#apologies for the length. i had a vision and decided to stick with it. it...will not get shorter <3< /div> Explore tagged Tumblr posts

[mangofresca]

skip your early classes, let’s learn how our bodies work chapter one: i

“So,” Lovino starts, speaking slowly and deliberately as he puts the pieces together on what may be the dumbest puzzle he has ever seen, but by God it may just be dumb enough to work. “You want us to get married to get better financial aid. Right?” Antonio nods. “Right.” “And then, you want us to get divorced after we graduate. Am I understanding this correctly?” Antonio nods. Again. “Yes.” After a minute of deliberative silence on Lovino’s part and impatient, twitching eagerness on Antonio’s, Lovino hums, shrugs, and turns back to his laptop. “Minimum three free meals and a nap. With pasta.” Or, a story of two idiots in love, as told in three parts. multichapter, spamano.

Words: 16,000, Chapters: 1/3, Language: English

Fandoms: Hetalia

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: M/M

Relationships: South Italy/Spain (Hetalia), France & Prussia & Spain (Hetalia), Belgium & South Italy (Hetalia)

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - College/University, Friends to Husbands to Lovers, because who wouldn’t marry their buddy for some extra money, Fake Marriage, Mutual Pining, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Codependency, Antonio and his floaty inner monologue my beloved, this could double as a character study if you squint hard enough, A few other characters do make appearances but not enough to be worth tagging, Appalling use of parentheses and italics (but what else is new)

im hesitant to say im back, but im not not back, y’know? i still have much on my plate and will be prone to sudden bouts of disappearances in the near future, but ive also been sitting on this behemoth for far too long. the plan is to post a chapter a week, but we'll see how that goes. ive never written anything as long as what this fic will be, so be kind, please. ok thx!!!!!!!

[cuteskunkz]

‧₊˚❀༉‧₊˚.Good Morning Princess ₊˚❀༉‧₊˚.

~Part 2~

(Dom!Mike Schmidt x Sub!Reader)

~Summary: Mike comes home after a long day and needs to blow off some steam. Continuation of part one!!!

~Tags: Pet names, degradation, praise, breeding kink, daddy kink, brat taming, gawk gawk 3000, penetrative sex, afab!reader

Note: This is pretty much porn LMFAO!! Read part one for the full story.... or not if you're horny no judgement ;) Just a reminded that I am brand spankin new to writing fanfic so apologies if it's mid. Pls lemme know if you're interested in more, my amas are always open to ideas <333

⊱✿⊰

Mike grabs your face with one hand. This causes you to pout at him and furrow your brows. "Don't make me cuff you again" Mike says playfully. You take it as a challenge, deciding to be the biggest brat possible. You knew how much Mike loved taming you, it was like a newfound hobby for him. At one point your attitude was so much he had to throw you over his shoulder and carry you to the bedroom to teach you better manners.

"Or what? I can handle some stupid pair of cuffs" you say while staring at Mikes baby pink lips. He pins you to the bed. His strength is impressive, you couldn't fight him off even if you tried. The guy definitely takes his push ups seriously. You start wiggling underneath him knowing this will piss him off more. His hands only grip tighter around your wrists, further restraining you. "You're so fuckin needy- do you know that?" he growls. You face away from him suddenly feeling bashful.

"Look at me when I'm talking to you." You lock eyes with Mike, your mouth slightly agape. You take notice of his light brown freckles and it's like your heart skips a beat. "Good girl. Now get on your knees" he directs. He loosens his grip on you and stands next to the bed waiting for you to follow his order. "Nah I think I'll stay riiiiight here. You know Mike- your bed is soooo comfy I couldn't possibly eveeerrrr get u-" he grabs your throat and pulls upward forcing you to stand and make your way off the bed. Your tiny fingers attempt to pry him off but it's no use. "Im gonna fuck your mouth until your dumb little brain is empty. How does that sound hm?"

That's all it took for you to turn back into his subservient toy. "Anything for you sir". You lower yourself down onto your knees and stick your tongue out. Mike had you basically trained to take position for times like these. He taps his cock on your tongue a few times allowing you to mentally prepare for his length before roughly thrusting into your throat at a decent pace. "It's like you were made for me. God you're so pretty sucking on me like that. Thank daddy for stuffing his cock in your mouth." He pulls back slightly leaving his member resting just barely on your lips. "Thank you daddy" you reply. "Thank you for what? Use your big girl words"

"Thank you for f-fucking my throat." He smiles, "There we go. Good girl". He thrusts back into your mouth and pumps even faster than before. Guess your words really motivated him or something. Mike takes your hair into both his hands and forces you deeper. The sounds of you sputtering and gagging on him push him closer to his climax. You stare up at him with tears rolling down your blushing cheeks. You'd pay any price to stay in this state of pure bliss. "You look so beautiful when you're cockdrunk, princess. I know it's a lot but you're doing so well... j-just a little longer I promise"

Mike pulls out of your mouth leaving spit strings attaching you to him. He grips your sides and picks you up, laying you down on the edge of his bed. You instinctively rest your legs on his chest anytime you're put into the missionary position as it allows him to hit your more sensitive areas easier. He began lining up his length to your throbbing cunt, causing butterflies in your stomach. "You still with me?". You couldn't focus anymore but to nod in confirmation. A low groan left his lips as he slid into you. Slowly but surely you stretched to fit all of him.

"You're all mine princess- ALL fucking mine." Mike pounds deeply into you, using your hips as a handle to move you onto him like his personal fuck toy. The sounds of your pussy around him as well as your high pitched moans were so intoxicating to Mike. You were his favorite pastime activity. "I'm gonna pump so much cum into your sweet little pussy baby. Gonna fill you" he says while wrapping one hand around your throat. Just the thought of him finishing in you made you feel like a feral animal in heat.

Your climax sneaks up on you. You uncontrollably tremble on Mike while babbling what sounds like his name over and over again. Maybe if you were coherent it would be more obvious. "That's it, keep it up little fuck bunny. I love it when your tight pussy drools for me". You felt so overstimulated, bucking and rolling around but his hands pin you once more until he can finish. You felt so small and weak under his control.

He bottoms out in you. You can feel his rhythm getting sloppier, signifying his closeness. "Oh fuck b...baby I'm gon....gonna-" he whimpers. His head falls back while his fingernails dig into your hips. You're filled to the brim with his cum, some of it leaking out around him. For a second it's silent (beside the sound of both of you catching your breath that is). He slowly pulls out, careful not to spill any of his seed out of you. Mike slips his middle finger into you to push it deeper leaving you feeling deliciously full. 

You lay there with your eyes closed unable to wipe the grin off your face. "If this is what happens when I mouth off to him I definitely gotta do it more often" you think to yourself. You distractedly replay the series of events that just happened in your head. You hate to say it but you definitely tuned Mike out for a bit to recall everything correctly. "Hello? You there? Did I kill you? Oh no!! My poor baby!!" he teases, pretending to cry. "What will I ever do!!" He throws himself on top of you like a damsel in distress, pretty much crushing you. "Mikey I swear to god I will punch you" you chuckle. "You do that and I'll tell Abby you threw away her favorite crayons." You pull the blanket right below your eyes pretending to be scared, "Hey man I was just playing around- you'll actually get me killed like that."

