#i hate his hair so i simply did not look at the sprite and just made it up

[reccyls]

William's Chapter 10 Premium Attire Story

Fervido: As Though Burning

So this one is a bit of a doozy. I also used the default MC name Kate here instead of MC like I usually do, as it kind of feels weird in the context of translating some more specifically romantic/spicier scenes to just be going "MC" all the time.

I also should say that though they do sleep together, there is no explicit description of it here, or any shirtless sprites. Guess that's being saved for later on.

As always I make no guarantees on the accuracy.

Some context and the full story below the cut:

Context: The previous day, Kate went along with William, Roger, Alfons, and Elbert on a mission. They investigated an illegal morphine producing operation, where slaves/indentured servants were being forced to refine opium. Kate realized some of her own powerlessness as she was unable to directly save the people being exploited (particularly a young girl), but they were all rescued later on and sent to a Crown-sponsored hospital ward.

Today, Kate and William went to visit them to see how they were doing at the hospital. They get caught in the rain on their way back, and when Kate suggests to find somewhere to wait it out, William instead says that he actually likes being out in the rain. He asks if Kate would like to join him. She thinks about how the person she was before probably would have refused for any number of good reasons (they'd get sick, their clothes would be ruined, etc), but now Kate wants to understand William. She wants to know why he likes the things he does. So she accepts.

--

We slipped through the dense forest and crossed the drawbridge leading back to the castle. Pulling me along by the hand, William led me past the entrance and instead cut around to the back garden.

(Wow…)

The pouring rain lent the blooming garden a mysterious, captivating beauty. The atmosphere was completely different than when I had seen the garden while it was sunny.

(…I didn’t know the garden would look this pretty in the rain.)

While I was captivated by the sight, William brushed aside a strand of hair that had stuck to my cheek, tucking it behind my ear.

William: How does it feel to be drenched by the rain?

Kate:  How do I feel…?

I turned my thoughts inward. Feeling the cold rain hitting my skin, I suppose it did feel a little indecent.

(I feel like I’m doing something I shouldn’t… But--) (The feel of the cold rain growing lukewarm as it saps my body heat, as it slides off my skin …) (I’m chilled to the bone and the only warmth I feel is from the things I’m touching…) (And when William fixed my hair for me… All of that--)

Kate: It feels good.

Even I was surprised at my own answer. My heart began to race.

(We like the same thing, William and I.)

Kate: It feels good to be in the rain.

Buoyed by my happiness, I repeated my answer.

William: …Hehe.

Kate: What are you laughing at?

William: You have a nice look on your face. William: So this is how you look when you truly smile.

Kate: Huh…? Ah…

-Flashback- William: At last, you let me see a smile. Kate: …Have I not been smiling? William: Not really. Even now, you’re not showing a full smile. -End Flashback-

William: …It’s beautiful, incredibly so.

(…!)

Kate: Please don’t just say things like that…

William: Why not?

Kate: …It’s bad for my heart.

I could hear my pulse racing in my ears. As though every nerve in my body had gathered there, I became painfully aware of our intertwined fingers. I had a feeling that pursuing why I felt that way would lead to an uncomfortable situation, so I quickly changed the subject.

Kate: …By the way, why didn’t we go in through the entrance like usual?

William: Hm? William: Because I like the garden in the rain.

(Because he likes it?)

William didn’t hesitate to give his reason for his actions: simply because he liked it. If he liked something, if he loved it, he’d protect it. If he hated something, if he couldn’t allow it, he’d pass judgment. He stayed true to his desires and made no excuses for his actions.

(If I could be more like William… If I could make choices without hesitation, if I could say “I like it, therefore I’m doing it”…) (If I could live while being proud of my decisions… I think I could like myself as a person more.)

William: And, I didn’t feel like flooding the castle if we had used the normal entrance.

Kate: …Well, that is true. If we came back looking like this, it’d cause trouble for the others.

If we’d gone through the front entrance, we probably would have caused quite the fuss for the castle servants.

(…Thank goodness. If that had happened, I would have had to let go of his hand.) (It’s kind of embarrassing, having something like that be my main reason.)

William: I’ll see you back to your room. You’ll catch a chill if you stay out for too long.

---

The sound of two pairs of footsteps walking down the hallway blended in with the sound of rain falling outside.

(…We’ll reach my room soon.)

As I thought that, my feet suddenly felt heavy. I lagged behind.

William: …Kate?

Kate: Ah, I’m sorry…

William was walking a little bit ahead of me. When he noticed me slowing, he stopped and looked back. Flustered, I quickened my pace.

(I should hurry back to my room, change my clothes, and warm up. And William should too. We’ll both catch a cold otherwise.)

The both of us stopped in front of the door to my bedroom.

William: …

(I should let go of his hand. Open the door.) (…I know I should, but for some reason my body won’t let me.)

William: …You’re not going in?

Kate: I…

(That’s right. I still haven’t thanked him, for today and for yesterday.) (That must be why I can’t make myself leave yet.)

Kate: Thank you for escorting me back. Kate: And thank you for coming with me to the hospital… Kate: …and for what you said to me yesterday.

William: Those were all things that I wanted to do for you. No thanks are necessary.

Kate: I’m still grateful anyway.

(At that time, you…)

-Flashback- William: Just because you couldn’t save them doesn’t mean you have to give up on who you are, Kate. William: Haven’t you punished yourself enough? -End Flashback-

(Because of your approval, I didn’t have to silence myself anymore.) (No, even before that…)

-Flashback- William: The only one who can acknowledge and give voice to your true desires is you, Kate. -End Flashback-

(Because you listened to everything that I had been holding back and repressing…) (My heart can continue to be true to itself.)

Kate: Because of you… I’ve started to like myself a little bit more.

(Even though he’s dangerous, even though he still someone who holds himself at a distance… What I said is true.)

William: Only “a little bit”, you say? You really are modest. William: I like the current you a lot. Compared to when we first met, you’re become far more captivating.

Kate: …

(First it was “beautiful”, now he says he likes me “a lot”. I know he doesn’t mean anything special when he says it.) (I’m sure that he’d say the same to anyone… So that’s why…)

Kate: T-thank you.

William: You’re welcome.

He tilted his head in amusement, and a drop of rain fell from his hair, tracing down his cheek. As if following the path that the droplet drew down the contours of his face and neck, my gaze went to his body. I could feel the urge to do something unwise welling within me, so I hurriedly opened my mouth to speak.

Kate: S-so, I’ll be going now—

(I have to let go of his hand. Now.)

William: Can’t have you catching a cold now.

(Ah…)

William pulled back first; his fingers slipped out of mine.

--And at that moment, the hammering of my pulse reached a fever pitch.

(No.) (I don’t want him to go yet.)

As if drawn in by his red gaze, I pressed my mouth to his. Though my lips were cold, where we touched, I felt heat beginning to bloom. Warm, soft, wet. And, somehow, sweet—

William: …Mm…

(--!?)

As we broke off to breathe, I suddenly came back to myself.

Kate: …Ah…

William: …

We stared into each other’s eyes, the closest we had ever been. Immediately, I felt my entire body grow hot.

Kate: I- I…

(Why did I kiss him…)

Kate: Um, that was… I-!

As I was backing away, my foot caught on something and I stumbled. But I didn’t fall, something was holding me up. It took me a moment to realize that it was William, his arm wound around my waist.

(Ah…?)

My legs seemed to go numb, a sweet shiver running through my body.

Kate: I- I’m sorry…

William: …Why are you apologizing?

Kate: Because, I… I did something-

William: “Something bad?”

Kate: ...ah…

William’s finger traced the curve of my cheek. Though we were touching, it was as if he was inviting me to cross another gap.

(Why did he ask that? (Wasn’t he the one who said it before?) (That stealing a kiss from someone without permission is a grave sin?)

William: …

His gaze was expectant as he waited for “my” answer. Asking me if this truly was something I considered wrong. Asking me to make a choice.

(I don’t know.) (I don’t know anything.)

Kate: …When I’m with you… I’m no longer myself…

Whatever he’s done to me, whether his actions have been a cure or a poison or something else entirely, it’s steeped into my body. Changed me. Dragged out desires I didn’t know I had.

Kate: I… I wasn’t the kind of person who would do something like this before…

William: …And is that a good thing? Or a bad one?

He looked at me with appraising eyes, as if he were still testing me. Waiting for my answer. My decision.

Kate: I… I don’t know.

William: Hmm?

Kate: So…

-Flashback- William: It’s best if you realize for yourself, the distinction between what you find good and bad. -End Flashback-

Kate: I don’t know yet, so… Kate: Please let me learn.

William: …All right. I will.

And this time, I was in full control over myself as I caught his upturned lips in another kiss. Tangled in each other, we slipped into my room. Normally my room smelled only of fresh linen, but now the rose fragrance that surrounded William filled the air. My thoughts grew giddy.

Kate: Nn… Hah…

William: Mm… Haha, relax.

He had one arm around me and mine were looped around his neck as we exchanged kisses. His laughter tickled my lips.

William: If you cling on to me so tightly, the only thing we’ll be doing is kissing. William: …Though if that’s all you want, I don’t mind.

He raised an eyebrow, testing me to see my reaction. My heart and my body were already going wild from just kisses alone. But it wasn’t enough. I wanted more. Maybe I really was greedy, just like he said.

Kate: Mmm…

William: That’s it… Good girl.

As I loosened my grip, his hands began to move as though he were presenting a reward.

Kate: Ah…

As I felt his hand caress my back over my soaked clothes, I pressed the back of my hand over my mouth to stifle the sounds I was making.

William: …Kate.

With a hint of reproach in his voice as he called my name, he pressed a kiss to my palm.

Kate: Nnn…

William: Hm…

As if to soothe me, he pressed kisses to my skin over and over again; the sound of kissing filled the air. Don’t hide, he was telling me. Let me hear your voice.

(…This is… too much…)

I lowered my hand.

William: …

Smiling happily, William kissed the tip of my nose. And continuing on from before, his hand continued to make its way up my back.

Kate: Mm! …

William: Are you cold?

Kate: Th-that’s not it.

I wish I could have blamed the way my voice leaked out of me on the chill of my clothes. But I couldn’t even have the ability to think up an excuse. All I could focus on was how hot everywhere he touched me felt. His hand reached the nape of my neck, reaching the ribbons that kept my blouse closed. And then he tugged the ribbon loose.

Kate: Ah!

I felt his fingers graze the bare skin of my nape as he did. Just that sent a stab of something sweet to the pit of my stomach. If William hadn’t been supporting me, I would have collapsed to the floor.

(My body is…) (Feeling… strange…)

William: More… William: Let me hear more.

As if pulling apart a rose petal by petal, the wet clothes clinging to my skin were slowly removed one layer at a time, along with each inhibition that was keeping my voice in check.

Kate: Ah, ah… William…

William: Yes?

My bare body trembled at his every touch. Here was no way for me to hide anything from him anymore.

(I can’t hide anymore, so…)

Kate: I want to touch you too.

My fingers clung to his wet clothes like a plea.

William: …Of course. Be my guest.

As soon as I saw him smile, I realized that he had been waiting for me to ask. From the very beginning, he knew what I was thinking before I myself did.

(William is dangerous.) (But, even so, I’m drawn to him.) (So much so that I’m scared I might lose myself, and never be able to find my way back.) (It’s been that way ever since we met.)

#ikemen villains #william (ikevill) #my translation

[brick-a-doodle-do]

Vara has no idea just how much he influences Irza bc Irza is just so hard to read sometimes

He usually uses the tail or other small signs but sometimes those won't even tell him what Irza is thinking...and this guy can give a death stare from simply thinking and not noticing he's staring at someone lol

And I never really finished the idea of Vara having a sister....

Was wondering if maybe he doesn't even remember having a sister or that she doesn't remember them for some reason

I just

Really wanted to see his sister either be a hero he clashes with or a smaller villain than Irza that appears alongside the scientists that created Ezephr...

Was thinking that she might be hating Vara bc he was so weak that running made him cough blood if he went too long as a kid, and yet he kept shouting about how he'd be a hero and save everyone all the time...but that's a dangerous job. Wondered if maybe she supported it but maybe an accident happened and that changed it?

I had a dream about her when I first thought of giving him a sibling and all I really remember was that she had dark brown hair that had lighter brown patterns like a tabby cat...also her hair style and stuff but I don't remember if she had cat features or not

Remember, their parents are an anthropomorphic cat as a mom and a sprite, basically a forest spirit, as a dad...it's hard to tell what she'd entirely look like

honestlyeeeee that's such a powerful role that's insane that vara doesn't even recognize that !!!

LMAO i feel that. sometimes you just zone out....with a really accidentally-offensive face ASJVSJD

and MMGMDH MORE VARA SISTER CONTENT !!! YIPPEE

i, for one, think that is a GREAT idea. just. mmm to have her be one of the scientists is such a cool way to tie in eze to vara's life, because as far as i'm aware, (except for one thing you sent me), ezephr and vara definitely don't have as much of a relationship with each other as irza and eze does. so mmAMDBJV idk i think the eze scientist idea cool !!

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO i like that. poor vara is trying thooo :(((( i gotta ask tho why is he coughing up blood ? what's wrong with our cat boy ? :c ,, that aside i think that some kind of confrontation between vara and his sister would be cool cause y'know. vara definitely isn't the best fighter or hero out there, but he did make it in some sense. that'd be pretty cool.

oo and another cool thing, (don't gotta add this at all, if you ever follow through with this cvncx), maybe since you want vara to not really remember having a sister, he's always subconsciously been really eager to prove himself and never really knew why until like maybe he sees his sister and unlocks some kind of memory from something she says., idk.

aha i love that you had a dream about her and that's where you got your inspo cxvxcn but OOO i like the tabby idea! i have such a soft spot for those guys <3

I LOVE WILD CHARACTER DESIGNS !! also wait do we have a dad for vara ?? i totally forget eueueu

#brickquiries #3d brickling #3d my beloved 🤗 #brick talks vaza #nmw discussion

[kaibutsushidousha]

Witch, Picture, and Red-Eyed Girl (Sagrada Reset 2) - Chapter 1: The girl in the picture (part 4)

[INDEX]

“Sup, big guy.”, said the red-eyed girl.

Kei stood up from the tree he was sitting under and looked straight into the girl’s eyes. He needed time to realize who she was. She was completely different from how he last saw her.

Oka Eri. A name so short it sounded like a nickname, but that was her full name.

She was Kei’s junior in middle school. One year younger, so in her last year of middle school year at the moment.

He wasn’t expecting to see her again there.

“Long time no see, Oka.”

His words made her frown.

“Just Oka? Ew, that felt wrong. Call me by my full name like you always did.”

“Ok, Oka Eri. What are you doing here?”

The witch's building, so distanced from the town, wasn't a normal place to be.

"No reason. I was just strolling and then I saw your troubled face. Thought you needed someone to make fun of you. Mwahaha."

She let out a forced laugh.

(Is this a place you can get to by chance? I don't see any places a middle schooler would visit around here. Something is wrong.)

"You really surprised me. You look like a completely different person now."

He remembered her with black hair and a proper uniform. Even the way she talked was different. She didn't laugh like this. In fact, Kei barely ever saw her smiling, let alone laughing.

"This is how I always wanted to dress."

"I can see why. You look great."

Kei nodded, then moved on to a question.

"Wanna go to a café? I have some things I wanna ask you."

"I'll pass. You wouldn't want Haruki knowing you went to a café alone with another girl. Mwahaha."

(She laughs a lot now.)

She pointed to the other side of the road. There was a vending machine next to the bus stop.

"If you want some to drink over our talk, go buy there. I'll take a Sprite."

Kei went to the vending machine, looking both ways before crossing the street. Sprites were rare in Sakurada vending machines, but this one happened to have them. He inserted the coins and pressed the button, causing a can to loudly fall on the dispenser.

Kei crouched to the dispenser. That's when he felt cold metal touching the nape of his neck.

He heard laughter behind him.

"Well, that was anticlimactic. I expected you to be more cautious than that."

"I don't wanna live my life wary of turning my back to every girl I see."

He took out the Sprite can.

"Don't move. Are you trying to get stabbed?"

"Stabbing someone with a cross from a choker is not as easy as you think."

Kei stood up, turned to Oka Eri, and handed her the Sprite can. She attached the cross back to her choker and took it.

"How did you know it was my choker?"

"From the reflection."

Kei pointed to the timetable at the bus stop next to them. The hazy plastic screen reflected their surroundings.

Oka Eri frowned.

"You're lying. That's not visible from your angle."

"When I was walking, I saw you take the cross off."

He didn't see the actual detachment but could tell from the silhouette's movements.

"Who was it that hated being wary of every girl they see?", asked Oka Eri.

Kei let a sigh escape. He chose not to mention this whole thing was a complete coincidence. His ability allows him to remember his thoughts and senses in detail. When he realized something was touching his neck, he simply recalled the scene, this time looking at parts he wasn't paying attention to when they happened.

Kei bought a can of iced coffee for himself and opened it. After drinking the whole can in one go, he asked a question.

"Did you disable Sasano's ability?"

A choker, ripped jeans, and red contact lenses. He couldn't go without verifying that possibility.

"Sasano? Oh, the geezer? Yeah, that was me."

Oka Eri nodded.

"Why?"

She spoke with a raised index finger and a smug expression, as if she was revealing the truth of the world.

"Evildoers are always trying to cause problems."

"You're an evildoer?"

"Exactly. Not a hypocrite like you."

After a sip of Sprite, Oka Eri peered into Kei's face.

"What made you lose your fangs? You used to be a real badass."

Kei quickly shook his head.

It wasn't something he could verbally explain.

"Can you restore Sasano's ability? Please?"

"Hell no. What kind of evildoer grants people favors for no reason?"

Oka Eri drank her Sprite with a grin. All of her words and expressions looked staged.

"Then what do I have to do to get you to restore it?"

"Hmm. Ok, say you'll never disobey me."

"I will never disobey you."

"Bark at the end."

"I will never disobey you. Woof."

"Well, I won't do what you want just for that."

"Yeah, I figured you wouldn't."

(This is going nowhere. I need at least one hint on what her intentions are. But she's going to deflect anything I try with "I'm evil". It's quite the effective camouflage. What should I do?)

Oka Eri interrupted his thoughts.

"I got two things to tell you."

"What?"

"Just threats."

Oka Eri's lips twisted in self-satisfaction.

"Number one: I'll steal the MacGuffin from you very soon."

(Again with the MacGuffin...)

"How do you know I have it?"

"Keep guessing. Evildoers don't share information that easy."

(Where and how do the pieces connect? Sasano, Oka Eri, the MacGuffin. And her photo.)

Oka Eri moved on to the next threat.

"And number two: I'll take away Haruki Misora's Resets."

He couldn't make sense of what she said.

"Why would you do that?"

(I need to be able to Reset...)

It was an excellent ability, yes, but that was not all there was to it. Haruki Misora's ability had great significance to Kei and Haruki. They weren't ready for that significance to be lost.

Oka Eri took a big gulp of Sprite and wiped her mouth with her thumb.

"Because it'll upset you. Do I have to spell it out? I hate you, dude."

Her eyes pierced into his face. Her grin never faded but her eyes were full of thorns.

Hate.

Kei tried to think of a reason. Oka Eri was his junior in middle school. But that wasn't all. Their relationship was a little more complex.

Two years prior, Kei used Oka Eri as a pawn. This changed her living environment, with almost no input from her. He could easily say it was an attempt to save her. At the time, he believed he was doing what was best for her. He was short-sighted. In hindsight, his solution wasn't the right one. But even so, he didn't imagine she would consider the result he achieved undesirable.

Kei decided to ask her directly.

"Did anything happen?"

"Hm? What do you mean?"

"Did I cause any problems?"

(If I did, I want to know. If what I did made her life worse, I want to salvage it as much as I can.)

But Oka Eri frowned, feeling wholeheartedly condescended.

"Are you shitting me?"

"I meant what I asked."

"Nothing happened. Life's been a lot more enjoyable since I met you."

(She doesn't seem to be lying.)

Oka Eri pointed at him.

"See, that's what's so annoying about you. That's why I can't back down until I see you hopelessly defeated."

She wasn't smiling anymore. Her glare was serious. But Kei still couldn't understand what her problem was.

"Can you keep Haruki out of this?"

Kei internally sighed mid-sentence.

He was lucky he had crossed the street to go to the vending machine. Right in front of Kei, that is, behind Oka Eri's back, Haruki could be seen leaving the building.

"Hell no. I'll do everything you don't want me to."

While she spoke, the automatic doors opened behind Oka Eri's back and Haruki appeared.

The Reset is not an ability that should be used willy-nilly.

Its effect is too powerful. It indiscriminately deletes days worth of progress from everyone's lives. It was truly not meant to be used for personal reasons. Kei knew that very well, but one instant was all the time he had to make a decision.

He didn't know Oka Eri's ability, but it was evident that it could seal other people's abilities. And she previously announced her intent to take away the Reset ability. Haruki was close to her.

(I can't afford to lose the ability to Reset here.)

Kei tried to keep his eyes on Oka Eri as he spoke.

"I'll be seeing you again soon, so you should tell me what's going on."

She glared back at him.

"I don't need to. Got nothing to say to you."

Behind her, Kei could see Haruki sprinting in his direction.

Kei yelled.

"Reset."

Haruki Misora stopped running, and Oka Eri turned back.

The world silently crumbled and reassembled itself, but no one could perceive it. Nothing vanishes as fast yet subtly as time.

#sagrada reset #witch picture and red eyed girl #oka eri #asai kei #haruki misora

[ohbaby-obeyme]

the neat thing about being an artist is that i can draw my fav characters wearing my clothes whenever i want :)

#i hate his hair so i simply did not look at the sprite and just made it up #my art #asmo #nsft #i GUESS. dick outline #also this was supposed to be a warm up. i always do this #i should just Not do brain warm ups after i do my muscle memory warm ups #bc they never stay warm ups #+ yes this is what i'm wearing right now fsdkljfslkdjf #gotta throw on a hoodie to grab food but. that's cute too so :)

[theonewiththefanfics]

Best Friends My Ass (one-shot)

Synopsis: Being in love with your best friend whom you’ve had since childhood can be tough. Being in love and being dumb can make it tougher. Meet the Reader and Harry. They’re the latter. And everyone’s fed up.

Pairing: Harry Styles x fem!Reader

Genre: fluff, maybe little bit of angst, tiny bit smutty, but not a lot

Warnings: swearing, two idiots pining for one another

Word count: 7524

Even when Harry was little, he’d known he’d have an odd path in life. Just because it was odd, didn’t mean it’d be bad, but it would make him absolutely stand out in the crowd.        When Y/N was young she didn’t see herself having any extraordinary adventures. Sure, she’d travel and explore the world with its secrets, but she didn’t have any plans to draw the attention of the masses. That was until Harry’d come into her life.        They were both young, still kids in that tender age where childhood crossed into teenage years, when they met. For Harry, it was like one of those scenes in the movies where the pretty girl walks into a room and a billion fans make her hair look like the wind is sweeping through it, and her eyes glisten like gemstones. Also known as the 'love at first sight' scene.        For Y/N, it was hard to keep her breakfast down as she walked inside the classroom, twenty pairs of scrutinous eyes on her, trying to figure out if the new girl was a predator or prey.        Luckily for Y/N, the biology teacher wasn’t a total witch and didn’t make her present herself to the class, and just pointed to the free seat next to a curly-haired boy. Luckily for Harry, that free seat was right next to him.        With a sigh, she dropped her heavy backpack beside the chair, giving the boy a shy glance, and was surprised to see a genuine and large grin right back at her. It wasn’t the kind people gave when they had bad thoughts. It was the kind people gave when they were truly excited and wanted to give a good impression. Y/N’s chest grew warm at the thought she might actually make a friend that day. And she did.        “I’m Harry.” He extended his hand for her to take, the grin never leaving his face.        She gave him a big, relieved smile. “I’m Y/N.”        Ever since then they were not only lab partners in classes they shared (which was biology, physics and math), but also in mischief. Together they managed to enrage Anne, annoy Gemma and absolutely horrify Y/M/N, and whenever one went down, the other made sure to go down as well.        So when a few years down the line, Harry had told Y/N about his idea to audition for X-factor she wasn’t surprised one bit.        “I mean, as long as you don’t trip and break your nose on stage, you’ll be fine.”        For that, she received a slap on her arm from him.        “I’m just saying!” Y/N defended herself. “You’re great at singing, Mrs Aberdeen certainly thinks so, you don’t have two complete left feet, and you’re alright to look at.”        That for the first time since the decision and application had been submitted, made Harry smile. He loved how easily Y/N was able to lighten the mood, to take his thoughts away from the bad, and just erase them with her wit and smile.

