#I hope he will be okay at the end of the series

[cupid-styles]

campfire chronicles (camp counselorry)

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

word count: 9.2k

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

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

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

masterlist

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Maybe this summer was exactly what she needed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I had my signal on—”

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

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

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

Harry tries his best not to be an asshole. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hello counselors, and welcome to Happy Campers!”

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

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

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

Campfire safety tips? Yup.

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

Fire safety? Duh.

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

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

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

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

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

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

What?

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

Right?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

They both stand there silently. 

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

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

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

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

The first two days of training are hopelessly boring. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She blinks. “Yes.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-DIY paper kites

-painting

-indoor scavenger hunt

-talent show

-charades

-friendship bracelet making

-tie dye 

-rock painting

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

-H

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

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

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

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

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

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

He skips over her!

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

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

“Right, yeah—”

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

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

“You done, then?” he mutters. 

Blinking, Y/N nods curtly.

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you have a girlfriend?” 

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

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

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

Y/N swallows tightly at that.

The first full week of camp is exhausting.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That is my business.”

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

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

“Y/N?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

She shakes her head. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

The three girls nod enthusiastically. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Friendship bracelet making?” 

“Sure.”

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

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

So am I, Y/N thinks to herself.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I miss my mom.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Really?”

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

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

“What’s been your favorite part?”

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

Her eyebrows raise involuntarily and Harry coughs into his hand. 

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

“Well, that sounds really nice, Mick—”

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

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

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

“Oh yeah, those are my favorite!” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s something a creep would say.”

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

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

“I know. I’m just kidding.” 

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

“Can I walk you back to yours?”

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

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

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

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

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

Y/N hums non-committedly. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Water under the bridge,” he agrees.

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

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

“Hm?” she asks softly.

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

“Like what?”

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

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

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

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

He smirks. Lopsided and playful.

“Asked you first.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Probably.”

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

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

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

This time, she laughs, shaking her head.

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

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

“Wouldn’t miss it.”

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

[corroded-hellfire]

From one ginger to the other I absolutely adore the as you wish series! <3

I was wondering if you could do something where the reader goes out with Nancy for brunch for the first time after having Eliza. And her alcohol tolerance is obviously lower than pre-Eliza. And she gets quite tipsy, and Eddie has to pick her up, and she's all over him and just spewing nonsense about how much she loves him and their family.

And she admits how much she loved having his baby, and Eddie is just totally smitten as she just keeps going on and on.

Anything for a fellow ginger! This is silly and cute and I hope you like it 🥰

Words: 1.8k

Warnings: alcohol consumption, sexy talk

[As You Wish masterlist]

The sun brings warmth to the breezy spring day as you finish up your brunch with Nancy. It’s the first time the two of you have gotten to do this since you gave birth to Eliza. You had been aware that things would change drastically after giving birth, but you hadn’t even realized how long it had been since you and Nancy had a girl’s day until she invited you a few days ago. 

Mimosas seemed like a perfect way to celebrate when you arrived, but by the time you had finished your second glass along with your French toast, it was too late to remember that your tolerance was lower now. 

“Same thing happened after I had Danny,” Nancy tells you as you take a long sip from your water glass. “Steve and I went to a work party, and we had to leave after I had one vodka cranberry.”

“I don’t feel drunk,” you tell your friend, the lightness in your head giving you a pleasant buzz of happiness on top of the already enjoyable day. “Just tipsy. But I know I can’t drive like this. I’ll go call Eddie.”

“Are you sure?” Nancy offers. “I can just drive you home.”

You shake your head as you carefully push yourself up from the cushioned chair. 

“No, it’s okay. Wayne’s over so he can stay with the kids.” 

It is the truth, but the main reason you want Eddie to pick you up is because you really want to see your husband right now. Like a pregnancy craving for food turned into a yearning for a person, you feel as if your hands are not on Eddie within the next few minutes, you’re going to lose your mind. It’s all you can think about as you put one foot in front of the other as you walk inside the restaurant from your porch table.

The hostess shows you to a phone and your fingers eagerly skip over the familiar numbers for your home.

“Hello?”

Just the sound of his voice sends a chill throughout your body—one the warm spring day outside could never eradicate. 

“Hi, Eddie,” you say. Even you can hear the smile in your voice.

“What, baby? Are you okay?” The concern in Eddie’s voice does nothing to help the burning deep within you.

“Yeah, I’m okay,” you tell him. “I had a, uh, couple of mimosas with lunch and I did not realize my alcohol tolerance would be this low after having Eliza since I haven’t drank in a while.”

There’s an exhale of relief on the other end of the phone. Eliza babbling in the background and Luke’s raucous laughter has you grinning into the mouthpiece you’re clutching on to. 

“I’ll be right there, okay?” Eddie assures you. “We’ll get your car later.”

“Okay!”

Eddie chuckles at your carefree attitude and can only imagine how cute you look right now, all smiley and bubbly. 

“I’ll see you soon, princess.”

“Okay! Bye.”

When you get back to the table, amongst the empty plates and discarded silverware, you see that Nancy has already paid the whole bill and you give her a soft glare.

“What?” she asks innocently, large eyes making it even more convincing. “I’m pretty sure you paid last time.”

“Uh huh,” you mumble as she stands up and grabs her purse. “I’m sure you remember that from, like, a year ago.”

No response from Nancy on that, she just gives you a wink and loops her arm through yours. The two of you walk arm-in-arm out to the parking lot in front of the restaurant. 

Nancy’s car is parked in the shade so there’s a coolness on your backside as you rest against the trunk of the silver Lexus. Your friend tugs a little on the cream-colored sweater she’s wearing but you wish you had Eddie’s arms around you to keep you warm. Thoughts of Eddie’s arms lead to thoughts of his hands all over you and you’re unable to keep a dreamy little hum from slipping out.

“Thinking about Eddie?” Nancy asks, though the amusement on her face says she already knows the answer.

“I’m always thinking about Eddie,” you admit with a shrug. 

“God, you two are adorable,” Nancy says, mostly to herself. 

A squeal of excitement and you hopping off the car in excitement lets the brunette next to you know that Eddie’s truck has pulled into the parking lot. It’s her clue even before the metal music can be heard soaring out of the open windows. 

Eddie leaves one hand on the steering wheel and uses the other to turn the volume dial down as he slows the truck down right behind Nancy’s car. He lifts an eyebrow and looks you up and down appreciatively. 

“Need a ride, gorgeous?” he asks.

The giggle that tumbles out of your lips has both your best friend and your husband smiling as he puts the truck in park and steps out of the car. As soon as he walks back around the bed, you throw yourself at Eddie, who catches you and lets out a surprised huff of laughter.

“Hello to you, too,” he says. Protective as always, he wraps a sturdy arm around your waist to make sure you’re steady before he looks over at Nancy. “She wasn’t any trouble, was she?”

“Nope,” Nancy says. “Ate her vegetables and went to bed on time.”

