take him from race track to race track every weekend as well as your dad offering to be his race engineer, using his background as a mechanic to work on the car’s engine. Your aunt and uncle agreed happily, knowing how much the two of you enjoyed watching your cousin race. 

The first live F4 race felt electrifying. You weren’t used to seeing actual cars racing in person, only ever watching the Formula 1 races on the small portable TV your dad had invested in during the first year of your kart watching adventures. You and your cousin would always cheer for your favourite racers, him still sweaty and suited up from his own race but pumped up on adrenaline. 

You watched as he fist bumped other drivers after the race, coming a respectable 4th in his first ever F4 race. This part was your least favourite, having to wait for your cousin to talk to all these sweaty teenage boys was not your idea of fun. Spread out comfortably on the moon chairs your dad had bought for the races, you opened your 3DS to play Pokemon Sun. Too enveloped in the battle between your Incineroar and the NPC’s Crabominable, you missed the sound of someone dropping into the chair next to you. 

“What level is he?”

You jumped at the sound, looking up quickly to lock eyes with a random boy. 

He was obviously a racer, still suited up. Using one hand to push back sweat soaked curly hair, he curiously eyed your 3DS before looking back up at you. 

“She’s level 57. I need to beat this Crabominable to make her 58 so she can learn Flare Blitz.”

He hummed, a soft smile spread across his face as he flits his eyes over you. You took note of your appearance, hair pulled back into two braids to keep it out of your face in the windy English weather, your dads bomber jacket engulfing your figure as you fought the cold. 

“Female Incineroar, rare.” He sounded impressed. “Don’t let me stop you.” Gesturing to the console in your hands, he leant back and focused on your hands. 

Unsure of how to respond, you looked back down at your game. The Crabominable had about half HP but this was a nasty NPC, whipping out potion after potion to heal the Pokemon. You and the unnamed boy sat side by side as you chipped away, bit by bit, at the Crabominable’s HP until the victory message appeared on your screen. A mere 2000 pokedollars given for your troubles.

You watched as your Incineroar, lovingly nicknamed Kitty from when you started the game, levelled up to 58 and finally, she could learn Flame Blitz. 

Saving the game and shutting down the console, you looked back at the boy beside you. He smiled back in response. 

“So… no offence, but who are you?” The second the sentence left your lips, you wanted to smack the 3DS into your face, tone not unkind but wary. You could only hope he wouldn’t take offence to the question. 

“Oh, sorry!” He reaches across to offer you his hand. You shake it gingerly, his hand warm in your wind chilled one. 

“I’m Lando. Lando Norris. Soon to be F4 champion if all goes well. And you are?”

He was still smiling, the curve unnerving you a little. “Y/N. My cousin’s just joined F4, he’s over there.” Reaching out, you pointed towards the boy in question who was high fiving another racer, the two of them laughing loudly over the sound of car engines. 

“Oh, Y/C/N? He’s cool. I met his dad earlier.”

You glanced over at the man mentioned, head bowed as he conversed with the other adults about race tactics and the boys’ performances. “That’s my dad, his uncle. He’s a mechanic so it made sense that he would be Y/C/N’s race engineer.”

“What about you? Are you a big karting fan?” 

From the sound of his voice, you could tell he was facing you. Too nervous to look into his eyes again, you focused on your dad, watching as he pulled your cousin aside to talk about the race. “I am. Me and my dad have been going to karting events most weekends for years.” 

His eyes burned into the side of your face, gaze unwavering. “How about Formula 1? That’s my dream, I want to race against Lewis Hamilton and one day beat him.”

The mention of your favourite driver dragged your attention back to the boy beside you. You smiled softly, pulling your iPhone 6 out of your pocket to show him the 44 sticker on the back of the case. “I love Formula 1. Me and Y/C/N are gonna watch the race in the van while my dad makes some adjustments to the car. Do you…” You hesitated for a moment.

Were you really going to invite a boy you’d just met to come sit with you and your cousin to watch a race? It was harmless, the three of you would fit in the back seats, but you weren’t sure if Y/C/N would want him to join. 

Lando beat you to it. “Aw, I would ask to join but me and my dad have to get back home as soon as possible, it’s my sister's birthday this weekend!” Pulling his own phone out of his pocket, he showed you his lockscreen, a picture of him and who you guessed was his family. 

You nod, turning your own phone in circles in your hands. “Happy birthday to your sister.” 

He grins, the smile seemingly permanently etched on his face. “Thanks, Y/N!” 

You hear a man call for him, presumably his dad. Lando sighed as he nodded towards the man, turning back towards you. “Gotta run! Could I maybe get your number? I think we’re going to be good friends.”

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He was right. The two of you would text every moment you could. In between classes, before and after dinner, even facetiming until the early hours of the morning on weekends. 

Every weekend, you’d pull up to the race track and there Lando would be, permanent wide smile and open arms as you hugged briefly. Before each race, he’d run over to you, head bowed so you could knock on his helmet. You weren’t sure when the tradition had started but ever since it began, it was cemented in his pre-race routine. 

After every race, it would go one of two ways. If it was a good race, he’d run over and hug you, spinning you round as you laughed brightly at him. If it was a not so good race, you’d be the one to approach him, the two of you sitting on the lip of his dad’s van in comfortable silence as you let him work through his emotions in his own time. He’d soon come around, chatting to you about any and everything. 

Before you’d leave, he’d pull you into another hug, swaying the two of you from side to side. 

Of course, your cousin teased you. Singing silly childish songs, “Y/N and Lando sitting in a tree K-I-S-S-I-N-G”. You’d bat him across the head, willing the blush in your cheeks to go down. 

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Since the two of you were now 16, whilst Lando had allowances for his GCSE’s, you still had to knuckle down and work hard. Hours were spent sitting at your desk, eyes scanning across textbook after textbook. It was only after Lando called you in tears after he struggled to understand the poems needed for his English exams and explained he had dyslexia that the two of you would facetime every night. You’d read out the poems to him as he took it all in and made notes in a way that made sense to him. You told him about these coloured overlays that were meant to help people with dyslexia read, and you’d watch him cry as pink acetate covered the poems and he could finally, finally, understand. The two of you still facetimed every night, he claimed your voice helped him understand so much more. 

Since you had to revise, you often had to forfeit your racing weekends. You’d see your dad and cousin off at the door, much like your mum had done for years, and return to your room, wiping the tears that threatened to escape from your eyes. 

The routine never changed though. Lando would call you before every race, telling you that you had to knock on the screen and he’d hold his helmet clad head to the camera. After every race, you’d either celebrate over the phone or sit in silence, watching him through the screen as he let himself digest what went wrong in the race. 

Your last GCSE exam fell on a Friday, the freedom of your weekends returning. You didn’t tell Lando, wanting to surprise him at the race track. As you sat in the back seat of your dad’s van, you kept up the pretence for Lando, texting him as if you had a normal weekend of revising ahead. 

When the three of you pulled up to the race track, you ducked down so you weren’t visible through the windows. Your dad got out of the car first, greeting Lando’s dad. The two of them had formed a good friendship through the race weekends, often sitting together to watch the boys go round the track. Next up was Y/C/N, jumping out the van and fist bumping a waiting Lando. 

The two boys went to leave, already play fighting about who would win. It was only then that you snuck out the back seat, hands on your hips as you called out to the boys ahead. 

“Forgetting something?”

Lando’s head whipped around so fast, you feared he’d give himself whiplash. You barely had time to laugh at his dumbstruck expression before he’d launched himself at you, strong arms wrapped tight around your waist as he lifted you in the air. 

He pressed his face deeply into your neck, the feel of his smile present against your skin. 

Linking your arms around the back of his neck, you played with the unruly curls tickling your chin. “Missed me?”

He nodded, head still firmly placed between your neck and shoulder. The two of you stood there for a moment, enjoying each other’s presence until your cousin piped up. 

“We do still have a race to get to.” Locking eyes with him, you could already tell he was going to tease you relentlessly when you’re back in the van. 

Lando finally released you, hands still holding firm on the sides of your waist. Warm smile directed at you, eyes glistening a little with unshed tears. 

Lando’s dad bumped his helmet against his shoulder, Lando taking it and pulling on his balaclava and the helmet. He bowed his head, allowing you to knock on it once. This time however, he knocked on your own head once, hand uncurling to cup the side of your face before he walks away to join your cousin. 

In that moment, you knew you were in love with Lando Norris. 

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The two of you stayed close throughout the years. You still attended as many races as possible, celebrating his wins and commiserating through his lows. Soon you were watching him in Formula 3, then Formula 2 and finally, after all his hard work, you stood in the paddock of Albert Park watching as Lando was flanked by engineers. 

His debut Formula 1 race. 

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The day you got the call that he’d been contracted by McLaren was one of the best days of your life. It took him 5 minutes to calm down enough to explain to you what had happened, the two of you sobbing violently over the phone as you realised his dream had come true. 

As you collected yourself once you’d gotten off the phone, your mum had come upstairs with a packed lunch and a flask of fresh, warm coffee. Looking at her questioningly, she smiled softly at you. 

“Go. You need to celebrate with him in person.”

You grabbed the box and flask from her hands, arms thrown wide around her. Packing a quick overnight bag, you jumped in your car, haring down the motorway to Lando’s parents house. 

The look on his face when he opened the door made the possible speeding tickets worth it, eyes wide and glossy as they flit up and down your body. “You’re here?”

You grinned at him, wide and unabashed. “I’m here.”

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

The cycle continued. Every podium was met with you running into his arms when he was back in the garage and every DNF resulted in the two of you sitting in his driver’s room, your arms wrapped tight around him as the dream of a grand prix win slipped from his grasp again and again. 

Today, something was different however. Lando had knocked on your door bright and early, inviting you down for breakfast with the team. He told you about a dream he had last night where he won the Miami Grand Prix, how the champagne shower had felt so real. 

This unwavering optimism continued throughout the day. Him bouncing alongside you as you walked through the paddock, greeting the other drivers along your way. The optimism rubbed off on you, finding yourself pulling up old photos of Lando to save to a folder titled “Race Win”. 

When it came time to get in the car, you watched as his engineer secured the final straps before disappearing behind a screen to check the car’s stats. He looked up at you through the open visor, head soon bowing. Leaning down, you knocked once before dropping a quick kiss to the top of his helmet. Extra luck for the day. 

The entire race had you on the edge of your seat. You cheered as Oscar led the grand prix, winced as Max hit the bollard and nearly sobbed your eyes out as Lando overtook to lead. Kevin pushing Logan off the track meant a safety car and Lando ended up fortunate to join at the back but one lap ahead. A pit stop and fresh tires and away he went. Each second he gained on Max left spikes in your heart rate until it reached the 7 second mark and the last 4 laps and you knew. Deep down in your soul, even if everyone was still on tenterhooks, you knew this was his time. His win. 

The engineers ran to the fences, an army of papaya swarming the metal chain link as your eyes stayed glued to the camera. At the last second, you darted out to the fence, away from the chanting crowd so you’d have an unobstructed view of his win. 

The chequered flag waved and Lando crossed the finish line, now a grand prix winner. You couldn’t have stopped the tears even if you tried, knees buckling as you held onto the fence in front of you. 

The noise around you was near deafening, engineers dog piling on one another, a few strays leaving the group to wrap you in tight hugs. 

A hand landed on your shoulder, warm but soft pats pulling you from your stupor. Turning, you looked up at Zak, a fond smile on his face. “Let’s go see our boy.”

The two of you walked in near silence, Zak leaving his hand on your shoulder as he welcomed congratulations from other teams. The tears never stopped streaming down your face, vision swimming as you passed team after team. 

The breath was knocked out of you as arms wrapped around your waist from behind and swung you around. Looking down, you spotted the rose tattoo on a left hand and laughed as Daniel dropped you back softly onto the ground. Spinning around, you threw yourself into his arms properly, the two of you rocking back and forth happily. 

“He did it!” Daniel shouted as you pulled away, hands on your shoulders to shake you gently. 

“He did it!” You responded, a fresh wave of tears escaping your eyes. Daniel laughed at your tears, wiping them away haphazardly before letting you run back to Zak’s side. 

You watch as Lando ran towards his team, still fully suited up, launching himself into the air as the sea of papaya below caught him. The team held him aloft, jostling him through a mass of hands. 

Once he’s back on solid ground, Zak approached him first, the two of them sharing a warm hug. The visor of his helmet is lifted and without even seeing his face, you know he’s smiling, eyes scrunched up in joy. 

Those same eyes finally lock onto you, wide and sparkling. He runs at you as fast as he can, arms outstretched. You brace for impact, a laugh being pressed out of you as he crushes you in his arms. Your legs wrap around his waist as he lifts you up, warm eyes staring straight into yours. 

Before you even know what you’re doing, your lips press against the front of his helmet, right where his own mouth would be beneath the carbon fibre, a universal sign in racing of a lover’s kiss. 

Ignoring the roar of his team around you, you focus on Lando in front of you. His eyes crinkled under the force of his own happiness, shining bright even under the dark cover of the helmet. He lowers you down, arms wrapped firmly around your waist until your feet are planted safe on the floor. 

You watch as he unclasps the straps under his chin and rips the helmet off, his neck support following in haste. His eyes are still locked onto yours, unshed tears gleaming along his lash line. Through the balaclava, you can see his smile, warm and golden in the Miami sun. 

The balaclava comes off next and your heart stutters at the pure, unobstructed view of the man in front of you. Sweat clings to his upper lip, dripping down his thick neck, curls matted to his forehead under the American heat. You’re drawn back to his eyes, green as a hidden forest, full of glimpses of golden hour through the branches. You loved how you could always tell how he felt through his eyes, forever abundant with emotion. 