       “Besides.” She nudged his shoulder with hers and then intertwined their fingers. “I, Gem and our Mums will be right there for you. Won’t even blink until the end of the performance.”        With how her insides trembled in excitement and fear for her best friend, it truly seemed to Y/N she hadn’t blinked at all on that fateful day. Her breath hitched when the judges were talking. She couldn’t even remember what they said, all of it turning into white noise.        And then he got through, and Y/N screamed so much she was sure she’d blown out Anne’s eardrums, and had hugged Harry so tightly she was afraid she’d broken a rib. But with his victory also came a fear, because, for the first time in Y/N’s life, she was terrified as to where she’d stand in Harry’s. Since day one it’d been secure, but now, with the newfound fame of X-factor and who knows what kind of an amazing future, she didn’t know if he’d throw her to the curb, simply forget about the mundane friend from high school or maybe use her for something.        But it wasn’t like that. Not one bit. After insane hours of rehearsals, Y/N was one of the three people he always called. It was her, his Mum and Gem. Always. And he loved to listen to her speaking of what was happening at school, how the lessons were, which teacher turned out to be hooking up with which. As much as Harry knew he was made for the extraordinary, he loved the ordinary Y/N brought in his life. She was his safe harbour. But what he never agreed with were her own thoughts she was meant for a simple life, so he took it upon himself to bring a little bit of eccentricity in hers, as he explained how he’d gotten united into a band with four other boys, now going by ‘One Direction’, and it was his mission to join his newfound friends with the most important friend he'd had.        “This is Y/N,” Harry introduced her to the guys after one of their late-night practices, one where they weren’t being filmed. “If you do anything that even mildly upsets her, I’ll kill you in your sleep.”        The slap against his arm made him let out an ‘Ow!’ while the rest of the boys laughed and welcomed her with open arms.        In a weird way, Y/N became part of the band. She didn’t sing or play any instruments, but she was always around, gave her input on songs and setlists. That kind of closeness made all of the fears and doubts about losing a place in Harry’s life disappear. She was his personal hype-man while at the same time knocked him down a few pegs whenever the fame started to get to his head.        She was there for his highs and lows, for the break-ups and break-off in the band, and watched as he ventured into a solo career as much as she could with school and all, but when summer break rolled around it was like Harry couldn't get rid of her even if he tried. Not that he wanted. Sharing the success and happiness with his best friend was one of the biggest rewards he could have.        And Y/N would never admit it because it’d boost Harry’s already elephant-like ego, at least that’s what she said, but she kind of liked the attention she received because of him, especially because most of it was pleasant.        Had she been terrified that being known as Harry Styles best friend would make people think she was just a gold-digger, seeking fame and leeching it off from him? Yes. And there were people like that. But ninety-five percent of what people said on her social media accounts was actually nice, some even said ‘thank you’ that there was a person like her in Harry’s life to keep things real, and most importantly – cared about him through it all.        Harry also saw those comments; he loved to read about how people saw just how much Y/N cared, and it kind of stirred something in him. He didn’t know when exactly, but it was around the age of twenty-four for him and twenty-three for Y/N when he started looking at his friend in a different light. And it bloody terrified him. He didn’t know if she felt the same, and the thought of putting his heart on the line like that only for the possibility of it being crushed was the scariest thing ever.        He did, however, have an inclination as to what incident had prompted them to surface. The feelings that were. It was a night after a party. Y/N was on winter break from her master’s at uni, which meant he used every opportunity to spend time with her.        The hangover was real, I mean it’s what you got by mixing vodka, tequila and beer into an empty Sprite bottle and chugging it. Harry stumbled over sleeping bodies on his way to the kitchen in search for some leftover pizza he was sure he and Y/N in their drunkenness had ordered, as well as to make two cups of black coffee. He knew she hated the taste, but cold junk food and bitter coffee always did the trick with her. That was when he’d found her.        Although he’d woken up in Y/N’s room, she hadn’t been next to him. Instead, as it turned out, she’d gone on a food search sometime before him and had passed out on the couch, a Cookie Monster onesie on her body, but most importantly his signature pearls around her neck. And one of her hands even rested against her collarbone, as if scared someone would take them away from her.        That’d been the first time his heart had flipped in his chest at the sight of her, but most definitely not the last.        He did however keep this change in his emotions to himself. He wasn’t really sure what it was, so it would be unfair to dump that on Y/N and have her figure it out for him because he didn’t know where she stood on her own, let alone do the work for him.        Luckily, despite the tornado of feelings, their friendship didn’t falter, and when his Vogue cover came out, he was incredibly nervous for people to see it, but especially for those who mattered the most to him, like his Mum, sister and Y/N. Especially Y/N, for her opinion had become the most important one outside his blood relatives. After all, all his thoughts went to – if we dated, would she be as proud of me as she was of me as a friend?        Her support meant the most because he was away in the middle of filming; he had no way of getting physical comfort, so all of the messages, calls, social media posts and FaceTimes was the world to him, especially when Y/N sent a picture of herself with three copies of the magazine, two beside her head as she laid on her bed and one clutched to her chest, which she also posted on Instagram with the caption ‘Can’t hug you for real right now, so this will have to do. When I do get to you @harrystyles, I’ll crush your ribs with my love. And that is a threat.’        Then the comments came in from the rest, and one stood out more than the others.        Bring Back Manly Men.        At first, he felt odd about it. It didn’t really bother him, but at the same time, it made him sad. He knew that he was seen as somewhat of a controversial figure, as he painted nails, wore frilly blouses and now full-on dresses, which were all typically categorized as feminine things, but he never understood why a nail colour or the shape of a shirt suddenly became exclusively for just one gender. Which is why he was so grateful to have Y/N in his life.        “I mean, anatomically speaking, men should be wearing dresses and women trousers. It’s you who have all the dangly bits,” she said through a bite of food. “The Scots have been onto it since the beginning.”        Harry threw his head back in a laugh, shifting an arm behind his head. “So I assume your favourite pic is the one in the kilt?”        “Well, it did remind me of that awful punk phase I had back in school with all those safety pins, only in a more tasteful way, but no. My favourite one is you in that brown, grey off-shoulder jacket thing.”        “Why?”        Y/N wiggled her brows at him. “Shows enough of your cleavage but leaves enough for imagination.”        “Of fucking course.” Harry snorted, shaking his head. “Objectifying much?”        “What? I’m not going to deny that my best friend is a sexy beast.”        He wouldn’t say it out loud, but when she called him her friend, it made his heart clench in a painful way. Harry had been trying to be a bit flirtier around her, but given his open nature as it was, Y/N hadn’t seemed to notice it, nor had she seemed to notice how he looked at her while she was frowning at her computer screen.        Harry’d had relationships with some women who could be considered the most beautiful in the world, but if he’d had to say, in his opinion, who’d receive that title, it’d be Y/N. The way she snorted when she laughed too hard, the way small crow lines had already appeared next to her eyes from how much she smiled and the way her forehead creased when she was concentrating. It enthralled him to no end. He could read her life’s story on her face, how she’d lived and thought and experienced, unlike so many people he met who couldn’t move a muscle.        Though the reason she was so concentrated in that moment was because thousands of people had tagged her in a tweet of a woman, she’d heard of for the first time in her life (because Harry had been trying to keep that one off her radar), and what she saw made all the blood boil in her body more than any other hate comment had.        Without hesitation, Y/N atted her and tweeted “Bring back manly men. Please! Millions of people would let him raw them WHILE WEARING THE DRESS. I mean you tried, so I’ll give you the gold star you so desperately want, but that was pathetic.”        At that same moment, a notification popped up on the screen of Harry’s phone. He only had notifications on for one person, and when he saw what was written, he gasped, looking at Y/N. “You did not just do that!”        “What?” Y/N shrugged biting down on the chocolate bar she’d been savouring for the last half hour of their conversation. “I just said what everyone was thinking. Besides what the fuck does ‘bring back manly men’ even mean? Go chop some wood? Fight a bear in the Siberian woods? Have your ‘friends’ stab you to death at a political meeting?”        “You’re a menace.”        Y/N winked popping the last bit of the chocolate in her mouth. “Only to those who dare go for the people I love.”        His heart fluttered at the last word, but all he could do was mask it with a large grin and shake of his head.        For another hour they spent talking, Y/N kept hyping Harry up, tried to get as many plot details of the movie he was filming, while he avoided as many spoilers as possible and attempted to steer the conversation somewhere else, but when that happened, Y/N jumped onto his music, which he had told her all about. In fact, there wasn’t a music video made without her approval, and neither would his next one be. “You’ll fly out to see me film for ‘Treat People With Kindness’, right?”        Y/N sighed, giving him a sad smile. She hated disappointing Harry. “I’d love to. But you know with everything going on, I don’t think I’ll be able to.”        “Phoebe Waller-Bridge will be in it.”        She gasped, in real excitement. “Well, why didn’t you say so from the start?!”        “So that’s what this friendship has come to. I’m just your gateway to celebrities?”        “Harry you’ve always been just my gateway to the people living in LaLa Land.” But she let out a small breath much like she’d done before. “I really do want to come, Harry. You know that; I miss you like crazy. But Phoebe or no Phoebe, I don’t think I can.”        Harry bit his lip nodding, but he still needed to try one more time. “Is there anything I can say or do to get you here?”        “Get me a private jet and a quarantine mansion?”        “Deal.”        “Woah! Wait!” Y/N pretty much jumped up from her position in bed. “That was a joke! Harry Edward Styles, I swear to God, if you try an –“        But with a giant grin, he just blew Y/N a kiss and ended the call.        She was quite terrified if she was being honest, that Harry would do what she’d asked. He already had once. It'd been around Christmas time while she was still in First Year at uni, and she’d seen a glistening necklace at a jewellery store display. She hadn’t said anything, hadn’t even uttered a word, but just seeing the sparkle in Y/N’s eyes, was enough for Harry to make the decision and gift it for her.        When the next day, around five AM her time, she got a call from Harry’s manager Jeff, she was ready to rip both of them a new one, an e-mail with a plane ticket popping up in her inbox.        “I swear I’ll poison your drinks when I see you,” she’d grumbled, but couldn’t hide the excitement as she threw everything she could in the suitcase. “And no one will find your bodies, mark my words, Azoff.”        He snorted. “Yeah, tell that to the FBI agent listening in on this call.”        “Fuck. Gave myself away,” she said softly, giggling right after.        “You know he’s stoked beyond belief.” Jeff piped up. “He literally jumped out of the bed this morning, and during the dance rehearsals he didn’t miss a step.”        That made Y/N’s heart warm. “Well, you can tell him to curb it a bit. Otherwise, I’ll just stay at the fucking mansion – which, by the way, it was a joke, Jeff! I’m pissed enough he’s spending money on me as it is, let alone such a chunk on the plane, you didn't have to get me an actual mansion.”        “You know, for you, he’d give away all of it.”        “Yes, well, he might need it for his funeral, if he keeps spending it on me and on shit like this.”        The man shook his head but didn’t say anything else. He wasn’t the only one trying to drop hints to Y/N that Harry felt something more, but he’d leave it to the man himself. He didn’t need to possibly ruin everything, and have her decide not to come. His client was nightmare enough without her around, because Harry was like day and night when Y/N finally arrived on set for ‘Treat People With Kindness’.        To say he enveloped her in a hug would be an understatement as he didn’t let go of her for ten solid minutes, having grabbed her by the underside of the thighs and sat down on the ground just so he could prolong the feeling of being with Y/N.        The fact that she’d actually gone for it and hadn’t scolded Harry too much for spending that insane amount of money, for having brought a small piece of home to LA with herself where they were filming, made him now fully acknowledge the true extent of his feelings, especially as she didn’t pull away from their embrace, rather hid her face in the crook of his neck.        I mean, in the end, he did have to let her go because everyone had to get back to shooting, but not before Y/N had stripped the meticulous jacket from him, and went to have a glance at herself in the large mirror, one of the costume designers playing along and adjusting the clothing on her body, as if she was going to be the one performing.        Harry felt someone slide up to him and he looked over to his left, a smiling Phoebe standing there. She nudged his shoulder with hers. “You’re in love with her, aren’t you?”        He nodded, looking back over to where Y/N was still looking at herself in the mirror, wearing the heavy jacket as if it was nothing like it was made for her. “I’m a cliché, I know. But I can’t help it.”        “Of course, you can.” She squeezed his side. “All you gotta do is tell her.”        But it wasn’t that easy. Comparatively, getting Y/N to appear in the video was easier than coming to terms with the fact, all they’d ever remain would be friends if he didn’t do anything.        Yet the shoot for the video ended as quickly as it had started, and Y/N needed to fly back to the UK to defend her PhD paper, and Harry had to go back to filming ‘Don’t Worry Darling’, thousands of miles stretching between them once more. And Harry was a romantic, he couldn’t confess over FaceTime. Besides, he wanted to make it a special evening for her, plan something out, rather than risk a shitty connection cutting him off mid-word.        He hated it though. It’d been almost four years since Harry had realised his feelings had developed from just friendly into romantic, and still, he hadn’t said anything. Even the people who’d never met Y/N in person like Florence Pugh saw what was going on.        But unlike the cast and crew of ‘Treat People With Kindness’ who had to deal with his pining for maybe a couple of weeks, it’d been almost half a year for her at that point. Did she just want to call Y/N and tell her how Harry felt? Sure. She’d had enough of him coming into her trailer only to fall down onto her pillow and whine. But it wasn’t her place. So instead, she was going to figure out a way to get Y/N to the set and make him tell her himself.        Getting Harry’s phone away from him should’ve been the inspiration to the next ‘Mission Impossible’ script though, because it took her literally a whole day to fish it out from his coat's pocket, and she only had about ten seconds to find Y/N’s number (which wasn’t that hard given how it was the number with literally hundreds of calls next to it) and put it in her own phone.        Once their filming was done for the day, Florence rebutted Harry’s invitation to a movie night, saying a massive headache was coming on, so he wished her a good night and with slumped shoulders went to sulk on his own. Which is why she practically sprinted to her own trailer to finally call Y/N        An unsure ‘hello?’ greeted her ears before she responded. “Hey, this is Florence… Pugh.”        That stunned Y/N into silence for a few seconds before she spluttered out a greeting and said ‘hi’ as well. “Not to be rude, but how did you get my number?”        “Stole it from Harry’s phone. Look, he’s miserable. Keeps moping around, and I can’t take it anymore. Last night I found him crying in his pillow with your shirt over it.”        “What? Why?”        “Because it didn’t smell like you anymore.”        Y/N’s heart broke. “Why didn’t he tell me anything? We just talked, and he said he was fine. God, that man is so dumb sometimes.”        “Is there any way you could find a way to get here?” Florence asked biting down her lip.        She heard Y/N sigh at the other end of the line. “I’ll – I’ll try and figure something out. Have to know what’s going on at work, I mean it has been like two months since the video, so maybe…” She was more so talking to herself, but then remembered about Florence. “Listen, can I give you a message when I find out if my boss will let me?”        “Of course!” The actress was excited about the possibility of Y/N getting here, as long as it got Harry out of his depressive mood.        “Oh, and I’ll need to know what kind of restrictions are on set. I’ll figure something out with flights and quarantine, but I have zero clue as to what’s it like where you’re filming.”        Florence waved her off, even though she couldn’t see the motion. “Leave that to me. Just get your ass over here before the guy cries himself dry.”        It was a struggle though on all three ends – Harry was still moping, because not only had Y/N’s shirt lost its smell of her, but homesickness was hitting full force, Florence was getting more and more desperate as she attempted to take his mind off of things, but nothing seemed to work, and Y/N was trying to get on any possible flight to Harry while arranging two tests and an AirBnB she could self-isolate in for two weeks while attempting to set up her work from afar at the same time.        Two days after Florence’s call, Y/N sent her a message ‘Flying in tomorrow at 4 AM. Don’t tell Harry. He’ll feel even shittier cause I have to stay alone in quarantine. First test came back negative.”        She sighed in relief at the message and immediately texted back ‘i’ve got you a set pass ready, just need a picture. selfie will do. also, masks are mandatory on the lot, so bring those.’        Immediately Y/N sent a thumbs up, and a picture of herself she didn’t absolutely despise to be used on the ID card. All that was left was to pack. And spend two weeks in an attempt of not going crazy with anticipation before seeing Harry.        Those two weeks turned out to be worse than the two months between the music video shoot and going to the filming lot. Because throughout then, Y/N knew her only access to him would be through FaceTime, but to be about twenty minutes away from the man without the ability to touch him was pure torture, but at least Harry seemed completely oblivious to the change in her surroundings.        As they still continued on with their calls, not once did he mention her background, or how the paintings suddenly had managed to switch positions or the fact that Y/N didn’t even own paintings. She was sure she could’ve been missing an arm, and he wouldn’t have mentioned it with how tired he looked.        “Have you even slept, Har?”        “Not really,” he groaned, getting more comfortable in his bed. “We’ve had a bunch of early shoots and then late nights, ‘cause we need to get the continuity for the scenes, and then the day’s full of Zoom calls, and well, I can’t not call you.”        Y/N scoffed, scolding him. “You know damn well I won’t be offended if we sacrifice a couple of calls for you to get some proper sleep.”        “I know, but I will.”        Y/N sighed, knowing in a way it was her fault. She could tell him she no longer was hours of time zones away, but rather watched the same sunset and sunrise as him, but she also knew Harry, and he would be unable to stay away from her until her quarantine was over.        She was quite happy she’d sat through the fourteen mandatory days, because when she got on set, even though Harry was usually good at keeping his composure during a scene, despite the mask, he’d recognise Y/N anywhere, and all of the lines flew out of his head.        “Jack?” Florence’s hand came to cup Harry’s cheek, trying to bring him back on track. “You alright?”        But he didn’t even care about improvising to get out of the flub as his lips were split apart by a grin, and he dashed away, a loud ‘CUT!’ ringing throughout the set, but Harry already had Y/N in his arms, spinning the girl around.        “Best friends my ass,” Florence murmured as she went to the two.        Harry was speechless, Y/N’s face in between his hands as he looked her up and down. “How are you here? What? Why?”        “Thank Florence.” Y/N gave an attempt at motioning to the actress with her head. She set the whole thing up.”        Harry’s head whipped to his scene partner. “You knew Y/N was here for two weeks and told me nothing?”        “Your brain short-circuited when you saw her! You wouldn’t be of no use on set at all if I had.”        Harry scoffed, throwing an arm over Y/N’s shoulder. “Come on, let’s get away from this meanie.” But as he walked away, he looked over his shoulder and mouthed a grateful ‘thank you’ to her.        All Florence could hope for was that he’d get it together and confess, but it didn’t seem like he was in any sort of a rush. Y/N was set to be there for three weeks, but the thought of the woman leaving without knowing how Harry felt, leaving him in a sea of his own heartache, made her miserable, especially after a night they’d all spent together.        Harry really wanted Y/N to get to know the people he worked with so he invited the ones closest to him for a movie night, during which he himself had been the first one to actually fall asleep, of course.        For most of it, as ‘Westworld’ ran on in the background, he spent curled up in Y/N’s lap, his head resting against her chest with her fingers weaving through the shortened locks. She had to get used to the length, motion automatically wanting to go on longer than it was possible to. Soon enough, the soothing motions lulled her to sleep as well, their bodies leaning into one another and perfectly fitting together.        As tired as Florence was of seeing Harry, a person who’d become her friend now pine for someone so hard, it was absolutely heart-melting to watch the two interact. Everyone could see Y/N had the same feelings as Harry did for her, only she hid them a bit better. A little, but not by a lot.        No friends acted the way those two did around one another. Sure, people could be touchy, but not like that, not with such intimacy behind the motions. She felt like she was being a little creepy as she pulled out her phone to take a picture, but it was too cute not to.        A loud noise from somewhere outside set made Y/N shoot up straight, and Florence held her breath as she clutched onto her phone, having swiped it accidentally into video mode and filming the whole thing.        “No,” Harry whined, a hand reaching up for Y/N and grabbing at her elbow. “Come back. ‘S too early.”        She just nodded, grumbling something unintelligible but possibly along the lines of ‘don’t make me throw hands’ before laying down and snuggling into Harry’s chest.        Florence let out a large sigh of relief and decided to get some sleep as well before their annoying four AM alarm woke them up for set.        This time it was the other way around, as Y/N whined for Harry to ‘come back and keep her warm’.        Florence watched as Harry slipped out of Y/N’s grasp, but not before pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead and a whispered a promise to ‘see her when the Sun’s up’. The second the trailer door was closed, she slapped his shoulder, and Harry gasped in shock. “What'dya do that for?”        “Stop that! Stop that stupid dance!” She stomped her foot on the ground. “I’m sick and tired of watching you watch her with that dumb longing expression on your face. I can’t take it anymore. Why do you think I went through all that trouble to get her here?”        “I told you I would!”        She sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Look, I know it’s not my place or anything, but she does like you. A lot.”        Harry threw her an uncertain gaze. “And how do you know?”        “Because that woman spent two weeks in self-isolation just to see you! She’s gone through how many of those awful Covid tests just to go and visit you! She’s dropped everything for you, has supported you through so much, and never fails to boost you up.”        “That’s what friends do.”        “No.” Florence shook her head. “That kind of loyalty… that’s what people in love give. I haven’t talked to my best friend in like a month. What’s the longest you’ve gone without speaking to Y/N?”        And with that question, she left Harry to ponder not only his feelings but the girl’s he was in love with as well. Because if he had to be honest, the reason he’d been dragging everything out, the reason he’d stayed pining for Y/N for years on end was that he tried to write everything she did off as something a childhood best friend would do.        The truth was more terrifying than anything because once that came to light, it’d change everything, and Harry didn’t know if he was ready. He wanted it, desperately so if it meant Y/N becoming someone he could love freely and openly, but not if by the end of it, she'd disappear from his life, leaving a hole the size of his heart in his chest.        His thoughts were cut short as someone knocked on the ‘Hair&Make-up’ door, and an assistant let in a pouting Y/N. Well, he couldn’t’ see the pout behind the mask, but he definitely knew it was there, making a smile come on his own face.        She plopped down in an empty sofa and crossed her arms. “I was cold.”        Harry snorted, wanting to shake his head, but didn't as to not ruin the hair stylist’s work. “You’re always cold.”        “And you’re a living furnace.”        “ ‘S that why you like cuddling? Leeching off my warmth?”        The same assistant who’d let Y/N in handed her a cup of coffee, which she was ready to kiss the woman for, but opted for a ‘thank you’. “We’ve established I only use you to get to other celebs. What makes you think I wouldn’t use you for those sort of things.”        For a moment, the trailer settled into silence, as Y/N enjoyed her morning coffee while the crew kept doing their own work.        “It’s so weird,” Y/N piped up, eyes racking up and down Harry’s body. “Don’t even wanna really look at you like that.”        He let out a mock gasp of hurt. “What d’ya mean? Am I suddenly repulsive to you?”        “No!” she let out a laugh. “It’s just odd seeing you without the tattoos. They’re such a huge part of you, even the dumb ones. Can’t really imagine you any differently.”        “Would you love me any differently without them?” The question was bold, even though he knew she did love him, he had to start making moves.        “No,” Y/N shook her head. “I don’t think so. I believe I’d be a different person then as well, but I’d love you all the same. As long as you’d do the same with me.”        Harry nodded looking down at his hands then back up at her, catching her eyes through the reflection in the mirror. “Don’t think there’s a dimension out there where I don’t love you.”        “I mean that is a bold statement,” Y/N said, sipping on the remnants of her coffee. “What if I’m like a weird, cat-skinning psychopath in one dimension? Would you love me even then?”        “Jesus Christ, Y/L/N, do you just normally come up with those gruesome scenarios or is it a hobby?”        She wiggled her eyebrows, standing up and throwing away the paper cup. “There’s a reason I have a VPN and clean my search history. I’ll see you in your trailer?”        “Yeah.” Harry nodded and smiled. “I’ll be there in thirty minutes.”        The next half-hour he kept hyping himself up, about how he was actually going to do it, but Florence intercepted him right as he was turning down the way his trailer stood. “How are you gonna do it?”        “I – “ Harry huffed and placed his hands on his hips. “In the beginning, I had like a whole romantic outing planned, but… I’ve dragged this on long enough, so I think I’ll just tell her.”        “Okay, good.” Florence nodded and slapped his shoulder in approval. “And if I don’t hear that trailer rocking, I will throw you in a ditch.”        Harry’s eyes widened at the statement, fully knowing she meant her words, but she was already half-way down the track, blond hair swishing behind her back.        It was then or never.        Slowly he opened his own trailer door as if it was Y/N’s place not his, but by the looks of how she’d sprawled out on his bed, she had made herself right at home. Just like she’d done it on the first day of school, but just with his heart.        “Hey!” She smiled looking at him. “You ready to film?”        “Yeah, but umm… I kind of wanted to talk to you beforehand.”        Y/N’s brows furrowed at Harry’s serious tone, so she sat up, nodding. “Sure. Is everything alright?” “It’s nothing bad, at least I hope you won’t take it in a bad way... I’ve actually been wanting to tell you this since that winter’s break party you had while doing your masters...” He let out a small chuckle but seeing Y/N’s eyes widen in a panic he stopped. “Oh, God,” she moaned. “You have a kid! Oh my God.” “What? No!” Harry spluttered. “Why the hell is the first thing you assume that I have a kid?” “I don’t know!” She was now standing facing him completely. “We’ve never had secrets between us, especially for as long as you’ve apparently kept them, what am I supposed to think? Maybe one of the girls you hooked up with got pregnant, and you’ve been hiding the fact you’re a baby daddy because you know I wouldn’t be able to keep the fact I can be the cool drunk aunt to myself.” All of that came out as is she’d prepared it ages ago. “Well, no.” Harry shook his head stepping closer so he could be chest to chest with Y/N. “I’m not anyone’s baby daddy. At least I don’t think so, but umm... when that moment would come... when I have a kid...” He looked up at the ceiling and sighed before lifting a gentle hand to cup her cheek. I wouldn’t want you to be the drunk aunt. I um...” There goes nothing. “I’d kinda like if you were the mom.” “Of course, I’ll be the Godmother!” Both of them said at the same time, making the other’s brain stumble over the words said. “Wait, mom?” Y/N’s question was breathless. “Like donate my eggs or some shit?” “No like, I’ve been in love with you for close to four years, and I wanna try and build a future with you, where you’re more than just my best friend.”        “Oh.”        That was all that managed to escape her mouth as he fully opened his heart, and Harry couldn’t lie – it shattered. He didn’t know what he was expecting, but it was more than that. “That’s...” Y/N huffed sitting down on the bed. “That’s a lot to take in Harry. Like a lot.” “I know.” He sighed and sat down next to her. “Which is why I’ve been pushing this away for as long as I could, but... it was time. It wasn’t fair to you or me to keep on living like that. Look.” Harry took her palm in his. “Whatever you want us to be, we’ll be that. I - I mean I’ll be heartbroken if you say you don’t feel the same, but no matter what you tell me now, I won’t let you leave my life. I love you, and I’m in love with you. This is your choice which way you chose to go with.” Y/N shook her head, interlacing their fingers and finally looking up at him. “I don’t want you to be heartbroken. It’s the last thing, I’d ever want to see you like. And umm well, if it takes me using the pair of ovaries I have to admit I’ve been in love with you too to change that, I guess I’ll have to say it. I’m in love with you too.” Harry’s eyes glimmered with unshed tears of happiness, as he looked at Y/N like she’d hung the stars in the sky. Not that it mattered. He always looked at her like that. “You mean it?” “Yeah,” she chuckled, wiping away a few stray pearls from her own cheeks. “I guess I always thought I’d end up the drunk aunt in your life, so that’s why I thought you’d ask me to be whatever future child’s Godmother. But I love you, and I’m in love with you too.” “Can I – “ Fuck, Harry was too giddy for his own good. “Can I kiss you?” And when Y/N chuckled, nodding he swore he already was in heaven. “Yes, please.”        At first, the touch of his lips was gentle, almost afraid, but the second he pressed them to Y/N’s, and she gasped at the sensation, it became full of lust as passion, years of pent-up pining and angst and just plain old stupidity surfacing and morphing itself into a steamy make-out session.        In a split second, she was sprawled out on Harry’s bed, his toned body leaning over hers and teasing hands moving along her sides, making her squirm and ache for more of his touch, but she wasn’t the only one who wanted to explore a body with a new mindset of what was possible.        As Y/N moaned from Harry’s tongue invading her mouth, her hand couldn’t help itself as it slid down his chest, and her finger flicked against the button of his trousers.        “Can I touch you there?” Y/N whispered against his mouth, and Harry eagerly nodded.        “Please. Been dreaming about this for literally years.”        Smiling, she allowed him to continue and explore her mouth with his tongue, intoxicated on one another’s taste. In fact, Y/N was so far gone just from the kiss, she forgot how a fly worked and needed Harry’s help to open it.        “Get back here,” she grumbled as he chuckled, having leaned up a bit to make it easier for her to get the offensive piece of clothing off. “We’ll see how you fare with a bra.”        “Oh, I’m an expert.” His hands trailed to her shoulder where he snapped one of the straps against her skin, making her yelp.        “You do not want to do that when my hand is an inch away from your dick.”        But the threat had no merit to it, as she dipped her palm behind Harry’s boxers while his mouth went to soothe the sting and leave a little mark on her skin, which he’d get to admire later on.        The second, Y/N wrapped her hand around his cock an involuntary moan escaped into the air, as she gripped him. Fuck, she couldn’t wait until he was inside her, because, and it might sound a little cliché given how they were best friends who’d fallen in love with one another, but she was one hundred percent sure, he was made exactly for her.        But no matter how much she twisted her hand or how gently or roughly she rubbed the tip, he couldn’t get hard, and Harry was on the verge of tears, which Y/N saw and instantly pulled away, cupping his face.        “I’m sorry,” he choked out. “Fuck, I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”        “Hey!” Y/N cooed. “None of that. It’s alright. Shit happens.”        Harry nodded understanding that she was right, but he still felt shitty and well, he felt insecure about it. “I just. Fuck. Usually, when I think of you, I’m hard in like a second.”        And although all Y/N wanted to do was smirk and tease him about the fact that he thought of her while wanking himself off, that wasn’t the right moment.        “I promise, you turn me on, you do." He sniffled. "This had never happened before.” But Y/N wasn’t offended or sad, and her laugh wasn’t mocking or trying to hurt him.        “Harry you’re dead tired.” She cupped his cheek with one of her hands, and if he’d been ice cream he would’ve literally melted. “You had to wake up at four in the fucking morning and won’t go to sleep until two the next day. Let yourself rest a bit.”        “But,” he whined and then huffed. “But I wanna love on you. Wanna show you just how crazy I am about you.”        “And you will. You know I’ll always hold you to your word. But this won’t be fun for either of us if mid-fuck you suddenly collapse on me asleep. I don’t need to go to the A and E and explain the broken nose is because my boyfriend decided to take a nap while shagging. A nap on my face.”        But Harry hadn’t really heard anything she’d said after Y/N mentioned the b-word, a dopey smile on his face. “I’m your boyfriend? You really want me like that?”        “I mean I would prefer if you were Phoebe…”        Harry pinched her side, making her squeal before tackling her in a hug. “Shut up!”        And that’s how the two fell asleep (and were woken up twenty minutes later by an assistant in a panic given how Harry was supposed to be on set in five minutes)  – wrapped up in one another’s arms, smiles on their faces, and no longer best friends, but lovers.