⊱✿⊰

This is the final part of Good Morning Princess <3 I hope you guys enjoyed as much as I have!! It was so much fun writing this and I can't wait to keep creating. That being said if y'all have ideas please send them in, i'm pretty busy but Im on here daily. Thanks for reading!!!

[offurywithin]

Malia wasn’t innocent in the fallout. She knew it was easy to point fingers. Easy to say the split was all on Stiles, to say that him leaving had stung, disappointed her. But Malia also knew her fault even if she wasn’t willing to outright say the words. Apologizing was never in her nature. She was more only stick around if someone she cared about asked her to. She was the type of girl to leave you in the dust, to leave you behind. But Stiles had touched her in a profound way, he saw her and all her scars. And despite how complicated our friendship? If that was now. Malia did feel guilt for hurting him, for betraying the one person who loved her. Besides Peter who pretended he did when it was convenient for him. 

And was I vengeful when Stiles had decided to follow his heart with Lydia? Yes I was hurt, I felt betrayed by him like I was a place holder until Lydia was ready for him. And I felt that sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach now, I heard the sadness in his voice salty even when he spoke of it. And I felt like it was my duty to try to mend those fences with him, for our drive? For his expertise with supernatural creatures as our friendly jeep found its way back to Beacon hills. “ I’m sorry.” I’m sorry Lydia disappointed you, I’m sorry I was angry and had went out to spite you. But Malia was the only one who was convinced this new mission, the new haunting visions in our heads, the Allison of it all; needed one Stiles to help us solve the case. Glancing out the window as the topic moved to my ways of rejection, ripping someone’s throat out wouldn’t be the first if you asked me. A soft giggle left my lips. “ Mind you I had told him multiple times I wasn’t interested, so in this case he had it coming, a girl has to put her foot down.” A shrug of my shoulders now. It would’ve spelled Malia if she had gone through with ripping a throat out; but then Stiles dad would be knocking down my door, and we had an agreement, he fills me in on Stiles as long as I try my best to as I quote stay out of trouble. Consider it done. 

As for Peter a silent roll of my eyes now, why were we making small dad about my bastard of a dad, who only popped in when he wanted to ask me for a favor.. Yeah father of the year right there. “ He’s Peter, he disappears for lengths at a time, and appears when its convenient for him. But with Derek being a dad now.. I think both of them are surprisingly concerned, or its a weird alpha male shit..” Malia rambled off as the drive moved along, she hated how discomfort this was, Stiles used to be the person I leaned on, and now it was like we’re strangers.

@offurywithin

[I didn’t like being called an idiot. Yes, for what’s it worth, I knew deep down I did have my idiotic moments, but even in knowing that, I didn’t like when other people called me one. Even if Malia was right in saying so. Whatever the case might be, I wasn’t taking the full blame for Malia and I not being together now. When she and I broke up before, I did it because I was angry with myself over what happened between me and that chimera. I pushed everyone away, at that point, because I was afraid if anyone found out what I did, even though it was an accident and not really my fault, they would see me as a murderer. The thing was, those pipes fell down from that scaffolding while I was climbing it. They fell on their own, and ultimately impaled the chimera. It’s not like I used them as a weapon. Still, even in knowing that… Even as I replayed that nightmare out over and over again in my mind, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was a murderer. Even more so when Scott called me one and pushed me away after that. Go figure, my best friend since childhood… The guy I was always there for, no matter what, turned his back on me when I needed my best friend the most. Then just to add insult to injury, he made a move on Malia. It took a lot for me to forgive him after he kissed Lydia one full moon, but I let it go when I justified that he didn’t know what he was doing. It was the full moon doing it. I couldn’t use that excuse when he made out with Malia though. Scott knew how much I loved Malia, yet he did it anyway. Turns out the guy I thought was my best and most trusted friend was someone I couldn’t trust at all. All of which led me to question why I was going back to Beacon Hills with Malia now. Sure, a lot of that was only because I knew if I didn’t agree, Malia would probably knock me out, throw me in the vehicle, and take me there either way. Still though, I knew Scott wouldn’t want my help, so why should I even try? I thought to myself as I heard Malia’s apology about kissing Scott. I knew she wasn’t big on apologies so if she was saying one now, she meant it. I didn’t know what to do with it yet though] Hey, idiot or not, I tried to fix things with us… Or at least that was my intention. Like I said, I realized you had moved on with my so-called best friend, so I thought you were done with me. Why wouldn’t I? Seemed to me you had moved on, so in time, I did too. [I shrugged casually. We were both at fault here. I had a feeling we still loved each other though, so maybe we could find a way to get beyond our mistakes in the past, and find a future together. Jury was still out on that one though] Eh, Lydia’s with Parrish now, and from what my dad says, they’re pretty serious, so all the best to them. [I shrugged once more. Was I happy for them? No. Not a chance, but no point in harboring bitterness. It wouldn’t change anything] She always liked older guys anyway. I really think she only tried with me because she hadn’t ever dated a dork before and wanted to know what that was like. [My words tinged with sarcasm as I spoke] What about you? Are you seeing anyone now? [Wanting to know now in case I try to kiss her at some point. I’d like to know in advance if she was going to punch me in the face, or some supernatural creature she was seeing would rip my throat out or something for me trying to move in on their girl. Hey, knowing my luck, it wouldn’t surprise me]

[sanyuuu]

⩩ pov: you caught them jerking off ( part 1 )

including: eren, jean, reiner, armin, erwin, bertholdt, porco

warnings: smut, a little bit of humor, daddy kink, mention of: fleshlight, pantie, pet name ( kitten ), gender neutral reader, jerking off obviously, minors do not interact ( 18+ only )

a/n: hi everyone! I just have to tell y'all that English isn't my native language, sorry if there's any mistakes </3 I'm also kinda stressed bc that's the first aot content that I post, hope you'll like it! please, do not steal my work/ideas :/

⟳Eren :

- The second you enter you shared bedroom, you know it's over 💀

- Eren would not stop pumping lazily his thick cock, precum gathering on the tip, sending you a heated gaze, some strands of his messy bun sticking to his forehead because of the thin layer of sweat that covers his body.

- This vision alone will make you rub your thighs in anticipation, which will make Eren smirk like the cocky mf he is--

- "Come and make daddy feel good baby."

⟳Reiner :

- You were in the living room, scrolling through TikTok when you suddenly heard strange noises.

- Starting your research, you conclude that those sounds come from your bedroom, where Reiner is.

- Opening the door as quietly as you can, you see you bf who's stroking his veiny cock furiously, chasing his own high, precum leaking from the fat reddish head.

- He also muffles his grunts by biting in his t-shirt because poor baby doesn't want to disturb you </3

- That's only after shooting his load on his belly that he will notice you, his cheeks glowing red.

- "Were you watching?"

⟳Armin :

- Let's face it: he was too shy to ask you to take care of his problem during your weekly friday movie night.