Hands wrap back around your waist, dragging you into him as he presses his lips unwaveringly against your own. It’s a little gross, the feeling of sweat transferring to your own lips, the damp curls at the bottom of his neck where your hands come to lie but you wouldn’t change it for the world. It’s worth it to feel his smile against your own, the kiss more teeth than lips and you breathe in the way he laughs against your mouth, molten gold dripping from his lips to yours. 

The two of you part slightly, cheeks aching at the way you’re still grinning. The kiss remains unspoken, Lando being dragged off by his team for interviews. You look at Zak who winks knowingly at you. This time, you let the blush rise, overtaking your cheeks and flushing down your neck. 

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

Waiting for Lando in his driver's room seemed to never end. It had been an hour since you’d finally kissed him and your lips still tingle with the feeling. 

Your mind was a jumbled mess, thought after thought fighting to sit at the front of your mind. Tracing your finger across your lips, you allow yourself to remember that moment. To fall headfirst into how it felt to finally feel what it was like to kiss Lando. 

The sound of the driver’s room door banging against the wall shakes you out of your stupor, twirling around to face a sheepish Lando. 

“Um, sorry… I guess I was just eager to get back here.” He giggles softly, standing still in the threshold. 

Smiling back at him, you gesture him inwards, scoffing at the absurdity of you inviting him into his own driver’s room. He stumbles in, shutting the door behind him. One hand reaches out to run over the scuff mark on the wall, grimacing as he traces the black mark. 

He turns to face you, smile beaming as you stand two feet apart, eyes tracing over each other as you bask in the long awaited silence. You watch as his hand reaches out, the back of his fingers brushing against yours. The hand reaches around, clasping yours gently in his. You squeeze once, smiling shyly up at him. 

“Can I tell you something?” His voice is quiet, almost shaky as he keeps his eyes trained on your conjoined hands. 

You squeeze his hand again, humming your assent. 

“I love you. I’ve loved you since we were 15 years old and I saw you sitting on those moon chairs. I remember my heart was beating so, so fast and I thought it was just post race adrenaline but when I remember your shy smile and the braids you had in your hair and my heart feels the exact same way. It’s always been you.”

Even after the kiss, the admission makes your heart race wildly. He loves you. He loves you back. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I was scared. Scared that you wouldn’t love me the same way I love you.” He tries to come off nonchalant, but the way his hand trembles in yours betrays his true emotions. 

Rubbing your thumb over the back of his shaking hand, heart thumping erratically at both the situation and the sweetness of his nervous confession. “Lan, I was literally a 15 year old racing nerd and you were a boy willingly talking to me. Why do you think I was a nervous mess when you spoke to me? I had the biggest crush on you.”

“Having a crush and loving someone is different.” He leads you by your intertwined hands to the sofa, settling back into the corner as you sit close enough to keep your hands connected. “Back then, you knew me as Lando Norris, F4 driver, and then just Lando, your best friend who secretly stuffs his face with pizza and falls over his own feet more often than not.” He huffs out a laugh at the memory of the last time he’d tripped over thin air and fallen flat on his face when you’d gone to visit him in Monaco. 

Avoiding eye contact, he keeps his eyes trained on the way your fingers interlock almost perfectly. “I was worried you wouldn’t love me when we became close.” 

“You idiot,” using your free hand, you smack him lightly on the arm, giggling at the fact the two of you had been mutually pining for years, “that just made me love you more. Sure, I was 16 and the idea of dating a race car driver, even little Lando Norris,” his arm reaches out to return the smack, “was a dream, but then I wanted to date just Lando, the man who gives me piggybacks from clubs when my feet hurt and bites my arm when I’m not paying attention. I love you, just plain old Lando Norris.”

If you thought his smile when winning was bright, the one he shoots you now is almost overwhelming. Face pulled up so tight you wouldn’t be surprised if he complained of an ache in his cheeks later, eyes crinkling deeply at the corners and shining a bright seafoam green. 

Before you can return the grin, he reaches up and grabs the back of your neck, pulling you in for another kiss. The passion is the same but different, no longer adrenaline filled from a race win, but full of love and adoration and the secret he never thought he’d get the chance to say. 

He pulls back just enough for a whisper of air to pass between the two of you, eyes warm and locked onto yours. “I love you. So much. It’s me and you, plain old Lando and plain old Y/N.” 

You push him lightly, grinning playfully. “Who are you calling plain?”

He rectifies his mistake with another kiss, this one softer and slower, the two of you taking the time to appreciate that this moment had finally come. The kiss moves to the corner of your lips, across your cheek and down to the spot just below your ear. 

A hand wraps around your waist, securing you to your spot. Pulling back slightly, you look down at the smiling man resting his head on your shoulder. “So, I love you, and you love me. What next?”

“We go celebrate this momentous occasion, and the race win, and then I take you out for our first proper date.” Tightening his hold on you, he moves his head to rest in the juncture between your neck and shoulder, dropping warm kisses to the skin beneath his mouth. 

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a/n: 3 of my top 5 boys on the canada podium is so 💞💖🩷💓💗💝💖💗💕💗💘💞 also as an esteban ult, it's on site for alpine fr. ALSO GOTE pt 3 coming soon ❤️

#lando norris x you #lando norris fanfic #lando norris x reader #lando norris imagine #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 fic

[imaroyalburneraccount]

Past, present, future

a/n: well, writing creativity hits me at the worst times. Including when I have a concussion! This one is for my silly moot @fortheb0ys

Minors DNI

Phillip was stressed. If stressed was even the right word. He was tired, and bored, and yet constantly busy busy busy. It was starting to make his head swirl so damn much that he decided to toss off his work and jobs to his poor second in command and go back to his little home town in the middle of nowhere Texas

He wasn’t there to see family, hell no. He had put his parents in a retirement home in Dallas years and years ago. He was going just to fish where he used to fish and enjoy how little that town changes- as if time was slowed there. He pulled up to his hotel happy as a clam and practically running to the local bar, enjoying as many drinks as he wanted to calm down, until he saw you walk in. Oh fuck

he hadn’t seen you since high school, since he left the whole backwater town to try his luck in the military, and told you by note. By note! He really did regret that now, how he had probably shattered you. Sure you two never ‘dated’, his parents would have slaughtered him for something like dating a man- but you two sure did everything a couple could. Nights spent together hidden away in a camping tent, secret kisses and hickeys littering him in the morning… he had really felt like shit having the nerve to show up here now, feeling wheezy and sick to his stomach.

he sat nervously next to you at the bar, letting you look him up and down as he drank a shot of whiskey, then two, then three. And a conversation started between you, about how your lives had ended up and how you’d stayed in the little country town and definitely flourished- calloused hands and well built figure filling in where you once were younger and softer, and the more he drank the more comfortable he felt around you, chuckling at your jokes and leaning into you as if he was head over heals again.

Four shots, five shots, six,

he was feeling real sick now, he wasn’t a lightweight by any means. But he had definitely lost track and gone above any standard he usually had. He felt Ick all over, barely wanting to walk out the door let alone leave you and go to his hotel- not that he could walk that far in the state he was in. He needed you in more ways than one, so he begged you pathetically to carry you home. Your grip and warmth grounded him enough that he got a grip while you carried him, softly nuzzling into your chest and hoping you’d stay just a little longer and indulge him just a bit more.

he didn’t deserve you, he knew that. You were his a long time ago and he had royally fucked up- but he missed everything about you, every little detail was making his mind spin with old memories he had thought he had forgotten. He let you carry him into your house without a single protest- too in bliss and too drunk to bother you with the idea of carrying him back to his shitty hotel, especially when your house smelt of your cologne and safety.

he almost melted in your bed; whining and pulling you next to him before utterly dozing off, and clinging to you as if you would disappear if he let go

he woke up with an utterly pounding headache and a hangover worse then death himself- sitting up with a groan before remembering where he was, and that he was in your jacket from the bar… he has definitely made a fool of himself in front of you. But he supposed it was better then being alone in your apartment- he laid practically on top of you, feeling your even breathing as you slept. He had missed the feeling of being oh so close to you, but he still wanted to be closer- okay sure, it might be a bit wrong but he couldn’t help himself but kiss down your neck softly, his hands wondering and his body slipping down a bit, in no hurry to wake you up- just wanting to feel you.

he mouthed at your boxers a bit, shaking you awake enough to get a groan out of you and a tired nod as you tossed your head back on the pillow tiredly, still half asleep as he tugged your boxers down your legs and wrapped his pretty lips around your cock-head, taking you inch by inch slowly and choking a bit until he had every inch in his mouth, little gasps coming out of his stretched lips as he breathed you in, tears and spit dribbling down his face. He was focused on solely you, only little grinds of his hips against your leg giving himself physical pleasure

he hummed softly at the feeling of your hand grasping in his hair, before getting thrown off rhythm at a rough tug from you, pulling him off- a small drop of pre-cum and spit connecting his lips and your soaked member before you forced him back all the way down. You had gotten a lot rougher, and it felt so so good to be gasping as those big blue eyes of his poured with tears- looking like a mess. But he was your mess again. Yours.

he choked and gagged every so often, but worked you up until you were grasping his shoulders tight enough to bruise, painting his throat white as he swallowed every drop down, cumming in his own pants untouched before he pulled himself away and rolled beside you

“missed you, sugar.” Was all he could mutter as he caught his breath

#coyotes_den #cod mw2 #cod x male reader #phillip graves #phillip graves x male reader #phillip graves smut #phillip graves x reader #phillip graves cod #phillip graves x you #graves x male reader #graves x reader #graves cod #mlm smut #top dom reader #male top reader #sub bottom character #bottom graves #graves smut #Sub graves #top reader #dom male reader #sub character #dom reader #top male reader #shadow company #gay cowboys #??? i think

[spideyhexx]

saccharine

saccharine - aka; cowgirl!reader who teases the shit out of him x billy who 'hates' you, or so he says.

tending to your wounds.

fem!reader

this could be read standalone or with the other parts <3

There was nothing else you could have done. With Jesse and his boys talking shit about your gang, about Billy, you had to say something. You were passing near them in town and caught the little jesting, which seemed to only get louder when Olinger realized it was you who was walking past them. 

Part of you knows it was stupid and your impulsivity was becoming a problem, but you had to do something, right? Stand up for yourself, for Billy, for the other men that you’ve grown to see as a family. Mostly Billy. So you did. And you paid for it. 

Apparently, it wasn’t below Olinger to take a few swings at a woman. It isn’t surprising though, and in hindsight, Jesse was the one to pull him back once you started reciprocating in the fight before anything got worse. Your hand had already found your gun, had it pulled out and cocked, but Jesse gave you a look and nodded off, hoping you’d walk away. 

With small reluctance, you kept the gun trained on Olinger as you paced backward, your eyes never leaving the group of men until you could slip away. You decided to not head straight for camp in fear of them following. 

That was also a slight mistake. Your nose ached and your lip was busted, knuckles bloodied. You’re sure a bruise will appear on your side and your cheek, but a sense of pride washed over you as you remembered hearing the crack beneath your knuckles when you punched Olinger in the nose. 

Your head is already woozy by the time you’re back at camp, waving off Charlie who immediately shows his concern. The plan is to take care of yourself inside your little tent, not wanting to worry anyone and cause a commotion. 

But then you see Billy. He’s just shrugging off his coat when he locks eyes with you. He barrels over, almost tripping over his own feet, “What the fuck did you do, cowgirl?” 

You let out a breathless chuckle, “So caring,” you mutter, walking past him, purposely bumping your shoulder into his, but it makes you wince. Billy holds himself back from grabbing your wrist, but he does follow you. 

“‘M being serious, what happened?” He presses, his head turned to look at you, assess what’s hurt as you walk. 

“Your old pals,” you tell him and he rolls his eyes. Your hand presses to your lip as it stings, a wince running through you again and you look at the blood on your hand when you pull it away from your mouth. 

“What were you doin’ with them?” Billy is eyeing you so intently like he’s itching to grab you and make you stop walking. His tone sounds almost accusatory so you lean into it. 

“Fucking them.”

He scoffs and moves to stand in front of you, blocking your way, “Stop messin’ around, ‘m…,” he trails off, looking away for a second before his eyes meet yours once again, “‘M trying to help, what happened? Just let me help fix you up.” 

“I don’t need help, I know how to take care of this,” you gesture to your face and step to the side to walk away from him, but he just steps back in front of you. 

“Bonney.”

“Cowgirl.”

You sigh dramatically, thinking over your options. Of course, you didn’t want to say no to Billy helping you clean up. He had nice hands. They would touch your face. And you could talk to him more. But you also feared he’d make you say what happened and your pride would take a hit. But the other part of you remembered that night a few months ago when you fixed him up after a fight. The gentleness between you two that you’ve never felt since longed to see if it would be back. And you’re tired. 

“Fine,” you finally say to him and his shoulders lose their tension. You bump into his shoulder again as you walk past him. 

Billy shakes his head, closing his eyes tight to clear his thoughts at your indifference and attitude before he follows you. Still standing, you’re already taking a cloth out of your bag, but he snatches it from you, wetting it with his water and grabbing your hand to clean your knuckles. 

When you sigh, he can’t help but smirk at how much you’re defying this, “‘S okay to need help,” Billy says, doing his best to be gentle with your knuckles. 

“Think you should take that advice too.” You try to make it about him. Knowing he would typically refuse help, but you both knew that you were much worse with it. 