Tags (crossed out wouldn’t take):

Everything tags: @lumelgy @palaiasaurus64​ @supernaturalbaesduh​ @breezy1415​ @crazy--me​ @thatawkwardlittlefangirl​ @sea040561​ @staryeyedgirl​ @deathbyarabbit​ @s-c-a-r-e-d-po-t-t-e-r @reblogger-not-a-blogger @m-a-t-91​ @dalilx​ @i-need-a-hero-i-need-a-loki @maladaptive-ninja-returns​ @averyrogers83​ @in-the-end-im-still-trash​ @gallifreyansass​ @dewy-biitch​ @avxgers​ @unlikelygalaxygiver​ @magicwithaknife @ollyoxenfrees​ @bnhvrdy​ @tvwhoresblog @celebsimagines @thatkindofgurl​ @sj-thefan​ @teenwolflover28 @lestersglitterglue​ @im-squished​

Harry Styles tags: @sarcasticallywitty15​ @breezykpop​ @girlboss99​ @harrystylesdoesntknowiexist​ @alliyjane​ @sirtommyholland​

A/N: I loved writing this so much :)

P.S. my tags are always open

P.S.S. I don’t take requests, sorry. Also, please don’t repost my story on other platforms (wattpad etc) without specific written permission. 

#Harry Styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles imagine #harry styles fanfic #harry styles imagines #harry styles x you #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x reader smut #harry styles x reader #harry styles x fem!reader #harry styles angst #harry styles and you #harry styles and y/n #harry styles and reader #harry styles fluff #harry styles smut #eroda #treat people with kindness #fine line #one direction #one direction imagine #1d fan fiction #1d #harry styles fandom #harry styles fan fiction

[midoriima]

MIYA ATSUMU IF HE WERE ME

- drools when he's focusing and has his mouth open or agape.

- when he remembers something nice or funny, he'll smile or laugh to himself but he's always surrounded by people during a time like this, so they pretty much just think he's weird.

- has piss hair.

- if osamu's in the other room, atsumu will crawl on the ground on the unsuspecting twin and will try to scare him. sometimes it's successful, which leads to him getting kicked or he fails and gets stared at by osamu to make him uncomfy.

- had a boxing phase or smth in middle school and used osamu's butt and shoulder as a punching bag. of course, he didn't punch him that hard, just enough to annoy the hell out of him.

- one time, he did accidentally hit him hard and he earned the same punch in the same location except thrice as hard as it was.

- obnoxiously laughs out loud.

- watched peppa pig to have a different accent when speaking in english. his grandma gave him a soft peppa pig blanket when she found out he watched the show. he has it until now

- tried learning german, thai, chinese, korean, french, spanish altogether on youtube.

- worst fashion sense ever..... thinks he looks so cool and swag going out in shorts and a shirt but it's basic. (nothing wrong with basic, it's just not what i want to wear 😭) he also doesn't have clothes that fit his style.

- adds random people on snapchat to either say "hi" or never talk to them ever, just simply to add so that he can increase his snapscore and to spam only a few people including osamu.

- was interested in learning how to play instruments but gave up because he just didn't know how to fingerpick a ukulele. well, no, he does know but he wants to play the songs he wants to play, but just doesn't want to practice so hard and in the end not be able to hear any progress, or even a tune??

- occassionally picks fights on osamu for the fun of it.

- cleans his room and keeps it that way for a maximum of a week before it goes back to its "dumpster-like-form".

- after the newly washed clothes dry, he'll fold his and his mum's or dad's- (whichever he wants) -clothes and osamu's clothes & the other parent's clothes will be thrown on osamu's bed and atsumu will purposely mess it up to make osamu do more work. laughs to himself afterwards.

- has a dog and takes pictures of her every single day, there was never once a day he forgot to take at least a single pic of his dog.

- will make playlists for his dog

- makes his dog watch tv with him

- make a ton of playlists cos of the vibes but not listen to it anyway

- has over 40+ playlists on spotify and only listens tk the three pinned playlists

- questionable food combos: fries & gravy/ice cream, soy sauce on egg, fries in coke, ice cream on sprite, fanta and sprite, rice and apples.

- listens to mitski and ricky montgomery when he's sad.

- rewatches banana fish as if he won't cry by the end of the series.

- sits uncomfortably then complains why his butt and back hurt.

- will sometimes procrastinate on studying for a test, leading to him studying 5 minutes before the actual test.

- surprisingly has good grades. people around him wonder how and why.

- couldn't be a high honor student cos his math is a b.

- studies hard for maths but sucks at maths and hates maths.

- eats a lot. probably even eats more than his dog, this is osamu as well.

- will eat if he's bored.

- sleeps in the afternoon 😊

#mitsvyaswife #sy.fics #haikyuu!! #haikyuu x reader #miya atsumu #atsumu x reader #miya atsumu x reader #inarizaki

[panda-noosh]

the game {draco x reader}

  masterlist

---

 you’ve been tormenting the malfoy family for what feels like forever.

   it’s become a kind of game at this point, a game everyone is involved in. the malfoys pretend they don’t expect your presence, and you pretend you are tormenting them because you don’t like them. it’s back and forth, back and forth, and you’ve been doing it too long to back out now.

   it starts the same way every time - the gate is open, and they pretend it’s because they forgot to close it. nobody mentions the fact that lucius malfoy hasn’t forgotten a single thing in his entire life. nobody mentions draco’s blonde head peaking out from behind the living room curtains, waiting for the arrival of a person he claims to despise. 

   you stroll in with the ease of someone who owns the place, smiling and waving at the white peacocks that have become so familiar with your presence by now that they don’t even make a noise upon seeing you. they lift their graceful heads, and then they bow them again - it’s as simple as that.

    you knock on the door, grinning even wider when you hear narcissa’s faux exclamation of, “who could that possibly be?” you know for a fact that draco has warned her of your presence already, that all three of them have been expecting your arrival since they woke up this morning. 

   and then the door opens, and narcissa stands there in all her glory. such a tall, graceful woman, and you tell her that on a daily basis, making her blush because you  are her favourite little Mudblood, and she lets you get away with things like that.

    you lean against the door frame, spinning your wand between your ringed fingers. narcissa glares at you without speaking, her jaw working as she inspects you.

    “evening,” you drawl. “how are you today, my dear?”

   her nostrils flare. “how many times have we told you to stay away from our home?”

    “oh, plenty of times. i’ve quite lost count.” you straighten, craning your neck to see over her tall frame, into the hallway beyond. standing in the foyer, just as you predicted, just as he always does, is draco. you give him a wave before turning back to face his mother. “is he alright? i haven’t seen him much at school recently.”

    “my sons wellbeing is none of your business.”

   draco appears at his mothers elbow. “you can tell professor snape i’ve been feeling ill.”

   you smile - draco giving you orders is moreso his way of answering your questions without looking like he gives a shit. you appreciate it, this code you two speak in, because in all truth, you do worry about the malfoy boy quite a bit.

   you met him in school, your very first year at hogwarts. you were crushed beneath adrenaline, having found out about your powers only a few weeks before being shipped off to this strange and wonderful new school. you had a wand, and a robe, and there was a giant man ushering you into a tiny boat, ready to take you to the future. 

   and then draco appeared, and he knew who you were. he must have looked through the first year list, must have looked you up and realised you were a muggle-born. he did his research, and that was the first point of respect he earned off you.

    “let them in, mother,” draco says now. “the elves made too much food anyway; might as well put them to use whilst they’re here.”

    you give a mock bow. “much appreciated, malfoy.”

   he snarls, before mother and son turn on their heels and lead you into the home you have become so familiar with these past few years. you’ve traced these walls with your fingers a thousand times before, and you do the same now. upstairs, you hear the elves marching around, putting stuff back where they belong, chuntering amongst themselves; silently, you wonder where lucius is. 

    draco and narcissa lead you to the kitchen, where stacks upon stacks of food are set up along the grand dining table. draco hands you a glass of water before gesturing to the plates and saying, “dig in. and be grateful we haven’t got the ministry involved.”

    “the ministry?” you raise a brow, taking a long, loud sip of your water before continuing. “draco, what would the ministry possibly do? you’ve been letting me into your home for years - it’s starting to get a little old hearing you say you don’t want me here.”

    draco blinks, startled. 

   narcissa steps in, grabbing the water from your hand and slamming it upon the table. “we don’t want you here. the last thing we need is some filthy mudblood knocking on our door at all hours of the morning.”

    the word doesn’t even sting any more - it’s a wound that has been closed long enough now to no longer hurt. so instead, you smile and say, “very true, narcissa. i’ll have my water back now, if you please.”

    narcissa growls, turns and walks out of the kitchen. she always does this. it’s become part of the routine.  

   you grab the water yourself and take another sip. draco continues staring at you, a habit he adopted only recently. you remember the first time he did it, the first time it was more than a glance, more than an accidental brush of eye contact between you; he was standing on the opposite side of the kitchen, those slim fingers tapping a rhythm against the expensive granite. you and lucius were chatting, lucius asking - yet again - why you’re here, why you can never leave them alone, why you aren’t at school. you were going to answer, but draco’s gaze was burning a hole into the side of your face, and you truly felt as if you had no choice but to pack it in early and go home, just to recuperate. 

    you’ve gotten better with it. you don’t have any plans of storming out any time soon, though his gaze still makes your face heat up and your stomach squirm.

    “so, you’ve been ill, have you?” you begin. “i won’t lie, draco, you look pretty spritely to me.”

    “i wouldn’t expect you to understand,” draco shoots back. “you should just mind your business.”

    “i never asked you what was wrong. i was just saying - seems like you’re looking for a muggle excuse to get out of going to school.”

   draco glares, though the expression has less effect now that he’s taken to never taking his eyes off you, no matter what his emotions towards you are in the moment. “i’ve told you not to call me that.”

   “didn’t call you anything.”

   “you called me a muggle.”

   you narrow your eyes in faux confusion. “i said your excuse was muggle. don’t blow it out of proportion, mate.”

   he throws his hands up, turning away for what feels like the first time since he laid eyes on you. “why are you here this time, y/n? what could you possibly want from us now?”

    “i’ve never wanted anything from you.” you inspect the endless plates on the table. “although i will pinch a scotch egg, if you don’t mind.”

    draco watches as you reach across the table, picking at the assortment of foods. you don’t break the eye contact, because that’s what he wants you to do. he wants you to show some sign of intimidation, some sign that he has wriggled beneath your nerves in the same way he manages with everyone else. you’re determined to show him you’re not afraid of the malfoys, have never been afraid of the malfoys, and that’s exactly why you’re here. you wanted something, and you were willing to go to the highest rank to get it.

    “you know, if my father finds out about what you get up to, you’ll be sent to azkaban with a life sentence.”

    you freeze, scotch egg halfway to your mouth. “so you’re bringing that up now, are you?”

    “i’m just warning you.” draco shrugs, the sleeves of his black blazer stretching against the motion. “one day you’re going to walk in here, and he’s going to know. he’s going to see it in your eyes that you’re guilty.”

   “he’s going to figure me out.” you scoff. “you really think the sun shines out of your father’s arse, don’t you? he’s not as smart as he likes everyone to think, draco. i’ve been running circles around that man for years now, and he’s none the wiser.”

    “and what if i tell him?”

   the room falls silent. your heartbeat rings in your ears. you hate talking about this with draco, because you never know whether or not to take his threats seriously. 

    he folds his arms over his chest. “you’re lucky i haven’t blabbed yet.”

   “are you threatening me, malfoy?” you lean forward, lowering your voice to a purr. “why don’t you tell me the real reason you’ve taken two weeks out of school, hm? then we’ll both have stories to tattle to the ministry.”

    draco pales. he glares at you for a moment longer before the kitchen door opens, and narcissa malfoy strolls inside once again. you straighten up, schooling your expression into one of immediate calm, like not a single thing is wrong. you pop the remaining scotch egg in your mouth and say, “i should get out of your hair now.”

    narcissa simply scowls.

    you give her a grin, nod at draco once before walking out the door, trying to ignore that blue-eyed gaze still burning into the back of your head.

   ----

    it gets easier over time.

    all of it does, really. the guilt becomes non-existent, and the act itself becomes second nature after a few good attempts. you’ve nearly been caught a handful of times, and you know if your actions were to come to light, you would be expelled from hogwarts in a heartbeat; not even dumbledore could show you mercy, no matter how much he likes you.

    it’s easiest when the streets are full. muggles are so careless, clumped together with wallets jingling in their pockets, unprotected. they don’t even think about what might go wrong, don’t even think a wizard may be lurking amongst them, ready to snatch their belongings right from their person.

    you don’t need it, of course. muggle money means nothing where you come from, but there’s some wizards and witches who would pay hundreds of galleons in trade for the things collected off muggles. it’s a black market kind of situation.

   tonight, you are dressed in a black hoodie and jeans, wand stowed in your back pocket. you don’t need it; you’ve mastered the magic-free manoeuvres of sneaking things from people, and you use such skills to your advantage tonight. a man by the name of richard carpol has put in a request for a muggle passport - an irish one, preferably, but he’ll take anything you can get your hands on.

    you search for what feels like hours before zoning in on the dark red booklet peaking out of a teenagers jacket pocket. their source of ID, you assume, and you feel no guilt whatsoever when you stroll past them and pluck the book free. you stuff it in your hoodie pocket before picking up your pace, ducking into a dark alleyway.

    you flip it open - it’s a british passport, but richard will still pay. he’s not a picky customer, which makes your night ten times easier.

   you make your way back to hogwarts, waving at people in hogsmeade before you disappear for the night. you sneak into the slytherin dormitory with no problems, stuffing the passport beneath your mattress. you wriggle beneath the sheets, ignoring pansy’s insistant questions about where you have been, if you’ve seen draco, how you managed to sneak past filch - she asks this every night, and you have never replied. you just fall asleep, another day successful.

  ----   

   “he’s back.”

   like he’s some kind of god. you nearly roll your eyes, the whispers repeated over and over again throughout morning breakfast. all around you, the slytherin table is alive with anticipation, waiting for draco malfoy to stroll in through the double doors, head held high in that way it always is.

   you knew draco was returning before anyone else did, as he told you the night before in a fit of faux rage at the sight of you in his bedroom, yet again. you had offered to leave, leaned casually against his mahogany wardrobe, and it could almost be considered hasty the speed at which he rushed for his door to close it, uttering a quiet, “no, you’re here now, so you might as well stay.”

    but now he’s back in school, and you’re sick of him. you haven’t even seen his face once, but the whispers and the praise from your house mates is enough to set your teeth on edge. it reminds you that there is indeed a draco living outside of the malfoy manor, a draco you cannot tease and torment as easily.

    “i saw him in the common room this morning putting his robes on. i think his parents got him new ones,” a fellow slytherin whispers. “and his hair has been cut a little shorter - he looks so grown up!”

   you snicker into your porridge, smothering the noise to no avail. the slytherin girl singing draco’s praises shoots you a glare before noticing who you are; her glare folds in on itself, and she quickly retaliates by pretending she didn’t hear your snicker in the first place.

    breakfast ticks by, and it’s only near the end does draco finally decide to grace the dining hall with his presence. the double doors open, and the chatter amongst the slytherins falls short almost immediately. you’re ashamed to admit that even you look up at the speed of light, catching one of the first glimpses of draco malfoy as he returns from what many people assumed was the dead.

    his fangirl certainly wasn’t lying, you notice; his hair has been cut shorter, and he does look plenty grown up. he walks with a fresh confidence that makes you want to roll your eyes - it’s not like he needed a further confidence boost. his robes are clean, brushing the floor. his eyes are trained on the head table, though they linger there for only moments before snapping to where you are seated.

   you raise a curious brow. he blushes, looks away, and takes his seat next to crabbe and goyle, both of whom clap him on the back like he’s just returned from war.

    you ignore him the rest of breakfast, which is a rare action for you. you used to revel in tormenting him, coming face to face with him at every corner just to give another snide remark; it was a game back then, back when the two of you were younger and felt as if you could get away with it. 

    breakfast ends shortly thereafter, and you hurry to gather your things. swinging your bag over one shoulder, you duck your head down and escape into the crowded corridors, losing yourself amongst the sea of black clad students. 

   but you’re a fool to ever think you - of all people - could escape draco’s magnificent return to school. his cold fingers wrap around your wrist before you have a chance to turn the corridor to your next class, stopping you in your tracks. part of you wants to spin around and punch him, just floor him in front of everyone, show him that you’re not just some silly person showing up on his front doorstep every other night.

    instead, you slowly turn and give him a smile, one of your big ones to let him know you don’t mean it, that you’re being hostile.

    his face is set in stone, that frown so perfect and soft looking it makes you want to sob. 

    “where are you off to in such a hurry?” he asks, keeping his voice low because god forbid anyone catch him speaking to you.

    “class,” you reply. “so kindly let go of me, malfoy.”

   “not until you tell me where richard got another muggle passport to sell.”

    you freeze, though you knew this would be coming eventually. richard is one of your best customers, but he’s not very bright; he’s never understood the concept of subtlety when it comes to the trading of muggle artefacts. 

    “he has a new one, does he?” you say. “good for him. his collection must be getting awfully big by now.”

   draco scowls. “my father is starting to get very suspicious, y/n, and i don’t know how much longer i’ll be willing to cover for you.”

    you pry your hand out of his grip, nearly stumbling from the momentum. “is that a threat?”

    “it’s a warning,” he says. “i might not like you, but i don’t need you going down for something like this. people know we’re familiar with each other, and i don’t want you tarnishing my family name.”

    you scoff. “your family name has been tarnished since you-know-who was in power.”

    “shut up. don’t talk on things you don’t understand.”

    “all i need to do is pick up a history book.”

   draco scowls, those blues eyes ablaze. you’ve seen this look on him when he’s speaking to those gryffindors he hates so much, when a teacher takes someone else’s side over his own. you’ve seen this look on him plenty of times, but never aimed at you; for some reason, his expression is always so soft around the edges when trained on you.

    “i’m trying to do you a favour,” draco mumbles. “because i’m serious when i say my father will snap you in half if he finds out you’re the one providing these artefacts to the dark market.”

    “i’m not afraid of lucius,” you reply. “and i think you’re kind of forgetting the fact that your father actually likes me. at least a little bit.”

    draco’s eyebrows fly up in amusement. “what’s given you that idea?”

   “the fact that i’m still allowed in your house after all these years.” you grin, basking in the way draco’s own smile fades at the realisation you have indeed recognised this behaviour within his family. “yes, malfoy. you all try so hard to convince me i’m the scum of the earth, but the truth is, you appreciate my company. the truth is, you make me tea every time i visit. the truth is, you’re all a little fond of me, whether you want to admit it or not.”

    his face pales even more, a feat you didn’t think possible until seeing it with your own two eyes. it’s a delicious win, a point for you in a competition you didn’t even realise you had entered.

    “you’re delusional,” he mumbles. “you say you picked up a history book, then you must know how my family feel about your kind.”

   “my kind?” you raise a brow, feigning ignorance just to annoy him. he hates outstretched conversations, especially with you. “are you talking about half-bloods, or pickpockets? oh! or people who can run circles around you without fear?”

    you don’t give him a chance to reply, because quite frankly, you’re done with this conversation. you’re done with him for today. you prefer it when you’re in control of your daily draco interactions. 

    you turn on your heel and leave, rushing for your next class even as he calls your name. you can’t believe the nerve of him, approaching you like that, telling you to quit the job that’s gotten you off the streets, that’s helped you fund an education for yourself. these robes you’re wearing, the books you read in class, the wand that is an extension of your arm by now - all of it was funded by you, from your own pocket. just because the business is ruthless, not some posh, clean dealing that malfoy is used to, doesn’t mean it’s any less important.

   you want to shove that explanation down his throat, just so he’ll finally look past his own privileged little bubble. you hate admitting it, but the truth is, draco wouldn’t be so bad if he wasn’t so blinded by his upbringing. he knows how to be nice - you’ve seen it before, experienced it before, though you never talk about those experiences with anyone. there have been a few times where draco has seen you walking past his house, soaked to the bone from the rain, and he’s let you in, warmed you up by the fire, placed a hot chocolate in your hand. he’ll insult you and call you stupid and claim he wants you out of his house as soon as possible, but he was still the man who made the move to get you out of the rain.

    your feelings for draco are a jenga tower. built up to full form, but slowly, pieces get chipped away until the entire thing is falling, and you have to rebuild it and try again. 

    you don’t know why you keep rebuilding it after so many disasters, but as he calls your name at your retreating back, you can feel yourself already putting those blocks back together.