- Right in the middle of an erotic scene, he stood up and stuttered an apology before going straight to your shared bedroom like 🚪🏃🏼

- A couple of minutes after, seing that he wasn't coming back, you decided to join him just to make sure he was okay.

- When you opened the door, istg he was like this 💀💀 and then he covered his erection with the sheets, his face all red.

- "D-Don't look y/n !"

⟳Erwin :

- So you were coming home from the market, leaving your bags on the kitchen counter as you searched for you bf, Erwin, who was busy with his work, as always.

- You called out his name to ask him to help you with the groceries, but there was no answer, which you thought was strange. so you decided to sneak in his office-

- That's how you caught him jerking off, his hand deep in his pants, brows furrowed and lips slightly parted, letting escape soft moans.

- When he saw you, he pulled out his dick, which slammed against his shirt before asking:

- "Can you help me kitten?"

⟳Bertholdt :

- Another shy baby </3

- but don't get me wrong, this giant baby knows how to take care of himself-

- when you walked on him, this first thing you saw was him, lying down on your bed, a fleshlight going down on his dick, his eyes totally shut.

- the fleshlight wasn't even a gift from you, it was from Reiner back when Berty didn't had you 💀

- As he kept pumping his length with the toy, you climbed silently on the bed, putting your hand over his, which made him totally freak out.

- "It'snotwhatyouthinkitis--"

⟳Porco :

- He's a pantie thief for sure 💀

- Lately you were wondering why some of your favorite panties were missing, your bf blaming it on the washing machine.

- But one day, when you came home earlier from work, you discovered that the real thief wasn't the washing machine 😱

- As you entered your shared bedroom without knocking, you can clearly see Porco, one of his hand fucking his cock with your favorite pantie no.1, the other one gripping on your favorite pantie no.2 on his face, while smelling deeply the thin material.

- When he finally saw you, he freezed for an instant before coming back to his occupation, staring at you with a lust gaze.

- "I found these in the washing machine."

⟳Jean :

- As you had nothing to do, you decided to do the laundry, so you went to the bathroom to pick up all of your dirty clothes, not expecting your boyfriend to jerk off in the shower.

- When you opened the door, you first thought that Jean was taking a shower because of the noise of the water running, but his moves were kinda strange if you know what I'm saying--

- You could only see him from behind, but it was enough to get you turned on: the way his muscles flexed, soft sighs of pleasure leaving his mouth, the way his head falls back as he reach his high.

- And when he finally turned back, he was like a deer in light, not daring to move a single muscle, only murmuring.

- "Since when you are here?"

Next chapter

[chaoticevilbean]

An (Un)Official List Of Things Only Anakin Skywalker Can Do

Originally written by Ayala Secura

Blow people up with his mind on accident

Anakin expressed concern over his lack of emotional control. He gave many examples of normal problems that can arise from this. He then casually added one that is not common, usual, or even plausible for known Jedi. From his recollection, he would often cause beings who enraged him to spontaneously and violently combust.

I did my best to reassure him that such things were considered unusual, but weren't reason for him to be fearful. At the time, I simply didn't wish to increase his worries. I did maintain that the exploding of beings is very bad, and that he should work on finding ways to productively release such strong emotions.

I apologize here for the "renovation" of the hangar. (Secura)

Hear as far as the length of the Temple (without meditation)

Amendment: Hear as far as the diameter of Coruscant (without meditation)

Anakin once again was expressing concerns over his lack of control. He also complained that it was causing him headaches. Upon my questioning, he explained that he could hear the younglings playing on the other side of the Temple. I tested this by having us stand on either end of the longest part of the Temple we could reach. I asked if he could hear me (without a comm) and he responded that he could (using a comm).

Later, when he was still within the Temple, I found myself on a mission with my Master. It was not a very rushed assignment, and I began humming. Upon my return to the Temple, Anakin asked me if I knew what song it was, humming the exact tune I had. Apparently, he had been walking with his own Master and had heard me, though he hadn't been focusing enough to identify what he was doing. (Secura)

Smell differences within water despite being a non-variant Human

Smell differences within air despite being a non-variant Human

He accompanied me to the Room of a Thousand Fountains. It was a normal walk through the gardens, until we came across one of the smaller ponds. He commented that someone had cleaned it recently. When I asked how he knew, he explained that it smelled different.

He and I were sitting within his quarters. We were simply chatting when he complained that someone had messed with the ventilation without alerting him or Knight Kenobi. He could smell the air was slightly different than before. As he put it, the smell wasn't the problem, but the lack of communication was.

Both instances, he couldn't elaborate on what exactly the smells were, nor how he knew what each one meant. He simply knows these things. When tested with some other Padawans, the only ones that came close to knowing such things were Nautolans, out of a base group of 15 species. The experiment is listed in the Archives as Liquid and Gaseous Change Detection. (Secura)

Eat death sticks without consequence

Both of our Masters brought us to the lower levels in order to fulfill a mission. Anakin and I were left in a corner booth, with instructions to remain there and cause a commotion if someone attempted to harm or harrass us.

I looked away for TEN SECONDS. Ten seconds, and he was being offered a death stick by a clearly intoxicated individual who had no sense of what should and shouldn't be given to a barely ten-cycle-old. Anakin had no experience with such things. He had no idea what he was being given, and managed to get instructions to pour the liquid into his fizzyglug within the fleeting moment I was not paying attention.

He consumed it, chugging the liquid when I attempted to order him to stop, and then take it from him when he didn't listen. The individual who gave him the death stick had the sense to begin to panic, finally realizing Anakin's youth. However, Anakin finished off every drop with nothing but a smile. I got our Masters attention, but even after taking him to the nearest medcenter and runnign multiple scans, there were no signs of any harm. I have received significant therapy for that event, and Anakin has since been informed to not take anything from strangers. (Secura)

Generate electricity on levels that a (non-variant) Human cannot perform (without a health declination)

He was making his hair do that weird static thing that Human hair does every time he got excited. He also kept causing screens and pads to glitch or turn off whenever he picked them up while in a similar state. A solution of temporary insulating gloves and frequent reminders helped him gain control. (Secura)

Communicate words through the Force with minimal bonding

Amendment: No bonding is necessary for this form of communication, and is possible within the expanse of the Temple

Amendment: Communication is possible over most distances

He asked me if Aayla was available to study (with the Force) because his mouth was full and he'd already been told off that day. (Vos)

Skywalker told me that my Padawan was experiencing a panic attack from across the Temple. No bond existed between us before or after the interaction. (Fisto)

Skywalker informed me of a mission delay over several systems. He explained later that he was attempting to prevent his Master's worry about informing the Council and knew I would inform the other members for Kenobi. (Windu)

Consume raw meat (without a health declination) despite being a non-variant Human

Nervous to eat lunch alone, he was. Asked to eat together, I did. Showed him the kitchens, I did. Ate five live frogs, he did. Proud, I am. (Yoda)

I handed him a rodent I had found within my quarters, asking him to hold it so I could call someone. I was going to call a being who could help me prevent further instances and get rid of this rodent. I needn't have worried about relocating or disposing of the creature, though. I remember hearing a loud squeal, then turning to find Skywalker trying to tear away the fur of the rodent. He had no notion that it was an unusual habit for a Human. (Ti)