“Gonna tell me how this happened? Jesse and his boys, huh?” Billy moves on to your other hand. 

A silence falls over the two of you as you keep your mouth shut. Billy isn’t dumb though, he knows how prideful you can be. “Whatever did happen, you shouldn’t have let it get to you. They’re all dicks.”

“I know,” you huff, clenching and unclenching your fingers to see if they hurt much once Billy’s done cleaning them. 

He grabs his clean handkerchief and dabs under your nose without warning which causes a small flinch from you. Billy shakes his head at it, holding your jaw with his other hand so you stay still. “If you know, then you wouldn’t have gotten involved in whatever you got involved in. You can’t be gettin’ hurt like this, sweetheart. What were you thinking?”

An eye roll comes from you. “Well…they were mouthing off about you,” you tell him, flushing when you realize how it sounds, so you quickly add on, “About…all of us, the whole gang.”

“And?” Billy gently turns your head as he continues to clean the blood off your face, his brow furrowed and his lips slightly pouted. Why are you looking at his lips right now, he could notice. 

“And I can’t stand that sorta thing. You know that.” You can’t hide the slight annoyance in your tone. 

“I do. But that was risky of you. And now you’re hurt,” he sighs after he speaks, tilting his head as he cleans near your mouth. 

“Bonney, I do not need to be lectured, I was just defendin’-”

“You got hurt,” he says, his voice a little more stern as he tosses the bloody handkerchief to the ground with your cloth. 

“I don’t want you gettin’ fuckin’ hurt over defendin’ me, I can’t have that,” Billy snaps, not even mentioning your words about how you did it for the gang. 

Oh. 

A shaky sigh leaves your lips, “I can handle myself, Bonney.”

“I know. I know, but you got fuckin’ hurt. Are you hearin’ me say that?” Billy’s getting more frustrated, his gaze stern and he pinches the bridge of his nose after he speaks. 

“We all get hurt sometimes,” you mutter, and you roll your eyes again. It’s common for any one of you to run into some trouble, and end up with minor injuries that heal within due time. It wasn’t anything big, right?

“I know but, you got hurt, impulsively and…and…what if they pulled a gun out?”

A twinge of something warms your heart when he specifies you getting hurt. Like he does care. Even if he thinks you should’ve walked away. 

“I’m quick.” You give him a shrug and Billy rubs his hands over his face. 

“Sweetheart,” he says, exasperated. Billy doesn’t know what he’s doing. When he saw you all battered up, he wanted to just scoff and make fun of you and leave it at that, but he didn’t do that. And now he’s two steps away from blurting out that he cares for you. 

“Billy, c’mon, I’m tired, I’m aching. I know it was fucking stupid, but it’s what I had to do,” you breathe out, taking a deep breath in and out. 

“Yeah, it was fuckin’ stupid,” he mumbles back, his eyes back on yours, “really, really stupid.”

“Thank you,” your voice is monotoned to further display your sarcasm and you see the hint of a smile on his face. 

Then it starts to drop as his brow furrows more, “Your nose is bleedin’ again,” he says and he moves in close, reaching into your bag at your side. Billy invades your space with this move, his body heat radiating into yours as he finds the handkerchief and holds it to your nose. 

You want to protest, but you keep your mouth closed, eyes boring into his as he looks right back at you. A thrumming from your chest almost wills you to break his gaze, but you can’t let him win that. There’s something in his eyes you cannot decipher. His eyes are a little glossy, but he can’t be tearing up, can he? No, that’s just how Billy’s eyes are, you tell yourself. His hair looks like he hasn’t washed it in a few days, not that you blame him, but it made you want to wash it for him. To run your hands through his hair as his hands held onto your sides. It was foolish to think of fantasies like that, you think. Too much wishful thinking that Billy would ever want something like that. There was no reason to hurt yourself over it. Would save the disappointment. You hope to dear god he doesn’t understand what’s going through your head. That your eyes look full of emotion but just as blank as his own do right now. Because that’s all you can get from him. Emotion. But what kind? It’s anyone’s guess. 

When he gently dabs and pinches at your nose to help stop the bleeding, it snaps you out of your thoughts. You wince and move back. 

“Sorry,” he says, his voice softer and he looks at the bloody handkerchief in his hand. The motion you took to move back made you aware of the pain at your side, your hand resting there. Everything was too much. The pain. Billy. Yourself. 

With a shaky sigh, you mutter, “I hate this so much.”

Billy’s brow furrows and he takes a tentative step closer, “Hey, ‘s okay. Like you said, we all get hurt, I just-”

“I know, it was really stupid of me. I acted on impulse like I always do, but hell, I-I had to. Fuck, I just had to. I’m so tired of hearing people talk shit about you when all you’re doing is trying to help the right people.”

Billy is a little surprised at your words, but you don’t even seem focused on that. 

“I hate h-how much I feel, Billy. I feel so much and I need to act,” you blurt out to him, rubbing your hands on the sides of your face and then you realize something. 

“Fuck, my hat.” The nice little cowboy hat that Billy bought for you, paid with his own money to make it up to you after he messed something up, was not with you. 

“It must’ve fallen off in the commotion,” Billy says, his face strewn with concern over you more than anything else. 

But you take it as him being disappointed. “God, I’m sorry, I know you paid a good amount for that.”

“‘S okay, we can get you a new one,” he says softly. You scoff. 

“No, I can’t let you do that. I’m such an idiot,” you say to yourself, your hand rubbing over your face, forgetting about your nose, so you only irritate it more. “Shit!”

Billy sighs torn between staying put where he is and coming closer to you, “You’re not an idiot. Maybe it’s still there too, we can get it.”

Your mind is going a mile a minute, your hands getting shakier as your chest overwhelms your entire body. The thoughts are coming too fast. 

“No, it’s not there, someone probably took it. And I can’t let you buy me a new one. I can’t. I fucked this up. I should’ve just left as you said. I shouldn’t have fought or even said anything. And now I lost my hat and I’m feeling, feeling so much, like a lot a lot, Billy, it’s like a lot,” you take a breath.

As you speak, Billy’s trying his best to listen to every single word. He’s a bit exasperated with you still. Your stubbornness was fucking difficult to deal with, but he’d never live without it. He can’t help but smile. Just a little. A very tiny one that you don’t even register. He’s not sure why he’s smiling, but maybe it’s because you’re you. He finds himself watching your lips for a quick second when you’re speaking. Just a quick second. 

You continue, “I don’t understand why I have to feel so much you know, and why I do act so impulsively but it just feels right, you know? It always feels right and sometimes I regret it sometimes I don’t I mean I do regret it tonight but at the same time I did break Olinger’s nose I think. So that’s cool but anyways, I still hate it, I hate that it feels right to be impulsive but then I end up feeling so much, I just want-”

Billy is compelled by your words to lean forward and quickly peck your lips, effectively stunning you into silence from your rambling. He’s just as frozen as you are, staring at you wide-eyed. 

“What…what was…,” you try to get words out, but you’re only thinking about the small feeling of his chapped lips on yours. He kissed you. A peck. But he kissed you. Oh, maybe you’re dead! 

Billy’s shoulders are tense as he shakes his head and gives a light shrug and breathlessly says, “Shut the fuck up?” 

A grin worms its way onto your lips and you grab at his neckerchief to pull him in and properly kiss him. The rough feeling of his lips as he presses back into it, and the warmth of his body being close to yours only lasts a few seconds before you’re wincing and mumbling, “My lip, my lip, forgot about my lip,” and you bring your fingers to the cut that’s there. 

Billy laughs. Your hand hits his arm, almost wanting to linger so you can feel the muscle he's been gaining recently. He feigns hurt, holding his hand to where you hit him. You wish your hand was there. You call him a prick. He calls you an ass. 

Maybe you love him.

#WE ARE SO BACK #billy the kid #saccharine #billy the kid x reader #billy the kid x you #billy the kid imagine #billy the kid smut #billy the kid blurb #billy the kid drabble #william h bonney x reader #william h bonney #william h bonney x you #william h bonney fanfiction #william h bonney smut #william h bonney imagine #william bonney #william bonney x reader #william bonney smut #william bonney x you #tom blyth #billy bonney #billy bonney x reader

[galactic-rhea]

It's ranting hours sunday for me: Y' know, I think when people complain soooo much about Padmé getting with Anakin, they're failing to see a lot of things. BUT ESPECIALLY...That it was her choice, and if speaks a lot of her character and personality.

She was already done dirty by the movies by getting so many deleted scenes, but then if you try to take away the agency she had on marrying a human disaster or her choices, like her forgiveness/understanding, it's actually undermining and flattening her character.

The fact is that she's actually very similar to Anakin, she's stubborn, deeply traumatized, compromises a lot for the sake of others and loves beyond reasoning. We, the audience, know that Anakin will become Darth Vader and one of the most iconic villains of history; so everything he does can be seem as a red flag that really isn't there.

From Padmé's POV, Anakin has done terrible things, but it's capable of incredible acts of love and compassion. They're in circumstances that aren't normal at all, she was queen at 14, and he was born a slave and joined the space wizard monks and his normal is kill or be killed. Our modern and omniscient POV can't be applied onto them because there's no point of comparison in this sci-fi-shakespearen tragedy-soap-opera-fantasy.

Besides...she was actually right in the end, and I don't believe is "feminist" or progressive to take away a big part of her core personality, that actually had repercussions in the whole story, and make her out to be either unaware and naive of marrying a monster, or (the worst one, imo) being jedi-mind-tricked-brainwashed-abused by her husband.

The "right, correct, girlboss and queen" actitude does more damage than help, leave Padmé to be a person. A person who wanted to have a fairytale romance with some guy who would fight for her and makes her laugh.

Also, the hell why you wanna blame her for something Anakin does, come on. That's a whole other can of worms, though. My point is, that trying to avoid or re-work-or re-contextualize the fact that she chose Anakin despite him literally telling her about murdering a whole village, is actually changing a big chunk of her personality traits.

She was a child queen, then a politician at the edge of an inminent war, manipulated by the same guy that groomed Anakin into a massive murderer, saw her people being taken into camps, had assasination attempts weekly and had to rip off of her individualism by becoming a public figure, giving up her sense of being a person by having several almost identical decoys, she had to stop being just Padmé to be Queen and then Senator Amidala and she did all of that showing little to no emotion.

Then Anakin does all what she herself had to rip off of her in order to be a politician: Honest, passionate, and able to show emotions; like love or anger.

She has morals and she represents democracy and justice, in a way. But I fully believe that inside her she had the same passionate anger and love capable of burning the galaxy that we know Anakin had, which makes them different sides of the same coin, and I think she realized that. Anakin perhaps didn't , as he never stopped of seeing himself as a slave and therefore inferior, whereas he held Padmé very highly, but I think Padmé saw them both as equals. She didn't have a "I can fix him" mentality, she had a "We're the same, we're both lonely, confused, hurting and scared of losing everything. And if he's like me, then I know he can do the right thing for love."

In other words: She was as insane as her husband, she only seems normal because she wasn't put into the monk warrior order and groomed by the devil for over a decade.

#padme amidala #star wars #anidala #anakin skywalker #sorry i saw a tiktok talking saying how padme is like pseudo liberal white women excusing her conservative homophobic boyfriend and #being dumb for no realizing or listening to the red flags or something like that and then ppl suggesting that she was just jedi mind tricke #and that if padme was really awesome she would've never chose anakin willingly so is better if she was forced or somethingan #and i got angry

[cottoncandyswisherz]

bae i luh you

peaches asked, so i delivered because who am i to say no to a god?

bf!chris x gf!reader

warnings: fluff, HATING ASS HOE, suggestive, swearing,

-

the bass was BOOMING in the tara's living room. today was nicks second space camp drop and ms. yummy insisted on celebrating with a party because of course.

as y/n stepped into the house she was assaulted by the smell of alcohol and sweat.

someone needed a fucking speedstick because DAMN!

anyway, she was brought out of her thoughts by her boyfriends arm being snaked around her waist as she walked. 

"you alright chris?" she asked.

"yeah im good. im just not trynna get fucked up tonight, so you gotta stay close." he reassured her.

"i wasn't leaving your side anyway." she said, grabbing his hand and making her way to their crew. "SUP SLUTS?" she shouted and everybody cheered. 

and the night went on just like that. 

taking a shot for solidarity, partying with their friends, and losing themselves in the night. everyone danced and enjoyed each othe

r. chris and y/n particularly enjoyed each other. 

suddenly y/n's new favorite song came on. as soon as she heard that "i say HOOOOO BABBYYYYY" a switch flipped. 

the moment was no longer about enjoying the feeling of chris being semi-hard on her ass. it was about letting the whole house know that he was hers.

and wreck-it ralph himself couldn't break that. 

so she did what any self-respecting woman would do. she began screaming the lyrics to him while moving her body and making heart hands. 

bae i love you you my everything im yo main bitch fuck a wedding ring

chris just laughed and began singing along with her, pulling her body to his, so their noses were touching. 

in this moment, y/n realized how much she loved chris. what she'd do for him. she'd keep every secret. she'd lie for him. she'd kill for him. she'd die for him. she'd live for him. 

did it scare her? fuck yes. 

she was supposed to be a pimp, not a lover girl. and she only knew this man for a year. but if president sexyy can be tied down than so can she.

i only knew him for a week but i swear thats my boo i might let the nigga trap me bitch my summer through but dont give a fuck do anythang for you

the couple was in la la land (ryan gosling hit me up!) as they danced and laughed and loved up on each other. 

to the untrained eye, it was disgusting. but to their friends, it was the moment they'd all been waiting for.

matt smiled with pride at the side of chris being with who he really wanted to be with, rather than who he think people want him to be with.

nick was shocked at chris being so openly in a relationship after physically cringing at the mere thought of sharing a scooter with a girl, but happy for him nonetheless.

tara was damn near in tears, seeing y/n being her true soft self.

jake was wishing he had someone he could be gross and cute with.

tril (who introduced the pair) was just glad chris was finally getting non-toxic pussy and y/n was getting the dick she deserved.

but of course the moment had to be ruined. 

there's always a bitch ass bitch trying to  kill the vibe. 

or should i say, a bitch ass bum.

as soon as the couple saw who'd been standing there staring at them like monkeys in a zoo, they made eye contact and simultaneously busted out laughing.