   ----

     charms class really is a pain.

   flitwick is nice enough. he’s patient, which is good, and very much needed when it comes to your skills in the classroom. you’re an intelligent person, always studying because you want to be the best. you love seeing the look on draco’s face when he looks over and sees you’ve got a higher grade than him. it gives you such a thrill.

   but charms is your downfall, because nothing makes any sense. flitwick explains the spell, and the hand movements, and he leaves you to your own devices, and you always somehow end up messing everything up.

   today, all you’re doing is tossing a pillow to the other side of the room. it’s a simple spell, a simple gesture, and yet you still manage to smash a window in the process. flitwick merely sighs, explains the charm again, and gets you to repeat the process until you’ve got it right.

   it takes a while. you don’t like it when things take a while.

    by the half hour mark, sweat is running down your face, and your teeth have been gritted for so long it’s starting to hurt. you throw your wand down on the table, rake your hands through your hair and say, “i’m taking a break.”

   “please do,” flitwick grumbles, rubbing the spot on his head where a vase smashed into his skull, thanks to your handiwork.

   you slump down on one of the pillows you have failed to charm and run a hand along your brow. it’s actually disgusting how much energy gets taken out of you from doing such a simple thing. it’s also very confusing, considering you’re able to master the most difficult spells in defence against the dark arts without so much as a second thought. why tossing a pillow to the other side of the room is getting to you is both a joke and a mystery.

    as you pull yourself together, savouring your moment of rest, someone slumps down next to you. you glance over, an eyebrow raised at bailey o’boyle, a boy you’ve done business with a few times in the past. he was only dabbling in the black market at the time, too young to understand what it was actually all about, but you weren’t going to be the one to ward him off, not when he had a good few galleons with your name on it.

    he looks at you now with a smile, big and dopey, just as it always is.

   “can i help you?” you ask. 

    “yes.”

   you wait for him to elaborate, but he doesn’t. he just keeps staring at you.

    you grit your teeth. “with what?”

    “i need an electric scooter.”

    you raise a brow. already the word ‘electric’ has got your attention, because that’s not something the wizard world is very familiar with. what bailey is doing right now is forming a business deal. you’re not usually a fan of bargaining in the middle of class, but since you have nothing better to do. . .

   you turn, ducking your head and lowering your voice. “what the fuck do you need an electric scooter for?”

    “to sell,” he replies. “i’ve got a man who collects them. he’s willing to pay big money, y/n. big, big money.”

    you like the sound of that.

   “i’m a pickpocket, you know,” you say. “it’s not going to be easy pickpocketing an entire scooter from a muggle.”

    bailey shrugs. “i said i’d see what you could do. but if you’re not up to it. . .”

   your eye twitches; you hate that phrase. realistically, you know this is far beyond your expertise. you steal wallets, and passports, and house keys, tiny things you can sneak away without detection. trying to get something like an electric scooter from a muggle without being caught is close enough to impossible that even the lure of galleons isn’t enough to convince you to do it.

   still, of course you’re going to think about it. there are many different side streets in muggle london that you could go down, and if you do it at night, the shadows could be used to your advantage. nobody would even bat an eye if you wore-

    draco grabs your wrist and pulls you from the floor.

   you yelp, stumbling into his chest. he lifts you like you weigh nothing, and you’re more surprised at his strength than you are at his actions.

    bailey’s eyes widen. he stutters, trying to feign innocence, but neither you nor draco are interested in him any more. you whirl on malfoy, shoving him away.

   “what the hell?”

    “what the hell, is right.” he grabs your arm. “come with me.”

   you struggle against his grip, but truth to be told, you’re not really putting up much of a fight. you’re still in shock at how easily he was able to lift you, at the feel of his fingers around your upper arm. 

    he drags you from the classroom. flitwick being flitwick doesn’t even bat an eye; he’s probably relieved that’s two more students he doesn’t need to worry about.

    in the hallway, draco finally lets go of you. you jerk away so fast your back hits against the wall. draco raises a brow, but he still looks furious. his nostrils are flared, his face is pale, and god, he keeps clenching his fists like he wants to wrap his hands around your throat.

    god help you, you kind of want him to. just to know what it feels like.

    “again,” you say. “what the hell?”

   “i knew you were stupid, y/n, but that’s bad even for you.”

    “excuse me?”

   “you do realise blaise was listening to every word you and bailey were saying in there?” he shakes his head, jaw clenched. “i was trying to talk over you, but your loud mouth is quite difficult to ignore.”

    you blink. firstly, wow. bargaining in class really isn’t a good idea, and you really should have known better.

   but also, wow, draco actually tried helping you out.

   you swallow and fold your arms over your chest. “i had it under control. blaise isn’t gonna do shit.”

    draco laughs. “blaise’s dad is in the ministry, idiot.”

   “stop calling me that. i’m smarter than you!”

    “do you understand what i’m telling you, y/n? if blaise says a word about what he heard to his dad, that’s you done. there’s no getting out of that.”

    a chill runs down your spine. draco glimpses the movement, and you swear his features soften slightly.

    “i just can’t believe you were so careless.”

   “why do you even care?” your voice is quiet, barely above a whisper. you kind of hope draco doesn’t hear it, but his eyebrows shoot up, and his cheeks gain a tiny red tint that lets you know he doesn’t really know the answer to that question. 

   you swallow, looking up to meet his eyes. “why do you care, draco?”

   “because.” his throat bobs. there is a moment of hesitation where you think he’s going to tell the truth. maybe he’s going to shock the world and just tell the god damn truth, but then he clears his throat, pulls his shoulders back and says, “i’ve already told you, y/n; if you go down, you’ll tarnish my family name. i can’t have that.”

    your insides wilt like his words are acid being poured down your throat. you laugh a little too loudly, a bark more than anything close to amusement. it’s so vicious, so filled with hatred that draco actually flinches away. in that moment, you want to give him a real reason to flinch, a real reason to be afraid.

    but you don’t, because he’s the boy who pulled you out of the rain.

   instead, you shake your head and say, “tell flitwick i’m ill. and don’t bother talking to me ever again. let me handle my own business, thanks.” and without another word, you rush down the hallway to the dorm rooms, refusing to look back at him. this time, he doesn’t call your name, doesn’t chase after you in that hopelessly stupid way you want him to. of course he wouldn’t. 

    you throw your robes off the minute you burst through the doors of your dorm. it’s empty besides a fellow slytherin’s cat laying on the bed. the black and white feline lifts its head at the sound of you, and you ignore it’s confused little mews as you scramble into your own bed, pull the privacy curtain over and bury your head in your pillow.

   you hate him. you really, really hate him, and that’s not even an exaggeration. he’s the worst person you’ve ever met. he’s this tormented little shit who thinks he has every right to throw his anger at everyone else, just because he isn’t tough enough to stand up to mummy and daddy. he’s so desperate to stay in line with everything his parents say, and it’s ridiculous. it’s embarrassing. it’s a cowards move.

    there are so many things you wished you said to him before storming off, but there’s always that moment of hesitation when it comes to anything you want to say to draco. you either have to check it’s not too nice, and even when it’s mean, you have to check it’s not going to actually upset him, because you don’t want to do that either. you don’t know why. you should spit in his face for the shit he puts you through, the confusion he makes you feel. and he doesn’t even care. he just carries on being a little prick, like nothing is wrong in the world.

   but surprise, surprise, draco. not everyone can live a lavish life, worry free. 

   --- 

    you manage to ignore draco for the rest of the day. it’s easily done, considering draco doesn’t like to make a big deal out of the fact that you two actually have history; he likes to pretend he associates only with people of the purest blood, the most talented wizards, ones that come from the old families.

    but he can’t keep his eyes off you.

    he knows he’s hit a nerve. the way his eyes follow every movement you make, the way his jaw ticks when you don’t even give him the time of day - he’s not a stupid boy, as much as you like to tell him he is. he can see when he’s upset you. 

    classes drag in the rest of the day, and it’s a massive relief when you’re finally released from the confines of lessons, free to do whatever you want. after stealing a bit of food from the dining hall, you head up to the slytherin dormitory; you like it best when it’s empty, when you can just sit with your own thoughts for a while. you need it today, because today you actually let yourself be a normal teenager, and you hate it. you hate the feeling of hormones and overreactions, but sometimes it’s hard to help it. sometimes you need to let yourself feel emotional.

    alone in the dorms, you reach under your bed and pull out your handy box of trinkets. most of the contents are just things you’ve stolen that never found a home - a penny from a london sidewalk, an old napkin with a mystery person’s phone number scribbled on it, a black and white photo of a couple standing in front of the ocean. however, tucked away amongst those simple, boring things is a green emerald - one you stole from the malfoy manor a few years ago.

    you got it from draco’s room, because you weren’t meant to be in there, and you wanted to let him know that you had, in fact, been in there. the emerald was stitched into the collar of one of his shirts, all expensive looking and wasted. you nearly scoffed at the sight of it - when would draco ever get to wear something so glamorous anyway? plus, the emerald looked far too heavy to be confined to a shirts collar; it would be very uncomfortable, you assumed.

   that’s why you grabbed a knife and cut the stitching to shreds, plucking the emerald from it to claim as your own. you tossed the shredded shirt back into draco’s wardrobe, tucked the emerald into your pocket and then walked out, content with the knowledge that draco would be yelling at you in due time once he noticed his missing jewel.

   but the yelling never came.

   draco knew you had stolen it. again, he isn’t stupid. his shirt was shredded, and the jewel was missing, and it was obvious who had done it - the known pickpocket who was strolling through his house every other night. 

   he just never said anything, like he wanted you to keep it, like he didn’t mind it was in your hands now.

   you stare at it, legs crossed beneath you. you’ve always prided yourself on how little you care for expensive things - you don’t complain that you haven’t got much, that you grew up poor, never able to afford the grand things draco has. but you still handle this emerald with so much care, flipping it round in your fingers, looking at every curve and delicate groove in it’s cut. 

    the dormitory door opens. you trust it’s just someone who’s eaten too much and wants an early night, so you don’t panic or falter. you listen to their footsteps patter across the room, the thump of their robes hitting the floor, followed closely by their shoes. you listen to their privacy curtain screeching open, their sigh of annoyance at something you can’t see-

   and then draco pops his head round your privacy curtain.

   you yelp, fumbling with the emerald. it slips from your fingers, however, and crashes to the floor at draco’s bare feet. he stares at it as you curse, an eyebrow raising, and you don’t even try and hide it. you just let him stare, arms folded over your chest, annoyance brewing in your stomach just at the sight of him. 

    finally, he slowly looks up. “mine, i take it?”

   “good guess, rich boy. can i have it back?”

   he picks it up and tosses it into your lap. you’re pleasantly surprised at his cooperation, but still keep that frown on your face.

   “what do you want?” you ask, violently stuffing all your belongings back into the cardboard box. 

    “you weren’t at dinner,” draco replies. “i wanted to make sure you weren’t causing any more trouble.”

    you scoff. “oh, trouble, yes. tarnishing the malfoy name. the end goal for us all.”

    draco stares at you, lips pursed. his gaze is always so warm, a physical thing that makes your skin crawl. “that comment bothered you, did it?”

    “nothing you say bothers me, draco. it just baffles me how you can be so dense sometimes.”

    “ouch. that one hurt.”

   you roll your eyes. “why are you here? i have nothing to say to you.”

   “you don’t have to say anything. i just wanted to make sure you’re alive.”

   “not like you care, though, is it?”

    draco’s nostrils flare. his throat bobs, eyes tracing the length of your throat like he’s a hungry vampire. his lower lip slips between his teeth, the expression startling you. he looks like he’s trying to reel himself back, like some unwanted emotion is fighting for dominance in his brain.

    “you’re really stubborn, aren’t you?” he asks after a moment.

   “you think?”

    “i still don’t know what i did to piss you off so much.”

   you bark out a laugh. “no, of course you don’t. god forbid a malfoy is self-aware for once.”

    he groans. “can you not just make things simple? why do we have to go around in circles like this? it’s a waste of time!”

    “is that meant to be an apology?”

   “how can i apologise when i don’t even know what i did?” he’s starting to sound desperate, like this conversation is taking the life from him. 

    you lean back, pulling the box into your lap protectively. in truth, you don’t even know how to word why you’re so upset - it makes sense in your head, but articulating it to someone else is just going to make you sound stupid, maybe even a little delusional. you should know draco by now, people will say. you should know what he’s like, that he cares for no one besides himself. getting upset over him showing his true colours is stupid, a waste of time and energy.

   but you look into his blue eyes right now, wanting nothing more than for him to just understand. understand what, you don’t even want to admit, not to yourself or anyone else. 

   “you hurt my feelings,” you mumble. 

   draco inhales sharply. “i didn’t think i could do that. i never thought you’d let me.”

    “well, you did. congratulations.”   

   “jesus, y/n, it’s not like i wanted to. what did i even say?”

   you stare at him. he stares back. the ball will drop eventually, you know, because draco is smart, smarter than you’ve ever given him credit for. he examines your expression, and you watch the moment his eyebrows start to relax in realisation, the frown form on his face. it makes anxiety coil in the pit of your stomach, because maybe this is just a little too vulnerable. maybe letting draco figure this out on his own was a bad idea.

    but it’s too late now. he draws back slowly, hands curled around the privacy curtain until the fabric is creasing and knotted in his fingers. “wait. . .”

    “go, draco,” you demand. “i have shit to do. business to take care of.”

    “y/n-”

   “go, draco!”

    he stares at you a moment longer before running a hand through his hair and walking out the room. you wait till the door is closed, and then you wait till his footsteps can no longer be heard, and then you throw the box of trinkets to the ground, watching the emerald slip across the wooden floor.

    ---

     the streets of london always look a little different when you’re angry. a little more violent. a little more real.

   muggle london in itself has always felt like a very hostile place to you, but when you’re angry, things get clearer. you notice the vomit stain on the curb, the neglected baby pram in the bush, the beer bottles smashed beneath window sills. it becomes a different place - it just depends on how you’re feeling.

    tonight, you are angry, and everything around you is angry, too.

    you just want a set of car keys, not the actual car. muggle car keys sell at a good price, depending on who you’re dealing with. nobody has requested them, and usually you don’t go out unless asked to do so by a client, but tonight, you just want to be out. you want to be away from the wizarding world. you want to cause havoc with your fingers in the best way you know how.

    it’s busy. it always is. you can guarantee that almost everyone around you has car keys in their pocket - that’s why global warming is so bad. some of them even wear them around their neck, dangling from multicoloured chains with little souvenirs banging against their chests. those would be so easy to just rip off and run away, but you’ve decided to be subtle, which means your eyes are trained on the bulges in people’s coat pockets. so many of them, so careless. 

    a man in a tracksuit seems like the best option. you follow him for ten minutes, keeping your head down, before he finally breaks away from his group of drunken friends. he laughs to himself, stumbling just the perfect amount - he’s drunk, but not drunk enough to be falling over himself, which makes slipping your hand into his pocket a pretty easy deal.

   you go for the kill, quickening your pace, dipping your hand into his pocket-

   he grabs your wrist, and before you even have a chance to blink, you’re on the ground.

    a gasp is ripped from your throat at both the shock and the pain that spears up your spine. the guy is yelling, stumbling back, and holy shit, if he doesn’t shut up right now, the whole of london is going to be on you.

   gathering as much strength as you can, you roll onto your side and push yourself to your knees. “hey man, calm down. sorry. i thought you were my friend.”

    “did you just try and rob me?” he yells.

   “no! no, of course-”

    “you psycho bitch!” he lunges for you, all drunken vowels and grabby hands. you have no idea what to make of his intentions, you just know you’ve fucked up, and you need to get out of here.

    his hands slam into your shoulders, knocking you on your ass. a cry escapes you, but not from the pain. a tiny snap sounds from your back pocket, and you know without having to look that your wand has just broken in half - yet again. dumbledore is going to start getting very suspicious.

    “son of a bitch,” you growl, before raising your hands. “listen, hey. i’m sorry. i’ve said that already. you need to calm down before-”

    “before what?” he howls. “you kill me? are you threatening me?”

    your eyes widen. “no! would you just-”

    the man opens his mouth to say something else, but his words are sucked back in when a hand wraps around his arm and yanks him back. you wince at the sound of his head cracking against the tarmac, but you don’t get a chance to comment before draco is kneeling beside you, one hand cradling your head, the other resting on your knee. his touch alone is enough to spread warmth through your previously frozen limbs, and you hate that. you hate it so much.

    you tug your knee from his grip. “what the hell are you doing here?”

   “are you bleeding?” he runs his thumb along your bottom lip. when he pulls away, his fingertip glows with a red liquid. 

   “oh. i guess i am.”

   “christ, y/n. do you ever just...” he closes his eyes, taking a moment to redirect his anger. it’s an amusing sight, and you almost smile until you remember you’re mad at him. forever mad at him.

   you jerk your head out of his grip, too. “i’m fine. stop worrying.”

    “clearly i have to, or else you’re going to get yourself killed.” he glances over his shoulder, where the drunken man is struggling to sit up, still slurring protestations. “by a muggle.”

    “he wouldn’t have killed me,” you grumble. “although my wand is broke, so maybe he would have.”

   draco’s eyes widen. you wave him off before he has a chance to chastise you again - in truth, you just want to get out of here, car keys be damned. hastily, you push yourself to your feet, wobbling only slightly, but draco must see this tiny action as a full-on collapse risk, as he wraps an arm around your waist and tugs you close, grumbling curses under his breath. you’re such a pain in the arse, apparently, and god, he wishes he wasn’t stuck with you all the time, and he’s so baffled by the fact you’re still alive, it’s probably all thanks to him, blah, blah, blah.

   you listen to him rant the entire way back to malfoy manor. you don’t argue his choice of location, because you can see narcissa standing in the doorway, hand over her mouth, eyebrows raised in genuine surprise, and you already know she’s got a cup of tea waiting for you in the sitting room. you almost smile, but that would ruin the effect.

    she rushes out to meet you and draco halfway, immediately grabbing your face and tilting your head back and forth. you can taste blood on your teeth.

    “what happened?�� she breathes, but doesn’t give you a chance to reply. “draco, take them into the lounge.”

   “oh, the lounge,” you coo. “you are spoiling me!”

    “be quiet,” draco hisses, doing as his mother says. he tosses you unceremoniously onto the plush sofa, and you have to ignore the inappropriate thrill that shoots up your body. 

   narcissa appears not ten seconds later, a steaming cup of tea in her hand. you give her a grin, which she rolls her eyes at, even as she sits beside you and brushes your hair away from your face. you take a sip of the tea, smile in thanks, and then lean your head back.

   “sorry about this.”

   narcissa sighs. her breath tickles your cheek, smelling oddly of incense. “i don’t know what we’re going to do with you, y/n.”

   “put me down.” you make a stabbing gesture into your arm and mouth lethal injection at draco. he purses his lips, clearly not taking the joke in stride. “i didn’t mean to worry you so much.”

    “you’re always worrying us,” draco hisses, which earns him a sharp look from narcissa. he meets his mothers eyes and his shoulders deflate. he runs his hands down his face. “you’re just . . . always doing something.”

    “i know,” you mumble. “sorry.”

    “draco, don’t stress them out,” says narcissa, which surprises you; you’ve always known narcissa has a secret soft spot for you, but she’s always tried her hardest to keep it just that - a secret. yet here she is, combing your hair back, giving you a cup of tea, telling her son to treat you nicely. it’s like you’ve entered a different world. “i’m gonna go and make some calls. keep them comfortable, okay?”

   draco nods, lips still pursed, forever displeased. you used to laugh at that expression on his face, but now it just makes you feel bad. 

   narcissa leaves the room, and then it’s just you and draco. you watch as he watches you, eyes never wavering, shoulders never relaxing. he’s got his arms folded over his chest like he’s keeping guard. 

    “i meant it, you know,” you say. “i didn’t mean to worry you. i thought it would be an easy job.”

    “who are you doing business with now? bailey again?”

    “no.” you look down, surprisingly shameful. “it was just for myself. i needed out of the castle, and. . .” you shrug. “you know me. i can’t do anything easy.”

   he scoffs. “yeah, i know.”

   “so i’m sorry.”

   draco closes his eyes and rubs his temples. the rings on his fingers glisten beneath the fancy lights. his knuckles pop, the veins in his arms protruding. “please stop apologising.”

   you blink. “alright.”

    “you act like i don’t understand why you’re doing all this, but i do.” he looks at you, hands dropping to his sides. “just because i don’t have to do it myself, doesn’t mean i don’t understand. why else do you think i haven’t stopped you?”

    your breath catches. you raise a brow, tilting your head cruelly. “you wouldn’t have been able to stop me. you think i’d listen to you?”

    “yeah. i think you would.”

   you reel back, jaw dropping open. “excuse-”

    “you always act like you hate me, but you forget you’ve been coming to my house for years. you forget i’ve known you since we were eleven. you forget that i don’t just put up with anyone. i’ve had time to figure you out, y/n, no matter how much you like to pretend i haven’t.” he folds his arms and leans against the door. his hair is rumpled, along with his shirt and jeans. so casual, so unlike himself. “but earlier on, in the dorms. . . you surprised me with that one.”

    your stomach curls. oh, good god, he’s bringing that up now. you’re sat here with a busted chin and a potential criminal charge, and he’s bringing this up. you could headbutt him.

    despite your glare, he continues. “i knew you didn’t hate me, but i never thought. . . i never thought you liked me, you know? especially not-”

   “don’t say it.”

   his lips twist. “i have to.”

   “no you don’t.”

    “do you love me?”

    your heart falls into the pit of your stomach, which is answer enough for you. love is such a strong word, and you could easily say no, that what you feel for draco is nothing more than a little crush. he’s got the nice blue eyes, and the money, and the perfect hair. he’s got a smile that lights up rooms. it’s a crush. you fancy him, and that’s all there is to it.

    but love sounds pretty accurate. more accurate, actually.

    you swallow. draco watches the bob of your throat, and you watch his. above your head, the massive clock ticks, ticks, ticks. 

     slowly, he reaches forward and swipes his thumb over your chin. it stings just a little, but you’ve felt worse pain, so you let him do it without jerking away. 

     “cat got your tongue?” he whispers.

    you shiver. “i don’t. . . i don’t know what you want me to say.”

    “it’s not about what i want. i was asking a simple question. just give me the truth.”

    “you want the truth?”

   he inhales, hesitates, and then nods.

    “yeah, draco,” you whisper. “i think i love you.”

     slowly, draco draws away. his eyes never leave your own, that frosty blue colour reminding you of the winter sky, or a cold december morning. you remember all those christmas’s at hogwarts when draco would stay at the castle, waking him up because you thought it would annoy him to have your face be the first thing he sees. you always commented on the dreary smile that played on his lips when you did that, and he would always say, “i thought you were someone else.”

    but that dreary smile is returning, pulling across his face, and it doesn’t falter. right now, there is no mistake. his eyes are on you, and he knows it is you, the person who has apparently made his life a living hell for so many years. you’re the ache in his spine, the one he can’t wait to get rid of.

    but you’re also the one he rescued from the rain. 

    you’re the one who cursed hermione granger when she punched him in the nose.

   you’re the one who’s just confessed your love to him.

   shit.

   “don’t look at me like that,” you say, voice hoarse. “don’t pretend you didn’t know.”

   “i didn’t know,” he says immediately, like he’s desperate for you to know he was clueless. “did you know?”

    “kind of. i wanted to ignore it-”

    draco shakes his head, waving a dismissive hand. “no, no. did you know that i love you, too?”

    you open your mouth, but no words come out. your brain just short circuits, taking a second to catch on to what he’s said. that dreary smile is still playing at his lips, and you’re waiting for the moment it turns into a sneer, a mocking little smirk.

    it doesn’t.

   “oh right,” you mumble. “no. i had no idea.” you pause. “are you taking the piss out of me?”

    he laughs, a rare and pleasant sound. he approaches you, kneels at your side on the sofa and cups your head in his hands. you melt into him, even though every instinct in your body is telling you to pull away, to run away, because this is nothing more than false hope. he’s playing a trick on you. you’ve annoyed him to breaking point, and now he’s found the perfect chance for revenge.

    but his hands are so warm, and nice, and your cheek dips into his palm so easily, like it belongs there.

    “you’ve always been kind of not smart in my eyes,” he says.

   your eyes widen. “hey!”

   “kidding. i’m kidding.” he chuckles, running his thumb along your lower lip. “but you’re not doing your intelligence any justice right now. i thought i was making my feelings pretty clear.”

   you glare; he knows full well he hasn’t made his feelings clear. neither of you have. you’ve spent the past seven years pretending to hate each other.

   he grins. “okay, maybe i didn’t make it so easy. but you didn’t make it easy for me, either.”

   “i still don’t believe you.”

   he raises a brow. “why?”

   you shrug. “it just doesn’t seem possible that someone like you could fall in love with someone like me.”

    his eyes soften. “wow. maybe you are not very smart.” 

   before you have a chance to protest, he kisses you. just like that, like it’s the most natural thing in the world, or maybe like it’s an action he’s been waiting to do for years, and now he’s finally got the chance. that’s what it’s like for you, this coil unravelling in your gut after years and years and years of ignoring it’s existence.

   you run your hands through his hair, tugging on those pesky strands at the back that always stick up because he refuses to wear anything other than collared shirts. he growls into your mouth, pulling you closer, closer, closer, until your legs are tangled with his, and his fingers are tracing a line down the centre of your throat. he stops at the hollow, just to feel the bob of your throat as nerves spiral through you. he grins against your mouth, pulling away to see the shock in your eyes.

    he’s so proud of himself. he’s made you a mess.

    you smile awkwardly, trying to regain some amount of composure. he watches you, heavy lidded, one hand still clutching your knee as the other curls around your throat, just where your neck and shoulders meet. the way he stares at you, it’s like he doesn’t even realise he’s doing it. 

     “so,” you begin. “you’re worry wasn’t actually just for your family name, was it?”

   draco sighs, plonking his forehead against your own. “no, y/n, it wasn’t. my worry was losing you. which i very nearly did tonight.”

   “don’t be so dramatic. i wouldn’t have died.”