“Hey!” You pout, looking back and forth between the two of them. “I’m the babysitter, not the baby. I mean…I was the babysitter. Now I’m the Mommy.”

Your two compatriots share an amused smile before Nancy gives you a wave and gets in her car. Eddie leads you over to the passenger’s side of the truck. You have no intention of letting him go though, so you wrap your arms around his neck so he’s leaning over you in the seat.

“Uh, babe?” he says with a chuckle before realizing it’s better to just humor you. 

Rapid fire kisses get smacked all over your face which has you squirming on the spot and gets you to loosen your grip on your husband’s neck. But the moment Eddie climbs in the driver’s seat and closes the door, you lean over the center console to grab at him again. 

“Sweetheart,” he says with a laugh, amused at your touchiness, “I have to drive us home.”

Silently, you decide that’s okay because that’s where your babies are, so you let go and slip back into your own seat. The older man puts the truck into gear as you buckle your seatbelt and then he pulls out of the parking lot, onto the main road.

It’s quiet only for a matter of seconds before you speak again.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

“We have the cutest family ever.”

Eddie nods his head in agreement, trying to keep his laughter inside lest you think he’s laughing at you.

“Absolutely,” he agrees.

“And it’s because you’re so cute!” you gush, throwing your hands in the air with a dramatic flourish that Luke would be proud of. “What do Ryan, Luke, and Eliza all have in common? Your genes! That’s why they’re so stinkin’ adorable.” You sigh dreamily and rest your head against the headrest as you gaze at your husband. “You’re such a DILF.”

Eddie can’t help but let out a bark of laughter at that and looks your way as you pull up to a red light. Glee dances in his eyes as he tilts his head. 

“Isn’t that ‘Dad I’d like to fuck?’” he asks. “You have fucked me, baby. Many, many times.”

“Fine. You’re a DIHF.” The different pronunciation has a raspberry blowing out of your mouth at the end of the word. “‘Dad I have fucked.’”

This is the most entertained I have been in so long, Eddie thinks to himself as the light turns green. It only reinforces the insane amount of love he has for you, and he feels the need to reach over and hold your hand. Luckily, yours is resting on your thigh now so he does just that. Softly, his thumb begins to stroke the back of your hand. 

“M’so happy, Eddie.”

“Good,” he says, “I’m glad you had a good time with Nancy. It’s been a while since you’ve gotten to go out.”

“No,” you say, shaking your head. “I mean, yes, I am happy because I got to spend time with Nancy today but that’s not what I was talking about. I meant that I’m so happy cause I got you and the boys and little Liza. Best things that ever happened to me.”

“I feel the same way, princess.”

“Eddie?”

“Yeah?”

“I really, really loved having your baby.”

Eddie can’t help the big grin that stretches across his face at your words. God, he could never hear that enough from you. 

“I had something that was half you and half me growing inside me,” you explain as if Eddie doesn’t know what being pregnant entails. “It felt crazy. But like, a good way. Like, I couldn’t believe it was happening. A little piece of you right here.” Your free hand pats your lower abdomen and when Eddie glances over he sees you looking down at that part of your body.

“I wanna do it again.”

Eddie almost swerves off the road at those words.

“Huh?” he asks, hand tightening on yours.

“I wanna have your baby again! I mean, not right now. Fucking hell, my vagina would fall out having babies so close together like that. Ow.”

“Jesus Christ, I love you,” Eddie raves. “But yeah, we don’t want your vagina falling out. Pretty sure we both really, really like that part of you.”

A sly smile grows on your lips as Eddie turns the truck into your neighborhood. You know it’s a little mean to turn your husband on when you’re about to go home to a house full of kids and his uncle, but you just can’t help it. You’re having fun and it’s alcohol-induced and Eddie’s done way worse things while under the influence. 

“Well,” you start innocently, “maybe if my vagina hurt you could kiss it better?”

“Fuck,” Eddie growls, glancing over at you. “Really gonna do this now?”

The maniacal giggle you let out already has Eddie forgiving you, his heart soaring with how much love he feels. He’d let you tease him and taunt him until the end of time. And God knows you’re the only one allowed to. But that makes it even better, Eddie thinks, because then he gets a pass to act as an over-protective asshole once in a while when the jealousy monster rears its ugly head. It’s a fair trade you can both live with. And if Eddie’s cross to bear is you getting him all worked up when there’s no time to do anything about it, he thinks he’s pretty damn lucky. 

[intimidating-fettuccine]

Yandere diaries. || Toby x reader. A new (possible) series I got the idea to do of the creeps doing diaries showing them gradually becoming yandere.

3k words. CW: Yandere, adult content (mentions of arousal and references to masturbation), descriptions of violence and gore, unhealthy relationships, severe abuse, delusions, Toby slipping into insanity and also being an unhonest/unreliable narrator with how awful he’s being.

4/26/22 -

I met someone new today! We bumped into each other at a park I like to go to on Earth. They were so kind to me. We ended up getting ice cream together and exchanging numbers. I hope I can see them again soon.

5/11/22 -

I’ve been able to see them a couple more times. We’ve been messaging regularly, and have also called a couple of times. I’ve never felt so connected to someone so quickly before. We have a lot in common, and they don’t even mind any of my tics or odd quirks. We have a plan to meet up this weekend and go to the movies together, I’m really looking forward to it. I hope we continue to be friends with each other for a long time!

5/14/22 -

I just got home. We had such a fun time at the movies! We saw one of the more recent horror films together. They got scared partway through and clung onto me to feel better, and it made me feel really happy and protective over them. I wouldn’t mind seeing more horror movies with them in the future if it means that they’d do that again. We haven’t known each other very long, but I feel so connected and interested in them, I feel sparks every time they touch me. Is this what falling in love feels like?

6/21/22 -

I haven’t been able to see them for a few weeks because of our schedule differences. I feel like I’ve been excessively sad because of that. I just feel like my life is so much dimmer without them. I wanna go to the park with them again, eat ice cream, and curl up under a tree with them. I wish I could be with them every day.

7/29/22 -

We haven’t known each other for a very long time, but I’m certain they’re the person I’m meant to be with for the rest of my life. They make me the happiest I’ve ever felt, they understand me like nobody has ever understood me before, I just feel so carefree and excited in their presence. I think they might feel the same way about me too. I need to try my best to build up some courage and ask them to be my partner before someone else can.

8/11/22 -

I asked them on a date and they said yes!! I’ve never felt more excited than I am right now!! We’re going on our first date in a few days. I need to make sure I have a nice outfit to wear because I want to take them somewhere nice to eat, and then we’re gonna go for a walk together and stargaze. My life truly feels so complete and wonderful right now, I feel like I’m finally on a path to keep getting better with them in my life!