"what do you want bruh?" chis asked, sighing in an attempt to control his giggling.

"you're fucking with her after we just broke up two weeks ago?" she nudged her head in y/n's direction, which only changed her mood from wildly entertained to mildy irritated. 

"i'm not just 'fucking with' her." chris responded bluntly. "she's my girlfriend. my girl. friend." chris made sure to enunciate his words because he knew this girl was a little slow. "something you would have had to been for us to 'break up'. which we never did. because we never dated." he pulled y/n into his side and made sure she was good before he looked back at his old talking stage.

y/n was more than good. her pussy flooded when chris called her his girlfriend. 

nigga we go together tell them hoes we go together

"but-"

 this bitch still fucking here?

"but nothing hoe." y/n butt in, deciding to handle this situation herself. she stepped to the girl and looked her good in the eyes, to make sure she felt every word. "he just told you he has a girlfriend so get the fuck on and find something safe to do."

the girl cowered and walked away without another peep. leaving chris and y/n to embrace each other with passion and love and lust and all the other good feelings.

it was official. everyone knew they were together. 

everyone knew that they were each others. 

what more could a retired pimp ask for?

niyah speaks luh part two to feed yall for the week

taglist: @mattslolita @muwapsturniolo @mattssluttygf @zniyadgaf

remember that if no one loves you, mommy loves you (and by mommy i mean me)

#chris sturniolo #matt sturniolo #nick sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #christopher sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #chris sturniolo fanfic #Spotify

[yourlocaltreesimp]

Take it. TAKE THE FLUFF-

~ The Chain had just set up camp in Wilds Hyrule, near the Hebra Region according to Wild. You were cold. Every little gust of wind would make you shiver, and the icy dirt beneath you did not help.

Legend was in a similar state. He had shorts on, for Hylias sake. And a general lack of a warmer outfit. Plus, especially on Koholint, it was always pretty warm so he wasn't well adjusted to the cold.

He noticed your suffering being similar to his own and debated for a solid minute, glancing over to see if anyone would notice. Wind and Wild were trying to see how big the fire could get (not a cause for concern at all), Time and Twilight were off talking somewhere, Sky was dead asleep, and the rest were having an argument on Nayru knows what.

Nobody had to know.

He awkwardly strolled over to you and sat down beside you, clearing his throat.

"Um... Y-Ya cold?"

You answered his question when another gust of wind came, making you shiver violently.

He huffed out a slight laugh, scooting a little closer to you.

"Me too... U-Um, you wanna like- C- Huddle for um, warmth?"

You didn't need to be asked twice. Instantly you let yourself snuggle up to him, leeching off of his heat whilst he did the same. He sighed in relief of not getting the rejection he was expecting, laughing a bit and hugging you gently.

-

Time had found your two once he came back and sighed, taking a blanket he had with him and draping it over you both. He was glad Legend could be warmer, in more ways than one.

The old man didn't tattle, but Wilds Sheikah Slate had a new photo and Warriors a new thing to tease Legend about. A win for the whole family.

~

this is precious. absolutely adorable. sweet as sugar. i saw this and literally was kicking my feet and bundling up in blankets (i’m not joking to any extent) This is- it’s beautiful

…it may even be melting my angsty heart

#linked universe #legend of zelda #link x reader #lu legend x reader #lu legend #firreplies

[alltheboysandgirlsiloved]

one thing I haven't touched upon yet is how well the showrunners handled the time jump between Camp Cretaceous and Chaos Theory and more specifically - how well they handled maturing the campers.

At least to me the transition is nearly smoothless. Like, a couple of years have passed for those kids and those included years when people tend to change a lot - from children they grow into young adults. And the show did a fantastic job of shaping their adult forms in terms of personality. Because all of them have the core traits that we associated them with in Camp Cretaceous but at the same time they are more mature and carry their experiences on their back - both the experiences that we know of and those that could potentially fill up the time jump space if you know what I mean.

I look at Kenji for example and I still see remains of the boy that he was - a little bit arrogant (it still shows! he is very proud just of different things!), someone who doesn't shy away from an argument; but at the same time I see a man who has spent hours teaching kids and adults how to rock-climb - he can be patient too; I see someone who had to re-evaluate a lot in his life, and I can see that it wasn't easy, that it took a toll on him.

Or for example Sammy! Someone who loves her friends and family dearly still, a girl who was willing to fight for those she loved. But at the same time I see a young woman who knows that sometimes a compromise is the best option (like that situation with her neighbor). I see someone who still learns when her love and affection need to take a backseat for others to develop. I see someone who knows that sometimes being apart, even if it hurts, may be a good thing. I see someone forgiving but persistent.

Ben too... A boy who went through severe trauma that made his personality do flip and then, once time passed, he started rebuilding what was left of his old core. Anxious he is, a little boy still, but also a fighter - because he had to be one. At the same time, I see a young man who is a little torn on where he stands, who still figures out the details of his personality but who also knows his strengths and capabilities. In the end, he is energy-unbound, and he is eager to learn about the world in so many ways.

Darius, a boy who lost so much, and a young man who lost just as much. Life hasn't been easy on him. In jwcc grief encouraged him to attend camp, fulfill his father's dream. In jwct that aspect of his personality develops even more - now grief spins him into action, he doesn't wait for things to happen, he acts. He can work with others but he can also rely on himself, he grew up; he knows that he can handle himself, he still learns that he can reach out and ask for help, but he's getting there. He really is.

Not to mention Yas who has always been a creative person. Yes, it may be surprising that I mention that first but look at her now - inventing stuff, conducting projects? Remember her sketchbook in jwcc? Yeah, look where that creativity took her, look where her compassion took her - she helps people by helping herself. It was such a problem for her in jwcc (esp at the beginning) and look at her now - she's miles ahead of her old self.

Their personalities make so much sense because they are a clear continuation of their personalities in jwcc, and that's one of the reasons why jwct is so freaking good.

#jwcc #camp cretaceous #jurassic world camp cretaceous #jurassic world chaos theory #jwct

[bitin-and-barkin]

Keeping him in line

Warnings: Gunfucking, facefucking, shoe humping, sub Dutch, he's like super pathetic honestly, humiliation (Dutch Receiving), degradation, gender neutral reader, dom reader, the reader is SO fucking mean, Dutch deserves it tho, masochism, pain kink, anal, smut, all consensual dw, I like to think this could've stopped the downfall of the gang

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

Thinking about being an "old friend" of Dutch.

Used to go out robbing with him back in the day, until some crap went down. He thought you died, and you thought the same for him. But after the blackwater incident, a long overdue meeting happens when you both try to rob the same train.

Thinking about him "Inviting" (practically begging) you to join him, even though you both know you're doing damn well on your own.

Thinking about once you graciously agree, he's consulting you for every little thing, saying something along the lines of "let me consult the missus/mister" before he plans any jobs, finally taking SOMEONE'S advice other than his own. Treating you like Hosea, like himself. A higher up, a leader, despite you having never set foot in this gang in over 10, 15, years.

Thinking about him insisting that you don't have to do any of the "dirty work" if you don't feel like it. Barking orders at others to "take care of it" while dragging you back to his tent for no reason at all, other than to just smoke and drink and chat about everything and nothing.

Thinking about others being weirded out and slightly jealous of all the praise and approval you get from him, with even Molly questioning if he's sweet on you. Everyone is thinking it, that maybe he had something going on with you in the past. But, even when he was with Annabelle? He had never treated her this kindly.

Thinking about him catching glances at your fingers while you handle your gun, the way you draw it and shoot in the blink of an eye. Watching your hands move as you play poker at camp, making everybody else at the table go broke.

Thinking about him watching the way your chest heaves in and out after a gunfight. Watching the way your silver tongue talks them into money and out of trouble, even better than he or Hosea can.

Thinking about him stating he needs to "take a break" with Molly due to him "needing some time alone" while she watches him talk to you the same way he used to chat with her, but with actual longing in his eyes.

Thinking about you talking to him, almost down to him, with a certain smug look on your face as he looks at you with a certain devotion on his. You calling out the flaws in his ideas and plans, doubting him, doing things that would get anybody else labeled as a traitor. But not you. Anybody but you. As when you do it? All he can do is sit there and take it.

Thinking about you pushing him down by the chest where he sits anytime he does something or says something that you don't like. Knocking his drink out of his hand in front of everybody when he gets too out of line.

Thinking about punishing him for his behavior at night, taking long drags of his cigar and putting it out on his arm as you grip his hair and shove his face into his bed as you fuck him into the sheets.

Thinking about you leaving bruises on his neck after you choke him too hard for being too mean to one of his boys or after one of his infamous plans fuck up once again.

Thinking about making him rut up against your boot as you face fuck him, saying he isn't deserving of even touching you, and if he wants release he has to work for it himself. Stating that your shoes better be shining when he's done down there as he rubs his dick against your spurs, desperate for friction.

Thinking of you fucking him with his own gun after he begs you for more, with you degrading him for getting a hard on. Asking him what the Pinkertons, what his gang, would think if they learned that Dutch Van Der Linde himself is no more than a common whore. One barely good enough to fuck. Saying that maybe you should turn him in, that way you can use the money to buy a whore that actually does what they're told.

Thinking about him crying into your lap as he begs for release, and all you do is laugh at him and shove him off, leaving him alone and aching after you climax and he doesn't. Knowing that he needs this punishment to keep him in place.

Thinking about him palming himself for the rest of the night and choking himself with a tie you got him a long time ago, fucking himself stupid with your gun which you left in his tent. But it's not enough. Such a greedy boy. It's never enough for him.

That's why you have to keep him in line. It keeps him sane.

#sub dutch rdr2 #dutch van der linde #dom gn reader #dom reader #dom!reader #sub men #rdr2 x reader #rdr2 #rdr2 smut #smut #humiliation kink #pain k!nk #sub dutch #rdr2 dutch #rdr2 x you #dutch x reader #dutch x you #face fvcking #i want to bully him so bad #only way i want him is i want to humilate him and make him cry #red dead redemption 2

[moonchildxoxx]

A/N: You are responsible for your own media consumption. MDNI 18+. Lit bit of anguish, little bit of smut and also a bit of fluff

Pairing: So’lek x Fem!Aranahe!Reader,

Word count: 2319

Synopsis: a classic young sunshine ☀️ and old grump🌧️ finally get together a young aranahe weaver falls for the grumpy hunter and eventually breaks down So’lek’s walls

That doesn’t count!

Solek sat in his makeshift camp that was nestled on the outskirts of the Aranahe territory. She found him sharpening his knives with a scowl on his face. "What do you want?" So'lek grumbled not looking up, he knew it was her, the little aranahe weaver that never seemed to leave him alone. “I just came to see how you were doing." She said as she hesitantly took a step forward crouching next to him. "Would you want to go for a ride with me?." Solek paused his sharpening and stared at her with a blank expression, processing the request. Her request was a surprise, it made him slightly uncomfortable. He could handle the hunt and the ambushes but something more light hearted like a ride was foreign to him. "I don't see the point of that." Was his response.

She rolled her eyes playfully "you're such a grump you're worse than my baba.” The corner of Solek's lips slightly turned up, he felt as if he should snap and be more hostile with her. But something about her presence made him feel at ease. "You seem quite comfortable calling me grumpy." The Na’vi said, raising an eyebrow.

"Well if the battle band fits" she said. A full blown chuckle escaped So'lek, he couldn't believe he had actually laughed in front of her. He quickly covered it up pretending to cough. "That was not a laugh." He declared. "No of course not that was an involuntary muscle spasm.” She answered sarcastically.

"Exactly." The Navi replied, he felt his cheeks slowly turning a dark shade of blue, he knew she must have seen this but he prayed she hadn't.

He quickly changed the subject by pointing to his sharpened weapons. "Why do you insist on coming to see me?" He asked. "Because I like you" she countered So'lek stared at her wide eyed, the words she spoke came as a surprise to him. No one had told him they liked him in a long time. "Why do you like me? I'm certainly not one of the more attractive males around ." Solek said with an air of confusion. "They don’t really hold my interest "

So'lek's eyes narrowed before he spoke again, he really wanted to know what it was about him that she liked so much. "Do you enjoy my scowl and grumpy attitude? Is that what attracts you?" "Part of it, yes" she admitted. The Na'vi couldn't believe this cute yet annoying female was making him blush. He didn't like this feeling of being vulnerable. "How is that attractive?" He said trying to change topics again.