   “you could have.”

   “but i wouldn’t have, because that guy was drunk, and a muggle, and-”

   “are you two arguing again?”

   you and draco jump apart as narcissa storms into the lounge, wand clutched to her chest. her narrowed eyes are firm on draco. 

   “i told you to keep them comfortable!” she exclaims. “can you not put your differences aside for ten minutes?”

    you grin, teasingly running a finger along draco’s spine. “yeah draco. listen to mummy.”

    he growls, but turns to narcissa and says, “sorry, mother. you know how y/n gets.”

   “yes, i know,” narcissa mumbles. “but they’re injured. now, let me take this phone call, and then we’ll set up the guest bedroom. can i leave you alone for ten more minutes?”

   “yes,” you and draco both reply immediately. narcissa hums, and walks out.

   draco immediately spins, grabs your wrist and pulls you to him, slamming his lips to yours. you laugh against his mouth, melting into the embrace for only a second before pulling away and saying, “she’s trusting us to behave for ten more minutes, draco. this isn’t behaving.”

    “oh, fuck that,” he scoffs. “come here.”

   you let him pull you closer, closer than you have ever been with him before, because you’ve always been so convinced he never wanted you more than a few feet away from him. suddenly, everything draco has ever said to you is reconstructed in your mind, every action, every little look. 

   you wonder if he’s doing the same. 

#harry potter #harry potter fanfic #harry potter fic #harry potter fanfiction #draco malfoy #draco malfoy fanfic #draco malfoy fic #draco malfoy fanfiction #hp fanfic #hp fanfiction #hp fic #hp #draco x reader

[danteinthedevildom]

Like, ok, hear me out. Here’s how I think the Kids event should have gone down, based on the cards and the background:

- Solomon’s working on a new spell. He’s managed to create it using a special type of mutated apple that has very unique properties. He’s aware that it works in a very straightforward way - for each bite taken, the person multiplies - but that it’s only been tested when a physical bite is taken from the apple. He’s curious to see what’d happen if he distilled the apple’s juices, and used it like that.

- He claims to have finished the first batch, and asks if MC could take some with them, maybe experiment on something - just something small, like a frog, maybe - so he can get a read on what it’ll do before he uses it. (Apparently, he’s been banned from doing any new spells unless he tests every ingredient individually, first.) 

- MC returns to the House of Lamentation, and forgets about the bottle of distilled magic apple in their pocket. The next day, the brothers and MC sit down for a meal, made by Satan. When the brothers take their first bites, they claim that it tastes different, but in a good way. Satan happily confirms that it is different; as he was doing laundry the day before, he found a small vial in MC’s pocket. He’d done a small test to see what it was - just in case it was anything dangerous - but had been pleasantly surprised to find it was just apple juice. He guiltily admits that he took it without permission to use in the dinner since the recipe called for a more human-toxic ingredient, and he figured that if MC had it on hand, it was probably safe for human consumption. 

- The brothers happily continue eating, but Satan quickly notices MC’s "strange expression”. Before they can explain anything, however, the brothers suddenly claim to feel odd. Satan’s initially offended, until he admits that he’s feeling a little odd, too. Deciding that the food was probably not a success, they all part ways to turn in for the night, with some of them grumbling about food poisoning. Satan apologises to MC, but says that whatever seems to have bothered them will have to wait till tomorrow, after they’ve all had a rest. 

- MC informs Solomon of the outcome. He seems confused, but admits that this sort of thing does happen in magic, sometimes; what you expect to happen simply doesn’t. Maybe the magic doesn’t work in juice-form, or maybe putting it with other food negated it, or affected it somehow - he can’t say for sure. He thanks MC anyway, and bids them goodnight.

- The next morning, MC is woken by an ear-piercing scream. They stumble out of bed and rush into the hallway, fully expecting someone to be out there (maybe prepared to explain, or to defend them from whatever made the sound) - only, it’s dead silent. They do a quick look around each of the common areas - the kitchen, the dining room, the living room, even some of the bathrooms - but the brothers aren’t there. The scream sounds again, only, now that they’re awake, they realise it sounds sort of... familiar? [Choices would appear for which brother MC thinks made the scream, and they’d shout out that name]. Unsure what else to do, MC runs towards the direction the scream came from. 

- They end up outside Lucifer’s office, the door part-open. Voices come from inside, but they all sound a little odd. Eventually, one of them says MC’s name; another quickly hushes the voice, and a third berates it; then the scream sounds again, this time wailed, and MC suddenly realises it’s a very warbled version of their name. 

- They burst in past the door, and freeze in shock. Seven children are huddled in the room, one of which is still in tears on the floor. All seven of them look up as soon as the door slams open, and the crying child gleefully squeals MC’s name, rushing up to throw himself at their waist. Another of the children looks somewhere between furious and embarrassed, while a third sleepily says they’ve been caught. 

- [The sprites would appear on screen, now; each of the children in turn, with MC slowly recognising each of them.] Lucifer is the furious/embarrassed child, standing up on his desk chair to give himself enough height to tower over the others; Belphie is the sleepy child, curled up on one of the sofas; Mammon’s the one currently clinging to their waist; Asmo’s staring into a mirror, his eyes wide, almost entranced; Beel’s sitting on the sofa, next to Belphie, munching on a bag of chips; Satan’s sitting down by the bookshelf, glaring down at a huge tome he’d somehow lugged on his lap; and Levi - is flinging himself at MC’s other side, demanding Mammon let go. 

- Bewildered, MC does the only thing they can think to do; call Solomon and Diavolo. [So begins the next scene with them having already arrived]. Diavolo is initially ecstatic to see the brothers so small, and delights in how easily riled up a young Lucifer is (especially when he’s called cute), while Solomon flits between amusement and confusion. He’s not entirely sure what’s happened to them, or why. Diavolo questions if they’ve come into contact with anything strange, to which Solomon responds in the negative - until, suddenly, he remembers the distilled juice. He asks MC to confirm if the brothers had ingested it, to which MC says they did, but hadn’t suffered any immediate effects. 

- Diavolo asks what the juice was, to which Solomon explains. He hums in thought and reveals that the apple’s magic has a side effect; the more clones made from a single person, the younger their mental age becomes. He and Solomon theorise that distilling the juice, or perhaps adding it in with the other magical properties of their food, or even just the act of cooking it, might have changed the magic. Instead of mentally altering their age through copies, it physically de-aged them. 

- MC asks if that’s even possible, and Solomon admits it sounds ridiculous, but stranger has happened. Unfortunately, since the magic seems to have altered, they have no idea how to reverse it. Diavolo notes that the original method was to satisfy the copies until they all disappeared and re-joined, but that it might not work that way anymore. At a loss, Diavolo asks if MC could look after the brothers while he and Solomon - with the help of the angels - work on a cure. [MC is allowed to accept - which leads to cheers from Mammon and Levi - or have a “What?! Why me?!” response - which leads to Diavolo laughing and saying he’s not sure he could remove the second and third eldest from their hip if he tried.]

- The event then follows MC trying to keep all the brothers happy and entertained. 

Which I could imagine going down a little something like this:

- It starts with Mammon and Levi, who refuse to leave MC at all. They cling to their hip and argue at each other from either side, with lots of angry demands that the other leave, refusals to leave, and claims that MC likes one over the other more. It ends up with them both almost in tears, and MC has to find a way to calm them down. 

- It doesn’t succeed. No matter who MC tries to soothe, something will kick them off again (Levi getting jealous, if Mammon’s chosen, or Levi gloating, if he’s chosen). A little helplessly, they watch as the boys eventually land on a “MC loves me more” argument, which continues until Levi declares a competition: they each have to find something to give to MC, and whoever’s gift MC likes more is the winner. They’re gone before MC can even try to stop them. 

- Next, MC tries to seek out the other boys. They stumble across Asmo, still in the livingroom, looking into the mirror. No matter what they do, he keeps staring, unresponsive. It takes them a bit to realise that he’s accidentally hypnotised himself. As soon as they take the mirror away, however, he gets very upset, and starts to throw a tantrum. MC gets given a few options of things that’ll make Asmo happier than the mirror; letting him paint their nails, letting him do their makeup, or letting him do their hair. 

- Whichever option MC chooses, Asmo immediately perks up. He scurries off to grab everything he needs, and comes back a few minutes later, struggling with a very, very full bag. MC gets a sudden feeling of dread, but settles down as Asmo directs them, and lets him get to work. Once he’s done, he happily exclaims that they’re “maybe even a little more beautiful than [him]!”. 

- Since he seems to have forgotten about the mirror, MC is happy to let him go off and play. Just as they’re about to let him rush off, however, the door opens, and in comes Simeon - who takes one look at them and struggles to hold his laughter. Asmo asks him if he thinks he did a good job, to which Simeon (still trying not to giggle) says that MC looks lovely. Asmo happily wanders off, and Simeon teasts them for their new style. 

- Simeon explains that he’s there to give a helping hand. He was helping with the cure, but Barbatos suddenly took him to one side and informed him that they might need a little help - so he’s brought about a dozen things to try and keep the brothers entertained and out of trouble. [MC can either act as if Simeon is their saviour or pout that they wanted to look after the brothers on their own, but either way, he’ll respond teasingly.] He informs them that he’ll keep an eye on Asmo, and try to set up a few things the others might enjoy. 

- MC wanders off again to try and find one of the brothers, eventually being drawn to the library. Inside, they hear someone trying to read, stumbling over each word, until eventually they hear a book being slammed shut. Just as they enter the room, the book is thrown at them, and they just barely duck in time. 

- Satan’s too frustrated to notice them. He stomps in place, tears in his eyes and red-faced, surrounded by books, yelling angrily that they’re stupid, and awful, and he hates them. He startles when MC says his name, and then immediately hiccups before bursting into tears. MC rushes to his side, asking what’s wrong, and he - between wails - explains that he can’t read his books anymore. The words are too big, and he’s forgotten what they mean. Plus, he can’t reach a lot of them - he’s too small, and the ladder’s too difficult for him to push around - so he’s stuck with whatever’s on the floor. 

- MC consoles him, and asks if he’d like to: listen to MC read to him - have MC find him an easier book. Whichever option MC chooses, he slowly stops crying and agrees. They scurry off to find a book that looks easier for children to understand, and have him sit down on the sofa with then. [Either MC finishes reading the book for him, or Satan finishes the book]. Either way, he seems a lot happier, and thanks MC for their help. MC asks if he’d like to go downstairs, but he says he’d just like to read a little more, and admits he’s really invested in the children’s series MC found. He more than happily picks up the next book, and begins reading to himself, completely ignoring MC’s presence. 

- Content that he’s safe to leave reading, MC exits out into the hallway, starting to turn off towards more of the bedrooms. However a sudden crash, and a yelp from Simeon, draws their attention away. They rush downstairs to the kitchen - where they find Beel, throwing a tantrum, the fridge’s door thrown off its hinges, and a wide-eyed Simeon holding a sleeping Belphie. 

- Simeon stammers out that he’s not too sure what’s wrong. Beel was already upset - and the fridge’s door gone - when he found them, and wouldn’t answer him when he asked. He only seemed to get more and more upset, until finally, he just started storming around, trying to destroy the table and chairs. Except that, somehow, seemed to make him even worse. 

- MC crouches down, and tries to ask Beel what’s wrong. Like Simeon said, he’s completely silent; face scrunched up in anger and flushed red, barely even making a sound when he finally looks at them. MC can either ask if he’s hungry, to which he’ll nod, or ask him what’s wrong, to which his belly will growl and he’ll clutch at it pitifully. Either way, he’ll point at the fridge. Inside, MC will see a few things have been munched on, but a lot of them have been spat almost immediately back out. There’s only a few things that were successfully eaten, but it’s barely anything. 

- Simeon notes how strange it is for Beel to not eat, especially when he’s hungry enough to rage. He comments, however, that children can be picky eaters, and suddenly realises that Beel’s probably struggling to find something he actually wants to eat. When he asks Beel if he’s got it right, Beel nods, and Simeon says he’ll try to whip him up something quickly. 

- They get him set at the table, and Simeon plates up some food. Beel takes a single bite... and immediately spits it out. Simeon again expresses surprise; what he made was one of Beel’s favourites. He tries again, and again, but each time Beel spits it out, until he’s starting to look even angrier (and just a little miserable). At a loss, Simeon asks MC if they have any ideas. [MC can suggest either Human World food, or suggest that they look at what Beel ate in the fridge - revealling it to be some of the human-safe foods stored for MC’s consumption]. Either way, Simeon quickly whips up a Human World dish, and places it in front of Beel - who happily eats the whole lot. 

- Relieved that the whole fiasco is over, Simeon takes Beel and Belphie into the livingroom, where Asmo is drawing - just in time for Levi and Mammon to charge into the kitchen, both red-faced and panting, claiming out of breath that they’ve each found the “best present ever” for MC. 

- The two demand that MC pick one present to see first [though MC can also choose for them to be revealed at the same time; this option avoids dialogue where one of the brothers gloats over the other], though regardless will both show off what they got. Levi picked a super-rare figurine, one he absolutely 100% adores, and goes off on a ramble about how good the show is (though mostly focuses on how cool it looks, rather than all the actual facts about the show). Mammon picked a very sparkly gem, one that he thinks is worth a lot and also just looks super pretty. They each say how they just know MC will pick their present, and how much worse the other’s present is, and eventually end up squabbling.

- MC can decide to either pick up both presents or to reject both presents. In either case, it confuses the boys (and makes them upset, if they were both rejected), and they ask why MC didn’t just pick one. MC claims that they care about both boys just as much as the other, and that they’re both special to them, so they can’t pick. In fact, picking would actually make them very sad. [The boys ask if MC would really be sad if they had to choose; they can either simply nod, or pretend to start crying. The second option has the boys panic, and quickly try to backpeddle and comfort MC]

- In either case, the boys get quiet after a moment and very reluctantly agree to a truce. They guess MC can like them both as much as the other. MC thinks that’s the end of it... until they start arguing over which of the two of them loves MC more. Thankfully, Simeon comes to the rescue; he informs them that he’s finally managed to put a DVD on, which immediately gets Levi’s attention, and he rushes into the livingroom with Mammon hot on his heels. 

- Simeon laughs once they’ve gone, and says MC looks a little haggard; they can either say they feel exhausted, or say they’re having a lot of fun. Either way, Simeon will say he’s enjoying it a lot; he loves babysitting, and he has plenty of videos and pics to remember it all by. After a moment, however, he’ll admit that he came to ask MC something, not just to chat; have they seen Lucifer? He’s not seen hide nor hair of the first-born since arriving. MC says they haven’t seen him since Diavolo left.

- Between them, they agree that Simeon will stay looking after the younger brothers while MC goes off after Lucifer; Simeon’s pretty sure he’d respond better to seeing MC than him. So begins another search around the House, through each room, slowly getting more frantic as each one comes up empty. Even Satan’s finally moved himself downstairs to the livingroom, but still no Lucifer. 

- MC can choose whether they should report back to Simeon or keep looking, but neither one truly matters; as soon as the decision is made, they hear a little voice floating down from the attic. They make their way up the stairs, the voice getting clearer and clearer until they can finally make out the words. 

- It’s Lucifer, of course. He’s up in the attic, quietly berating - himself? When MC walks inside, they find him sitting stock-still, back straight, on the bed, his fingers curled into fists on his knees. He looks like a deer caught in the headlights when he notices them, but he quickly recovers, and greets them normally. MC asks if he’s okay, and he says he’s fine. It’s nice to have some peace and quiet, for once. He thanks MC for looking after his brothers, and says they can leave him to enjoy the break. MC notices, however, that he seems strained, and that he’s trembling just a little. 

- MC can either wait him out or ask him what’s wrong, but either way, Lucifer eventually crumples. He hates it. He hates being small, and feeling weak; he hates that it’s harder to control his emotions, and that his voice sounds so high; he hates that he had to awkwardly scramble on the bed, and that he can’t hold a pen properly, let alone write neatly anymore. He starts to tear up, and scrubs angrily at his face when he realises he’s doing it, demanding himself to stop crying. As his frustration mounts, however, he just tears up more, which makes it worse. 

- MC can either hug him right away, or crouch down to comfort him with words; either way, he ends up hugging them and crying against their shoulder, letting them soothe him until he finally stops. They have the choice to reassure him (reminding him that it’s only for a while, and that it’s okay to not be able to do the things he normally can), or to call him cute (which makes him indignant and fluster up), but either way, he thanks them for making him feel better. He asks them not to tell his brothers about his little breakdown, and admits it’s... maybe not the worst thing in the world, even if it hurts his pride. (And maybe sometimes it’s a little nice to be cuddled when he’s upset). 

- They return downstairs together, where Simeon greets them. The movie’s almost over, but they already have another one lined up. Lucifer just nods quietly and goes to join his brothers on the sofa. 

- Simeon informs MC that he got a text from Solomon. He thinks the magic should be out of their systems by the morning, so they shouldn’t need to worry once the brothers are put to bed. MC can either cheer with relief or express a little sadness that it’s ending, but either way, Simeon will laugh, and say he’ll start on dinner. It looks like they need a lie-down, anyway. MC sits down in one of the chairs, and almost immediately drifts off. 

- When they wake up, it’s to Simeon shaking them gently. Mammon and Levi are asleep on their lap, curled up against them - apparently having climbed up there while they were asleep - and the other brothers are likewise conked out across the sofa. He apologises for waking them; they missed dinner since he thought they needed the sleep more than the food, and the brothers are already fed. He made sure to pack up some leftovers for them to warm up later. Right now, however, the brothers need to be put to bed, but there’s a few too many of them for him to take on his own - and the chair probably isn’t a good place to sleep for the night, either.

- Between them, Simeon and MC manage to get each of the brothers back in their normal beds, luckily without waking any of them up. MC can comment that they’re much better when they’re asleep, or can comment on how cute they look (especially swaddled up in beds that are way too big for them). Simeon issues a short comment, but is cut off by a yawn; he flushes in embarrassment, and admits that it maybe took more out of him than he thought it would, even though it was fun. 

- He bids them goodnight, and - still yawning - makes his way back to Purgatory Hall. MC retreats to their room, slips into their bed, and falls asleep almost as soon as their head hits the pillow.

- The next morning, MC wakes up to a very quiet House. They get dressed and head downstairs, but none of the brothers seem to be awake yet. They make themself breakfast, eat in the dining room, and even go back to wash their plate when they’re done, but still, there’s no sign of the brothers. A little worried, they send off a message in the group chat - but even after waiting a few minutes, there’s no response.

- MC gets a choice of which brother to check up on first, but the option doesn’t matter. Before they can actually leave the room, each of the brothers files in one at a time, looking sheepish and embarrassed - except for Belphie, who slept through the whole thing. 

- It’s silent for a while, until Lucifer eventually clears his throat and says that, on behalf of the brothers, he’s thankful to MC for looking after them while they were incapable (moreso than usual, anyway) of doing so themselves. Mammon immediately cuts in that Lucifer was a kid, too, so why’s he acting like he wasn’t affected? Which starts a much more normal back-and-forth that relieves MC. 

- As shenanigans begin - including each brother thanking (and apologising to) MC for what they did (and teasing each other for it) - Satan takes MC off to the side and apologises for taking their things without permission. If he hadn’t, they wouldn’t have been turned into children, and MC wouldn’t have had to look after them. MC can either agree with him (in annoyance), tell him that he’s right but that the ordeal was a punishment enough, or say that it was alright since they had fun, anyway. Either way, he’ll thank them again, and admit it’s nice to be back to normal so he can read his books. 

- Eventually, Lucifer takes control, stating that none of them will ever speak of the incident again. The brothers all agree (though some reluctantly). Just as he’s about to dismiss them, Lucifer’s D.D.D. chimes. Then, each of the brothers’ D.D.D.s chime in turn. They take them out to look at. Of course, each has been sent a picture (or two) from Diavolo of them from the day before, including an ever-ellusive image of Lucifer actually asleep (on the sofa, curled up against Simeon’s side) and Asmo’s new makeup look (which is as bad as you’d expect, despite the proud, beaming smile in the photo). 

- Chaos ensues, until the brothers start demanding where Diavolo had gotten the pictures from. They all turn on MC, who can either gulp (and run) or blame Simeon. In either case, the event ends with Lucifer on the phone angrily demanding Simeon delete the pictures, only for them to be sent even more - much to their joint embarrassment. 

#obey me #obey me scenarios #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #Obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #obey me mc #obey me simeon

[eirikaanemo]

I was wondering is I could get a scenario where reader is actually a descendant of decarabian and is out to get revenge on barbatos and take back mondstat and barbatos’s gnosis so they can become the anemo archon. They are a spy in mondstat trying to gather information before they put their plan into full affect but end up falling in love with venti in the process and don’t know if they want to get revenge anymore so they tell venti everything.

Of course, I would be happy to! Thank you for being my first request! This is a little long, but I hope you like it!

Child of the Storm

Warnings: Some angst in the middle

Venti x GN!Reader

2.8k Words

Decarabian had many children. These children are known as storm sprites. Quite a few exist, though their numbers are greatly diminished now that he has fallen and Barbatos became the Anemo Archon. They’re mostly peaceful, but not all of them. Not you.

No, you want revenge. Barbatos took what was rightfully your father’s, the anemo gnosis and position as Archon. Decarabian had only been doing what he felt was right. He was protecting the people from the harsh and cruel colds of the outside world. And this was how he was rewarded?

It’s not like Barbatos is a good Archon anyway. He goes missing for centuries at a time, sleeping his time away. He doesn’t actively protect and guide his people. He is lazy and irresponsible. He does not deserve what is rightfully your father’s. And so, since your father cannot take the gnosis and rise to his rightful station, you will.

This is not something that is easily done. Even though he is the weakest of the Archons, Barbatos is still an Archon. There is an inherent power and ability that comes from simply holding a gnosis. So you must prepare.

To do so, you become a spy in Mondstadt. It takes a lot of power to create a human form. But using the remnants of your father’s power and what power you have in reserve, you manage it. You integrate yourself in the city by becoming a knight of favonius and making many friends. Kaeya in particular is rather fond of you.

Why a knight? You may as well protect your people in the meantime. Hypocrisy is not a good look on you. And having many friends will help you get more information and have a better cover. So your plan begins. You do not actively speak against Barbatos, but you do not speak or act in his favor either. Your friends come to know you as a sort of neutral party on religion.

It baffled you how everyone in the city seemed to love Barbatos. How could they love an absent Archon? How could they love someone who abandoned them and hate one who was always there for them? Nothing about it made sense.

Your plan works perfectly. It was slow at first, but you’ve started to get more and more information on the going ons of the city. Most of it is trustworthy, but don't sources, like gossiping with Kaeya, tend to have mixed results. Sometimes his information is factual and completely true. Sometimes it is something he seems to have made up off the top of his head.

One evening you were waiting for Kaeya to meet you at Angel’s Share for another one of your information sharing (read: gossiping) sessions. As you wait you take a moment to enjoy the music played by one of the many bards that play at the tavern. The music tonight is particularly good and played by a bard in green.

His teal tipped braids, dark hair, and flower in his cap compliment his fair complexion. The tips of his braids seem to almost glow in the dark. His slim fingers seem to dance across the strings of his lyre. It’s an enchanting sight and you may have just fallen a little in love. Just a little.

Vengeance is your whole purpose, you cannot allow something like a little infatuation to distract you from that. And yet you can’t help but return to the bar over and over just to see him play. You start to tip him anonymously with apples and wine. It’s not your fault, he’s just too good at what he does. This is just you giving him the reward he deserves.

He eventually catches on and finds out who’s leaving the tips, because Charles is a dirty traitor. But it would be easier to be mad if Venti wasn’t so grateful and happy to have figured out it’s you who’s leaving the tips. The two of you formally introduce yourselves to each other and strike up a good conversation. You end up spending a lot of time together with him after his performances. He seems to enjoy those nights as much as you do. And sometimes you catch him staring at you with a dreamy look out of the corner of your eye.

But you start noticing a couple odd things. He has an absolutely ridiculous alcohol tolerance with no sign of debilitating hangovers. While singing, he doesn’t seem to stop as often to breath as much as other bards. It could be passed off as him just being better a better bard, except for the fact that it’s by a superhuman margin.

When you spot him turning into a wind sprite to sleep in a small shelter in an alleyway, it explains a lot of things. However, some of your questions go unanswered until one night when you’re playing around as a storm sprite. You notice him sitting on the hands of the statue of Barbatos and get curious. He seems to be speaking, so you hide behind the statue and listen carefully to what he is saying.

“Oh, Himmel,” he sighs. “Am I doing the right thing? Everyone seems happy, but would they be happier if I was a better and more active Archon?” Your world stops. How is this possible? Why him? Why did it have to be him? Could you even do this anymore? What in the world would you do with yourself if not this? If you’re honest with yourself you have to admit that you have come to love him.

This is your life purpose! But you love him! How can you fulfill your purpose if it requires you to harm the one you have come to love? What would your father think? Nevermind, you know what your father would think. He would call you a weakling for not following through. But he’s dead. So does what he would say even matter anymore?

Your existential crisis lasts for a solid week. Venti notices how distant you’ve become and does ask about it, but leaves it be once he sees that you’re not ready to talk about it. One day it becomes too much. He deserves to know, you decide. It may be hard and may drive him away from you entirely.

But you can’t keep this from him. Doing so wouldn’t be right and he should know the truth before the two of you even consider having more of a relationship than you already have. So no matter how much it scares you and tears you up inside, you choose to tell him.

“Venti, could you meet me at Starsnatch cliff tomorrow?” You ask him, nervously. “I have something I need to tell you.” He seems surprised, but is agreeable to the idea. “Sure,” he replies. “I’ll see you then!” The smile he sends you kills you a little more inside.