11/24/22 -

I haven’t been dating them very long, but I convinced Slender to allow me to invite them to Thanksgiving dinner. Normally we have to date our partners for a year, but I just know our relationship is going to work out, so I don’t feel the need to wait that long. They had so much fun meeting everyone, and they were happy the whole time. I felt a bit jealous that they didn’t pay as much attention to me, but that’s okay because there were so many new people they had to meet. I’m sure next time I invite them over they won’t pay anyone else any attention. I’m looking forward to having them over here more often!

12/14/22 -

I got into an argument with Jeff today. I had them over to visit me, and I stepped away for a minute to get us some snacks and Jeff so rudely decided to try and steal their attention from me. It isn’t fair! He was trying to make them laugh and hang out with him instead of me!! I got really angry and I started yelling at him, and he yelled back at me, claiming he wasn’t doing anything wrong. He’s not allowed to just walk up to them and act like they’re buddy-buddy. They’re my partner, and they’re here for me. Nobody else has the right to their attention but me.

12/25/22 -

I got to celebrate my first Christmas with them today. We spent a little bit of time downstairs with the others, but then I wanted to bring them upstairs to my room so we could be together alone. I gave them a bracelet with our names on it so that everyone would know they belonged to someone, and they seemed to like it. However, I got a bit upset at them. They said they had to go home so they could celebrate with their friends and family too, but aren’t I good enough? Aren’t I their family now? It doesn’t make any sense to me why they couldn’t just stay at the mansion, but I let them go. I’ll have a talk with them about this later.

1/24/23 -

We had another argument again. They have this friend that keeps overstepping his boundaries and I don’t appreciate it. He’s been hogging their attention recently and hanging out with them more and it’s seriously fucking pissing me off. They wouldn’t stop talking to him so I had to lie to them about him to finally get them to back off from him a bit. I wouldn’t normally want to do that, but it’s for their own good. Nobody should be hogging them away from me that much. Their friends are lucky I even allow them to talk with my dove at all. I think that’s what I’ll start calling them, now that I think about it. My sweet, soaring Dove.

2/17/23 -

I ended up getting into a fight with one of Dove’s friends. I was trying to make sure I could spend Valentine’s with Dove, but this friend wanted to be able to see them that day since he’s going on a trip soon or some other stupid excuse. It pissed me off. IM their boyfriend, that day is for US. I confronted him to get him to back off but he had the nerve to stand his ground. I had to beat the shit out of him to get him to understand his place. It’s been three days, and apparently, he hasn’t contacted them since. Good. One less pest I have to worry about. Dove was a little suspicious when I came home with torn-up knuckles that day, but I just told them it happened during training and they believed me. They even took the time and care to bandage me up. They really are so special to me. Nobody else can have them.

3/18/23 -

I’ve never really thought much about blood before. When it’s on myself or my victims, I’ve never really cared about it, I’ve actually usually thought it was gross, but it was different today. Dove got this gash when we were out on a hike from tripping and slicing their arm on a sharp rock. Normally the blood wouldn’t have bothered me, but it was just so pretty. The red spreading across their skin was just so alluring. Of course, I got them cleaned off and patched up as soon as I could, but my heart is racing just remembering it. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I hope they get cut again soon. I have to confirm if this feeling inside me is real or just a one-off.

3/28/23 -

It wasn’t a one-off. We were cooking, and they were using one of our sharper knives. My curiosity got the better of me, and I “accidentally” bumped into them from behind. They ended up cutting themself, and their blood was just as alluring today, flowing freely out of their finger. I ended up putting their finger in my mouth to suck the blood off, and I’ve never tasted something so intoxicating before. They were a bit confused, but I just played it off and they let it go. Holy shit. I feel like I have to taste it again. I have to. The red on their skin, the metallic lingering taste in my mouth. It’s so addicting. It honestly made me a bit excited, I had to take a moment to myself so they wouldn’t notice.

4/16/23 -

I bit them. We were making out, and I just felt myself getting so worked up. I pinned them down on my mattress, and I started kissing down Dove’s neck. I couldn’t help it, my heart was beating so fast and I felt myself getting dizzy, and I bit them really hard. Their skin was so soft in my mouth, and blood started oozing out, running against my teeth and my tongue, and my lips, it was so warm and exciting, it felt like I was getting drunk. Dove didn’t like it though. They screamed and cried and begged me to stop, and I didn’t want to, but I did. I bandaged them up and apologized and feigned innocence. They said they wanted to go home early, so I took them to not get on their bad side anymore. I was so worked up though. I had to take care of myself when I got home, I was just so turned on. I have to do it again somehow. They won’t like it, but I have to. Nothing has ever felt so pleasing before.

4/29/23 -

I tried to bite them again, and they realized it wasn’t an accident this time. They yelled at me and hit me to get me off of them, and I hit them back much harder. They looked so broken and upset while they cried, but their tears and screams got me just as turned on as their blood did. The bruise that formed on their cheek was so beautiful. I held them close and apologized a whole bunch because I don’t want them to hate me. I cried a lot and I meant it. I promised I wouldn’t do it again, which I guess I didn’t mean. However, they can’t just disobey me like that. I need to try and be on my best behavior so they can be more relaxed around me. I can’t have them fighting back every time I want to do something to them.

5/09/23 -

I think my Dove needs to be caged. They’ve gotten so used to flying free that they need to be grounded and brought back to reality. I keep trying to limit their interactions with others because they keep poisoning my Dove against me, and Dove tried to fight me today. We got in a big yelling match, but I was able to calm myself down in the nick of time so that I didn’t make things worse. I got them to calm down, and we’re gonna have some space between us for a few weeks. I think I’m going to take this opportunity to my advantage.

5/30/23 -

While we haven’t been spending time together, I’ve been working hard. I found an old house in the Underworld for cheap, and I’ve been rebuilding it and fixing it up. I altered it to be able to hold Dove in without their escape, and I’m so excited about it. I’ve got a bedroom I’m setting up for them, and a nice kitchen because they’ve always liked cooking with me. I know Dove is going to love it so much when I bring them here in a few weeks. It’s going to be the best thing for us. Dove is too innocent about the world around them, and I have to be able to protect them. Nobody else can do a better job than I can.

6/08/23 -

[Parts of the entry have been torn. Words are smudged or crossed out and it is not completely legible, but some of it remains visible. *Full translation will be added at the end for those that use translators/text to speech.]

I CAN'T FU—— BELI— TH—!! DOVE WAS TRY— TO MOVE!! THEY W— TRYING TO LE—E ME!! THAT STU— BASTARD [Redacted] TRIED TO TA— THEM F—M ME! WHEN ALL IVE ———— IS PROTECT TH— AND THIS IS —— REPAY ME?!? I'VE NEVER BE— SO ANGRY!!!

Dove is FUCKING LU—Y I had the home re—y! If not, I wo—d’ve just thrown th— in the fucki— basement!!! [Redacted] got wh— they deser—. I be— the- so bad you —— —king recognize —. I’ll du— the bo— som—ere else.