“I’m not quite sure but I like it” she spoke

"So you like me with my angry scowl and me being rude, then what is the end goal then, do you hope to make me more friendly?" So'lek asked before he sighed thinking she didn't understand his intentions or his pain. "No!, of course not!. And you aren’t always so scowling

" she added "I'm not always scowling?" The Na'vi asked, raising his brows once more he wondered what was wrong with this female. Surely she had to be either crazy or very brave to say these things to him. “ then when am I not scowling?" “When you are with the sarentu " "That does not count." Solek replied in a tone that sounded offended. He couldn't believe she brought up the sarentu, he actually liked teaching the young hunter but it wasn't something he would openly admit.

“So'lek you are acting offended for nothing nobody else is going to hear a word of this conversation” she said. Solek paused before speaking again, maybe this female was right.

"Fine I am not always scowling, but only when I'm being polite to the younglings. But how would you know about that?" "I have eyes, others seem to turn a blind eye when it comes to you for some reason or another.” Solek was used to being viewed as a grump, an intimidating male. The rest of the Na'vi's wouldn't dare get in his way when he was on a hunt but this female seemed persistent to get to know him. "Do you really pay that much attention to me, what is the reason for that?" Solek asked, raising his eyebrows, he was intrigued but also slightly annoyed. "I do not have a straight answer but I feel a pull towards you… I like you "

So'lek's sharp eyes studied her for a moment before he spoke again. "A pull towards me?" He replied sounding a bit skeptical, surely this young female wasn't into him. He had no good qualities, he was a scarred damaged male whose hatred overpowered all else. "I must warn you there are much better males you could be drawn to."

She sighed " You are just as good as any of the others, you just need a little bit of time and patience .” Solek scoffed before shaking his head. "I am certainly not just as good as any other male. And I have no desire to be treated with patience or cared for. I do not need you coddling me." The Na'vi said in a low growl as he glared down at her. “It is not coddling Solek having patience with someone is not coddling” "It sure sounds like it. I'm a grown Na'vi male." Solek replied in a sharp tone, he didn't understand why she was trying to be so nice to him. Maybe she just felt sorry for him. He didn't need her pity, no one deserves pity. “Yes but you have also seen great horrors in your life time and you have not given yourself time to grieve or heal” she spoke softly trying to reason. So'lek's face was suddenly stone. "You have not lived through a war with the RDA, you know nothing about grief, what pain I've lived through." The Na'vi said in an icy tone, suddenly he felt like yelling at her in all of his rage. "you are right I have not seen a war of that size " she spoke calmly

Seeing her being so calm in this situation was infuriating to the Na vi. "Is that the reason you like me? Your curiosity of my past?" Solek said with a slight edge. “No Solek your past is not a thing of importance but I understand you have trauma and it will always be apart of you.” So'lek turned away from her , he couldn't believe this female understood his situation. "You actually seem to understand." The Na'vi said before he paused, he didn't like letting people see his vulnerable side. "But if you understand then, how do you still like me?" "Why wouldn't I like? Why should anything you've gone through change my opinion on you Solek" she asked. Solek paused before speaking again, her words brought the slightest glimmer of hope within him. No one had ever liked him for who he was before, only what he could offer them. He was confused and somewhat hopeful about this female.

"Even with all of my scars and baggage you still like me?" "That's how i've only ever known you So'lek " The Navi was taken aback by her response. She ad a point, she ad only ever seen his scarred face and scarred body. But now as he tried to look back, she had never actually seen him any other way. "But all you've seen is me being rude and angry." Solek mumbled, he didn't like admitting this much to her “I don’t care So’lek” she spoke

Solek paused again, she really didn't care that she had only known his scarred side. The Na'vi felt his heart beating quicken, the thought of her being so understanding was bewildering him, but also it gave him another feeling that he wasn't used to but could identify. "So you have no problems with my scars, my attitude, my personality?" He asked her, there was hope now that his scars didn't scare her away from him.

She kissed his cheek softly. So'lek froze as her soft lips touched his cheek. He was not expecting a kiss nor did he think a female like herself could do that. His face felt like it was on fire as the he just stared at her lips before speaking again.

"Do that again" The words just spilled out of his mouth, he didn't know why but he needed to feel that once more. She kissed his cheek again gently. The rush of euphoria and adrenaline Solek felt after a second kiss was immense. It was unlike anything he had felt before or maybe it was long forgotten. When she pulled away, the Navi could only gaze into her eyes for a moment.

"Are you sure you like me?"He asked his voice sounding a bit shaky, he needed to know.

Solek would not let himself get his hopes up too much, not when he could be left severely heartbroken. He tried not to care if she said she did not have Feelings for him, but it would hurt greatly if she ejected him. She kissed him on the lips this time The kiss made Solek feel as if all his senses had been amplified. The taste of her lips caused his heart to race. The warmth of her body and her scent was intoxicating to him. The Na'vi wanted a chance to return the favor, to show her how much he cared. He placed his hands on her back and pulled her close so that now your bodies were pressed against each other.

He opened his mouth before connecting his lips to hers nd pulled her into a deep kiss.

Solek was breathing heavily after the intense kissing session and the Na'vi had to ask the one question that had been weighing heavily on his mind. "Why are you being so nice to me? I am a scarred damaged male, l am not someone you should be falling for."

She had had enough “Why? What exactly makes you damaged So'lek? Tell me " she argued. So'lek's face turned slightly red when she asked that. "Are you joking? I am covered in scars both mentally and physically. I have been at war for years, I have killed countless humans to protect my home. I've seen my family and friends die. I have killed." The Na'vi spoke slowly, he was beginning to feel the weight of these things again. "You didn't even flinch when I told you this." "Because none of this changes who you are Solek " Solek could not understand how she was still persisting that he was worth caring about. He was shocked, yet pleased that she didn't care. "You're unbelievable." The na'vi said in awe. He pulled her into his lap so that now she was cradled against his chest. He wrapped his arms around her, like he was afraid she might disappear. So'lek couldn't help himself from burying his face in her hair. She smelled like fresh rain and sweet berries. The Na'vi relished in this moment, feeling her body pressed against his.

He ran a hand along her back,gently touching her bare skin. He also enjoyed the feeling of her hair between his fingers as he twisted and twirled the locks in his hand. She gently caressed his cheek

The feeling of her fingers against his face made Solek shiver. He was not used to this soft touch, but he didn't hate it. You're driving me mad, you know that." Solek said softly against your hair as he pulled her in closer. Now that she was against his chest, he was tempted to bury his face in her shoulder and take in her scent but that would only make his desire stronger. The Navi gently nipped at her ear, his heart racing. A part of him felt like a lovesick teenage boy, he was enjoying being so close to her and feeling your body against his. He then gently touched a hand to her chin and tilted her head back so he could look her in the eyes. He looked at her face, studying her facial features. Solek thought she looked angelic. The way the sunlight touched her skin, the way her hair framed her face "You're driving me mad, you know that." Solek said softly against her hair as he pulled her in closer.

Now that she was against his chest, he was tempted to bury his face in her shoulder and take in her scent but that would only make his desire stronger. He then traced his thumb along her bottom lip before speaking in a low tone.

"You are beautiful..." He spoke before he began to trail his finger along her jaw and down her neck. As he felt her warm skin under his touch he suddenly had the urge to mark her as his.

The Na'vi began to kiss her neck and he nibbled gently on the soft skin. He began feeling the strong desire to markher , to make his claim on her visible for all to see. She moaned gently So'lek's heart skipped a beat as she let out a little moan. He smiled upon hearing her make this noise, he wanted to hear it again.

"Oh you like that do you?" He said in a low tone before sucking gently on her neck.

He sighed as she gently caressed his skin and he couldn't help but turn his head to press a soft kiss to her palm . His body was filled with sensations of desire and he had an intense urge to hold her closer. The Na'vi was fighting the urge to pick her up and carry her to his tent so he could do other things to her. For now he knew he had to act with restraint and so, he settled for wrapping his arms around her tighter and pulling her in close to his chest.

#avatar 2009 x reader #tsu'tey x reader #avatar 2009 #avatar movie #jake sully x reader #tsu'tey x y/n #jake sully #neteyam x reader #lo’ak x human reader #ao’nung #solek smut #solek frontiers of pandora #solek #solek x reader #so’lek x fem!human reader #so’lek smut #so’lek #so’lek avatar #so’lek frontiers of pandora #so’lek x reader

[sludge-saturday]

catching feelings - pencil and charcoal

you've been riding with the van der linde gang for a few months now, pulling your weight and helping out when you can. you've earned the trust of nearly everyone there with your hard work and are starting to capture the interest of a certain someone...

pairing: arthur morgan x gn!artist!reader

summary: you show arthur your artwork by the fire. how will he react when he sees himself amongst your drawings?

tags: fluff, arthur has low self-esteem

warnings: very brief mention of alcohol consumption

word count: 1,141

a/n: "catching feelings" will be a series i explore with the rdr2 characters i write for, it'll pretty much be the moment they realize they like you! also, i can't tell if my writing style is too corny or not so feedback is encouraged. :)

☆ the trotting of your horses' hooves served as gentle ambience as you and arthur watched the van der linde camp come into view. an involuntary feeling of relief washed over you, knowing that you were safe here. the two of you were just arriving from a particularly difficult bounty hunt, but your combined skills proved to be efficient. "a job well done," as arthur had told you.

☆ you both approach the camp and hop off of your horses, hitching them to an available post. arthur gives boadicea a gentle, appreciative pat on the neck. "i'm gonna go tell dutch how much we made." he says, walking toward where the gang leader is standing. dutch is next to one of the posts holding up his tent and a fire had been made not too far away by some of the other gang members. karen, tilly, charles, javier, and lenny all sat around the flame, a couple with bottles in their hands.

☆ you wanted to stop at your tent for your sketchbook before heading over to sit with them. now would be a perfect time to keep practicing, you thought to yourself. after making the short trip to where your belongings were, you swiped the leather-bound book and the rest of your supplies off of your cot. as you walk towards the fire you glance at everyone sitting around it. no one had left yet, but another person had joined: arthur.

☆ scanning for a place to sit, you decide on an open spot next to the gunslinger. you had to admit, you've grown fond of arthur's presence since you first started traveling with the gang. it was something about his get-it-done attitude, his undying loyalty to those he cares about, and, of course, his rugged handsomeness. you kept your affection for him a secret, though, afraid of what might happen if anyone ever found out. you drew one of your knees up to your chest, propping your sketchbook up on your thigh in an attempt to dispel the thought.

☆ arthur's gaze couldn't help but wander to what you were doing beside him. as you opened your sketchbook, flipping through the pages to find where you last left off, arthur's eyes were able to steal a few glances at what was inside. from what he able to see, there were sketched pictures of people he could have sworn he recognized. was that... dutch? and sean? and mary beth? arthur gestured to the book in your hands and spoke in a hushed tone, as if afraid someone else would hear what he had to say. "you draw too?"

☆ you looked up at arthur with a smile already on your face. "it's been one of my passions since i was a child. i practically clung to my pencils when i fell on hard times." your eyes sparkled as you spoke to him, and you could have sworn you saw the same kind of shimmer in his eyes as he listened. "can i..." he started, "can i see 'em?" arthur had never met anyone else that shared his love of drawing and thought he never would, he had made peace with that. but this new discovery, this moment he was now sharing with you, it made him feel more alive and more connected to someone than he felt in a while.

☆ a flush threatened to creep onto your cheeks as you process arthur's request. you can't remember the last time someone asked to actually see what you were making. anxiety bubbled in your stomach as your mind raced through everything that could happen if you agreed. but, when you looked at arthur, his features were graced with a subtle glow, an expression of wonder and pure curiosity. how could you refuse?

☆ "of course." you gave him a sweet smile. "should i start from the beginning?" your hand prepares to move all of the pages on the left back to the right, but you look at arthur for approval anyway. "sure." he answered, nodding his head.

☆ and so you do. you show him everything, from your finished portraits of the gang members to sketches of your horse to quick scribbles of plants and animals you spot on your adventures. and arthur found it all so breathtaking. your art style, the way you chose to characterize your figures, your ability to make photo-realistic images from just pencil and charcoal, he never knew you had this in you.

☆ he watched as you flipped through the pages, admiring your work and pointing out ones he particularly liked. the person drawn on the last page had a dark cowboy hat on with rope tied around the base. he had a dark kerchief draped around his neck and a stubbly face. "recognize him?" you smooth your hand over the paper, remembering the unforgettable process that was drawing arthur for the first time. "this is one of my favorites." smiling at the page, you turn to look at his reaction.

☆ arthur was utterly dumbfounded. he couldn't believe what he was looking at. someone, especially someone like you, had deemed him worthy enough of being a muse for artwork. he thought he was so... ugly. he thought everyone found him that way. at a loss for words, the man felt tears prick his eyes. he didn't know why he was getting so emotional! he couldn't cry in front of anyone, so he cleared his throat and searched for what to say. "is that me?"

☆ you noticed that arthur's eyes looked glossier and that his expression shifted. you couldn't gauge how he was feeling from the look on his face, so you looked back down at the drawing. "it is," you said, fiddling with the corner of the book. "you are a joy to create." your smile was genuine, the apple of your cheeks shining in the firelight as you turned your head to face arthur again. his expression was still unreadable, his gaze tilted down towards his lap. after a few seconds of silence, arthur speaks softly. "ya really mean that?"

☆ arthur's eyes were still glassy, but softer this time around. he looked like the answer to his question would make or break him. he looked... vulnerable. even you knew that this was not a disposition you would typically, if ever, expect of him. you were careful with your response, knowing that you held the very livelihood of arthur morgan in your hands. "i do."