Jump into the Temple vents without using the walls

Amendment: Without using any aid

Amendment: Jump in/out of the Temple vents and on/off obstacles of similar height without any aid whatsoever

He's proved this multiple times over various training excercises, and occasionally his attempts to avoid said excercises. There's footage of it from the Temple's cameras. He has no regard for safety when it comes to jumping off of ledges, cliffs, or roofs/out windows. Caution advisory does nothing. (Kenobi)

Send emotions through the Force without a bond

Amendment: Send emotions without a bond, over great distances, with extreme precision and without any meditation or prior preparation - such emotions will likely be magnified upon reception, and can cause fainting, among other symptoms

Upon the death of notable Jedi Master Pak'll Tiffn, I had decided to participate in their culture's traditional week-long mourning practices. Near the end of this, young Skywalker asked me why I seemed so "down". I explained my grief at the death of Master Tiffn, and he continued to question me on the cause of my "distress". When he discovered I had technically finished the practices an hour before, he sent such a strong wave of excitement to me that I found it hard to not smile for the following three days.

I also found myself wishing to work on starfighter engines, which I attribute to the excitement being of Skywalker's creation. (Tiin)

I had a migraine while on a mission. Skywalker sent me a wave of comfort that caused me to pass out. He has since been informed that he should not interact with Jedi in the field unless he is certain they are in a safe enough position to do so. (Windu)

Accidentally cause plants to grow at a visibly accelerated rate

Anakin fell asleep in the Room of a Thousand Fountains while attempting to meditate. Upon my arrival, I found the grass already past my knees in height, and several nearby shrubs beginning to flower. I write my apologies here to the caretakers of the Room, and express my gratitude that none of you commented on it. (Kenobi)

Accidental levitation whilst walking

Amendment: Accidental levitation whilst walking, running, and other movement in which one is not standing/sitting/lying in a singular place

Witnessed during sparring practice with Master Kit Fisto and Master Ki-Adi Mundi

Bypass shielding enough to receive a clear perception of a being's emotions

I was working through some guilt over a recent mission and the requirements to fulfill it. Anakin walked over and did his best to comfort me without any understanding of why I was feeling that way, but knowing exactly what I was feeling. Throughout our entire interaction, my shields remained firmly in place, and strong enough that he really shouldn't have been able to even know where I was.

Oh yeah. He came from across the Temple to find me. He bypassed my shielding from across the Temple, without realizing his actions, and did so with better precision than a fully trained Master. (Vos)

Carry items of any weight without strain from channeling

According to Skywalker, the only trouble he has with lifting all the furniture in his quarters is he has to focus on the act while also looking for his missing holopad. (Koon)

(regarding previous entry) Reminds me of the time he lifted all the ships in Hangar 6 in order to find a single wrench, which was in somehow within the vents. (Billaba)

Cause a building-wide power outage from a nightmare/vision

Incident recorded as Padawan-induced. (Nu)

Bite through beskar when curious

Taste the strength of metals

Skywalker is no longer allowed in the forges without someone actively supervising him and him alone. He saw a piece of beskar I had managed to aquire. He was curious about the ore, due to it being unknown to him. I caught him with it in his mouth like some youngling sneaking a cookie. Apparently it tasted really strong. I thought he meant the taste was pungent, until he said that even durasteel didn't taste as strong. (Ria)

Heal minor personal wounds immediately, within a few seconds and without discernible energy usage

Heal major personal wounds immediately, up to halving recovery time and with lessened energy usage

Incidents recorded in mission reports including Skywalker (Nu)

Accidentally mind trick crowds of 20 or more

Amendment: Untested limit of how many can be affected, although the effectiveness of the tricks varies between individuals, and can reach up to 50 beings (recorded)

Note to all those who may serve a diplomatic mission with Skywalker: he can safely diffuse mobs, protests, and other upset crowds. He will need time to calm his own emotions afterwards, as it is (theoretically) his increasing anxiety that causes such effects. (Fisto)

Learn a language after hearing it only once

Amendment: Anakin will not know this is happening. He will simply begin to speak the language back at whoever spoke it to him.

Incidents recorded in mission reports including Skywalker (Nu)

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

All Jedi are now welcome to add to the (Un)Official List of Things Only Anakin Skywalker Can Do. All editors are asked to put some form of a source, even if such source is simply a page-long rant about Padawan Skywalker's habit of not checking if a substance should be poisonous to him (condolences to Knight Vos).

Please also include some sort of identifier to connect each edit to the being(s) who created them.

Sincerest gratitude and condolences to all Jedi who find themselves editing this file. (Secura)

[starlightsearches]

Hi Star! from the not-so-SFW prompts, maybe 1 +4 please? Thank you so much my friend! 🤩💖

Hey Irma, thanks for the request!

Hux x reader (f)

Requests are open ✨ (but slow-going)

1. I’m gonna fill you up to the brim,” and 4. “don’t talk with your mouth full,” from the top/dom prompt lists

Warnings: Dom! Hux, Sub! reader, vibrator use, oral (m receiving), over-stimulation, name-calling, facial, semi-public play, I don't remember what else so let me know if I missed anything!

The muscles in your fingers ache, hands clenched so hard at your sides you think your bones may splinter. Your toes curl inside your boots, thighs shaking, and you focus on taking deep breaths—quiet as you can—the blood rushing from your head, leaving you dizzy and faint.

You've been on edge for too long. You'll lose your mind if this continues.

Across the bridge, General Hux smirks, giving the remote in his hand a subtle twist. Your lips part of their own accord, the vibrator nestled just inside your slick entrance reaching a new peak before returning to a subtle rumble and slowly growing silent.

You can feel every minute of it—this game you've decided to play—every swallowed moan and stolen chance of pleasure stored in your aching core, begging to be released.

Taking a deep breath, you glance out of the corner of your eye. If the officer beside you notices anything amiss, he doesn't let on, his expression almost bored as he monitors the empty expanses of space for non-existent threats. The vibrator is quiet, at least; you're glad you haven't spilled your little secret with a wanton sigh or trembling hand.

Maybe he'd like that. Maybe the general is waiting for the moment you break—wants everyone to see you crumble under the weight of the pleasure he gives you, wants to watch them watching you, sweat-slicked and possessed, writing in an ecstasy only he can bring. Maybe he wants them all to know that you belong to him.

It's an intriguing idea, and your cunt clenches as the vision plays out, but you know him too well.

He wants you all to himself.

You do your best to school your features as you make your approach, but it's no use. You can't help the way your face goes soft when you look at him—the admiration in your eyes, the soft parting of your lips, memories like sugar on your tongue when you think about every way he's loved you.

His eyes latch on to yours, smug, the vibrator humming with triumph, singing against your skin. You don't break your stride or his gaze.

"General Hux," you begin, your mouth dry and voice shaking, "may I speak to you for a moment in your office? It's a matter of some urgency." He pauses, reading you. Maybe he's impressed you've lasted this long.

Or maybe he's planning on teasing you for a little while longer.