7/06/23 -

Dove hasn’t been making things any easier. Since they last tried to move away things have been such a fucking pain in the ass. They were so scared when I locked them in here. I wanted it to be a warm welcome, where I’d bring them here voluntarily, but they had to go and ruin it because of [Redacted] sticking his nose where it doesn’t belong. They tried to run away a few days ago, and I went to write about it but I was so fucking pissed I ripped the page to shreds. I had to break their ankles so that they wouldn’t be able to run again, least not for a long while. I’ve also been keeping them tied up more, but it’s easier now that they can’t walk. The bruises on their legs are just so beautiful. I think I might keep them like this, even though they cry every day from the pain and the circumstances, but their tears are beautiful as well. I have to get more painkillers soon for them.

10/18/23 -

It’s been a while since I’ve updated. Things have been going smoother lately. Every time Dove’s ankles start to heal, I’ve been breaking them again. I just can’t trust them because they tried to escape again. I’ve been enjoying myself a lot more. I can bite them and cut them and hit them whenever I want to. I can taste their blood and chew their skin and bruise their beautiful body however I like. Of course, sometimes it makes me sad when Dove gets so upset about it. I don’t know what to do. It gets me so turned on and riled up like nothing ever has before, but I also want them to love me. They haven’t been fighting back anymore, so I think they’re getting used to it. We’ll see.

12/25/23 -

It’s our second Christmas together. I got Dove a bunch of things they asked for since they’ve been so good. They seem to have given up hope of resisting me, and it’s made me so happy. They even made me a cake for Christmas, and it was so delicious. I’m so happy we can be together again like this, just a happy couple with no interruptions. It’s truly the best gift I could have received this year.

2/16/24 -

I’ve been letting Dove’s ankles and legs fully heal. They truly haven’t been trying anything, and they’ve been so devoted to being a good partner for me, I don’t think I need to break them anymore to teach them a lesson. They can nearly stand on their own now, and they seem so happy. They said it’s because they can hug me while standing, and that made me so happy to hear. We’ve started cooking together again. We’re becoming a happy family, and I’m so glad I was right that Dove is the one for me. They even let me bite them as much as I wanted today, and they let me scratch them too, they didn’t even cry out today. I could tell they were trying really hard, so it made me very happy.

4/25/24 -

Things have still been going well. Their legs have healed up perfectly. It’s been five months since I last broke them, and I think they’re so grateful for it. They don’t disobey me, they do everything I ask, they’re so affectionate and loving with me. It makes me so happy to know that they’re truly settling into life with me. I don’t think they mind how much I hurt them anymore. They don’t complain as much, but they still cry those same beautiful tears for me. I think they’re starting to enjoy it.

5/26/24 -

I have to go on an extended trip for a week soon because of work and I’m nervous. They said they’ll wait happily for me, but I’m still so, so nervous. However, earlier this month I was gone for a few days and they didn’t go anywhere. Dove actually welcomed me back happily. I think we’ll be okay. I think this is it, the true test. I know they’ll pass, but still, I can’t quiet the anxiety in my heart. I’ll have to spend as much time as possible with them and get out all my excitement before I have to leave. I’m going to miss the feeling of their skin beneath my fingers and teeth.

6/11/24 -

[This page has also been smeared and torn in anger. *Another fully corrected version will be at the bottom.]

I — FUCKING BE—VE THEY DI- TH— AG—!!! THEY R— AW—!! THE- STOL- SO MU— —IT FRO- ME!! THEY TO— THE MO—Y I HA- HIDDEN!!!! THE- TOOK FO— AN- CLO—— AN- LEFT!! I- SO FUCK—- ANGRY!!! I'LL K— THEM!!! I JUS- MIGH- FUCK— KIL- THEM!!! AT TH- VER- LEA— THEY— NEVE- WAL- AGAIN! WHEN I ———— NEVER ES— AGAIN! LOCKS, CA—S, CHA—S!! WHAT—— IT TAKES!!!!!!

Dove, you’d better pray to —y FUCKING DIETY in EXIST—— THAT I DON- FIN- —U!!! When I d-, you’re goin- to su——— much for do— th— to me.

--

6/08/23 -

I CANT FUCKING BELIEVE THIS!! DOVE WAS TRYING TO MOVE!! THEY WERE TRYING TO LEAVE ME!! THAT STUPID BASTARD [Redacted] TRIED TO TAKE THEM FROM ME! WHEN ALL IVE FUCKING DONE HERE IS PROTECT THEM AND THIS IS HOW THEY REPAY ME?!? I'VE NEVER BEEN SO ANGRY!!!

Dove is FUCKING LUCKY I had the home ready! If not, I would’ve just thrown them in the fucking basement!!! [Redacted] got what they deserved. I beat them so bad you can't even fucking recognize them. I’ll dump the body somewhere else.

6/11/24 -

I CAN'T FUCKING BELIEVE THEY DID THIS AGAIN!!! THEY RAN AWAY!! THEY STOLE SO MUCH SHIT FROM ME!! THEY TOOK THE MONEY I HAD HIDDEN!!!! THEY TOOK FOOD AND CLOTHES AND LEFT!! IM SO FUCKING ANGRY!!! I'LL KILL THEM!!! I JUST MIGHT FUCKING KILL THEM!!! AT THE VERY LEAST THEY'LL NEVER WALK AGAIN! WHEN I CATCH UP THEY WILL NEVER ESCAPE AGAIN! LOCKS, CAGES, CHAINS!! WHATEVER IT TAKES!!!!!!

Dove, you’d better pray to every FUCKING DIETY in EXISTENCE THAT I DON'T FIND YOU!!! When I do, you’re going to suffer so much for doing this to me.

[thecuriousquest]

Hello! Can you please make a part two for "Don’t Close Your Eyes" ?

It was pretty well written in my own opinion and I was feeling I was being pulled into the story while reading it so I hope you would make a part two where maybe reader gets sick to the point she has to be in hospital due to Gojo not doing something with her oversensitivity or perhaps she runs away from home and tries to find uncle Nanami because he is the one actually letting her cover her eyes?

Don’t Close Your Eyes Part Two

Platonic!Yandere Father Satoru Gojo x Fem!Reader (Teen Daughter)

Warnings: NSFW (platonic - suicidal thoughts and self-harm), run away, vomiting

Note: This is the last part I’m doing for the Don’t Close Your Eyes series.

Master List

Part One

Ask Box is temporarily closed while I catch up on Requests. Please, be patient. Love you all. 🖤🤘

—————————————————————————

Gojo stays by your bedside for hours. This is a particularly hard day for you. You couldn’t even make it to the trashcan sitting beside him on the floor. Sometimes, the tasks of a father are gross, and cleaning your vomit off of the bedsheets is just a job he has to do. He doesn’t complain, however, and he doesn’t rub it in your face either. Thankfully. He has some common sense right now.