☆those two simple words sent a small swarm of butterflies through his gut. for him, nothing would be able to compare to the way you just made him feel. for him, this moment would be occupying his mind for longer than he cared to admit. for him, this gesture was just another piece of the stunning mosaic created in your image. after this, there's no more room for doubt. he's smitten.

#rdr2 fanfic #rdr2 oneshot #rdr2 x reader #arthur morgan fanfic #arthur morgan oneshot #arthur morgan x reader #artist!reader #enjoy :)

[waterdeep-weavemoss]

Tease

Just Gale being a total freak. Gale x F!Tav, blood, spice, etc.

@netherese0rb @boufsy @owlseeyoulaterpal @lanafofana

@auroraesmeraldarose @aryancunin @amorgansgal

'I wanna see your animal side, let it all out, I wanna see the dirt under your skin, I need your broken promises.' - Death Valley, Fall Out Boy

Tav stood in the middle of the ruined landscape, taking heaving gulps of air. The shadows that had attacked them had disappeared in bursts of sickly green and they pressed on to the muted moonglow in the distance. One of the beseiged harpers had pointed it out, snapping that they should run for it if she perished. Tav led the group, barely thinking as they made their presence known and chose a camping spot away from the inn. Why they were not permitted to be inside she didn’t know, though she had an inkling there was little room for them.

The darkness had the unfortunate affect of making the air feel like a winter’s night; she shivered even as she built up a sweat helping everyone with their shelters. Gale appeared distracted- not unlike him, certainly, though he seemed a little more intense than usual.

‘Cold, Tav?’ said Karlach good naturedly as they passed each other. She carried a stack of dead wood under each arm. ‘We’ll have a fire going soon as. Where’s our rogue got to?’

‘Hunting, most like,’ said Halsin, bumping shoulders with Tav and almost sending her sprawling. ‘Oops! Sorry.’ He steadied her with a hand on her shoulder. ‘Silvanus knows what he’d eat out here, though.’ His eyes glittered impishly. ‘Unless you’ve been feeding him of course.’

‘Oh, behave,’ said Tav, blushing. ‘That was once.’

‘And where did Gale go?’

‘Huh?’ Tav scanned the campsite. Though his tent was set up, the wizard was nowhere to be seen. ‘I saw him a minute ago. He’s probably getting supplies for dinner?’ She sighed. ‘I’ll take a look. But there better be a fire going when I come back, it’s freezing.’

‘Relax,’ said Shadowheart, rolling her eyes. ‘I don’t know why you’re all so whiny. I feel fine.’

‘You would,’ shot Wyll. ‘This is Shar’s work, after all.’

‘Okay,’ said Tav. ‘I’ll leave you to your sniping. I’ll find the wizard. We’ll starve without him.’

‘Hey, I can cook,’ said Wyll, pouting a little as Tav turned her back and trudged off into the dark.

‘Gale?’ she called. ‘Everyone’s looking for you!’ He can’t have gone far. She misty stepped, walked a little further, scanning. ‘Gale!’ She was well away from camp now, clear on the other side of the lake.

‘Always one for walking into trouble, aren’t you?’ said a voice in her ear.

‘Gale? What the fuck?’ Her head whipped to the side, heartbeat picking up. ‘Why are you invisible?’ Stupid wizard.

‘I don’t want a search party looking for me,’ he said. His breath was hot on her ear. ‘Just you.’

‘Why?’ she asked, drawing the word out. ‘We need you back at camp, and-’

‘I wanted us to be alone.’

The cogs were turning in Tav’s head. ‘Hang on,’ she said slowly. ‘Is this about- about-’

‘Oh Tav, don’t play coy,’ he crooned. ‘I know you find this all as thrilling as I do. Now I admit,’ he said, sounding a little more like himself, ‘that I got a little tongue-tied. A little flustered. But now I think I can say what I want to say, knowing nobody but the one intended will hear it. But,’ he said, ‘perhaps it can wait. You’re so cold. We can’t have that…’

‘Turn visible, coward,’ said Tav, giggling. Gooseprickles rose on the back of her neck.

A snap and he was there in front of her, robes looking much the worse for wear, his face spattered with blood. ‘Dear me,’ he said. ‘You’re practically covered in blood and guts. Time for a bath?’ He tilted his head, smirked. His eyes were blazing.

‘You are too,’ she said boldly, gesturing. ‘Arterial, by the look of it. That’ll really mess up your hair if you’re not careful.’

Gale lunged forward, grabbing her face and smashing their lips together in a mess of tongue and teeth. She tasted blood and sweat on his lips, metal and salt. Groaning into her mouth he pulled at a slash in her robes and rended the fabric even further, mouth falling to the exposed skin of her shoulder to suck a bruise into her flesh. Her breathing stuttered and he hummed against her skin, dragging his teeth a little to pull a whimper from her. ‘Hnnngh, more of that,’ he said, kissing her mouth again.

‘What’s gotten into you?’ she gasped when he pulled away again to mark her neck. ‘I thought you couldn’t-’ she hissed as he dug his fingers into her thighs and growled.

‘As if that will stop me,’ he said darkly. ‘Not when you’re so fucking tempting-’

‘Gale, it’s not safe-’ She was between his teeth, latched onto the tender skin between neck and shoulder as he ground his hips against her. He applied sharp pressure in response and she yelped, half in pain, half surprise. He kissed the bite tenderly, pressed another kiss to the corner of her mouth.

‘I love seeing you covered in blood,’ he rasped. ‘Not that I want to see you hurt, but…’ he panted into her ear. ‘Fuck I love seeing you filthy.’

Tav could hardly breathe. This was not a side of him she’d ever anticipated. ‘You said we couldn’t-’

He laughed, a dark little growl. ‘We can’t. But I couldn’t resist giving you a little taste of what’s to come…’ he snapped his fingers and was gone, leaving her burning and frustrated in the dark.

#gale x tav #gale being an evil little fucker #mine

[ihatetaxes99]

Alrighty, fun theory time: What if Neito Monoma was actually brain-damaged?

I swear, this isn't a joke post, this is a genuine headcanon/theory I like to consider that possibly explains the... Sharp shift in his behaviour. Of course, it obviously isn't actually canon, I don't think anyone would believe that for a second, but it's an idea I like to ruminate upon. That said, time to elaborate:

It's no secret that when the character of Neito Monoma was introduced during the Sports Festival story arc of the Boku No Hero manga, he was rather different from his later portrayals.

Unless I'm forgetting something, this was the first proper panel introducing Monoma in the series:

As you can see, there were some... Changes later on down the line:

Anyone can tell that something happened here. Anyone who has a basic knowledge of the manga is aware that this second image is not an outlier. Monoma has been consistently portrayed as arrogant, over-the-top and borderline mentally unwell. There's clearly something wrong with this boy, this isn't just a kid being energetic.

Monoma in his initial appearance was clearly a bit underhanded, yes. He was a schemer, a trickster, almost like the heroes' version of Mr. Compress (I had to fit a reference to my G in there somehow) in how he relies on subterfuge and deception over raw strength; None of this translates to the psychopathic brat he became as early as the Training Camp arc. The question is, what happened to cause this? I mean, yeah, there are a few pretty good guesses as to why his personality was retconned out-of-universe (I've always taken an interest in the theory that his insanity was turned up to make Kendo's behaviour towards him seem more justified, somehow, and have her come off as less unlikeable, though there is also the popular theory that Bakugo's popularity had a hand in things as well, which I won't get into here), but that's boring. I am an Autist, and what I want is an in-universe explanation to use as my personal headcanon.

And so, we come to this delightful little panel:

Acquired Brain Injury (ABI) refers to a form of brain injury brought about by physical trauma or other damage caused sometime after birth, as opposed to genetic brain damage. As listed by the Scottish Acquired Brain Injury Network, symptoms of ABI can include:

Reduced motivation.

Reduced ability to initiate activity.

Reduced motivation.

Reduced empathy.

Emotional Lability

Reduced impulse control (i.e. reduced ability to control expression of emotions and behaviour).

Agitation.

Aggressive behaviour.

Impaired judgement.

Socially inappropriate behaviour.

Sexually disinhibited behaviour.

Reduced insight/awareness of the consequences of brain injury and its impact.

Obviously, not all of these symptoms are relevant to Monoma's case, but some - such as emotional lability, reduced impulse control, agitation, aggressive behaviour, impaired judgement and socially inappropriate behaviour - sound very familiar.

In short, it's proven that physical trauma to the head can very much influence and alter a person's personality, resulting in instability. And as we can see from the image, Bakugo very nearly blew Monoma's head off during the climax of the chariot battle. The way that his head snaps back is clearly indicative of receiving some sort of sharp blow.

And that is where the basis of my theory is formed. Neito Monoma starts out his UA career as a somewhat ambitious and devious, but intelligent and well put-together kid. Then, during the Sports Festival, he receives a severe blow to the head from Bakugo. Given the nature of UA's training regiment, it's even possible that he would sustain more injuries off-panel between the end of the Festival and his next appearance at the Training Camp, possibly even developing the situation into Chronic Traumatic Encephalopathy. And that's not even considering all of the times Kendo has been seen striking him hard enough to knock him out cold. We're also well aware of how lax UA is in regards to their medical care, with a kiss from Recovery Girl and a few days' rest typically being seen as the best way to deal with incidents. In this environment, Monoma's head trauma would go on to manifest itself in more and more personality defects, transforming him over time as his intellectual capabilities were diminished and his aggressive and socially unaware behaviour grew more and more pronounced. It puts a tragic spin on what is essentially a mishandled joke character, holding the lens to UA's negligent behaviour that the manga barely touched in any real depth.

Of course, as I said, obviously none of this is the case. Monoma was rewritten to be a joke after the Sports Festival and that is the long and short of it. There isn't really anything deeper going on there, not intentionally at least. But I like to dream. And I've really grown rather fond of this little headcanon.

#bnha critical #mha #theory #headcanon #monoma neito #neito monoma #class 1b #UA critical

[ponder-the-orb]

Common Ground

Pairing: Fem sorcerer Tav/Gale, (named elf tav: Ciri)

Word count: 2K

Summary: I just really wanted to write a drabble that involved some sorcerer/wizard bickering.

***

“Shit.”

The sewing needle jabs into Ciri’s finger and a single drop of blood oozes onto the material in her other hand. She stares at the stain, a poppy blooming amongst the dark green fabric of her robe. Her only robe. One of perhaps five things she’d managed to cling to her person as a tentacle plucked her from the crowded road at Baldur’s Gate and promptly threw her into this mess. 

She shoves her finger in her mouth, the tang of rust and salt spreading over her tongue as she throws the robe to the muddy bank at her feet. It’s hardly ruining it further. Despite her poor attempts at needlework it’s still riddled with holes thanks to an acid coated arrow that had been shot by a more competent goblin this afternoon. They’d promptly felt the sting of her flames after that.

She rubs her bare arms, adjusts herself on the log she’d made her perch for the evening. It’s a dim spot at the very edge of this makeshift campsite, her patch of stillness amongst the reeds and silt of this unknown riverbank. She stares at the flat mirror of the moon on the water’s surface and lets herself fall back into the same fantasy she’d been repeating for the past day: this could be any other job, any other group of hired swords she was stuck with in order to fetch some expensive trinket or kill a wandering band of monsters. Easy. Normal. A few days of work before she’s hunting down another gig in the next town.

Her seconds of calm abruptly shatter as her other campmate squirms in her head. The parasite. Fat, angry and days away from making her a mind flayer. Until recently they were just flickers of imagination, stories of teeth and tentacles used to scare children and intrigue professors, not the solid wet beings that had stared at her with such malice on the Nautaloid.

She presses her temple. She’d already spent far too long wondering if she’d look exactly like them if whatever is protecting them vanishes, about how much it will hurt when her skull splits and blood spills from every shaking orifice. A soul extinguished like a match against a hurricane.

She presses harder, trying to drown the image out with the sounds of the camp: the grind of the Gith’s sword on her whetstone, a hearty laugh from that monster hunter desperate to find his infernal target, the solemn whisper of the shadowed cleric praying to whatever God she thinks will help them. 

She grunts as it squirms more vigorously, almost like it enjoys sipping the taste of her ebbing sanity.

“Is the little one ruining your peace?”

She looks up and meets the dark eyes of the wizard she’d pulled out of a rock and regretted almost every moment since. Gale. Last she’d checked he’d seemed more than happy going on about some Waterdhavian recipe at the cooking pot and leaving her very much alone. A set up she’d hope would stay until morning. 

She drops her hands. “It’s not just the parasite right now.”

He ignores her surliness and holds out a bowl. “You should eat something. We have had quite a day.”

She takes it with a quiet thanks and tries not to shudder as a pungent scent fills her nose. Stew would probably be the closest approximation to the thick brown liquid sloshing inside. Given the lack of real food they’d been able to find so far, she’d rather not guess what the viscous lumps floating on the surface are.

“I’ll eat later,” she says, placing the bowl at her feet.

Gale raises an eyebrow. “Ingredients may be sparse around here but I promise you it’s more than edible.”

“We’re eating out of bowls we raided from a crypt. Trust me, I am not worried about the taste.”

He looks down at her crumpled robe on the floor. “You know, I can fix that for you.” He flexes his fingers and a cool white light begins to swirl in his open hand. “A mending charm can only repair one tear at a time but if you give me a few minutes–”

“No thank you,” she interrupts firmly, grabbing the robe and throwing it behind the log. She’s perfectly aware of how cold her voice sounds, but right now she’s approximately one annoyance away from running into the neighbouring forest and letting her flames overcome her. The taste of soot and cinder would most likely be preferable to whatever is swirling by her feet anyway.