Either way, he nods, gesturing for you to lead the way, following just a little too close behind to be considered appropriate.

If anyone one on the bridge notices, they don't speak until you after you're out of the room.

The door to his office closes behind you, and you let it support your weight, your muscles too sore to hold you upright any longer.

He pretends as not to notice, adjusting his gloves before turning to face you. "What did you want to speak with me about, lieutenant?"

“Please," you swallow past the lump in your throat, "I need to cum. I need it."

His shoulders drop, lips pressed together with a pitying smile, his eyes tracing your features with a scalpel's precision. “I don’t think you’ve earned it, pet.”

The vibrator rumbles, and your eyes fall closed, listening to the taps of his shoes as he stalks closer. You could end this, right now. You could let the word fall from your quivering lips and he'd drop the facade immediately, pulling you into his arms and coaxing the sweetest heights out of you, his lips pressing gentle apologies against your skin.

You lick your lips instead, putting all your focus into your next words. “What can I do?”

“I want you—" he presses in closer, the heat of his body heavy against your own but his his knuckles light as a whisper when he strokes them down the length of your cheek, his breath feathering through your hair, "—on your knees.”

Oh thank gods. You meet his gaze, his dilated pupils swallowing the color from his eyes, turning them dark behind gilded lashes. His hand stays on your cheek as you shift to the floor, and you focus on that rather than the sting of the durasteel against your skin.

“Look at you, eager little thing,” he whispers, pressing two fingers against your lips until they part, and you taste leather, gagging slightly as he slides his digits between your teeth.

He hums, disappointed, dragging his slick fingers from your mouth, encasing your jaw in his hand, pulling your chin higher so he can look in your eyes when he leans in close.

“Is that the best you can do? I had expected more.”

Your words are stolen from your throat when the vibrator sparks to life again, the intensity quickly rising until you're staring into the abyss at the back of your eyelids.

"Does that feel good?"

Your cunt drips, soaking into the fabric of your uniform. You can only hum in response, haphazardly shifting on your knees, aching for more contact, more pressure.

He shifts his grip against your jaw, smearing more of your spit over your cheek. "Are you sure? What if you could have my cock instead?"

You buck your hips forward, grateful his office is sound-proofed to the outside when you hear the desperation in your whine.

"Please."

"I'll be so good to you. I'll fill you up to the brim—" he pets his hand over your hair, gripping tight at the back of your neck, his lips almost on yours. The buzz of the vibrator fills you, overtaking every other sense, and you're there, at the peak, waiting to fall over onto the other side.

"Later."

It's all ruined. The vibrator goes still.

There must be tears on your cheeks, because he clears them away with both hands, cupping your face between his palms. You see the question in the deep green of his eyes—is this okay?—the silent worry that he might be taking this too far. You nod against his grasp.

"I'm just trying to provide some motivation," he whispers, pressing the softest kiss against your cheek. You reach for the fastener on his pants, pressing your hands tight against his body to keep your fingers from shaking.

His neck stretches to the ceiling high above you, but you still hear that gasp when you grip his cock, your feverish skin meeting his own. He's harder than you've ever seen him, his dick flushed a deep purple like a bruise. It makes your mouth water.

Your lips encompass the tip, licking a firm stripe over the slit, letting the salt of him spread through your mouth.

“Good girl,” he breathes, taking the back of your head in his hand, pulling your closer, “now choke on it.”

His dick hits the back of your throat, halting the breath in your lungs, and you gag on the excess spit that floods past your cheeks and pools at the corners of your lips.

His hand encases the back of your head and he groans. “Such a perfect little slut for me.”

Gods. He's never like this; never mean, never so demanding. You're fighting to breathe, your throat squeezing involuntarily around the head of his dick as he fucks into your mouth with harsh thrusts, moans like sin echoing off the walls.

He must be close. You can feel it in his fingers, gripping tighter in your hair, buried against your scalp, hear it in the groans he tries to keep locked behind gritted teeth. But more than anything, you know it's true when the vibrator roars back to life, blurring out every minor pain with a roaring pleasure.

You whine around his cock, the sound muffled by the weight of it. It's too much, too fast, but there are no words for what you're feeling, just sticky tears and fragmented moans.

He silences you with a soft tug at your roots. "Don’t talk with your mouth full.”

Your orgasm rips through you, pouring in pleasure, leeching the strength from your limbs until he's supporting most of your weight, holding you by the back of the neck.

It only takes a few more strokes before he finishes, hot ropes of cum sticking to your skin, pooling against your lashes, melting into your hair.

You don't have the energy to stand, but he finds his way to your level, laying down beside you on his office floor. His skin sticks to yours, mouth urgent and searching.

"Thank you," he whispers, brushing his thumb over your skin, cleaning his spend from your cheek. He presses the digit against your tongue, letting you taste the tang of his pleasure. It's not just the release that he's thanking you for, but the vulnerability. The trust you placed in him. He's not saying it, but you know what he means. There's love in that trust. Love in the way he strokes a hand over your hair, the soft smile on his lips.

He loves you. The feeling is mutual. It's enough to bring tears to your eyes.

You smile, press a kiss to his cheek. "Don't mention it."

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[awesomerextyphoon]

I love your writing. May I have Loki x Reader? The reader is a sweet, delicate dreamer. Loki has come to conquer the world. He saw her and wants her to become his Queen of Midgard. He kidnapped her. She pleads with him to let her go while she is tied to the bed. He caresses her hair and says she will love him (he doesn't want to use the scepter on her).

***Can I have White Reader x Loki, please? Loki just escaped from the Helicarrier. He saw the reader who is a sweet and innocent creature. Loki doesn't want her dead when he will start battle. Loki kidnaps her and locks her up to keep her safe. When he wins, Loki tells her that she will become his queen.***

Hi! I decided to combine the prompts and make the reader plus-sized. I hope you enjoy! 

His Match

Pairing: Dark!Loki x Plus-Sized Female Reader 

Summary: You’ve tried to live by your grandmother’s rule  of being kind to others, even when the world gives you the middle finger. What if a Norse God decided reward you by becoming his Queen?

Word Count: 1,745

Rating: 18+/Mature

Warning: Kidnapping, Implied Dub/Non-Con, Angst, and some Violence

A/N: Thanks goes to the amazing @angrythingstarlight for beta reading this!

Loki was walking around New York City, scouting Stark Tower making sure the final preparations of his plan was perfect when something, or rather someone, caught his eye.

She walked out of what looked like a women’s clothing store with a forlorn smile. She was plumper than the average female Midgardian last time he frequented the realm. His eyes did not miss the enticing curves that lied beneath her clothes despite her efforts to ensconce herself into the background.

She was a vision.

Her eyes met his for the briefest of moments and it felt like time stopped. His heart quickened in his chest and a rush of blood surged to his groin.

He had to follow her. His Elskan.

“Barton, tell the others I’ll be out for a few more hours. Proceed as planned.”

–––––

He found you entering a rather destitute apartment complex. Its lights and foundation were a bit unsound and gave off a seedy ambience.

Loki grimaced at her living conditions. When he ruled Midgard, she would have only the best.