But he finds himself in need of sleep, and he finds it a particularly deep sleep after staying up and watching over you for the past two nights. He thinks it will be okay to doze off. He thinks you’ll wake him up if you need something. But something drags Satoru deep under into a serene sleep that clings to him like a soothing blanket of darkness.

He jolts awake, not even knowing the time, because he doesn’t feel your presence anymore.

“Angel? Angel?!” He begins to panic.

Where the hell could you have gone off to?

He checks all over the estate, even going as far as to check every inch of shelter. He surveys the backyard next, even removing the bindings over his eyes so he can scan the area even further.

No luck. None.

The sound of his ringtone catches him off guard. He pulls his phone from his pocket and sees “Suit” is calling him.

Answering the phone is less than pleasant but full of information. Nanami says that you showed up at his house, barefoot and exhausted, looking ready to collapse. He says that you locked yourself in the bathroom, vomiting relentlessly, refusing to even open the door so he can be in there with you for comfort.

“It’s your own fault, you know. She wouldn’t be as sick as a fresh sailor if you would just do what’s best for her.”

The phone call ends by Nanami’s decision, and Gojo is left with the one-two-three beep before everything goes quiet.

Satoru stands there, an eerie silence filling the void around him as he sticks his phone back in his pocket. He looks up at the sky, just hoping that his baby is okay.

———

The white haired sorcerer raps on Kento’s door, and it only takes a moment or two for the blond to descend the stairs and answer the knock. He greets Satoru with a grim expression before inviting the man in.

“She’s upstairs. I don’t even know how she dragged herself up there.”

Nanami leads Gojo to the bathroom. The door is locked, and they can hear sounds of hacking and dry heaving.

“Kid must’ve thrown everything up…” Satoru says. He takes a moment before knocking on the door. “Angel, it’s Daddy.”

“G-go away!”

“I’m not leaving, honey. Daddy’s here. I’m going to take you home and take care of you. Okay? Just open the door.”

But you can’t. You just can’t bring yourself to do it. You don’t want to go home with him. You don’t want to go back to bed, back to throwing up with him by your side.

You spot the razor blades on the counter. You didn’t even see them in your foggy haze when you first entered the bathroom. You’ve never been prone to these types of thoughts before. Not once. But that was then, that was before. Now, you’re trapped in a place where you feel like you can’t even breathe. You’re constantly attached to your bed or a trashcan, and things just aren’t getting any better. Daddy said you’d grow out of it, grow out of your sensitivity. But that’s not true. You’ve been like this ever since you were small.

You just need a break. You just need it to end. You didn’t ask for the Six Eyes. You never wanted this, the pain that comes with it.

In a rash decision, you grab the razor off of the counter and bloody your fingers trying to pry the blades out of the cartridge. Scratches and cuts line the pads and tips, even near your nail beds, and you hiss as it all finally comes undone.

Sinking down to the floor in between the toilet and the tub, you hold the razor blade, thin and metallic, in your hand.

You hear Kento sigh before the door handle breaks off. The barrier opens, revealing your dad and Uncle Nanami. Tears spring to your eyes as you hold the blade to your wrist while keeping your eyes directly concentrated on your father.

Your words were meant to come out fierce and bold, but they sound like a hoarse whisper. “I can’t take it anymore, Daddy. I’ll do it…I swear to God, I’ll do it.”

“Angel.” His tone is stern, his brows furrowed as he steps into the bathroom.

You dig the blade into your flesh, threateningly. Droplets of crimson bubbling up to the surface. Nanami’s hand flies out in a flash, grasping Satoru’s arm, keeping him from going any further.

“Angel, honey…put that damn blade down. Right now.” And Kento can feel him shaking with anxiety.

They both watch you, both eyes looking down on you. Nanami doesn’t know what to say, and Gojo wants to say everything.

“You can’t make me live the rest of my life in pain, Daddy! Even Uncle Nanami doesn’t force me to!” There it is. The lion-like tone you wished for earlier that you couldn’t manage to find. “It hurts, and you don’t even care!”

The blond sighs and moves his hand from Satoru’s arm to his shoulder.

“Think hard about your next move, Gojo.”

It feels like the weight of the world is on the strongest sorcerer’s shoulders at this moment. His little angel star has been in so much pain, and his mistakes are crashing down on him like a comet. Deep breaths are all he can take, are all he can hear as he arrives to his descision. Satoru removes his glasses and holds them out to you.

“Can I come over to you and help you put these on, angel?”

It’s the first time that he has ever tried to do anything to legitimately help you with the pain. The rivers in your eyes spill over, cascading down your cheeks like waterfalls. Nodding your head, you drop the gray blade onto the floor.

Gojo walks over to you, kneels beside you on the floor. He takes his glasses and puts them on your face. He is saddened to no longer see your red-rimmed, celestial blue eyes, but he smiles at you because he can visibly see the exhaustion and weariness leave your features.

You can’t see with how dark the sunglasses are, but it’s perfect. You can still sense where everything is. Reaching out for him, you pull your father closely and wrap a hand around the back of his neck as you sob gratefully.

“Thank you, Daddy…”

“No problem, angel. These will do for the time being until we can get you your own. Okay?”

“Okay, Daddy. My head doesn’t hurt anymore.”

“I know. Come on. Let’s get you home. Go say goodbye to Uncle Nanami.”

You obey immediately, happily. You walk over to your Uncle Nanami and give him a big hug before going home with your father. For the first time in your life, you are finally free to close your eyes.

[zzoguri]

02:48 ➵ park gunwook

park gunwook x reader

you’re set on playing some more games of valorant, and gunwook is trying to change your mind.

general genre/warnings ➵ established relationship, fluff, suggestive, lots of kissing, hickey moment…, valorant mention

word count ➵ 800 words

a/n ➵ happy birthday @shegotthewoobies <3 ily and i hope you like this drabble :DD if you enjoyed reading, please do reblog & leave feedback!

want to be part of my taglist? send me an ask! masterlist

gunwook wishes he isn’t the needy type. the one who can handle the distance. the one who can keep his hands to himself. the one who can fall asleep without you by his side. he hopes he can be the one to fulfill your every request, regardless of the hours or miles it may take.

he likes to think he’s made for you, but the reality is that he needs you.

before gunwook left for work, he promised you a few matches of valorant. his busy schedule didn’t give you two enough time in the day to spend with each other. all you had were hours made for sleep. although you understood gunwook’s schedule, only wanting him to rest before another day filled with work, he couldn’t share the same sentiments as you. all he wants is to be around you; intertwine fingers, and graze his lips over the expanse of your skin. despite your protests, it all falls on deaf ears as he cuts you off with a single kiss before taking his leave.

yet, work is spontaneous. he’ll never know if it’ll be a day where he waits for hours to pass by or to chase them.

gunwook tried to conceal his fatigue, peppering your face with kisses before telling you he’ll shower before he hops on the game. despite your worried eyes, he leads you to your chair before making his way to the washroom.

although he was tired from today’s work, he enjoyed the few matches he got to play. regardless of taerae’s trashtalk, matthew’s missed shots, and taerae’s partner’s whines, his stress levels subsided—all thanks to you. still, he couldn’t fight off the exhaustion.