The light in his hand fades along with his smile. She waits for him to retreat but he stands still, eyes drifting from her face to her shoulder. In naught but her thin undershirt, the patchwork of burn scars is completely on show, trailing pink and rough from her jaw and down her left arm. 

“Does it hurt?” he asks after a moment.

She shakes her head. “They’re decades old now.”

“Ah, you mentioned you were an adventurer before all this. Scars often tell the best stories and I am willing to bet that there’s a fine one behind those.” He takes a step towards her but seems to stop himself. He rests a hand against his chest before dropping it back to his side, something unreadable flickering across his expression. “But not one you need to share, especially to a near-stranger,” he quickly adds.

It’s her turn to raise an eyebrow. A wizard with a secret is hardly new. Every one she’d had the displeasure of working with had come with some kind of baggage hanging around their neck like a particularly garish amulet. Nothing she ever worried herself with and she’s certainly not starting now.

“No story here. It was just an accident.” She runs her thumb over the scales on her cheekbones, the only part of the dragon that manifested outside of her blood. “The fire magic presented itself when I was maybe eleven summers old and any child suddenly able to conjure flames is going to want to see exactly what they can do. Unfortunately I had not yet fully understood just what that meant.” The moment is still carved as deep as those scars in her memory: her room burning, skin screaming with pain as she tried to calm the flames tearing through the house, the look of fear on her family’s faces when she finally awoke and seen nothing else but black smoke billowing in thick sheets against the moon. 

“It was my first and most important lesson. Both fire and magic must be respected. Now only those I choose will burn… and occasionally my hair.” She runs her hand through the uneven ends curling around her chin. Hardly beautiful but she had given up caring how it looked after her mother had taken a knife and silently hacked off the charred pieces.

Ciri shakes the memory away, bracing herself for the inevitable. “Well go on then.”

“Pardon?”

“You are going to give me the exact same speech every other wizard who heard that story has. I cannot wait to hear which version. Usually it’s advice I don’t need on how to properly be one with magic. If I’m very lucky, it’s some haughty lecture about how sorcerers need to learn respect for the art and will never have true control of the weave because they are simply too ill-disciplined to try and learn.” 

Gale crosses his arms, his eyebrows drawing down into a flat line. “Well I had hoped that I’d come off a tad more gracious than that in our short time together. Exactly how many ill-mannered wizards have you come across in your line of work?”

“More than enough. And I’m sure a wizard of such considerable renown has more than a few pointers for someone so clearly not studied in magic.” She wags her finger in an exaggerated impression as she parrots his own words back at him. The condescension had been palpable in his tone when he’d made that assumption of her, only her aching joints from the Nautaloid crash stopping her from shoving him right back into the portal she’d pulled him from.

It’s surprising to her that this tiff had not come any sooner, all the more surprising when she’s met with a sigh rather than an overly-worded retort.

“I can see how that might have come across,” he answers, rubbing the back of his neck. “Forgive me, but I was… am… rather desperate to locate any archmages that might be a stone’s throw from here. Wizards are usually well connected.”

“And you just assumed I did not know any.”

“Well, do you?”

She can practically hear the snicker caught between his teeth at her stony silence.

Gods does she want to punch that smug look off his face.

He sits down on the log next to her. “I am more than happy to lecture you with such a speech if you’d like. I can probably make it last all evening if it would help to cement what I suspect is already a fairly set opinion of both me and the wizarding profession in general. And feel free to give the standard response about how we are all hermit elitists jumped up on power and far too preoccupied with outdoing each other rather than actually working on furthering the good of the arcane. I imagine you have some fairly cutting words about how, despite the superiority complex we all apparently hold, it just takes one good punch or two glasses of strong whisky to put us down.”

She hides her smirk, a little disappointed that more articulate sorcerers than her had clearly got to him already. “More cutting than that if you can believe it. I’m not sure your ego could handle it.”

He chuckles. It’s a soft messy sound, perhaps the first thread of such an uptight persona finally loosening. Ciri doesn’t hide her smile this time. It’s almost nice to find a wizard who doesn’t seem to have an immovable rod shoved up their backside. 

He turns towards her a little more, his voice dropping. “In my studies, I have seen first hand that there are countless ways to touch the weave, and while some may say that certain methods are more sophisticated than others –” his hands move in a precise square as he speaks, pausing only as he murmurs a quiet spell. “ –we feel its power equally.” A small orange flame ignites between them as he finishes. 

She watches it flicker for a moment before opening her own hand. Magic warms through her like a breath, an equally bright flame appearing in her palm.

When her eyes catch his again, there’s something different shining there, warm and content as he sits back to watch his creation. Reverence.

A feeling she knows all too well. 

Even when it’s shining on her own ruined skin, fire is still her. The raw force of her anger, the pulse of her passion, the magic singing in her blood. And here, small and tender as a heartbeat, her peace.

She watches him quietly, taking in the flickering details of his face as they brighten and dim under their joint light. There’s more gentleness to his features than she’d first gleaned, silver brushing through the hair by his ears, his eyes almost auburn in the light as they meet hers again.

All so very delicate. So… human.

It’s as she idly finds herself wondering if the paper-soft creases there are a product of laughter or stress that the world crashes back into the moment.

Some poor animal squeals in the woods beyond the river, both of them jerking upright and scanning the darkness for the source of the noise.

“Perhaps finding common ground is a better use of our time than trying to pick fights,” she murmurs when the quiet returns, quickly letting her flame whisper away in the breeze.

“Well common ground is often the foundation of a strong acquaintanceship. Who knows, perhaps there will be more to discover before we finally get these unwelcome passengers extracted.” His words are a little quicker than before as he dismisses his own fire and abruptly turns back towards the centre of camp. “With that in mind, we should probably get some rest soon if we are ever going to locate this missing druid.”

She follows him a step behind, stopping to throw a handful of kindling on the dying bonfire. She can’t quite place the feeling churning in her gut right now. Something far warmer than the dread that had been sitting there like a stone, soft and dense as smoke. 

She ignores the similar heat in her face, chalks it up to the sudden scream and firmly decides to leave it at that.

“So no lecture then?” she calls as Gale lifts the flap of his tent.

He pauses there, throwing an altogether more devious smirk over his shoulder before he lets it swing closed behind him.

“If you ask nicely, I’ll indulge you another night.”

***

(These drabbles are being posted as part of my ongoing fic Broken Horizons. Read on AO3 here)

#bg3 fic #bg3 gale #gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #My writing #gale fic #gale x tav #mywriting

[thelyingjoke]

having loadssssss of gonta and kokichi thoughts now...obsessed with them The Besties Ever.........

it gets me because their friendship is both about trusting Each Other. and trusting Themselves. like. in those summer camp interactions. it’s gonta repeatedly putting his trust into kokichi. because that’s his Friend. everybody else says that he shouldn’t. kokichi says that he shouldn’t. but gonta trusts him anyway. not because kokichi is tricking him. but because he’s using his own judgment. instead of following what others say about kokichi and what kokichi says about himself he instead looks at him from his own point of view…and comes to his own conclusion to trust him. and i think that is So Sweet. gonta’s a Lot more intelligent than he gives himself credit for!!! his own conclusion—that kokichi ends up always doing something to make people laugh—is accurate!! he can read him well! that’s where the trusting Himself part comes in. because he’s so convinced that he isn’t smart. that other people inherently know better than him. and yet, even when everyone tells him kokichi’s just trouble—he makes his own decision. he has faith in himself to put faith in kokichi. he is confident in this, which i think is so very important for him

they both kinda see something in each other that the others don’t!!! gonta seeing into kokichi’s better intentions where other people wouldn’t, trusting him despite everyone’s insistence that he isn’t trustworthy, including from kokichi himself. kokichi realizing gonta’s intelligence in a way that others don’t, despite others’ and gonta’s own dismissiveness towards that.

like…aughhhh i have so many thoughts but they aren’t entirely coming out into words correctly. kokichi doesn’t think he deserves a friend like gonta, if the utdp graduation event didn’t make that clear. he almost can’t believe someone could like him as genuinely as gonta does, to the point of accusing gonta of lying about being sad to see kokichi gone. and then in summer camp he keeps saying how gonta trusting him worries him. for kokichi it’s about learning to have faith in someone else to know when they want to hold faith in him. about having faith in himself to trust someone else. If that makes sense.

and then in the main game. It’s So Painful. because everything falls apart for them when they don’t have that. gonta had known what the motive video plan was and had agreed to it. but kokichi’s paranoia got the best of him, which led to gonta’s lack of belief in himself getting the best of him, and they didn’t work together again until chapter 4 at which point both of these issues had gotten Worse.

because the whole thing started with gonta now being so caught up in the need to protect everyone else and the belief that that’s all he’s good for. he goes with everyone’s distrust of kokichi and that’s exactly what kokichi uses to get him to do what he wants. while later kokichi becomes distrustful of gonta because during the trial, it seems like gonta is lying, and lying very well. I hope that i explained this in a way that makes sense my brain is foggy right now and i can’t seem to get the Exact Right words out

i just think they’re neat…i loveeeee the existence of the official non-despair AUs because they’re really cool insight. these two could be So Friends. basically i think they’re like this image:

#kokichi ouma #gonta gokuhara #ndrv3 #just give them time and they’d be up there among the most iconic best friend duos i swear it #if only this weren’t a murder game… #they’re like wander&sylvia in my Heart ok? they just didn’t go through the development yet #<- words that make sense to only me. i’d ramble about it so much if there was someone else that’d understand a single bit about it #analysis #i think this is enough to fall under that tag #bow rambles

[cyren-myadd]

I wonder if the treatment of Sully's kids and Spider will be different during captivity. I can just see Quaritch trying to make Spider as comfortable as possible, trying to feed him the "homemade" food from the previous post while Lo'ak and Kiri are in the most uncomfortable position on the ground and getting some leftovers or nothing at all 💀

Spider squirmed uncomfortably against the thick rope binding his wrists together— and then immediately felt guilty for it. Across from him, Kiri and Lo'ak were bound with their wrists and ankles twisted awkwardly behind their backs, sharp rocks digging into their knees. Tight gags bound their mouths shut, so their communication was limited to terrified looks whenever they made eye contact. Half-dried blood oozed from cuts they’d gotten during their capture. Spider didn't have a right to complain about his wrists, not when his friends were hogtied like yerik carcasses ready for the cookfire. He wasn't even sitting on the rocky ground; a soft, woven mat beneath his knees protected him from the cold floor of the cave they were kept in. A part of Spider wondered why their captors would treat a full-blooded demon more gently than two half-breeds, but that question was ignored in favor of trying to figure out what the hell was happening.

Around them, strange Na'vi with pale blue skin and black war paint moved around the cave, preparing weapons and other supplies. If Spider had to guess, he'd say this was a war party from an unknown tribe, but unfortunately, he didn't have enough information to guess what they were doing so close to home, and more importantly, why. Normally, the sight of a Na'vi war party, even an unknown one, would've been good news, but the fact that these people had kidnapped him and his friends gave him the sneaking suspicion that these warriors weren't here to help Jake fight the RDA. Even more worryingly, Spider spotted human-made guns and grenades amongst the supplies the warriors were moving around, meaning someone had taught these people how to use Sky People weapons.

The sound of voices made the three of them look up. On the opposite side of the cave, two new Na'vi entered the war camp, and the way the other warriors gathered around to greet them respectfully told Spider they must be important. One was a female Na'vi with the same pale blue skin as the others. Even from across the cave, Spider could make out the ornate red headdress and intricate paint patterns she wore, marking her as high status; a tsahik or olo'eykte. Her companion was dressed in much plainer clothing by comparison; the same loincloth and simple paint design all the others wore. However, no amount of unfamiliar paint and regalia could hide the familiar blue stripes of a forest Na'vi. Spider exchanged a confused look with Kiri and Lo'ak. What was a forest Na'vi doing with these strange warriors?

The female leader addressed her warriors calmly while the forest Na'vi stood rigidly at her side, his tail lashing in clear agitation. Then, one of the warriors pointed towards the spot where Spider and his friends were tied up. Before the warrior even finished raising his hand, the forest Na'vi made a beeline right towards them.

Spider hissed through his teeth. There was something eerily familiar about the way the Na'vi stormed in a straight line towards his destination without caring if he got in the way of others. Slowly, Spider shook his head. The human weapons, taking Kiri and Lo'ak hostage while treating Spider with kid gloves... In his gut, he already knew who it was, but his mind wasn't ready to accept the ugly truth yet.

"Spider!" It wasn't until the Na'vi— no, the recom, yelled his name that he was forced to face the truth. There was no mistaking that low drawl.

"Quaritch," he didn't whisper it so much as soundlessly mouth it when the man skidded to a stop in front of them. The confrontation he'd been dreading for months was finally here, and he had no one to blame but himself. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see matching expressions of horror on Kiri and Lo’ak’s faces. The monster from their nightmares was standing right in front of them, and they had no idea it was Spider’s fault. Lo’ak tried to say something, but it was muffled through his gag. He strained against his bonds, tail lashing furiously, and Kiri pressed her shoulder against him in a weak attempt to soothe him. Thankfully, Quaritch ignored them, and instead knelt before Spider.

Spider tried to shrink away from him, but there was nowhere to go. Quaritch took him by the shoulders and gently turned him this way and that, eyes and fingers roving over his body and his exopack for any sign of damage.

"You good, kid?" He asked, lightly tugging Spider's arm so he could get a better look at a nasty scratch he'd acquired when the strange warriors had abducted them. Once Quaritch determined the scratch wasn't life threatening, his ears sagged in relief and he clapped Spider on the shoulders.