Casting a simple concealment spell, Loki entered her fairly small apartment. She began mixing ingredients together for what looked to be ‘chocolate chip cookies’. He smiled as he inhaled the sweet aroma knowingly; Asgard had only recently started consuming the sweet. She soon laid out a batch of thick, scrumptious cookies with a satisfied expression.

They reminded him of better times when he and Thor would sneak into the kitchens and swipe confections from under the baker’s nose. Loki chuckled at the memory; those were the days.

Not ten minutes after she placed the last cookie onto the cooling rack did her phone ring. It was her mother. Loki felt dread coming off his Elskan in waves.

Loki could only make out bits and pieces of the conversation, if you could call it that. Her mother constantly nagged her about her weight, life choices, and her ‘pathetic’ attempts to get over her ex-boyfriend. His heart broke as he saw tears begin to fall and the croaking of her voice as she bid the odious creature goodnight.

Several minutes after she cried herself to sleep, Loki entered his Elskan’s bedroom. He spied her diary on the nightstand and decided to read a few pages.

He was fuming within two minutes.

How dare that caustic pig sow treat his Elskan, her own daughter, in a such ghastly manner! Her ‘perfect’ sister always slighting and reminding her on how ‘she’ll never be good enough for anything’ and her father’s callous indifference to her cries for help and solace only added to his rage. Combined with the way her ex-boyfriend, the repugnant gnat, treated her (he cheated on her with someone who ‘wasn’t built like a blimp’ and ‘the only thing you thing you had going for you were your tits’) and he wanted to speed up the invasion just to watch the horror become engrained onto their faces.

And yet, she endeavored to treat everyone with kindness harkening back to your grandmother. She strived to be the one light in one’s otherwise miserable existence.

Well, she can be his light as his Elskan and Queen.

Loki took a deep, cleansing breath. He needed to stick to the plan. When he conquers Midgard, she will be their queen. She will grace the undeserving masses with her elegance and beauty and he will worship her every chance he got.

He just had to make her see it that way.

Gently, the light forest green glow of Loki's magic flowed from his hand to the crown of her head like a halo. He leaned in and kissed her cheek with a smile as he left.

He hated to leave her, but he had a realm to conquer. Though he hoped she’d enjoy the introductory gift.

––––––

You were in your grandmother’s living room; spacious yet comfy with all of her quirkiness and splendor included. It was odd since you haven’t been in her house since your parents sold after her death seven years ago. You tearfully smiled remembering all the good times you had with her, the only member of your family you gave you any true warmth or love.

Her piano was in the corner, barely aged a day with all the music sheets, pens, a light scratches you came to know and love. You took your seat and started to play the piano version of one of your favorite movie themes.

You were so engrossed in playing, you failed to notice someone materializing into your dreamscape.

“What a lovely tune! What is it called?” A smooth, honey-tinged voice broke your concentration.

You turned your head and saw what had to be the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen. He was tall (6’ 10” / 2.08m) easily towering over any man you’ve ever met. He had smooth alabaster skin, light rose undertones with a little blue-red just under his eyes. His cheekbones were immaculate, somehow looked sharp and soft at the same time. He had thin lips with a fair plumpness to the bottom one. His slicked-back, shoulder-length Ponzu/Shadow Purple hair kissed his lean, battle-hardened physique (if the way he’s filling out his outfit was anyway to go by). All of this deliciousness was clothed in a casual Palm Green suit with a Glossy Black tie and shoes.

It took you a full minute to stop ogling him, “Wha-What did you say?”

“I apologize for disturbing you, my lady. I asked what you were playing.” His voice had hints of mirth which was odd considering his appearance. Most people in his league would give you a thinly veiled sneer of disgust, but he seemed genuinely interested.

“Um, well, it’s called Merry-Go-Round of Life from the movie Howl’s Moving Castle. It’s a favorite of mine. I used to play it all the time until…” You trailed off, not wanting to revisit how your grandmother died.

“You do not have to tell me if it brings you such displeasure.”

“Thank you, um…”

“Loki. Please, call me Loki.”

“Loki,” he inwardly moaned at the way you said his name, “Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise. Please, continue playing.”

And you did for what felt like hours, all while your sexy dream companion asked about your hopes, dreams, anything he could think of really. You in turn asked him about his life and interests; you even laughed at a story of his brother having to dress like a bride to get his hammer back.

You soon became enamored with Loki. It was refreshing to be noticed with actual interest, not ridicule or pity. He seemed to taken with you as well, if his gentle caresses and not-so-subtle lustful glances he gave you were any indication.

You were glad this was just a dream. You didn’t want your heart to break like last time.

Loki was about to lean in for a kiss when everything faded to black.

–––––

You jolted up from the mattress and screamed once you realized you weren’t in your room.

No, this room was…spectacular for lack of better word. It had high ceilings, large windows, ornate chandeliers, and magnificent balcony. Luxurious dark greens, gold, and black covered the room in splendor. Extravagant pieces of furniture dripped with precious stones metal worthy of queens or royal mistresses of old.

“What is this place?”

You tried to leave but was forced back onto the bed by a force field. You tried to take calm breaths just like your therapist taught you in order to make an escape plan.

No sooner did you calm down than the door open to reveal-

“Loki!”

Only Loki was wearing radically different clothing; looked like he walked right out of a fantasy epic. And yet, his smile was enchanting.

“What am I doing here? I need to go back home.”

He tutted in response, “That would not be wise, Elskan Mín. This world is mine now and this is safest place to be.” He was right. His brother’s team of desperate souls were no match for his cunning and Chitauri Forces. Midgard’s pathetic leaders gave up in less than an hour once their beloved ‘heroes’ were defeated, broken, and laid bare before them.

“You can’t be serious, Loki. I need to leave.”

“And go where? Like I said, this realm is mine now. That rat poison of a dwelling is no more and I have dealt with your ‘family’ as needed.” Loki smirked at the memories. It gave him extreme joy squeezing the life out of that worthless pig of mother, breaking every bone in your father’s body one by one, and leaving your ‘perfect’ sister alive with partially rotten skin. Not even the scavengers or maggots would find or want the remains of the scurvy insect of an ex-boyfriend, though he was still alive..just barely.

Well, at least until he decided on how to destroy the blight of creature.

Though he did make sure to leave two of your real friend were treated well. You needed to have someone to talk to while he was away.

You gazed into his Spearmint colored eyes in one last attempt, “Please Loki! If you love me, you’ll let me go!”

For a split second, you could’ve sworn you saw hurt in his eyes and he glided across the room. You back hit the headboard in you sad efforts to get away from him.

“Elskan Mín, I promise to always love, cherish, and worship every part of your glorious body. You will become Midgard’s queen and my goddess. No. One. Will. Ever. Demean. Or. Slight. You. Again.” he punctuated each word of the last sentence with soft, open-mouthed kisses to your face, neck, shoulders, and collarbone.

You tried to fight him, but it felt so good. His touches sent shots of lightning to your core; plus his lips and fingers were cook to the touch provided excellent contrast to the spike in heat.