“hey, i think i’m done for today,” gunwook says, earning a series of groans.

“no! we can’t end here. i mean, we can’t end on a loss!” regardless of taerae’s attempt to make him stay, he already closed the game. 

“bye guys.” he doesn’t wait for another word to leave his friends before he drops the discord call. as he looks over to his right, he sees your screen is on the lobby. he stands up from his seat, expecting you to take your leave until you pull out your phone. 

“hey, let him go to sleep. i’m down to play some unrated. but if you guys find someone else to fill, i’m also up for more ranked matches.”

gunwook can’t help but pout. he should’ve known that you would play a few more games. after all, you’d always try to find time in the day to play. yet, he wishes you could read the words in between his farewell—hey, let’s go to sleep.

a hum leaves you. “okay, let me try to ask my friend if they want to play.”

for a moment, gunwook considers going to bed, leaving you one kiss before you can continue playing. this is your time to destress. but his feet take him to where you are and his hand quickly reaches for your mouse so that he can mute your microphone.

you move your headphones to the side. “hey, what are you—”

his arms find their spot around your waist. “baby,” his whine has you holding your breath, “can’t you play some more games tomorrow? i missed you.”

“gunwook,” a shy giggle leaves your lips, “i’ll just play one or two more games. i’m pretty sure matthew and taerae are trying to find someone to fill.”

then, he nestles his face into your neck. while his nose grazes your skin, you let out a quiet exhale. but the moment you feel his lips, your eyes shut close. out of instinct. out of comfort. out of desire.

“c’mon, i’m sure they’ll understand.” his lips continue to cover every inch of your neck as his hands sneak under your shirt, fingers drawing shapes on your hips. gunwook’s persuasion is hard to ignore.

feigning ignorance, you say, “but i won’t get to play tomorrow. just one game.”

he musters a sigh and you think you won the battle, until his lips latch onto your neck. blunt teeth scratch against your skin as his tongue darts out, sucking in the spot. a soft moan leaves you as you throw your head back.

taerae’s shouts leak out of your headphones but you have no interest in hearing what he has to say.

gunwook’s lips leave you and you try to steady your breathing. you hate his effect on you. “c’mon, let’s go to bed.”

you need a few seconds before you swallow your shame. “to sleep?”

he giggles before he pulls back, allowing you to meet his gaze. “depends if you’ll quit valorant now or later.” and when you spot the smirk that rests on his lips, you don’t think twice about disconnecting from the call without saying goodbye.

taglist: @kflixnet @blankjournal

[nikethestatue]

Rant incoming.

Maybe I am a bit of a psycho (okay, not a bit) but for the love of God and all that is holy--Sarah, give us the Shadowsinger that you keep hinting at.

I need at least ONE of these men to go dark. Go fucking black.

We keep hearing about the violence, the terror, the sheer presence of them that would make a grown man piss his pants---but we never see it?

The one and ONLY time where I feel it happened (and marginally too) was when Rowan skinned (not gonna say who) alive.

But it's kind of like--if SJM insists on making all these men ruthless warriors, torturers, the most powerful Fae in the kingdom or the world or whatever--then SHOW IT. Show us the men we are supposed to crave and fear.

We had Hunt, the Umbra Mortis, who barely ever 'mortis-nized' anyone ever. He was just a himbo who wanted to eat pizza and watch sunball.

Cassian, the Commander General, had one good run during the war and then became a human dildo.

Azriel cut the Attor a lil bit.

Give me the scary. The unhinged. I don't need cinnamon rolls. I want one of these dudes to rip out someone's heart and then fuck his ladylove on top of the corpse.

I am also so so so tired of the 'girl Power woooo!' thing that SJM keeps writing--where the women always take care of business and need no help, no protection, no revenge, no assistance from the men whatsoever. Why even bother making these men these illustrious warriors, when we know that Nesta can kill a Death God in 10 minutes, and Bryce can kill an Asteri in about 8 minutes.

I am beginning to wonder what is the point of men in SJMs' stories at all?

We had the 'Most Powerful High Lord In History' running around dropping to his knees, looking for a good OBGYN for all of ACOSF. We had the Commander General taking lots and lots of time from his clearly not very busy schedule to train some girlies and have repetitive sex. Lucien, not much of a warrior to begin with, just hangs out at his country manor. Azriel seems to be working at least, but mostly he is just being angsty.

Like there's been a shipwar raging for 3.5 years over these guys, and honestly, for what? Azriel is a spy, a torturer and 'a freak'. If it all ends up being for nothing, and he is just going to be some pining useless follower, carrying Elain's purse, whose 'freakiness' consists of light spanking and a nipple bite, then honestly, GAs or whoever, can have him.

I feel like 90% of all ACOTAR readers came to the series through Rhys. Because Rhys was so shifty. So cold. So unremorseful. Rhys was...INTERESTING.

What happened? Where are the interesting male characters? We know that SJm is not GRR Martin or anything, but come on.

Let's even take Lucien--and I don't give a shit about Lucien--but make Lucien...interesting? If he is so wily and crafty, why can't Lucien at least TRY to trick Elain into liking him, going out with him on a date? ANYTHING. Try to gaslight her, lie to her, trick her--do anything that makes me want to read about you. Eluciens keep whining about 'mean Elain' but like, why are they satisfied with this limp noodle of a painfully boring character? Why no demands of fucking everyone over and going after what he wants? 'Oh, he is so respectful'! Who cares? Why do you want to read that in a fantasy book about supposedly violent and brilliant fairies?

I am reading all kinds of things outside of ACOTAR, and I reflect and I think, OMG, SJMs males are boring AF!!!! Why do they even inspire a glimmer of desire or interest? They literally do nothing memorable or interesting.

Honestly, if the next book is the same, and she murders Azriel's character, it will be a big fat goodbye from me.

I am holding on to hope that she'll write him and even Lucien somehow, somewhat compellingly.