"Yeah, you're good, you're good," he answered his own question in a low mutter, more to himself than to Spider. A low, relieved chuckle escaped his lips, and then he smiled. Spider could count on one hand how many times he'd seen Quaritch smile, and most of the time it was more of a cruel grimace than a smile. This look was different— it was genuine. He smiled down at Spider like this was the best day of his life. No one other than Kiri had ever looked at him like that, and it made him want to burst into tears and attack him and bury his head in his chest all at once. Instead, Spider did nothing but return his look with a baleful stare.

Quaritch tentatively reached out like he was going to cup Spider's face in his hand, but Spider bared his teeth and jerked his head away. To his relief, Quaritch let him go. His smile turned slightly sad, but also unsurprised at the aggressive reaction.

"Ma Kwarit." Spider looked up as the leader of the warriors approached them. It took him a moment to realize "Kwarit" was her attempt at pronouncing Quaritch's alien name. The woman stared down at him with an unreadable look on her face. Her eyes were somehow both hot and cold; bright orange-gold like a fire, but there was no warmth behind them. Spider glared back at her with the fiercest look he could muster, and clenched his hands to stop them from shaking.

"Varang, I apology for running." Quaritch greeted her in broken Na'vi.

The woman, Varang, waved away his apology dismissively. "These children, they are the ones you sent my warriors to look for?"

"Yes. My son," Quaritch patted Spider on the shoulder with one hand before gesturing at Lo'ak and Kiri with the other, "and children Toruk Makto. Your warriors is good."

"They are the best," Varang agreed. She didn't sound boastful when she said it, as if she were simply stating an immutable fact. Her fiery cold eyes roamed over Lo'ak and Kiri, taking in their half-breed features, before coming to a stop on Spider. It was a challenge to hold her gaze without flinching, but he did his best to meet her eyes with a steady glare.

After a long moment of analyzing Spider's face, she said, "I do not see you in the face of your son, but I see your fire in his eyes."

To Spider’s mortification, Quaritch chuckled at that and ruffled his hair. “Yes, he gets from me.”

Spider hissed at him and jerked away as hard as he could. He ended up accidentally scraping his injured arm against the rock wall and his angry hiss turned into a grunt of pain.

“And when he becomes angry, he is so determined to get his way that he will hurt himself in doing so. That is something else he has in common with you,” Varang observed, the barest hint of a smile twitching at the corner of her mouth.

This time, when Quaritch laughed it was slightly more forced. “He need medicine. Call healer. And food.”

“My healers have never helped a Sky Person before. They could harm him as easily as heal him. The same can be said of our food.”

“Son is smart. He know what help and what hurt Sky People. He know what to eat.”

“Wait—” Spider interrupted, and he found himself pinned under Varang’s intense hot-cold gaze once more and it almost made him lose his nerve. “I see you, Varang.” He greeted her as best he could with his hands tied. “My friends also need food and medicine. Please.”

Varang’s hairless brow raised a fraction of a centimeter. “He speaks better than you do, ma Kwarit.”

“That’s because I taught him to speak. And I can tell he hasn’t been practicing.” Spider added.

Varang exhaled heavily through her nose, which was probably the closest thing to a laugh he’d get from her. That was a good sign. Something Spider had learned during his captivity was that it was always better to get on the good side of those who had power over you. It had worked with Quaritch— maybe a little bit too well considering how things turned out.

“Please?” Spider asked Varang again hopefully.

Varang turned to Quaritch, and to his dismay, he realized she was leaving the decision up to him. 

Quaritch eyed Lo’ak and Kiri’s many scratches and bruises apathetically before he shrugged. “They look fine to me.”

Varang nodded to one of her warriors. “Bring a bowl of food and a healer for the Sky Child. Leave the other two alone.”

“No!” Spider protested, but Varang was already walking away, taking her entourage of warriors with her. Lo’ak caught his eye and shrugged weakly as if to say, well, at least you tried.

“Dammit,” Spider curled in on himself and kept his eyes trained on his bound hands. He couldn’t bring himself to look at Kiri and Lo’ak. Silently, he prayed Quaritch would leave with the others, but unfortunately, his prayers went unanswered. Quaritch stayed right where he was. Mercifully, he didn’t try to touch him again, but he kept taking deep breaths like he was about to start speaking but always stopped himself.

“What?” Spider snapped after what felt like the hundredth aborted attempt at speaking.

Quaritch’s ears flicked back in surprise at the sudden word. “I was just— Spider, listen— I want to— we need to have—“ he interrupted his own stammering with a frustrated hiss and ran his hands through his hair. “Jesus, I sound like an idiot.”

Spider exchanged a bewildered glance with Kiri and Lo’ak. None of them, not even Spider, had ever seen Quaritch look nervous before. It wasn’t an emotion they thought he was capable of. Spider looked up at Quaritch warily, wondering what the hell he was trying to say. If he didn’t know better, he’d say Quaritch was trying to apologize to him.

After an unbearably awkward silence, Quaritch reached into a small pouch attached to his belt and pulled out a spartan fruit. He passed it to Spider while avoiding eye contact, almost shyly. “Here.”

Spider stared down at the fruit in his lap, confused. Spartan fruit didn’t grow in this part of the forest, and judging by the fruit’s slightly battered appearance, Quaritch must’ve been carrying it around with him for a while. Slowly, Spider raised his gaze from the spartan fruit to squint up at Quaritch.

“It’s a spartan fruit.” Quaritch told him, as if Spider wasn’t the one who had taught him that. “You told me it was your favorite.”

Spider said nothing.

The longer he remained silent, the more fidgety Quaritch got. His tail swished behind him and he struggled to meet Spider’s eyes for more than a few seconds at a time.

“I just— I just thought you might want it.” Quaritch scratched at the back of neck while avoiding eye contact again.

They lapsed into another silence that was so awkward it was almost painful. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Lo’ak scrunch up his face at him as if to say, what the hell is happening? All Spider could do was shrug.

Finally, Spider cleared his throat, moreso to interrupt the horrible silence than because he wanted to say anything. “Um… thank you.”

Reluctantly, he took the fruit, telegraphing his movements so Quaritch could see what he was doing. When he saw Spider had accepted his gift, he smiled another genuine, not-evil smile.

With his fruit in hand, Spider slowly got to a crouch and started shuffling away from him. Quaritch frowned. He let Spider move away without a fight, but kept a narrowed eye on him, ready to grab him if he looked like he was going to bolt— not that there was anywhere to bolt to in this cavern full of enemies.

Spider made a big show of moving slowly so Quaritch wouldn’t get any bad ideas about his intentions, and came to a stop next to Lo’ak. Then, before Quaritch could realize what he was doing, he pulled down Lo’ak’s gag and raised the fruit to his lips. Lo’ak started scarfing it down like it was his last meal.

“Dammit, Spider, that was supposed to be for you!” Quaritch seized the strap of Spider’s exopack and hauled him back before Lo’ak could take another bite.

“I don’t want your damn fruit, I want to make sure my friends are okay!” Spider snapped.

Quaritch yanked the half-eaten fruit out of his hands. “Your little friends will be just fine without food for a day or two. As long as their daddy cooperates, they’ll be back home before they know it.”

“My dad’s gonna kill your ass again!” Lo’ak yelled now that his gag was off. He strained against his bonds like he wanted to throw himself at Quaritch.

“Shut up.” Quaritch said irritably.

“Fuck you!”

Quaritch brandished his knife threateningly at Lo’ak. “You keep your mouth shut or I’ll make that hand look like a real Na’vi, boy!”

Despite the threat, Lo’ak looked like he wanted to snap back at Quaritch anyway. Kiri tried to say something through her gag and pressed herself against Lo’ak’s side. Behind Quaritch’s arm, Spider desperately shook his head, praying Lo’ak would listen to reason. Thankfully, he did, though he let out one last angry hiss before settling back next to Kiri in defeat.

His surrender sent an ugly smirk shooting over Quaritch’s face. “Well, would you look at that. A Sully can learn to follow orders. Ha!”

Quaritch’s mean-spirited laugh was interrupted by the arrival of a young woman carrying a medicine bag in one hand and a bowl filled with different kinds of food in the other. Clearly, whoever made the bowl had no idea what was safe for humans, so they’d compensated by putting in a little bit of everything.

“Here we are! You, girl, heal up now please my son.” Quaritch ordered in Na’vi so bad that even Spider had trouble deciphering it.

The poor healer stared at Quaritch in confusion. “I do not understand your speaking.”

“He told you to treat their wounds first, then me.” Spider “translated,” nodding urgently at Kiri and Lo’ak.

The healer turned towards Kiri with her bag at the ready only for Quaritch to grab her by the hand and pull her back.

“No, no, no. Not them. Him. Him only. Do not listen what he say. He lie.” Quaritch said very slowly.

The healer still looked confused, but she opened her bag and knelt next to Spider. She hissed softly through her teeth as she examined the nasty cut on his arm. “I do not know what to do. His flesh is not of Eywa. I am afraid I may hurt him.”

“Listen him. He will say you what safe use.”

“You want me to listen to him?” The woman’s brow furrowed in confusion. “But you just told me not to. You said he lies.”

“Listen to him!” Quaritch repeated. He banged his hand against the floor in frustration, making the poor healer squeak in surprise. “Go on, Spider, tell her what to use.”

“Hmm…” Spider made a big show of peering into her bag. His sharp eyes instantly identified which plants were safe and unsafe for him to use, but he feigned confusion with a shrug. “Huh, that’s funny. I can’t seem to remember what’s safe for me. Oh well…”

“Spider…” Quaritch bared his teeth in a wolfish smile— now this was the smile Spider was used to seeing from Quaritch, the same one he had whenever he got a lead on Jake or threatened an RDA grunt into submission. “Tell the nice lady what to use on you. Now.”

The borderline demonic smile sent a chill through Spider, but he held his ground. Remembering how pathetic Quaritch sounded when he asked Neytiri to let him go gave him strength. As much as Quaritch liked to threaten him with “old school ass whippings” Spider was confident Quaritch wouldn’t actually hurt him— at least, not physically.

Spider bared his teeth in a smaller, less-pointy version of Quaritch’s evil smile. “Maybe if she helps my friends first, it’ll jog my memory.”

An ugly, forced chuckle escaped Quaritch’s teeth. “Oh, so that’s how you want to play it, huh? Fine! Nobody gets medical attention now.”

Spider forced his expression to stay calm. He folded his arms behind his head and laid back against the damp stone. “That’s fine with me. I guess I’ll just lay here in this cold, dark cave with my open cuts. Sure would be a shame if I got an infection. Did I ever tell you that humans are way more likely to die from infections than Na’vi? Our bodies just don’t fight off bacteria the same way.”

Quaritch stared him down, teeth bared and tail swishing. For a moment, Spider thought he was really going to risk it just to spite Jake’s children, but then the moment passed and Quaritch snarled in frustration. “When did you get so manipulative? Has Sully been teaching you this shit? Fine. You, girl, heal children Toruk Makto first. Then my son.”

Spider smirked as he watched the exasperated healer finally get to work on Kiri and Lo’ak’s injuries. It was a small victory, but a victory nonetheless.

With an irritated grumble, Quaritch got to his feet and fidgeted with his loincloth. Clearly, he wasn’t used to wearing it yet. “Alright, I gotta leave you alone now, but don’t go getting any big ideas, ‘cause I’ll be back soon. If your ass has moved an inch from this spot when I get back, you won’t need that paint to look blue anymore, you read me?”

“Lima charlie, sir.” Spider replied with as much sarcasm as he dared.

Quaritch narrowed his eyes at the disrespectful tone, but must’ve decided it wasn’t worth it to say anything. He turned to leave, but hesitated, his back to Spider.

“Spider… son… when I get back, we’re gonna have a talk, alright? We just— we need to talk.” He said without looking at Spider.

“Okay,” Spider said, more to get rid of Quaritch than anything.

Quaritch hesitated a moment longer like he wanted to say something, but instead he left without saying another word. As soon as he was out of sight, Spider scooped up the bowl of food and scrambled over to his friends. He yanked off Kiri’s gag and started feeding her and Lo’ak while the healer patched them up.

“Are you guys okay?” Spider asked.

“We’re fucking fantastic, bro.” Lo’ak answered, and Spider instantly felt stupid for asking such a question.

“We’ll live,” Kiri replied before turning to the healer and switching to Na’vi. “You should mix yalna bark with the fireflower root— it will stop the bleeding faster and clean the wound better.”

The healer’s eyes widened as she realized the wisdom to Kiri’s words and did as she instructed.

“I can’t believe Quaritch is going after Dad again. That asshole just doesn’t quit!” Lo’ak said frustratedly.

“I know.” Kiri agreed. “And he was acting so strange… Spider, what do you think he wants to talk to you about?”

Spider shifted uncomfortably as Lo’ak and Kiri watched him. “I don’t know. But it doesn’t matter, cause we’re not sticking around to find out. C’mon, this lady doesn’t understand English. Let’s come up with a plan to get out of here.”

💙I hope you enjoyed! Please comment or reblog to let me know what you think, or send me a writing prompt if you want to see more💙

#cyren myadd writes #quaritch is the kind of dad who never apologizes but he gives his kid something they like and hopes they stop being mad at him #avatar #avatar 3 #spider socorro #avatar spider #avatar kiri #kiri sully #loak sully #avatar loak #miles quartich #avatar miles quaritch #varang