“I need to go,” you tell him as you hurriedly got up, paid your bill, and left. “Was it something I said?” Venti wondered behind you. Shrugging, he takes another sip of his drink. “Well, I guess I can ask them tomorrow.”

Tomorrow comes too soon, after a sleepless night of tossing and turning in your bed. There is nothing you want to do less than go to Starsnatch cliff, but you promised. So you go. You take your time getting there before sitting down with your feet dangling off the edge of the cliff. The day is beautiful. Much too beautiful for a day that may just ruin your life forever.

Taking a deep breath, you notice some footsteps coming up behind you. “Hey there,” Venti says. “It took me a while to find you. Be a bit more specific next time, won’t you?” You nod absentmindedly and pat the ground next to you. After he sits down, you start.

“Once upon a time there was a storm sprite, a child of Decarabian. They were created near the end of his reign, too young to join in the effort to protect him and his cause: protecting the people of Mondstadt from the cold blizzards of the outside. This was before the snows were blown away, and blizzards were abundant. Decarabian had created a barrier to protect his people from almost certain death.

“Yet his people did not appreciate his protection. They rebelled against him and he fell before them. If Barbatos had not risen to power, the people would have faced almost certain death to the harsh winds of Boreas.

“But, in any case, there was only one storm sprite left in the area to hear his dying wish. He wished for vengeance, retribution for the injustice he received for fulfilling his duty to protect. And it became that storm sprite’s purpose for existence. Or so they thought.

“They spent many, many centuries plotting the downfall of Barbatos, growing in power slowly. Eventually they were able to create a human form and walk among the people of Mondstadt. And walk among the people they did, collecting information and preparing for the date they would finally find Barbatos and take back what was rightfully their father’s.”

You stop a moment for a chance to breathe and glance at him to see how he was taking the story. He looked thoughtful and he gazed out towards the horizon. So you take courage and continue.

“But then, something happened- something completely unplanned. The storm sprite fell in love. At first it was just infatuation but it grew and grew until it became something stronger and more pure. They truly loved, for the first time since their father had died. And there were signs that the one they loved might even feel the same.

“Then something happened. Something that made their whole world fall apart. They found out that the one they had grown to love was Lord Barbatos himself.” There was a moment of silence. You don’t dare look at him. You are absolutely terrified. After you take a deep breath to steady yourself, you keep talking.

“They didn’t know what to do. Their purpose was to destroy the man and everything he stood for. But their heart would never let them do it. Eventually they made a very difficult decision. They would tell him.

“This is my story, Venti. This is my life and my past. It’s not pretty and it’s not kind. You have every right to hate me, despise me. If you no longer want anything to do with me, I would understand. I just… like I said, I just felt that you deserve to know.”

There’s another moment of silence, slightly longer, heavier, and more awkward than the ones before. When you turned to look at him, drawing your knees up to your chest, you saw him looking at you, pensive. What did he see? You wonder. Does he see a monster who was plotting his demise? Does he see someone unforgivable and unwanted? Will he send me away from Mondstadt forever?

As you looked down at your shoes, a thousand more thoughts running through your mind, he finally spoke. “Well, I’ll admit that this is not what I thought you’d wanted to talk about today. I was expecting something more along the lines of a confession, honestly. And I suppose you did admit that you love me as part of your story, but part of me wishes that you had stopped there.”

If possible, your head drops lower as you press your forehead to your knees. “But,” he carried on. “I’m grateful that you told me this. It really would have messed things up more if you waited until we were in a relationship to tell me. For now, I’d say you should keep going on as you are. Live your life the best you can. I would really prefer if you found a new purpose, one that doesn’t end in my utter destruction, but you’re free to make that decision.

“I won’t chase you out, if that’s something you’re worried about. You’ve proven that you love Mondstadt and cherish it’s people. But I will ask for some space. It’s going to take some time for me to process all of this. I’m going to go now. I’ll approach you when I’m ready, please leave me be until then.”

“Okay,” you whisper loud enough for him to hear. Then he gets up and walks off. You cry until you can’t cry any more. You’re not sure why, you deserve this and were expecting this after all. But it still hurts. The close relationship the two of you had was gone. And you miss it already.

After some time you pull yourself together, clean yourself up best you can, and head back to Mondstadt. You follow his advice and keep going with your life. Your new purpose, you decide, is to serve and protect Mondstadt and all its people. Kaeya and your other friends notice something’s different and ask about it in concern.

Most lay off after you say you’re not ready to talk about it. But Kaeya, being the persuasive and stubborn guy he is, didn’t give up until you admitted that you’d done something that messed up your relationship with Venti. He knew how much Venti meant to you and made time to be with you more while Venti took his time deciding what he’d do about it.

Then Dvalin started attacking, a traveler came to visit, and fatui were more abundant. You would have loved to take action against all of these, but Venti was so closely entwined with all of these issues that you didn’t dare. Things seemed to be working out okay without you anyway.

But then you felt a disturbance. A fatui was approaching the cathedral. That was odd because while the fatui aren’t exactly subtle about not respecting Lord Barbatos, they were never as bold as to go near his cathedral. Something was wrong and you were determined to find out what.

You arrived just as La Signora tore his gnosis out. While you froze in shock for a moment, you burst into motion the minute she stopped for a moment to look at it. With the speed of a burst of lightning, you snatched the gnosis from her hand and disappeared. You only stopped when you reached Old Mondstadt, but you could still hear her scream of rage.

You stash the gnosis away, hidden in a satchel that you usually carry with you. As you’re heading home you run across Kaeya. After talking with him for a moment, you get an idea. “Kaeya, could you deliver a message to Venti for me?” You ask. “Sure,” he said, smirking a little. “Are you going to try and make it up to him?”

“In a way,” you respond. “Just tell him to meet me where we last spoke, okay?” After a moment of fake consideration and stroking his non-existent beard, he agreed and the two of you parted ways. He went on to Mondstadt and you headed to Starsnatch Cliff.

You didn’t wait long, a four pair of footsteps came quickly. From their pace you could tell that they’d run all the way there. Once they came to a stop you turn to greet them. They were guarded and wary, which was understandable, but it still hurt.

When you pull the gnosis out of your bag, you see looks of shock. “What?” You question. “Did you think I would claim it myself or something?” The traveler nodded, Diluc shrugged, Jean wobbled her head back and forth, while Venti looked a little ashamed of himself. You smile ruefully. “I guess I deserve that. But here,” you hand the gnosis over to Venti. “I believe this is yours.”

He looks at the gnosis, then at you, then the gnosis, and repeats the pattern a couple times, his eyes wide. Eventually his eyes settle on you as he absorbs the gnosis. When the shine of his transformation was still wearing off, you feel a pair of arms wrap around you and hug you to a chest.

“Thank you,” Venti murmurs in your ear. “I think you’ve more than proven yourself to me. I forgive you. How could I ever thank you for this?” You smile and hug him back. “Maybe you could consider joining me for lunch tomorrow?” You smile even wider when you feel him kiss your cheek. “I think I can do that,” he agrees.

When the two of you part, he un-transforms, and you both turn to look his companions. Diluc has one eyebrow raised. Jean seems to have gone into shock. Traveler’s face is bright red and Paimon is covering their eyes and glaring at you. You both laugh, making Paimon glare harder. Diluc actually cracks a smile. And Jean snaps out of her shock and laughs a little with you.

Your date the next day goes wonderfully, and neither of you can wait for the next one.

#eirika writes #genshin venti #venti #venti x reader #genshin headcanons

[hualianff]

Thinking of a modern AU where HC is an upcoming track star (middle and long distance runner) who carries the country’s high expectations on his shoulders. It’s his first Olympics and his races are a few of the most anticipated performances in the competition.

XL competes as a javelin and hammer throw athlete. He’s a veteran Olympian with extensive injuries that rendered him unable to properly train for two years after the previous Olympics. Thanks to his competitive experience and performance in the trials, XL qualified for this Olympics.

HC’s room ends up on the same floor as XL’s, just a couple doors down at the end of the hall. They meet at the vending machine at 1 a.m. when most people are asleep.

XL was going to see if there was a lemonade he could have for the night—his blood sugars sometimes get low. He finds a tall guy standing at the vending machine, shoving his money into the slot as it’s repetitively spit out.

“Stupid piece of shit,” the tall guy mutters in Mandarin, trying to press the button before his money is returned. He remains unsuccessful. The stranger finally turns to acknowledge XL’s presence. He gestures to the vending machine, stepping back to allow XL to try.

“Hello,” XL greets in their native language, pulling out his money. He only receives a grunt in response.

XL feeds the slot 150 yen. The machine accepts it. XL presses the sprite button.

Thunk!

The bottle hits the bottom and rolls out of the open lip. XL picks up the sprite bottle and promptly offers it to the other guy.

“This is what you wanted, right?” XL asks, cocking his head slightly. The other guy looks down at XL’s outstretched hand, lowered lids covering most of his eyes.

He gives the smallest of nods.

“Then here you go! My treat,” XL says with a smile. The other guy makes no move to take the sprite, so XL reaches over to grab his hand and physically place the bottle in his palm.

“I- you don’t have to-“ he begins to object.

“I want to! I know how picky machines can be. If your note is wrinkled more than once, the chances of the machine taking it is very low,” XL informs. The other guy loosens the grip on his crumpled piece of money. “If you want, you can pay me back later with a lemonade. But it’s by no means necessary.”

The other guy still doesn’t look up. XL notices just how long his lashes are fanning over his cheeks.

“Thank you,” the stranger quietly says.

“Of course...” XL trails off. “What’s your name?”

“It’s... San Lang.”

“Well, it’s very nice to meet you, San Lang. I’m Xie Lian.”

***

The next morning, practice for the running half of the track and field events began bright and early at 6:30 a.m. HC simply did a few stretches and a watered-down run-through of his races. By the time the sun was clearly visible, radiating a soft sunshine, HC and the rest of his teammates had finished.

Beside him, SQX lifts their foot with a hand and stretches their quad, asking, “So, how are you feeling about the 500 meter? Thoughts? Concerns?”

HC grunts, merely running his hand through his damp hair.

“Well, all I’m hoping for is to not cramp in the middle of the sprint like I did in the qualifiers,” SQX barrels on, now stretching their arms behind their head. “That would be a disaster.”

HC listens intently to SQX rambling since they are one of the only other track runner athletes who talks comfortably with HC. As they walk towards their bags, the other half of the track and field event athletes enter the arena.

Among them, HC instantly spots XL in his white uniform, red attire visible behind the half-zipped jacket. He’s speaking with someone to his right, laughing at something the other guy says.

HC politely holds up a hand to signal SQX to pause their story. He digs through the small cooler underneath their bench, then runs over to XL—despite having run a lot already this morning.

“Oh, hi San Lang!” XL exclaims with a wave. He smiles widely, pearly teeth on display that makes HC speechless for a brief moment.

“San Lang?” The guy besides XL questions. HC ignores him, focusing on XL instead.

“Gege, here’s your lemonade,” HC says, holding out a bottle that’s cold to the touch.

XL doesn’t accept it right away, looking at HC’s eyes for the first time, surprise written on his face. XL probably couldn’t see in the darkness of last night, but now in the light of day, he can make out HC’s brown eye and red eye.

HC, the rising track star who has already beaten two records on his qualifying times, is known to have heterochromia.

“San Lang?” XL repeats, confusion evident in his voice.

This was it. XL had figured he hid his name, perhaps thinks HC is an asshole for lying or addressing him as Gege without permission.

The runner silently holds out the drink, eyes shifting towards the ground.

HC didn’t tell XL his name because he wanted to be treated normally for once. His name has been circulating in the new for awhile now, predicting his results left and right. He often receives comments like, “Oh, you’re the track prodigy? You’re very talented, crossing our fingers for gold, yes?”

They put HC on a pedestal while collaring him with their projections.

It’s not only an immense amount of pressure burdening HC, but it’s also thrust him into a spotlight he never desired. He despises being recognized, despises the paparazzi, and hates how the media always intrudes on his business.

Since pursuing track as a professional career, people’s attitudes towards HC rapidly switched. From the lonely orphan nobody wanted, to the quiet peer his peers picked on, to the tsundere student that got on teacher’s nerves, and now an Olympic competitor.

It would be nice for HC to have someone else to connect with when things got overwhelming. Even though they just met, HC hopes to develop an amicable friendship with XL. XL seems like the person to genuinely appreciate people for being themselves.

Fortunately, instead of disgust or disapproval, XL’s face morphs into one of fondness. He accepts the lemonade and looks at the label.

“Ah, it’s my favorite brand!” he happily says, shaking it a bit. “Thank you so much, San Lang.”

HC hums to convey “you’re welcome.” Worried it might appear rude, HC finds the courage to meet XL’s kind eyes. They stare at each other for a long moment, XL with a small smile and HC with a seemingly blank look.

The guy beside XL finally taps XL’s shoulder, saying they should start warming up.

“It looks like I should get going now. I hope you had a wonderful practice!” XL says. He tilts his head to the side, readjusting the strap of his duffel bag.

“I did,” HC says shortly. “I hope Gege’s will be the same.”

XL nods enthusiastically. “See you later, San Lang.” He throws up a peace sign as he walks away.

HC stays rooted in place, heart thudding loudly against his rib cage.

“Who was that?” SQX asks, coming up from behind with HC’s backpack in tow.

“Xie Lian.”

“Oh?” SQX raises an interested eyebrow, nudging HC’s bicep.

“Not a word.”

SQX laughs in response. Seeing the way HC’s eyes linger on the athlete he recognizes as an Olympic veteran is enough to keep his mouth shut. HC deserves to have more close friends.

#tgcf #heaven official's blessing #hualian #hualian au #xie lian #hua cheng #shi qingxuan #cerdrabbles #tian guan ci fu #modern au #handing off drinks to each other becomes their thing

[j-zzlie]

Vinnie's POV (5 months ago)

"Pretty kitty" i mumble to Hera softly as i stroke her back. Soft mews erupt from the feline, along with deep purrs. I enjoyed my cat, her black, grey and white fur, making her look beautiful even when she manages to piss me off. "You and the cat still makin' love, or can i come in?" Jordan said, standing in the doorway, his sandy blond hair a fucking wreck, but none the less it fit him. "Seeming as you're already..in." i mumble. "And i wasn't makin love to Hera, i was just giving her attention." "That's what they all say." he says wagging his eyebrow, in a segestive way. I give him a glare before going back to giving love to my cat. The soft furr leaving tingles on my fingertips, This always calmed me. "There's a party tonight." Jordan continued. "I know you dont like parties but i was kinda hoping you'd come to this one. A new tik toker is being added to the Hype house, we get to meet her then." He was now leaning against the doorway. I dont want to go. honestly. "You have to." Jordan said reading my mind. "I've got a stream to do." "Nah, Thomas already got that cleared, everyone is free tonight." i sigh "Is this really such a big deal. Do i haveee to go, or is this just a "lets make her feel welcome' meeting?" "Both." he said simply, his eyes daring me to keep going, i wanted to, i really did want to piss him off, instead, i began to scratch Hera's head, her purrs sending relaxation into my body. "Fine. i'll go the fucking party." Jordan claps and locks his fingers in place. "Lets. fucking. GO!!" he shouts

Dress. Dress. Suit. oh GOD. ugly suit. i counted once, twice, maybe even three times how many people were here. And thats number is three times less, than the "Let loose" or "have fun" talks i've gotten. "No really!" nailea laughs, her voice rough and funny as always. "Let loose hacker, enjoy it." she knows i hate parties, she's even offered to take me back to the house. "I'm good." i said once more, sullenly, sipping my flat sprite and watching everyone dance. Felt like hours. Me. Flat drink. People dancing. "Hi." a random voice said next to me. The voice oddly pleasuring. I turn and look down, being met with the biggest green eyes i have ever seen. "hi.." i sigh out reluctently, my face felt warm, very warm. "i'm vinnie." She laughs, mouth open head back, a silly carefree laugh. "I know." she sticks out her hand. "i'm Elora." Even her name fit her. I gave her face a once over. Her face voidant of makeup. The only thing on her was some lip gloss. and maybe some mascara. "Nice to meet you...Elora" i bet i sound like a fucking weirdo. "Nice to meet you too Vincent."

An hour later.

"Wait, wait, wait," she said laughing so hard she was clutching her stomach. "You're telling me, you hate being shirtless?" "Yes!" i shout shoving a cookie in my mouth, loving the look on her face and the taste of the cookie. "BALOGNIA" she pouds the wall, her laughter getting louder, we were currently standing by the food bar, everone else dancing while we stayed in our little worlds. "Whats so funny about it??" i ask, my hand on my heart as if im wounded. "Hold on." she says breathlessly. "You..Are Vincent Cole Hacker.. wait scratch that. You're Vincent shirtless Cole Hacker..plus have you forgotten your tiktok account?" "You watch my tik toks?" i ask, feeling just a tiny bit flattered that she's watched enough of them to see the pattern. "Is that all you cought from what i just said?" "Sure is."  a cocky grun spreads on my face.

Late late that night.

I didn't get her number. i wish i did tho. i lay lazily on my bed, editing a tik tok i just made. I even captioned it with the nickname she gave me. i hit play on the video, Gangsta by Kahlani began playing. (vinniewhore -omg look at the discription😫) (Bells- who thought of that? bc i know my vinnie didn't) (Perkysockcubine-💥💥😍) (TheOriginEL-Glad to know you caught something else from the conversatin Hacket.) I sat up in the bed, my fingers simaltaniously clicking on her profile. it's private so i go to twitter. (You're conversation with TheOriginHa) Vin- I never got your number

ELA- lackin

Vin- can i have it?

ELA- 👁️🫦👁️ ELA- No.

Vin- TGRFED WHA?

ELA- i'll give you my instagram tho

Vin- ): fine

ELA- cry baby

Vin- 🙄🙄

ELA- TheOriginalHJ

Looked it up, smiled and followed.

(DM message from ELORA_Jakens)

(Wanna bet by morning i'll have 100+ dms)- E (no)-v (why not?)-E (bc you'll win and take my money, i'm boke)-v (broke*)-v (#boken 🫤💔💔❤️‍🩹💀💀)E (stfu before i unfollow u)V (im scared.🥲😮‍💨)E

i laugh outloud, hera beside me, cudding my leg. Guess this is how heartbreak starts.

#vinnie #vinnie fanfic #vinnie hacker #Elora #chapter one of LOOK AT ME

[softkuna]

Yuuji Itadori || Training

Content   ║ Yuuji Itadori x Reader. You and Yuuji train quite often and like to make a competition out of it. However, his quick learning and your insecurities get the best of you.

Count      ║ 1,514 words.

Consider ║ Fluff. Fighting. Probably grammatical errors. 

Creator    ║ Aight! First little drabble up. Hope you guys like it! It’s not nsfw but I was feeling fluffy and Yuuji is a literal sunshine child. Also, whenever I write for the students, I automatically have it be that Jujutsu Tech is a college rather than a high school and everyone is over the age of 18. 

“Sir, we’re surrounded!”

  “That just means we can attack in all directions!”

  A smug smirk tugged the corners of your lips, “I mean… you’re not wrong, Yuu.” The boy gave an overly enthusiastic thumbs up, pearly white on full display. Training with him was always a delight.

  You were back to back, crouched in a way that your back right foot was slipped between his wide stance. You made a few enemies from ink, letting them drench the field’s grass in black gel. Five human-sized creatures were your limit after training for what seemed like years. No one needed to know they were the shapes that haunted you at night, paralyzed with fear as they came from all corners of you bedroom. That fear is what strengthened them. You channeled it into them, strengthening the cursed energy behind the specialized ink.

  Right now, they were just npcs in a videogame to the two of you, “These ones are 3 points, right?” Yuuji looked over his shoulder at you and you nodded. Training with him was always a game. Human-sized blobs were three points. Child-sized ones were two. Rabbit-sized ones were one. Anything larger went up by every two feet of height. So far, he somehow managed to kick your ass every time. Today would be the day you showed him up. Maki had shown you a few decent moves and like hell you’d let him trample over your personal best with this up your sleeve!

  With a springboard hop forward, he drew back a fist, “I’m gonna kick you’re ass!”

  “Oh like hell-“ You bent back at the knees, left hand keeping your back from fully colliding into the ground. An ink blob came right for your neck, swiping dangerously had you not ducked, “OI, play fair!” Both palms planted into the blades of grass, balancing you as your legs vaulted upwards. The tip of your tattered sneaker connected crisply with its lower ‘jaw’. The shoe had swept through the inken mandible, triggering the creation to melt to the earth. As the handspring flowed through, you recollected yourself on both feet only to propel forward at the next targets.

  Alas, there were only two by the time you had gotten through your first. Yuuji was always fast. Faster than a goddamn car, too. Exceptional physical prowess was presented with each corded muscle before he had even eaten the first few fingers. Rumors from his high school years didn’t fail him once, not even here amongst elite Shamans. It was something you always admired and envied about him. Your own form had been delicate, feminine, and rather weak. Some rumored it to be a heavenly restriction in exchange for your expert control over your Ink Children. You refused to believe that, however. Like hell you’d allow yourself to be restricted like that.

  A pout found its way onto your lips as you ducked another straight punch from the last standing enemy. As you swung your punch, a fist made its way to you first, kissing the space between it and your nose. With barely enough time to dodge, you managed to slip to the side, arm hooking into the one that had aimed for your face. Ink exploded onto your clothes and face. Some splattered into your open mouth, triggering a coughing fit. Your shoulder ripped backward as you were practically hauled into a spin with the aggressor’s arm still linked with yours at the elbows. One of you lost stable footing. Your heart squeezed at the impact of dense earth hitting spine, followed by Yuuji landing directly onto your chest with a resounding, “WOAH!” He popped up, forearms caging you in at either side of your head, mouth sputtering apologies, “Didn’t even see you behind that thing! Are you okay?”

  Your eyes blazed against his with explosive fury. Words ripped from your throat before thought could come before it, “Yuuji, what the fuck was that?!”

  “I wanted to get the last point!” The goof-ball grin sloppily made its way to his cheeks. The world still spun around him as it always did with you. It wasn’t until you spoke again that the grin slipped down, dragging away any semblance of pride with it.

“You were already nine points ahead!” A pout made accompanied averting eyes. Chin nudged to the side to emphasize the massacre of ink littering against the ground, “You couldn’t have saved me the last one?! C’mon man.” You knew it was irrational to cut into him for something so silly. It was just training. He knew how much this meant to you, though,  how hard you had to work to even take the impact just now.

 Yuuji’s mouth opened the slightest, guilt trickling into his chest like a steady faucet. Whoops. You had always been competitive. Much more competitive than Nobara, even, and temper to match it, too. A large hand came to rustle the back of his hair, moving to scratched his temple, “Sorry. I got caught up in it. And…” Rose crept up subtly to his cheeks and ears to match his rose colored locks, “I wanted to impress you.”

 Your head snapped back into place, locking hues with his honey-browns, “Wha-“

  “You always make such strong opponents to fight against! I wasn’t even able to hit one last week!” His brows lowered slightly, lips jutting in their own embarrassed pucker, “Just wanna show you I’m strong too. How else am I supposed to protect you?” The sentence trailed out in a grumble, gaze meandering to the space next to your cheek rather than maintaining the kerosene-lit gaze of yours.

  A warmth crept up your own cheeks, lips slightly parted in surprise. Really, you shouldn’t be shocked by this. He was always considerate of your safety. The sheer concept that it displayed during something as inconsequential as training was the bolded punctuation mark to his statement. You hated to admit it but, it made your heart flutter in its boned cage.

  He wasn’t your stereotypical muscle head (despite that being your first impression of him.) He didn’t look down on you like the men in your family did for being physically weak. In fact, Yuuji looked up to you. He acknowledged your strengths and hard work. For the hours of grueling training to even be able to move the way you did, the boy made it a point to come out and watch you. Yuuji saw how you overcame challenge after challenge. It dowsed gasoline on the fire lit under his ass. Even when it seemed like he was selfishly destroying your own target, he simply was trying to meet your bar of approval. He admired your strength, your graceful movement, your technique, and most importantly he admired you.

  “Yuuji,” You began, voice softening from its resin casing, “You don’t need to protect me. I just…” Your hands moved from their crossed position to your cheeks. Eyes fluttered shut briefly before opening again, “I just want to be stronger physically is all. I don’t want to feel like you have to protect me every time we go on a mission because of these noodle arms,” To drive the point home, you wiggled your arms beside his head before lazily resting them at his shoulders, “How the hell’s that fair, huh? Can’t a girl protect herself, Mr. Knight-in-Hooded-Armor?” You playfully stretched his cheeks, tugging the goober’s mouth this way and that, “’sides, you beat my ink kids way too quickly this time! I gotta step up my game.”

  A sunshine laugh beamed from the boy above you. His hand swatted yours away, “Alright, alright! It’s almost like I like you or somethin’!” He dipped down, nuzzling your noses together. The way his lashes dipped as his lips connected with yours was transfixing. Why did boys always have the prettiest eyelashes? Why did they have the softest lips? You leaned into him, hands clasping behind his neck and locking him in place. A content hum harmonized between the two.

  It was a moment you wished to last forever. The warmth of his sprite-flavored Chapstick slid against your teeth-bitten lips. One calloused hand cradled the side of your neck, thumb stroking the pink lingering on your cheekbone. He was so delicate and careful with you, yet somehow so sure in each touch and movement that it left you breathless every time. No matter how strong you were, he had an ability to make you weak for him every. Single. Time.

Bonus:

  The thonk of a used paper towel roll whacking a cardboard box broke the sweet moment apart. Yuuji shoved his face into your neck with a puppy-like yelp before ripping up like an angered Pomeranian, “WHAT WAS THAT FOR, NOBARA?!”