[romeulusroy]

Dread (Bucky Barnes Oneshot)

Character/s: Bucky

Word Count: 1,824

A/N: Ahhhh okay I don't really talk about it here, or to anyone lol, but last year I was diagnosed with post traumatic stress disorder. I still feel like "it" wasn't bad enough and idk, I'm afraid if I did tell someone, they'd say what I'm thinking. My extended family can't handle this kind of info and my mum is dealing with the same thing, so I end up taking care of her even when things are bad. I've been having a lot of trouble the past few months days with sleeping and I thought I'd write about it. I'm using my emotional support Bucky lol. Anyways, just a therapy fic. Things will go back to normal asap! 💜💜💜

You shatter. Like glass, like snow, like silence. Bursting into thousands, millions,of  infinitely beautiful pieces. You glitter under the light, between his fingers. Oh y/n, the pity dripping from his voice like honey, thick and sweet across his teeth, oh no. You splinter, cracking right down the middle. Cheekbone and shoulder blade and fractured, punctured vertebrae compress together into one anonymous pile of bone. Pile of you. Collected into dust pans, into willing palms. All serrated edges and knife like anger, hurt and screaming and ashamed. He nicks himself on you, on a tooth or empty eye socket, slicing himself open. Sorrysorrysorrysorry. The words tumble from your mouth as it falls apart, crashing into the floor, scattered everywhere. He waves you away. He deserves it, he thinks, he says, he insists. You deserved it, too. It was your fault. You didn’t fight back. You didn’t scream. You didn’t tell them. No, he argues, the thoughts breaking through your open wounds. Drawn by ice pick, your skin chipped, two words the play on loop. My. Fault. No, his is angry now, speaking to the fragments. Don’t say that. Don’t- don’t say that. Okayokayokayokay. In secret though, when he has his back turned, attention carried away, you think it very quietly. Over and over until there is no more space left, until you fear you will splinter all over again. Myfaultmyfaultmyfaultmyfault. 

He used to try to fill the silence. Frantic in the dark, blinded, left to wander, searching for the switch. The bedside lamp spills her light across the room. You can name everything in it. An unmade bed. Two tables. Two lamps. Two people, sleep deprived, scared to death for the same reason. He used to try to fill the empty space with every question that came to mind. Beneath his voice you sniffled, your heart beating in your ears, pounding too loud. Beneath the sound you tried to catch your breath, gasping for air, trying to fill your lungs, your blood, your body. You can still feel it, you can still hear it, the dream indistinguishable from reality. He used to talk until he was out of breath, until there was nothing left to ask, hoping he would be able to better understand. Why you were doing what you did, why this happened sometimes, who did this. He doesn’t do that anymore. Now he knows. It was a guessing game, a series of assumptions. Fragmented ideas sewn together, the gaps numerous and wide, a series of events and half-truths constructed poorly to make a story. Holey. Holy. And then, once, only once, you told him. You told him everything, unable to look at him for a long time, unable to stop yourself. You put what you’ve never been able to into words. And then he stopped. 

He finds you under the bed. You’re not sure when it became the place, the space to occupy. A habit. Maybe when it started, all those years ago, crying beneath the exoskeleton, needing to feel hugged without the threat of human touch. Maybe it wasn’t suffocating like the closet or exposed out in the open like behind the bedroom door. Maybe it was the last place they would ever find you, the last place to look. Seven years old. Eleven, thirteen, fifteen, seventeen all over again. It makes you feel so small, so little, as if no time has passed. As if those versions of you have been stuck under there all this time. He finds your part of the mattress empty, blankets dragged down as if they’d gotten caught on something. He follows the sound of crying. Soft sobs escape you, the cool of the floorboards cold beneath your cheek. On his hands and knees, his t-shirt loose around his arms, his hair disheveled. Eye-level now. There is sorrow in those blue eyes, pity, but something more. Something that makes you want to curl around him, hold him, let him cry as you are now. Understanding. Recognition. 

What a dangerous thing. 

It’s happened again. The dream with the boy, the dream with the man. His knee between your legs. Spreading them. Pushing into you. On your stomach. You can’t move or speak, you can’t fight. It happened again and now you can’t stop feeling it, experiencing it. Like looking into the mouth of a wolf, counting his teeth, believing naively that you are safe with your hand halfway down his throat. It doesn’t matter how long it’s been. It doesn’t matter where you go or who you pretend to be. They follow you. They haunt you. That fucking laugh. Hysterical, cynical, a warning before his hands crawled all over you. You hear it now, under the bed, far from him. You hear it all the time. Strangers look like him. A flash of panic spreads in your chest before you realize it’s someone else. Before you name yourself paranoid, crazy. Again? It’s barely above a whisper. His voice is so thin, so shaky, as if afraid any louder would scare you away. He shouldn’t have to ask. He shouldn’t have to deal with this, with you. You nod, your hands balled into you, your knees to your chest. Yesyesyesyesyes. Againagainagainagain. 

He doesn’t put his hands on you. Not now, not ever. He doesn’t say the things that have been said about you, your body, the space you are forced to occupy. He doesn’t have the thoughts that they had or the urges or the good sense to target someone who would never say anything. Staring at one another. He knows. Not the details, or the guys, or the boys, but he knows. Parts of the past play on loop. Moments he wishes he could forget, destroy, set aflame. Moments that haunt him even on a bright, sunny day where he feels as if nothing bad has ever happened. Even then, there is a ringing in his ears. There is something small and deep that tells him he is running away from something inescapable. That he is a fool for believing he could ever move on. 

It’s too late to say anything. It’s too late to do anything. You can’t remember their names, their faces. You don’t remember when it started, only that it did. It’s never really stopped since then. What a waste, you think, what a terrible waste you’ve become. Two children who would be laughed at, who would be made into jokes, who would grow up and live life with the knowledge that they are not immune to terrible things. He doesn’t join you under there. Instead, he rolls on his back, arm stretched outward, his hand, his wrist, his fingertips rest at the edges of the shadow. His eyes cast upward in awe as if he were looking at a sky full of stars and not a vast blankness of white ceiling. Eventually, your hand will find his. Millimeters away, not yet touching, close enough to feel though. That’s all you have to offer in this moment. He will take it. He will take nothing. But he will never take everything like they have done. You’re on your stomach, your back, always crying. Always trying to get away, but they are too strong, too powerful. They are bigger than you. 

They will say and do things that make you feel dirty. Soiled. Broken. You will scrub your skin raw, but it’s a feeling that never dissipates. It never goes away. You used to hide in the shower. Midnight, one, two, three. He’d hear the water going, see the steam. You’d appear, scrubbed anew and smelling like coconut. Sweet. Summery. Familiar. Your eyes would be rimmed red. Bloodshot. You’d make up an excuse. Anything to get away with it. Along the way you stopped. Along the way you realized the water could never be hot enough, you could never wash away the pieces of you they took. Under the bed it was. You prayed he wouldn’t wake up, that you wouldn’t disturb him, but it never worked. You prayed like that, before, before they did what they did. You gave up on God like He’d given up on you. It only seemed right. Fair. He used to search the entire apartment, calling out your name, his heart suddenly in your throat. Petrified you left him, petrified something terrible happened.  Now he knows what to expect. He knows the place. You lay like that, barely touching, trying to catch your breath, until one of you falls asleep. Eventually, the other follows.