You started crying realizing how pathetic this was, to have the first person to profess such feelings be a kidnapper. You were actually contemplating whether or not he was telling the truth.

Loki sensed your sorrow and kissed your tears away. “I know this might be ‘difficult’ at first, but you will love me in time.” He hoped he did not have to use the scepter.

You thought about your dream and all of the effort he was putting into this. It was frightening, but it came from a place of love.

Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to stay.

–––––––

@lookiamtrying @jtargaryen18 @sapphirescrolls @jobean12-blog @sweeterthanthis @gotnofucks @mcudarklibrary@saiyanprincessswanie @golden-ariess @navegandoaciegas @stargazingfangirl18 @opheliadawnwalker3 @tilltheendwilliwritee  @imanuglywombat @bucky-the-thigh-slayer @navybrat817 @anyatheladyclown @buckysbunny @nacho-bucky @donutloverxo @stephanieromanoff @threeminutesoflife @angrybirdcr​ @angrythingstarlight @chixkencxrry @hurricanerin @marvelfansworld @the-soulofdevil @captain–barnes @drabblewithfrannybarnes @thebanprincess @winteralpine @leslie2898 @buttercandy16 @propertyofpoeandbucky @hevans-angel @thorfanficwriter @afriendlyblackhottie @avintagekiss24 @syntheticavenger @phant0m-queen @tuiccim​ @blueberrythor​ @river-soul @justthehiddleswrites @sweetkingdomstarlight-blog

[tparker48]

"Your task is simple noobie, sneak into our opponent's team and get intel on who to look out for. And do not get caught, we won't be able to reach you in there" his captain said.

"Understood, I'll be in and out before you know it" the tiny would crawl underneath the gap of locker room doors as he walking into the area. The tiles slightly pale as the air smelled of old sweat. Carefully, he made his way toward one of the lockers as he climbed the hole along the panel to the top. Thankfully he picked one that wasn't too noisy as his shoes hit latched on the ends.

He climbed all the way to the top as he perched himself upon an edge as he heard the doors begin to open. Each of the players would shift themselves into the area the sound of cleats and banging shoulder pads came closer. As they came into view, the little would duck a little as he readied his camera.

"Man was that an interesting skrim match. I swear that shoulder nearly knock me off my feet"

"Heh, you that heavy dude. You're almost light as a feather. But speaking of feet, mine are nearly killing me with that running we've been doing"

"Man, they must be really packin this year" the little guy said holding his camera. listening amongst the crowd of players as each conversed with one another. At the same time, he would begin to take pictures from his phone as he scanned and snapped each number and player they see. But there was a particularly bunch that caught his attention the sound of ruckus echoed through the lockers. A hoard of players would begin to swarm the locker doors as each got ready to change from there gear.

"Good work boys, freshen up and get ready for the game tomorrow. And sure to plenty of rest" the coach said among them. The little guy tried to take a picture of him, but sea of players would keep him out of frame before losing him. But a sudden ruckus would soon to turn up below him as the two players were caught in an argument.

"Next time you decide to catch the ball 27, make sure you can actually catch" he heard from below. He held his camera over the edge as he took pictures at the two.

"Get off my case 60! You're the one who threw it too far"

"Not my fault you can't catch think faster than you. Psh, might as well stick to line"

"Ooo note, players 27 and 60 have no coordination. This'll be usueful for tomorrow" the little guy said.

"I'll show you who should stick to line back" one of the players would tackle into the other as they were sent into the locker. Its startled the little guy at first as he continued taking pictures. At that point, the commotion would be to get attraction as the other players would start to gather around.

"Fight! Fight! Fight!" They echoed through the locker room.

"Ooo ho ho, now this this is some useful info. Just let them go at take picture and numbers. Simpl-"

"Hey 26! Brace yourself!" Number 60 would go in for a tackle as the both the players crashed into the locker. The force behind it would shake the frame as it distorted the little guy's balance. Before he could get his footing back, he fell of the lockers as he tumbled to the ground

"Please land somewhere soft! Please land somewhere soft!" The little yelled as he fell to the ground. His vision constantly turning before becoming dark with a white surface in front of him. He blinked his eyes for a moment as he slowly got up and looked at the surface. A cushioned pad would be underneath him as he gave a deep sigh of relief. He soon began to stand back to his feet as the as it went to get off and pat himself down. "Oh Thank goodness,for a second there i thought i was gonna land somewhere wor-..." standing on the bench, the little guy started to look up as pillars of players towered around the table. Each of them peering down at the little guy standing in the center of the table.

"What's a little guy doing in here?"

"I don't know, but he picked the place to snoop around. Probably stealing something".

"Let me at em, i'll show him something he can snoop into"

"Eheh, now now guys. Let's not be too hasty. I um...i can explain" the little guy says backing into the pad. The players getting even more closer to the table.

"Now now boys, that's no way to treat a little. Allow me.." The team captain would push a few players aside as the he stood at the front of the table. Moving himself a little closer as his hair blocked the light overhead. "Apologies for them, they tend to get a little roudy when they see someone smaller than them. What's brings you here little one? Never seen someone the of football around here"

"I-I....**ahem** im simply passing through. Heard some commmotion and...decided to look into it. Didn't want to cause any attention"

"Cause the attention huh? Well you certainly are beyond that point" the team captain soon saw a glare from his vision as he looked to the little camera in the pile. The little guy froze for a bit as two finger rose over head a picked it up. "Hmph! Passing through huh? Looks to me like you were taking pictures" he eyed the camera for a bit before seeing a symbol from another university. "Ah i see, so the they're snooping on us huh? We got ourselves a spy boys!" The team captain held up the camera into the air as many squinted at it, but their gaze soon turned downward as the furrowed their look down at the little guy.

"W-what no! I wasn't spying at all. Just hear me out-"

"Sorry little one, evidence spells clear as day. So the other team wasn't to know more about us huh? Heh, well then lets give them what they ask for. Boys? Form a line" with an echoed chuckle, the would line themselves, behind the captain as he stood in front of the table.

"Gah!" The little guy would try and hop off the table, but a thumb would rest on his legs.

"Ah ah ah, can't have you running off just yet. And to make sure you don't" the captain would pull out a patch of tape as he laid it across the little guy's legs.

"Hey! Wha-what are you doing!"

Giving you the info you wanted" the captain would turn his back towards the little guy on table as he unfastened his pants. Pulling them down, his round glutes would stick out partially as he hover the crack over.

"Th-this is insane, what if your coach comes back and sees you doing this?" The little would pry at the tape, but he wasn't able to get a good hold.

"The coach's gone for today, which means its just you and us. And we hehe, have a very special gift for your data" the captain would soon drop to the table as his ass planted ontop of the little guy. He felt his cheeks spread a little as the sound of little muffles echoed from underneath.

The little guy's world would be dark, but the warm smell still remained as he pushed his hands between the ass crack. With each push, he could feel the hairs along the cracks length and in between it, the hole clenching at him as he bucked against it. "Hey! This isn't funny, get...off of me!".