  “Maybe if you weren’t sucking face on the training field-!” The two growled at one another. The only thing tearing away their standoff was your shrill cackle. In comedic synchronicity, the two shouted, “What?!”

  “D-did you hear the sound h-h-,” Words barely escaped your lips, chest heaving with each labored cry-laugh, “His head made! Yuuji! Oh my god you’re a basketball!”

#☄️.fic #☄️ #🍺 #🍺.fic #jujutsu kaisen #itadori yuuji #yuuji itadori #yuuji x reader #itadori yuuji x reader #yuuji x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #fluff #jjk #jjk x reader #yuuji itadori x reader #how many tags do I use? #them all? okay

[inkjackets]

Shattered Sunshine

This piece was written for the @mlwriterzine

I was so grateful to be part of such a fantastic zine with so many amazing writers! (Do check out the works by everyone else, they’re all so good!!) Also big thanks to the mods for all their hard work in making honestly such a beautiful zine.

AO3

Paris glistened under the glorious summer sun; the skies shimmered blue overhead. Yet Marinette felt only ice swirl in her gut as she and Alya reached the top of the mountain.

She placed her basket down with a thump and inhaled the summer air, attempting to alleviate her anxiety. But it was hot and stifling and burned through her lungs, only succeeding in magnifying her emotions.

She brushed her fringe back. “I hate summer,” she muttered, glancing at her friend. With her short-shorts, loose buttoned shirt, and hair swept into a high ponytail, Alya Césaire looked the epitome of cool.

“No, you don’t,” Alya said, not unkindly, as she unravelled the picnic blanket. “You’re just nervous.” Marinette bit her lip and took the sides, helping her friend lie it flat. “Though I don’t know why,” Alya continued as they both crawled onto the rug, “I thought you’d be excited to see our ray of sunshine again.”

Marinette averted her gaze. Sunshine, sunshine, Paris’s perfect ray of sunshine. Yet the thought of him made her turn cold.

She grabbed the basket and unloaded the food while Alya laid the drinks on the blanket, but she tensed when she opened the box of Dupain-Cheng pastries, full of croissants and cookies …

And passionfruit macarons.

“It’s been five years, Alya,” Marinette said quietly. “What if everything’s changed?”

Alya cocked her head to the side. “Don’t you hope it has?”

Marinette clenched the box tight. Apprehension curled in her stomach and fear clawed its way through her as she gazed over Paris sprawled out far beneath them: iron rooftops gleaming; the Seine glittering; Sacré-Cœur shining like a beacon on the horizon; and backdrop to it all, the brilliant sun. Sweat trickled slowly down her back.

Nino’s distinct voice hit her ears followed by Adrien’s unmistakable laugh. Sickness and trepidation surged within her. She looked at Alya with panic, but her friend had already jumped up to greet the boys. Marinette scrambled to her feet and stared wide-eyed at Adrien—currently enveloping Alya in a hug. They broke apart. He turned to her. Her heart pounded.

For, in his white shirt, with that smile, and his eyes golden-green, Adrien Agreste was breathtaking.

“Hey,” he said, giving a small smile and a wave.

Marinette went to wave back, but she realised she was still holding the box of pastries. She frowned at herself. Why was it still in her hands?

“H-hey,” she then managed to get out.

They both stared at each other, unsure of how to proceed. He looked down at the box she was holding.

“Are those passionfruit macarons?” Adrien asked, wide-eyed.

“Uh, yeah,” she thrust the box forward. “Want one?”

His eyes lit up. Marinette’s heart warmed, and then it sank. She didn’t want to feel for him.

Adrien took a macaron, bit into it, and moaned. “God, I’ve missed your bakery.”

Marinette internally scowled at the heat that rose in her cheeks.

“Dudes!” Nino leapt in and wrapped his arms around them both, pulling them in so close they almost banged heads.

“Smile!” Alya grinned, readying her phone for a group selfie.

Adrien laughed, and he and Nino both pulled a stupid face. Marinette forced herself to smile. Alya snapped the picture.

“It’s been too long since the four of us have been together,” Alya said, grinning up at them all as Nino released her and Adrien.

Marinette felt Adrien’s eyes on her. She swallowed and glanced at him, not wanting those green eyes to make her heart flutter as it did. He gave a hesitant smile. She stared back. She didn’t smile.

“Dude! Are those Dupain-Cheng pastries?” Nino cried, ripping the box from her hands.

Marinette tore her eyes from Adrien and grinned. “Baked fresh this morning!”

Nino sat down and shoved a croissant into his mouth. “Ermagoh, oh goo!” he exclaimed, mouth overflowing with pastry. They all laughed and settled around him.

But while the other’s dove into the picnic and conversation, Marinette barely ate a thing and simply let the conversation wash over her.

She plucked blades of grass as the blazing sun burned her neck, and the start of a headache began pounding behind her eyes. And every time Adrien spoke, the chill in her stomach spread, worming its snaky tendrils right through her.

Yet, she couldn’t help but stare at him.

For he looked good—healthy even—relaxed and at ease. His smile was wide, and laugh loud, and hair more rugged than it used to be, lying somewhere between how he’d worn it at school, and how it’d been styled as his alter-ego, Chat Noir. A smile rose on her face; it suited him. However, with each flicker of his eyes and each smile that stretched just a little too wide, she could see his facade was cracking.

Because something was off.

Of course it was.

A part of her was desperate to comfort him and tell him everything was all right. But instead, she grabbed a can of Sprite and rolled it in her hands, squashing that part of her down. For there was a wall between her and Adrien. A wall she didn’t know how to—no. A wall she didn’t know she even wanted to break.

She spun the can faster.

“So what have you been up to, Marinette?”

Marinette tensed as those green eyes turned to her.

“I went to fashion school,” she said, simple and quiet.

“I always knew you would,” Adrien said, and Marinette’s heart fluttered at his soft smile. “How was it?”

She clenched the can of Sprite, desperate to hide her shaking hands.

“It was really good! I learnt so much.” She forced herself to smile.

Adrien’s smile faltered.

And Marinette wanted to laugh at the bitterness thrumming through her. Even after all these years, he could see right through her.

“Hey, did Alya tell you she’s got an internship with Le Monde ?” she then said quickly.

Pain flashed behind Adrien’s eyes, so quick she barely saw it. “No?” He turned to Alya, incredulous. “That’s amazing!”

Marinette scowled at the Sprite can and flipped it in her hands, pointedly ignoring Alya and Nino’s questioning glances. Unease gnawed at her insides; tears burned the back of her eyes. She couldn’t do this.

Seeing him again had been a mistake.

With a burst of anger, she ripped the can open, intending to take a huge gulp to drown the bitter taste in her mouth. However, froth exploded from the top, fizzing everywhere. She yelped, threw the can in her panic, and splashed it all over Alya.

There was a moment of stunned silence as Alya took in what had happened, gazing down at her sticky, sodden clothes. She looked up; Marinette squeaked.

“I’m so sorry!” she exclaimed, hands at her mouth, “I didn’t realise it was shaken and it took me by surprise andIdidn’tmeantothrowitonyouohmygosh! I’m so sor—” She froze when her friend’s lip curled.

“Nino!” Alya said, a mischievous glint in her eye.

“Got you, babe.”

Marinette squealed and tried to scrabble out the way as Nino went to tip an entire bottle of water over her head. But she was whisked away at the last second and thrown to the side.

Marinette laughed, amazed she was still dry. But when she turned, she saw Nino, empty bottle in his hand, staring wide-eyed at a soaking wet Adrien.

“Ah, shit,” Nino swore under his breath.

For a moment, the only sound was the soft pat-pat of drips running off Adrien onto the blanket. Then he slowly raised his head with a jagged grin on his face.

Nino yelped and ran, but Adrien dove on top of him and forced water down his shirt. However, he’d only emptied half the bottle when Alya, with mock outrage, pulled him off her boyfriend. He laughed and tipped the rest of the bottle over her, quickly regretting it when she splashed him back in the face.

Marinette watched them from the sidelines, smiling at their fun, until suddenly all three rounded on her.

She shrieked with laughter as they showered her in water. But then, spying an opening, she dove and swiped a nearby bottle before spinning and aiming it threateningly at her attackers. Their smiles instantly dropped. Screaming and laughing, they scattered in all directions as Marinette enacted her revenge.

Once the last bottle had been emptied, they all flopped to the ground, chests heaving and scattered laughter ringing out.

Warmth and happiness thrummed through Marinette as she wrung out her dress and then leant back to gaze at the sky, smiling at the fluffy clouds that had decided to drift over. Her only regret was not drinking some water before it’d gotten weaponised; her headache was still there, and her throat was getting dry.

Adrien, too, leant back, placing his hands so close to hers they almost touched. He then rolled his head back and gazed at her with his soft, lazy smile.

Her heart clenched. Then, ever so slowly, she relaxed her shoulders and returned his smile with a soft one of her own. Adrien sucked in his breath; his eyes shone with hope. And Marinette’s breath caught in her throat as the tension began to evaporate between them, disappearing up into the clouds like the water.

“I’ve missed this,” Nino said. “Just the four of us, like old times.”

Adrien froze. Marinette stiffened. The tension came crashing back. She pulled her hand away from his and curled in on herself, cold seeping under her skin despite the heat.

Alya flopped onto her back. “You know what I miss?” she said, reaching for the sky, “Ladybug and Chat Noir.” Marinette tensed. “Like after Gabriel got put away—which I’m so sorry about, Adrien—they just vanished. Poof! Right into thin air.” Her fingers trailed the sky. “Like what happened to them? Where are they now? What are they doing?” Marinette felt Adrien’s gaze on her, but when she looked at him, he was staring with glazed eyes at the grass. Alya’s hand flopped to the ground. “I hope they’re okay.”

Regret simmered within Marinette as Adrien slowly raised his eyes to meet her’s, pain shining so clear it pierced her heart.

“I hope so too,” he said quietly.

Marinette clenched her jaw. She turned away. She closed her eyes and tried not to grimace, fighting the tears that stung her eyelids.

For she wanted to be okay. She wanted them both to be okay. She opened her eyes and slowly exhaled. But they weren’t.

“Ice-cream!” Alya suddenly exclaimed making Marinette jump. “I want ice-cream! Nino, come with!” She leapt to her feet and tugged her yelping boyfriend.

Panic flared in Marinette’s gut. “Wait, Alya, no!” She didn’t want to be left with Adrien.

Alya swooped in. “You need to fix whatever this is,” she hissed in her ear, glancing at Adrien, before pulling back and running off with Nino in tow.

“W-wait!” Marinette spluttered. “No, Alya!”

Alya gave a wave of her hand as Nino glanced back and shrugged helplessly.

“They didn’t even take our order,” Adrien noted, eyes glittering with amusement as he watched their friends disappear before turning to her. Marinette stared. His grin widened. And that image of Chat Noir slammed into her mind; of that smile he used to give her, high up on the Eiffel tower …

She scrambled to her feet and clutched her middle; confusion and nausea swirled within her.

“Marinette?”

She gritted her teeth and turned away as Adrien got up and stepped towards her.

“M’Lady?” he asked softly, reaching out.

“Don’t call me that!” she hissed. Adrien flinched and snatched his hand back. “You lost that privilege the day you left.”

She wrapped her arms around herself as Adrien tightened his jaw.

“We were seventeen, Marinette. I had no choice as to whether I could stay or not.”

Rage blossomed within her. “You could have told me!” she yelled, whipping around, hair flying. “You could’ve at least said goodbye! Instead, I got told by Nino, by Nino , that you’d gone and moved to London!”

Adrien drew in on himself and averted his eyes.

“You abandoned Paris,” she continued, a lump rising in her throat. “You abandoned me .” Her voice cracked. She took a shuddering breath to quell her emotions, but the air was so hot that it stirred them instead.

Adrien swallowed and shook his head as pain rose on his face. “It was all too much,” he whispered, voice hoarse with memories. “You were Ladybug. And Dad was—” he blanched, “and then Mum …”

Guilt stabbed Marinette in the gut as Adrien’s eyes glazed over; she didn’t want to send him back to those days.

“I thought of you every day,” Adrien said quietly.

“Then why didn’t you call?”

“I—” Adrien choked, “I didn’t know what to say.”

Marinette’s blood boiled, her headache pounded between her eyes. “Anything!” she yelled, her throat raw and burning. “Anything would have been better than five years of silence!”

“I know! I KNOW!” Adrien cried with frustration. “Okay, I KNOW , but I couldn’t .”

“What the hell does that mean?” Her hands shook and vision blurred.

He grabbed his hair in distress. “I just couldn’t , alright!”

“No!” she screamed, “ I don’t understa —”

“HE WAS HAWK MOTH !” Adrien roared, stunning her into silence. “MY FATHER WAS A TERRORIST WHO TRIED TO BRING BACK MY MOTHER AND DESTROYED ALL OF PARIS TO DO SO!”

Adrien’s chest heaved, tears shimmered in his eyes. And Marinette stared, her own chest growing tight.

“I know,” she whispered, voice hoarse and aching, “That’s why I—”

“I lived with him, Marinette!” His words glimmered with pain. “I lived with him my whole life, and I had no idea. I should’ve known!” Hysteria rose within him. “I should’ve known !”

“No, that’s not …” She tried to speak, but her tongue was heavy in her mouth. “You can’t—” Her breathing quickened.

“He hurt you!” Adrien continued, voice cracking with pain, “He hurt everyone. I hurt everyone.” He shook his head and covered his mouth, tears spilling down his cheeks as those dark days returned with a vengeance. “How could you love me after that?”

Marinette blinked back the blinding sun; her vision started swimming. “Adrien, you’re—” she faltered, “you were my partner.” Tears burned her eyes, but they wouldn’t spill over. “My best friend!” She felt faint and lightheaded. “You know I—” She shook her head. “I—” She tried to take a step forward, but the world spun around her.

Adrien lowered his hands, eyes wide with panic. “Marinette?” His voice sounded distant.

She clutched her head as her headache exploded. Adrien’s mouth moved, but no sound hit her ears.

She staggered. The world tilted.