The morning comes. Her warm light welcomes you. You watch him for a while, quietly, running your eyes over the hard line of his jaw, the softness of his cheek, the bridge of his nose. Your finger will draw stars, and circles, and hearts into the floorboards. The day is welcome. It’s the night when things turn sour. When he wakes, you will crawl out from under the frame. You will shower and dress and move on from what’s been tormenting you. You will play pretend. He won’t push the subject, knowing better now, but he will remain acutely aware of your every move. You’ll grab his hand, his arm, the least frightening act of affection, and walk together. You’ll have your coffee. You’ll talk with Sam. You’ll smile, and laugh, and act as if nothing has happened. It’s always these moments that strike him the hardest: after the nightmares, the feeling, the crying, you have no choice but to pick yourself up and carry on. You’re not overly affectionate, though you show him it’s okay, things are better now. Tentatively, his hand finds its way on the small of your back. You let him. 

Tonight it will happen all over again. That dream will come. You will hide. He won’t wake up, though. Tonight he will sleep through it. You will join him in the bed before he realizes, before his eyes open, before he comes to. He thinks things are getting better. And they will, but for now this is how it will be. Two things can be true at once. Two people can exist in a single body. Today, you are you, but the sun will set and that child will take over and you can do nothing but let them. Two realities can exist. Here, you will thrive. There, you are allowed to crumble. He will place his hand on your back. He will refill your mug. He won’t take this light mood for granted. He knows what comes next. He knows the emotions you place in the closet just to exist here, in this room, with these people. He knows because he does the same.

You will thank him quietly, for putting up with you, for dealing with you, but he will always shake his head, unsure of how to put his exact thoughts into words. He’s never minded taking care of you. You’re worth it. You always have been.

[bread-is-my-life]

Sooo I watched new spooky month episode (which I ABSOLUTELY LOVED BTW!!!!) but I can't stop thinking about smth. We know that Father Gregor always uses holy water on demons and it actually works, the demon is hurt and stuff. So ummm. This moment from sm 5:

I MAY BE OVERTHINKING BUT IS THIS KID LIKE POSSESSED OR SMTH?????? His reaction to water is like not normal you know. Does holy water affects everyone like this orrrr????? I'm confused lol.

Also the fandom wiki says it was BOILING WATER???? and idk where that info comes from. I always thought that it was holy water

[kavennnn]

told yall we wouldnt be getting year 3 from allegory

[steviethehairyington]

LET’S GO BOIIIISSSSSS!!!!!

I’m literally so happy that season 5 was announced that it officially begun it’s production! I can’t wait to see the gang for one last big adventure and battle before saying goodbye to them.

I’m not ready! I’m both happy and sad that they announced the production of the last season 😭

[chocolaminity]

I wonder when I'll get to see him again... I want to see him soon.

I hope he can teach me all sorts of things about soccer!

[r0semultiverse]

Adventure Time: Fionna and Cake finale spoilers without context

[bellarkeandclintashaandsuch]

If Laws of Attraction doesn't want me to sympathize with Tanthai, they should stop making him say things that make me think he's suicidal. And stop having his bodyguard look at him Like That.

The sad way he looked up at Methee when he came in to tend Tanthai's cut lip was a choice.

The way he called himself the worst and talked about feeling nothing at killing a child shows just how messed up he is. He just felt empty? A child is dead, and he doesn't feel anything?! And all Methee could do was warn him that yelling will only draw his father's wrath again. Even in his own room Tanthai has to control himself to avoid his father's anger.

And then he says maybe he should die. After all, he should never have been born, right? And how sad Methee looks to hear that. But not surprised. Because even if he hasn't said it before, I'm sure Methee has witnessed all of his self-destructive behavior.

Methee came into the room telling Tanthai to apply the ointment, not to let him apply the ointment for Tanthai. But to make him stop saying such terrible things, he can only grab Tanthai's face and start tending the wound. I don't even know what the look on Tanthai's face says, but it says a lot.

Then he gets drunk and starts talking about dying again.

Only for Methee to pop up at that particular moment to bring him home.

And he just carts him away when he refuses! He just picked Tanthai up and hauled him away. Tanthai had a whole beverage in his hand that probably poured over Methee, but Methee didn't care.

And they expect me to be normal about this? I'm over here making up scenarios about how Tanthai can be innocent, so he and Methee can get married and run away together. Ah, maybe dad was driving, and made Tanthai come take his place. How could they have managed that without anyone noticing? Heck if I know. But where was Methee? Why wouldn't he be with Tanthai to keep him from driving drunk? Why didn't the senator let Charn talk to Tanthai? Why did Tanthai say there was more to this than Charn knew? Seems dumb if the things he didn't know only make things worse for him. Where's Jinta or the Mystery Globe Fixer to give Tanthai a chance to make things right?

[misspoetree]

Presenting: The Great KinnPorsche Fashion Showdown (nobody asked for)

A few weeks ago, I made a poll about the best dressed KinnPorsche character. Tankhun won that one, followed by Vegas and Tay. Legitimate results - but the tags had some really interesting arguments for a bunch of different contenders. So why don't we take a closer look? Why don't we go through all the characters and their outfits one by one, choose the best one for each of them and repeat the initial poll at the end?

Sooo...that's exactly what we're doing right now.

*For the characters with more than 10 outfits - like Porsche here - I'm going to make multiple polls and put the best voted ones into a final one

Tankhun - Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | FINAL CONTENDERS (CLOSED) - WINNER: THE CAPE 🎉🎉🎉

Vegas - Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | FINAL CONTENDERS (CLOSED) - WINNER: THE WITCHY SHIRT*TM 🎉🎉🎉

Kim - Part 1 | Part 2 | FINAL CONTENDERS (CLOSED) - WINNER: BLACK TANK TOP (OF DEATH)

Porsche - Part 1 (CLOSED) | Part 2 (closes April 12th) | Part 4 coming soon | FINAL CONTENDERS (BLACK TITS OUT SHIRT vs. ???) coming soon

You can find the links to all the polls (as I gradually post them) HERE (pinned on my profile).

LET'S GET VOTING! 🎉

[malewifehenrycooldown]

yeah yeah i got recommended that Henry Cooldown analysis video whatever. i am still not over people comparing Henry to a medieval knight, NOT even taking the time to unpack that said mental image of a knight is 'mostly' associated with the British Monarchy*, an extension of its Empire that *checks notes* did a long list of atrocities like imperialism and colonialism, and also (multiple) genocides.

Henry is NOT British, he is Irish. Although considering the history of Ireland and how poorly the British Empire has treated them (amongst SO MANY OTHER COUNTRIES AND DIASPORAS), yeah it's NOT surprising that an Irish man like Henry is essentially forced to adopt quote on quote 'British sensibilities' to 'survive'. <- intentional imagery or not, the implications are not lost on me.

Like okay, calling out the comparison is cool but it sure would be nice if people went further to unpack what that means and implies in the long term. you know, like ACTUAL CRITICAL ANALYSIS?!

[rainbowcarousels]

“Are we close enough for you to be sending me nudes of my lover, Daniel, and no one told me?” Daniel barely spared him a glance. “Which lover?” Directly after the negotiations, Lestat returns to Trinity Gate causing mischief in his trademark fashion and finding himself embroiled in the blossoming dyanamic there.