Everything went black.

~~~

Marinette groaned. She opened her eyes, squinting at the sunshine before focusing on the two pairs of golden-brown eyes above her.

“Oh, thank God. You okay, girl?”

Marinette grimaced and pushed herself to a sitting position, leaning back against the tree she was under.

“What happened?” she said, voice dry and raspy.

“You fainted, dude,” Nino said, “But you were out for like a minute, max.”

“We got back just in time to see Adrien catch you. Then he carried you here, to the shade.” Alya gave her a small smile.

Marinette looked around as Nino and Alya’s words sank in, eyeing the four ice-creams lying face down in the dirt. She then looked back at the brown eyes in front of her and realised what was missing.

“Where’s Adrien?” she cried, panic flaring within her. She tried to get to her feet, pushing back against the hands that were stopping her.

“Chill, Mari! He’s gone to get water. We used all ours in the—” Alya cut off as Adrien appeared behind her. Wide-eyed and flushed with a bottle of water in each hand, he’d clearly run as fast he could.

His face broke with relief when he saw she was awake. He swiftly knelt, uncapped a bottle, and handed it to her.

Marinette sipped, and then gulped down the water, sighing as her headache immediately lessened and energy flooded through her.

“How are you feeling?” Adrien asked softly as she finished the bottle.

“Much better. Thank you,” she replied, just as quiet, and looked up.

The moment hung between them, unresolved emotions bled into the tension, but those green eyes remained ever constant.

In the corner of her vision, she saw Alya tug Nino’s hand—“Come on, let’s give them space.”—and lead him away.

But Marinette just stared into those eyes.

A breeze ruffled Adrien’s shirt. Hairs tickled the back of her neck. Then suddenly the tears fell, thick and fast, down her cheeks; her emotions were finally able to spill over.

Sobs wracked her body. Her breath hitched in her throat. And when Adrien wrapped his arms around her, she wailed into his chest. His own tears dripped onto her shoulders.

“I’m so sorry,” Adrien whispered into her hair, and it was like a shot to the chest.

She pulled back, hands still on his chest. “Don’t say that.” Her voice was deathly quiet. “You don’t—you can’t—” She swallowed the guilt clawing her throat. “A-After Nino told me …” she trailed off, filling with regret, “I-I should have called you too.” Adrien sucked in his breath. “I’m sorry.” Her voice cracked.

Adrien shook his head as fresh tears streamed down his face.

She reached out her hand and gently placed it on his cheek. He leant into her and closed his eyes, and her heart warmed as she gently wiped away his tears with her thumb.

Adrien took her hand in his own and held it in his lap; tingles shot up her spine at his soft, ginger touch.

“What do you say we start again?” he said, his voice quiet. His eyes pierced hers and a small smile tugged at his lips.

Marinette stopped breathing. Tears spilled down her cheeks. She shifted her hand in his grip so her fingers entwined his.

“I’d like that,” she whispered.

#miraculous ladybug #ml #mlb #adrinette #adrienette #adrien agreste #marinette dupain cheng #alya cesaire #nino lahiffe #ml fic #angst #ml angst #angst with a happy ending #my writing #shattered sunshine #ml writer zine #mlwriterzine

[heauxplesslydevoted]

Green-Eyed Monster (Ethan x MC)

Summary: During a fundraising event for Edenbrook, Ethan’s jealousy gets the better of him.

Warning: NSFW!! 18+

Author’s Note: I wrote this 3 times. I hope you enjoy

2nd Author’s Note: Ethan is canonically rich. And I like reminding y’all of that fact.

Tags: @fanmantrashcan @ao719 @x-kyne-x @colourmeshy @writinghereandthere @paulfwesley @ramseyandrys @a-i-n-a-a-s-h @perriewinklenerdie @aworldoffandoms @thatcatlady0716 @drakewalker04 @canknot @hatescapsicum @lapisreviewsstuff @akacalliope @senseofduties @badchoicesposts @ethandaddyramsey @the-soot-sprite @chasingrobbie @zodiacsign1 @choices-lurker @miyakokurono @trappedinfandoms @my-heart-beats-for-ya @adrian-motherfucking-raines @riverrune @edith-eggs1 @thatysn @bellcat2010 @theeccentricbibliophile @lion-ess24 @contrerascecile @junehiratas @choices-love-affair @openheart12 @kaavyaethanramsey @caseyvalentineramsey

~v~

The ballroom of the Four Seasons is lit beautifully, the Dom Perignon is flowing freely, and he has some sort of fancy crab cake in his hand, but Ethan couldn’t care less about any of it.

He hates parties. That’s not a secret, everyone knows it and he’s always been vocal about it. The board thought getting all of Boston’s elite hoarded into one room was a sure fire way to get them to open their pockets. And by the looks of it, it is working. But Ethan doesn’t care. He doesn’t care about the pomp, the circumstance, the luxury of this ball, or the money that went into it.

He has eyes one one thing, and one thing only. Or, one woman only. Naomi Valentine.

There aren’t enough words in any of the languages he’s fluent in to describe the way she looks. Her normally curly hair is bone straight, falling right down her back, a few strands tucked behind her ears. He likes it like this, his view of her face unobstructed.

And her dress. Scarlet red, downright sinful, the neckline so deep and plunging, it shouldn’t be legal to wear it in public, the material clinging to her like a second skin.

He’s been quietly observing her all evening, watching as various men - and some women - fawned over her, flirted with her, flaunting their wealth, as if she cared about any of it. The only thing Naomi wants is for these people to write checks and save their place of employment.

She danced with politicians, attorneys, trust fund babies, real estate developers, the works. She’s currently swaying on the dance floor with some guy, though he can she’s not into the dance. The mystery man is talking, but he’s not holding her attention, not in the slightest.

But the mystery man makes a mistake. Ethan watches as his hand slides down her back, landing on the swell of her behind. Not wanting to cause a scene, Naomi simply twists out of his grasp.

Naomi has the situation under control. He sees that clearly, but Ethan doesn’t care. He doesn’t like that someone else is touching her, especially so intimately. Anger swells in the pit of his stomach.

He can’t stop him himself, even though he knows he should. He gets up from his seat at the bar, leaving the tiny crab cake, and marches over to where they’re at.

Wanting to make his presence known, Ethan clears his throat. The action garners Naomi’s attention and she stops dancing.

“Ethan!” She exclaims brightly. “How nice to see you.”

“Rookie,” Ethan greets back, purposely ignoring the man she’s standing next to. “Care to dance?”

“She’s a little busy, pal!” Ethan hears the man talking, his shrill voice a nuisance in Ethan’s ear, but still he pays it no mind.

Naomi is nicer than him though. She smiles at the other gentleman politely. “I’ll save a dance for you, Carl! And you can tell me all about your new yacht.”

That seems to do the trick as the man steps aside and walks off.

Ethan holds out a hand for Naomi, which she eagerly accepts. They begin swaying in time to the music. “You looked like you needed a save. That guy was too handsy.”

“I was managing him just fine, but thank you anyway,” Naomi replies. “He was just so dull. Most of these people are.”

“I’d never know it by looking at you. You have a much better poker face than I do.”

“I grew up around people like this. I know how they operate. Give them a few well-placed compliments, and they’re putty in your hands.”

Ethan doesn’t have a reply for her. He just holds her close, vaguely aware of their surroundings. “Have I mentioned how beautiful you look tonight?”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Red looks good on you.”

“It happens to be my boyfriend’s favorite color,” Naomi explains, her hand mindlessly stroking the back of Ethan’s tuxedo jacket. “I wanted something to really wow him tonight. Do you think it’s working?”

“Oh you have no idea how well your plan is working, Rookie.”

She pulls back only slightly, looking at Ethan’s face. His blue eyes have grown darker. “I think I have some idea the effect I have on him.”

Three months. It’s been three months since that fateful night at Ethan’s apartment where he kissed her. After that, the doctors decided to see if their mutual attraction towards one another was worth exploring.

And while no one else knows of the relationship, opting to keep it just between them for as long as they could, Naomi and Ethan had never been happier.

“You look so beautiful tonight, and every guy in here is ogling you.”

“Ogling?” Naomi rolls her eyes. Ethan could be so dramatic when he wanted.

“Yes, ogling. I’m not a fan of it.”

“Well, you’re going to absolutely hate what happens later,” Naomi says with a sigh.

“Why, what happens later?”

“The auction.” Naomi swallows hard. “I’m one of the doctors participating in the people auction.”

“What?”

“My friends all volunteered, and they signed me up as well. I couldn’t say no, they all think I’m single and it’d just raise too many questions.”

Ethan frowns. The thought of these rich scumbags fighting over a chance to take his girlfriend out on a date didn’t sit well with him. It was annoying enough not being the only one she danced with throughout the evening.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner,” Naomi continues. “But they sprung it on me yesterday, and I knew you would be upset. Please don’t be mad at me.”

He sighs. “I’m not mad at you. I just don’t want anyone else getting a chance to wine and dine you.”

“You worried I’m going to leave you for one of these pretentious bores?” Naomi smiles, teasingly. “You know better than anyone that rich and old happens to be my type.”

Ethan’s hand travels down the small of her back, and he feels her shudder under his featherlight touch. “What did I tell you about calling me old, Naomi?”

“I like seeing you jealous,” Naomi continues.

“Is that right? Was that your plan all along, to make me envious of the other people here tonight?”

She shakes her head. “No, it happens to be an unintended outcome of the evening, but I’m happy nonetheless.”

Without warning, Ethan pulls Naomi flush against him. A quiet groan escapes her upon contact with him. She looks around to see if anyone heard anything. Thankfully, everyone else is too wrapped up in their own dancing.

Ethan lowers his head close to her ear, just to make sure no one else is listening. His breath is warm on her neck and he feels her shift her weight from one foot to the other, squirming. “I’m really tired of sharing you.”

“Oh, really?” Ethan can hear the challenge in her tone. “Well, there’s still a few more hours left in the evening. I think you can be a team player until then.”

“But I don’t want to be a team player.” His hand is on her hip, squeezing so fiercely through her dress, Naomi is sure she’s going to bruise. She likes it. “You, in this god forsaken dress, waltzing around here with men that would kill for even 5 minutes alone with you? How ever will I survive?”

“You’re a patient man,” Naomi says. “You’ll manage.”

Ethan spins Naomi away from him, and she twirls back into his arms. The song that’s playing reaches its crescendo, and he can tell it’ll be over soon. “I won’t. I want you all to myself.”

“Yeah?”

“I want you, all alone with me, in our room,” Ethan whispers.

Naomi surprised him earlier, getting them a suite for the evening. She knew that with all the drinking they’d be doing, driving home was going to be impossible. Plus, it’d be a fun little retreat, a romantic night for just the two of them.

“I want you out of this dress,” Ethan continues. “I want you under me, writhing uncontrollably.”

“Ethan…”

“Saying my name, just like that. Or louder, I’m not a picky man.”

Thank God he’s holding her, because her knees are buckling. Liquid heat pools in the pit of her stomach, and she rests her head on Ethan’s shoulder. She pants hard, trying to keep her composure. They’re in a crowded room, full of colleagues and Boston’s most influential residents, and she’s getting dizzy with desire.

“That sounds fun.”

“You think you can make it upstairs in 10 minutes?” Ethan asks. The song ends and he steps back, letting Naomi go. She wobbles slightly, adjusting to standing on her own two feet.

Once she’s steady, Naomi clears her throat and locks eyes with the man in front of her. “I’ll meet you there in 7.”

~v~

Naomi makes it to their suite in 6 minutes, tops. As soon as she saw him swagger out of the ballroom like the smug jackass that he is, she grabbed another champagne flute and quickly downed it, letting the bubbles coat her tongue. Once she’s done with that, she makes her own exit and heads off to meet Ethan.

Their suite is lovely, with a gorgeous view of Boston Common. On any other day, Naomi would be able to appreciate that, but not now. 

She pushes open the double doors to their bedroom, and she finds Ethan. He’s staring out the window thoughtfully, but her entrance gains his attention.

He checks his watch with a smirk. “You got here sooner than I anticipated.”

“What can I say? You were down there making some pretty hefty claims. I had to see if you were really going to put your money where your mouth is.”

“I plan on putting my mouth on a lot of different places, Rookie.” Ethan shrugs off his tuxedo jacket, tossing it onto a nearby chair and he loosens the cuffs of his shirt. Slowly, he walks over to the large king-sized bed and sits casually. Crooking a finger, he summons Naomi over, and she nearly trips over herself in a rush to be near him.

Neither one of them speaks as Ethan silently appraises his girlfriend, figuring out where to start first.

He picks her feet, and he bends down, his fingers reaching her ankle where the shoes are strapped. “How attached are you to these shoes?”

Of all the things he could’ve said, that wasn’t what she was expecting. “W-what?”

“I’m trying to figure out how much care I should exercise with them,” Ethan explains.

“They’re Aquazzura and they cost me $800. If you break the strap or the heel, I can’t be held responsible for whatever harm comes your way.”

“Even if I replace them?”

“Even then.”

“Fair enough.” Ethan carefully unbuckles her heels and she steps out of them. He trails a finger up and down the back of her calf, reveling in the softness of her skin before looking up at her. “Take off your dress.”

“You don’t want to do the honors?”

“Trust me, I do. But if I get my hands on it, I can’t promise that I won’t rip it off of you.”

Naomi’s very tempted to let him do just that, but she reaches around and unzips it herself. It falls to the floor in one fell swoop, and she steps out of it.

The dress didn’t call for a bra, so Ethan is rewarded with an uninterrupted view of her. He sucks in a deep breath at the sight. Naomi in that dress was a vision, but this is her in his favorite form.

He hooks his fingers into the waistband of her thong and he slides it down. She does the rest of the work and impatiently kicks it away.

And now she’s just standing here, stark naked, subject to his piercing gaze while he’s still fully dressed. The obviousness of the power dynamic makes her shift uncomfortably.

Ethan grabs her hips and pulls her forward, so she can straddle his lap. His hands find her face and he cradles it. “You’re so beautiful.” His mouth crashes against hers, not allowing her the chance to reply to the compliment. 

Naomi grabs hold of his shoulders in order to not fly backwards due to sheer force. Ethan set an undeniable tone. Urgent, hot, demanding. His hands keep her in place, locked in the sensual embrace. Not that she’d ever willingly leave his arms, now or ever.

His tongue invades her mouth, clashing with her own and he groans. He can still taste the champagne on her, something light and bubbly. It’s intoxicating.

All too soon, Ethan breaks the kiss, leaving Naomi breathless and buzzing with energy. His hands leave her face and roam freely, exploring.

“I have a challenge for you,” he says, his lips finding the column of her neck.

He sucks on her pulse, and she finds it hard to concentrate. “Huh?”

“I want you to stay quiet. Absolutely no sounds.”

“I thought you wanted me saying your name.”

“You will,” Ethan assures her, and the promise makes her stomach clench. “But right now I want you to be quiet.”

“And if I don’t keep quiet?” Naomi challenges. Ethan cups one of her breasts in the palm of his hand and squeezes, the pad of his thumb circling her nipple.

“Then you don’t get to cum. I go back downstairs and I leave you here like this.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

With a raised eyebrow, Ethan pulls at her nipple, twisting it between his thumb and index finger. Naomi gasps. “Are you willing to challenge me on that?”

Naomi’s head is fuzzy but she swallows hard. She nods, not willing to test him on this front. “Fine. I’ll be quiet.”

Ethan smiles. “Good.” He kisses her with a renewed energy and his unoccupied hand travels down to her thigh, his nails scraping against the flesh. 

Naomi bucks in his lap. She’s shaking and her fingers are digging into his shoulders. The anticipation of what he’s going to do is killing her and she’s almost afraid to breathe.

His finger slides between her thighs teasingly, and before she gets a chance to respond, Ethan slides a single digit between her folds. It catches her by surprise and she gasps.

Ethan tsks one disapproval. “Silence, Naomi.”

Fuck you, she thinks, but she obeys regardless. Her nails dig deeper into his shoulder blades and she tries her hardest to stay quiet.

He moves at an unnaturally slow pace, not allowing Naomi to settle into a rhythm. Any other time, she’d spur him on. “Harder, deeper, more,” is what she wants to say, but he’s cursed her with silence. Instead she buries her face in the crook of his neck.

Ethan continues his torture, enjoying the view. A hot and bothered Naomi is a sight unrivaled, and he’d keep her like this forever if it was possible. He can feel the tension rolling off of her in waves, all the muscles in her thighs and abdomen tight with the effort it’s taking to keep quiet.

He adds another finger and groans. “Fuck, Rookie. You feel so good. So tight, so wet, and all for me.” 

She needs to breathe. Her lungs are tight, her chest heaving against his, but he has her walking a tightrope right now, and one false move can end it all.

“You’re so beautiful like this,” Ethan continues, the rough pad of his thumb sliding against once, twice, three times. “And you’re all mine. How did I get so lucky?”

Naomi’s skin flushes furiously. He knows she’s has kink for him talking during sex. On their volition her hips rise and fall, rise and fall, trying to keep pace with him. As soon as she does, his fingers slow down, dragging her from the edge of ecstasy, before speeding up again.

He does this repeatedly, the randomness of his movements making her head spin. Every nerve in her body is on fire, and she can feel the pressure building in the pit of her stomach.

So close, so close, don’t stop, plays in her head on a continuous loop as Ethan keeps working against her. The pressure builds, a heat settling in her veins and before she can stop herself a quiet, “Yes,” slips past her lips.

The energy in the room changed instantly. Ethan stills his fingers, then removes them, and Naomi feels the panic bubbling up and she pulls back to look Ethan in the eye.

“Oh, Naomi,” Ethan frowns.

“Don’t stop.”

“You violated the deal, Rookie. You were supposed to be quiet.”

She could cry in this moment, the frustration too much to bear.

“And you were doing so good,” Ethan adds, kissing the side of her head. “You were so close, weren’t you?” He toys with her, his finger sliding up and down her slit, doing nothing more than teasing her entrance.

When she’s back to herself, and not the ridiculous mess of flesh and lust that he’s reduced her to, she’s going to fucking kill him.

A whimper is pulled from her throat when his fingers plunge into her again.

“Come on, Naomi, I’m allowing you to use your words. Tell me how close you are. Let me know how badly you want to cum. You’re right there.”

Naomi really doesn’t not want to give him the satisfaction of begging, stroking his ridiculous ego, but there’s no room for foolish pride when your boyfriend has his hand between your legs.

She moans, broken and terse. Now that she’s finally allowed to talk again, words escape her.

“Please…” is the only speech she’s finally able to muster up. Groundbreaking.

“Please, what? What do you want me to do to you?” His finger thrusts into her again without warning, slow and languid. “Do you want me to do more of this?”

“Yes! Ethan, please dontfuckingstop!” She’s not sure if the words are coherent, but she doesn’t care. She got them out, and that’s what matters.

Ethan smiles, his mission accomplished. “See? That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

The teasing doesn’t register because all Naomi can focus on is the pounding of her pulse, the feeling of his hands, the smell of his cologne. She can feel it building again, the fire deep in her core. She’s so close. So cl–

He stops. Again. This time, he wraps an arm around the small of her back and flips them, Naomi’s back hitting the soft down comforter dramatically.

Now she wants to scream at him. “Ethan, I seriously cannot–”

Ethan doesn’t give her a chance to chastise him because in a flash, he’s dropped to his knees, his hands on her ankles pulling her forward on the bed with an unexpected roughness.

“Be as loud as you want now, Naomi. I think you’ve more than earned it.”

His beard scrapes against her inner thigh, and god, she’s glad she convinced him to keep it. Slowly his tongue darts out, flattening against her folds.

Her hips fly off the bed against her will, arching to meet his mouth. Grabbing a fistful of his hair, Naomi pulls, keeping him in place. “Fuck!”

The expletive works as encouragement and Ethan continues this work, his tongue alternating between expertly lapping at her folds and flicking against her clit. Naomi grips his hair tighter, earring a deep growl from Ethan. The vibration alone is enough to send her flying.

“Please, right there,” Naomi begs. If he kept it up just a little while longer, she’d finally get to taste the release he’s denied her.

His fingers nudge at her entrance again, sliding in with ease, and lips wrap around her swollen nub and he sucks hard, and that’s all it takes.

Her orgasm is something that’s long and drawn out, a culmination of teasing, anticipation and sheer relief. Her entire body goes tense as the sensation holds her in a vice grip, and then finally, she relaxes, falling back onto the bed.

“You okay?”

She can’t tell if Ethan’s genuinely asking or if he’s being cocky. It doesn’t matter either way. “I’m dead. You killed me. RIP Naomi.”

“Yeah?”

Naomi nods. “Yeah.”

“Good. Because we’re just getting started, Valentine.”

Ethan stands up and quickly unbuttons his shirt, letting it slide to the floor next to her dress. Next are his shoes and pants. Any other time, Naomi would be right there with him, on him liking a second skin, helping him get rid of the clothes, but every bone in her body feels like it’s been replaced with Jell-O. She’s content just watching this time around.

He slides his boxer-briefs off, not intentionally putting on a show, but Naomi can’t help but stare. For all the compliments he pays her, Ethan, naked and painfully hard with arousal for her and her alone, is a masterpiece.

In a flash, he’s all over her, his hands interlocking with hers above her head, pressing her into the mattress. Ethan captures her in a heated kiss the moment he enters her, swallowing whatever guttural sound she was going to make.

His thrusts start out slow and measured, but they quickly grow more frenzied as his control over the situation slips. Naomi arches, desperate to meet his pace, but she’s crushed under him, pretty much immobile.

Needing to do something, Naomi swings her thigh over him, the heel of her foot pressing into his lower back. The pressure forces him deeper, something she didn’t think was possible.

Her head snaps back pressing further into the mattress and Ethan takes advantage, his mouth finding purchase on the exposed skin, planting hot, open-mouthed kisses along the column of her neck before sinking his teeth in, biting down hard before soothing the flesh with his tongue.

That’s going to leave a mark, but that’s nothing Naomi can bring herself to care about because the mix of pain and pleasure is heady and all-consuming.

The obnoxious bite is a sign. He wants to claim her, mark his territory. She knows he has a possessive streak, but this is new.7

“Ethan, oh god.”

She can feel him smirking against her, and his thrusts pick up in tempo once more. “Say it again,” he demands, groaning into her skin.

“Ethan,” Naomi repeats, her voice going up an octave. He’s about to make her cum again, she can feel it.

He frees her hands, and while she enjoyed the intimacy of the position, she’s glad to be free. Her hands roam, one gripping the hair at the nape of his neck, the other digging into his shoulder blade. His hands grip her hips, somehow pulling her even closer. 

“How close are you?” Ethan asks, his voice gruff.

“V-very.”

The thrusts become sloppier as they both chase the inevitable release. Soon the only sounds that can be heard are their shallow breaths and their slick skin colliding against each other.

Fire floods Ethan’s veins and he reaches between them, pinching at her bundle of nerves once more. A pleasant growl settles in his chest at the way she clenches around him.

“Let go, Naomi,” Ethan demands. “Right now.”

The command is more than enough to send her over the edge again, her body tensing, toes curling. She comes undone with a silent cry, her nails piercing into the skin of his back.

Her release triggers his own. It doesn’t take much, one more deep thrust and he moans, spilling inside of her, hot and urgent.

He rolls off of her and Naomi inhales deeply, not realizing just how crushing his weight was. Neither one of them says anything for a while, just trying to catch their breath and get their heart rates back down.

“Fuck,” Naomi says, still shaky and breathless. She turns her head and looks at Ethan with a smirk. “I should get you jealous more often.”

~v~

The couple takes their time getting dressed again, not yet ready to go back downstairs. They lazed around in bed for a while before taking the world’s quickest shower and searching for their clothes that are scattered around the suite.

“How long have we been gone?” Naomi asks, sliding on her shoes.

“Too long.”

“I know my friends are wondering where the hell I am.”

“I’m sure you’ll find an excuse.”

 “Of course. I’m nothing if not quick on my feet.” Naomi turns around and sees Ethan readjusting his bow tie in the mirror. She walks over and leans into his side. “Is it bad that I just want to stay up here with you?”

“Don’t tempt me.”

“What if I want to tempt you?”

Ethan groans and drops a kiss onto the side of Naomi’s head. “You little seductress. Don’t you have an auction to be a part of?”

“About that, I wasn’t thinking. If you’re really uncomfortable, I won’t do it.”

Ethan dismisses the statement with a hand wave. “Nonsense. You’re a big girl, I trust you, and if you want to do it, you should. Besides, I have a feeling you’re going to make this hospital a lot of money.”

“Okay.” She spins around and poses dramatically. “How do I look?

“Like you just got thoroughly ravished by your boyfriend. Absolutely perfect.”

Naomi makes it back down to the ballroom by herself. It’s later in the evening, so more people are out on the dance floor, and the drinks are still flowing.

Sienna is the first one to spot her. “There you are! I’ve been looking all over for you. Were you getting any of my texts?”

“Sorry, Si. I haven’t checked my phone all night.”

“Where the heck have you been?” She asks.

Naomi shrugs, noncommittal. “Wandering around mostly. This hotel is huge, I almost got lost.”

“What happened to your hair?”

Naomi touches the crown of her head. While she was getting freshened up, the humidity of the shower made her curls come back, so she decided to throw it in a messy bun.

“I got really warm,” Naomi explains. “It was too much effort to keep it down, and it was making my neck and back hot.”

Sienna seems to believe the excuse because she simply shrugs and nods. “Okay!” She grabs Naomi’s hand and drags her along. “Come one, Dr. Banerji says it’s almost time to start the auction.”

All of the people participating in the people auction line up on stage, as Naveen acts as the emcee.

It wasn’t just people auctioning themselves off for dates. A Celtics player offered up seats in the VIP suite at their arena, restaurants offering certificates to get private dining experiences, Ethan even offered up his box seats at the Citizens Bank Opera House for one evening.

When they got to actually auctioning off dates, Bryce was naturally a hit, with two women bidding back and forth until $1500 was reached.

“And for our next participant of the evening, we have Dr. Naomi Valentine!”

Naomi steps up to the podium next to Naveen and she’s met with polite applause from the audience. She’s never been shy before, but being part of the crowd and looking down on them are two different experiences.

“Let’s start the bidding at $100.”

“$100!”

“$150!”

“$150, do I hear $200?”

“$250!”

“Someone’s eager!” Naveen teases. “How about $275?”

$400!”

“$450!”

This goes on for a while, various men throwing out numbers, vying for Naomi’s hand.

“$2000!” Naomi scans the crowd and sees it's the guy she was dancing with earlier before Ethan cut in Carl Something or Another.

“$2000! $2000 going once, going twice–”

“$15,000!”

The number is so not what Naomi was expecting to hear, she nearly loses her balance. Holy shit, someone wanted to spend that much money? On her?

Murmurs fill the crowd as the guests all turn to one another, gossiping aloud.

“$15,000 going once, going twice, sold!” Naveen scans the audience and chuckles. “Sold to Edenbrooks’ very own Dr. Ethan Ramsey! Step up and come greet your date, son!”

Naomi’s eyes nearly bug out of her head as Ethan saunters onto the stage, a lopsided grin on his face. Naomi can feel the arrogance rolling off of him in waves.

All of the Edenbrook employees in attendance immediately begin talking. Of course there was talk of Ethan and Naomi maybe being a thing, but this confirms it.

“What on earth are you doing?” She asks, looking around. Everyone’s staring at them.

“Bidding.”

“A small down payment on a house?”

“What? I can afford it.” Ethan shrugs. “Besides, you couldn’t have possibly thought I was going to let someone else get this honor.”

Naomi narrows her eyes at him and laughs. “You know, you’re really crazy when you’re acting possessive and jealous.”

“I know.” Ethan steps forward and wraps an arm around Naomi’s waist. “And you love it.”

“I kind of do.”

He kisses her, earning a few whoops and whistles – and one rogue “Get it, Nay!” from Sienna – from the crowd. When he pulls away, the apples of Naomi’s cheeks are a deep red, not used to this level of attention all at once.

“So, now that I’ve proved my point, how about we get out of here? I think I need to take you on a date that’s worth $15,000.”

#playchoices #choices: stories you play #open heart #dr. ethan ramsey #ethan ramsey #ethan ramsey x mc #ns*fw

[bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher]

Your Sword for a Kiss: Part 1

(Thank you so much @gods-no-longer-tread-here this one’s for you)

---

Geralt was exhausted. All he wanted was a cool drink of water and a soft place to lay down for a while. He was on his way back to Camelot to speak with the King about his next assignment and this was the last night he’d have to spend on the road. He was hoping for some decent rest.

 Destiny, of course, had other plans for the knight errant. 

Just as the sun was beginning to dip down into the horizon, Geralt saw a cluster of unusually tall and lush willow trees to the left of the roadway. The late summer breeze was cool and fragrant against his warm skin and carried the scent of water lilies. A pond, he thought with a smile. Certainly if there are water lilies then there must be a lake or pond nearby. Even a river would do. 

He ached to remove his chainmail and rest for a bit; he could make it to the castle the following afternoon with little trouble. Geralt steered his faithful steed, a thoroughbred mare he called Roach, towards the sweeping branches of the weeping willows. He ducked beneath and between them, winding his way forward until he reached the other side. There was a deep, clear blue pond and several small, flat rocky outcroppings behind the willows’ arms. A cave sat at the pond’s furthest point, half-filled with water and uninhabitable by humans. A safe place to rest. 

“Thank the gods,” he sighed.

He knelt beside the pool and cupped his hands in the water, leaning forward until he was sure he wouldn’t spill it all over his trousers. Just as he was about to take a sip, Geralt heard a soft click. The sword he always wore belted at his waist went sliding out of its leather sheath and towards the water’s edge.

Fuck. 

His reaching hand was only a second too late and he watched in dismay as the heavy steel sword disappeared beneath the surface of the water. “Damnit.”

Oh, well. At least Geralt had wanted a bath before reaching Camelot, anyway. He stripped down to his trousers and was about to dive into the pool after his weapon when he heard the sound of happy, melodious laughter coming from the left. The startled knight whipped his head to the side and his mouth fell open in shock; there was a young man sitting on a flat, rocky outcropping nearby. Dumbly, Geralt asked: “Who’re you?”

Despite its humanoid shape and dark, damp tendrils of hair, the creature was clearly not mortal in the slightest. It was too beautiful, whatever it was. Its eyes, a shade of blue so bright that they rivaled the sky, were locked on the knight as it laughed and smiled. A pearly white and sharp-toothed smile. Its body was long and slender, with gently sloping shoulders and softly curving hips. Its skin was slightly darker than Geralt’s but only barely; its legs were scattered over with small patches of deep blue scales. When it spoke, its voice rang out through the trees as clearly and sweetly as any songbird’s: “I am known amongst the others as Jaskier.”

“The others?”

“My brothers and sisters of the water. Other sprites and nymphs, of course.”

“Of course,” the knight nodded. He’d heard stories about the Fair Folk. It wasn’t the best idea to insult or ignore them. “It is lovely to meet you, Jaskier.”

“Really?” the sprite trilled, clapping his hands together excitedly. “You think I’m lovely?”

“Yes.” Geralt blushed at how quickly the word had left his mouth. He is rather pretty, the knight acknowledged. For a creature that would probably kill me for fun.

“You are lovely too, Sir Knight.”

“Geralt. Geralt of Rivia.”

“You are very handsome, Sir Geralt of Rivia,” Jaskier beamed. Then he gestured down at the item near his feet; Geralt’s lost weapon. “Is this your sword, then?”

“Yes! May I have it back, Jaskier?”

“For a price,” the sprite teased. “Since you didn’t say please.”

“May I please have it back, Jaskier?” the knight reiterated.

“As I said before,” Jaskier huffed, apparently irritated now, “For a price. Don’t try to get away with foolishness for free.”

“I have very little coin to my name, good sprite. I am a lowly knight in service to His Majesty the King,” Geralt explained. He gave a gesture-heavy and ceremonial bow to the creature, who grinned in response and grabbed up the sword to clutch against his bare chest. Geralt’s bow faltered and his hands reached out automatically, as if he could pull the sword away and check Jaskier for wounds from across the distance: “Careful! You could hurt yourself, Jaskier!”

“I will be perfectly fine.”

“Please, be careful.”

“I appreciate your concern, sir knight. I have decided that you may have your sword back once you’ve given me a kiss.”

For a moment the Geralt couldn’t believe his luck. Just a kiss? All he wants is a kiss? 

Then he remembered his knightly oath. The oath he’d sworn to uphold before Arthur and all the court; the oath every knight swore to uphold before Arthur and the court. The oath to be true and just, to care for others without the expectation of reward, and to remain chaste and untouched until such a time that the King willed you to marry. 

Geralt sighed and glanced back toward the shamelessly naked woodland creature holding his most prized possession. “Well that’s going to be a bit of a problem.”

---

The giddy young sprite (or at least Jaskier looked to be in his early twenties) couldn’t keep his hands to himself, apparently. He spent the early evening playing with Geralt’s hair and eventually allowed the blushing, anxious knight to wrestle him into a shirt and trousers (babbling all the while about how nice the knight smelled and how soft Roach’s mane was and how much he hated wearing clothes). Somehow, despite all the racket and the moving around, the crafty little fae hadn’t let his hand off the hilt of Geralt’s blade. 

“Please let me carry the weapon,” the knight pleaded. “I’m afraid that you’ll cut yourself. It’s rather sharp and I don’t want you to bleed out and die before we make it to the castle and grant your reward.”

“But if I give it to you right now then you’ll ride off without paying me,” Jaskier pouted. 

“That wouldn’t be very knightly behavior,” Geralt argued, somewhat offended. “I give you my word as a Knight of the Round Table that you shall reach Camelot safely and be granted your payment by King Arthur himself.”

“I don’t want King Arthur to kiss me,” the sprite rebutted. “I want you to kiss me, Sir Geralt of Rivia. Then I shall return the sword; but only then.”

“I can’t give you the kiss without the King’s permission,” the knight explained for perhaps the third time. “Only His Majesty can settle our debt, because I swore my life and fealty to him.”

“Hmm. If you promise not to ride off and leave me here, then I’ll give you the sword back for safekeeping.”

“I swear. Safekeeping only.”

“Agreed.” 

Jaskier handed the blade over to Geralt, who sheathed it lovingly. By the time he looked back up from fixing his sword-belt, Jaskier was rummaging around in his saddlebags. He held up a vial of potent sleeping draught and Geralt jumped to his feet. The sprite laughed and danced away, keeping just out of Geralt’s reach as he sniffed around the potion stopper.

“Oh, what’s this?!” 

“Jaskier! Be careful!”

---

“What’s fealty?” Jaskier asked, watching as the white-haired knight lit a small campfire. He’d already aided the man in laying out his bedroll (Jaskier knew where all the softest patches of moss were) and grooming his horse (Roach took an uncanny liking to the water sprite). Now that the knight had finished setting up camp, there was nothing to stop Jaskier from peppering the human with his many questions about their world.

The knight sighed and warmed his hands over the burning logs, “Fealty means that I have sworn my life and loyalty to the King because I think his cause is righteous and his ruling is just.”

“Oh.”

Geralt saw the sprite’s eyebrows furrowing in confusion and tried explaining it more simply; “I think he has good ideas, so I’ve promised to help him while he works on them some more.”

“Oh! Okay.”

“Hmm.”

“Geralt,” the sprite asked, rolling onto his back in the grass and staring up at the knight with wide, shining blue eyes. “Could I swear fealty?”

“To His Majesty? Probably. You would have to prove yourself worthy, however. You’d probably have to live in Camelot and not -” the knight gestured around the pond and surrounding wooded copse “- here. Wherever this is.”

“I don’t want to swear fealty to your silly king,” Jaskier scoffed. “I want to swear it to you.”

“You can’t swear fealty to me because I’m am merely a knight. Only Kings can call people under oath.”

Jaskier wrinkled his nose in clear distaste. “That’s stupid. You humans are just so...silly. You have rules and regulations for every little thing you do and still you insist that the Fair Folk are confusing and tricky. I’ve never had to learn so many different ways to bow before. We’re only going to be at court for a few minutes, anyway. We’ll only stay long enough for you to get permission to kiss me; then we’ll return home, yes?”

“No,” Geralt shook his head. Jaskier bounced up off the ground and curled his fingers into the knight’s white hair, surprising him. “Hey!”

“It’s so pretty,” the sprite whined, tugging a little, “Let me play with it, Geralt. Let me brush it and braid it. You’ll be the most handsome knight in all the land when I’m finished.”

Maybe if he was braiding Geralt’s hair he’d stop touching everything else and blathering on about humans and their rituals. “Fine.”

“I do have one last question.”

“Hmm?”

“What did you mean when you said you wouldn’t be returning home with me? You can’t mean to stay at Camelot once we’re married.”

“M-Married!? Who said anything about marriage!?”

“I did, my sweet and silly Geralt. What else could a kiss mean?”

#geraskier #geraskier camelot au #geraskier knight au #knight geralt #knight of the round table geralt #geraskier ficlet #geraskier fic #part one #your sword for a kiss #geraskier fluff #sprite jaskier #water sprite jaskier #no personal space when the bard is around #geraskier cuteness #fluffy geraskier #geraskier soft #soft geralt #jaskier knows what he wants #ARE THEY GETTING MARRIED #YES #it's my kink