"Sure thing. But first, your gift" as the captain sat down firmly onto the table, he would soon begin to spread his left cheek away from the other as the wall of ass planted ontop of the little guy. The sound of churning echoed above him before the hole he pushed against began to open up, before the little knew it, a warm scent escaped from inside as his nose scrunched at the smell of it.

"There go, fresh data just for you. I hope you like it"

"Augh! Come on, seriously. Get off me alrea-" before the little could finish, a rush of hot air burst into him as the smell followed behind it. The captain would feel the seat begin to warm as he chuckled to himself. Feeling the little hands underneath pounding against his. Ass as released another one. At that point, the little guy's eyes would begin to water as a second rush of air blew into him.

About a few more seconds passed before the captain began to stand back up. But not before rubbing his ass in place as the sound of grunts sounded underneath. "Aah, now i feel much better. Been holding that in since practice".

"You...are a bastard you know!" The little guy coughed.

"Heh, such harsh little words for a squirt. I do hope a little gas didn't get the better of you"

"Peh, hardly"

"Good, cause the rest of the of the team want to give you some data too" the two of them looked to the other players as they looked at the little guy with eager anticipation. "He's all yours boys. Oh and, do be sure to drop him off at the other team's place".

"With pleasure" one of the players behind him said as he stood forward. Peering down at the little as the captain went out. His shadow casted over the little guy as a little smirk came across his face.

"Ehehe..please rethink about this" the little said sweating.

"Oh i've thought of it alright" the player would seperate his legs apart as he moved them along the length of the table until his ass hovered over the little guy's head. Pulling his pants down, he spread both cheeks apart as he as aligned it with his face. "I'd hold your breath if I were you" as the player said that, his ass would move closer as the area darkened. As it sat to the table, it would plant down on his shoulders. Leaving his face to be in the center as his hole winked against his cheeks. "Unlike the captain, i like to have things much close and personal against my hole"

The little guy would feel the force of his hole mush into him as its wrinkled skin still had a little sweat in between. He tried kicking his legs from behind to get his attention, but he only received a firm press from the hole above as it slowly moved in place. As it did, the hole would begin to open up as the as a fart came out in firm bursts. The hole clamping back onto to his face each time as the farts ringed through his ears.

"Grgh! Stop it already!"

"Sorry squirt, i ain't stoppin til every bubble inside me is out and blown into you" the player sat down a little more as the hole covered over the side of the little guy's face "so sit tight". Mire churns would echo from inside him as the table once again started to feel warm. The warm smell following behind as it resonated strongly underneath him.

Another few seconds passed as the players farts soon stopped. As it started to get up, he poked a finger against the back of the little guy's head as he felt him slide off against it. "Thanks for the release squirt".

"Hah....hah...please, no more farts for lord sakes"

"Quit your whining but mat, you got the rest of us to tend to" a bigger players would step into the light as the towered over head. He also spread his ass apart as he hovered overhead. "Now just keep your head juust like that for.." As the the big player casted overhead, the little guys vision would soon go dark.

An hour later:

The other team would just now be finishing up practice as each went to change there gear. Some of them talking amongst each other while others went and trained a bit more. Suddenly, they heard a flurry of knocks on the enterance of the locker as a shadow showed up before disappearing.

"Hmm, wonder who that could be" one the players went to go open the open, but found no one outside. The only thing standing there was as small twisting jar. "Hmm, there's a note" bringing it inside, he read it to the other players as the sound stared puzzled at it. "Here is your data. Be sure to get it cleaned up. Winky face? The hell does that mean?" As the player said, they soon heard loud bangs coming from the jar as the one them slowly went to open it. Untwisting the lid, they were all met with a foul smell as a jock would stored inside. Along with the little guy as he popped out of it gasping for fresh air.

"Holy crap! What the hell happened?"

"The smells, so..so many smells. Who'd think that many players could smell that bad" the little said climbing out.

"They, what do you mean?"

"I'll tell you later. For now im just gonna...lay here for a while" the little guy would sprawl onto the table as he shut his eyes in defeat. Leaving the other players confused as they looked back at the tired tiny.

"Dang, they must've really did a number on you" his captain said.

"Ugh, you have no idea"

[mianavs]

Savior Complex

He stripped you of your lifeline but refused to let you perish

Chrollo x f!reader

a/n: some chrollo content for your enjoyment

tw: dubcon, imprisonment

wc: 2.1k

Stealing Hatsu from others was akin to eating for Chrollo Lucilfer. He did it to strengthen his abilities and spared little thought on how it affected his victims. To him, people were equivalent to puppets in that they could be used and discarded without a second thought. The only time he spared a thought for his victims was when their Hatsu disappeared from Bandit’s Secret indicating their demise. Chrollo likened it to mourning his victims despite the depravity behind the sentiment.

You were different, however, in more ways than one.

There was no other way to put it—you were a genius nen user. Without any formal training, you developed your ability to manipulate the minds of others. While other geniuses profited off their Hatsu and used it to rise the ranks of society, you were trapped by yours and used it strictly for survival. Bought by a Mafia boss at a young age, you practiced your ‘gift’ on anyone your master sent.

Everything changed when a new esteemed client of your master’s walked into your workshop. Chrollo’s original target had been your master’s rare treasures but, after hearing about your gift, he altered his plan and included your Hatsu. It was a riskier plan, showing up in person for a session, but to Chrollo your ability was worth it.

The first thing that caught his attention was the cold emptiness of the room. Concrete walls, harsh fluorescent lighting, and the smell of disinfectant and death pervaded the small room. You sat on one of the chairs in the center with two armed men on either side. You were a frail young woman in a dirty white gown and with equally dirty hair that lie atop your head in a tangled mess. You were obviously malnourished judging from your sunken cheeks, bony wrists, and knobby knees. The most damning evidence of your mistreatment, however, had to be the leather shackle around your ankle that was connected to a large chain and attached to the wall.

In spite of your dreadful conditions, you rose from your seat with the grace of a newborn deer and greeted Chrollo with a bright smile that caught him off-guard.

“Welcome Dearest Client and please take a seat.”

Chrollo was convinced your lilting voice could soothe a raging beast as he unconsciously lowered his guard and sat down in front of you. Warmth dripped from your eyes as they traversed Chrollo’s face while yours radiated a child-like innocence as you started to explain the process.

“I will look into your eyes for a minute to search your mind for emotions I can use to create your fantasy. Is that alright, Dear Client?”

“Of course, Miss—I’m sorry but I didn’t catch your name.”

Your eyes widened at the word ‘name’ while the men behind you shifted uncomfortably. “Um…name? I-I don’t know what—”

“What do other’s call you?” Chrollo interrupted.

“Oh! Then I guess I have multiple names. I’m called ‘You’, ‘Witch’, and ‘Woman’ so please pick whatever you prefer.” You stated and Chrollo started to assess your character and the situation you were in.

“I’ll stick with Miss for now,” he declared before initiating Skill Hunter. “Now, can you tell me a little bit about your gift?”

“Of course,” You were completely oblivious to the growing tension that radiated from your guards and started your explanation. “My creations all take place in the client’s mind but I am always present. They are crafted around positive emotions or memories that I find.”

“So these fantasies are all positive?” Chrollo’s voice successfully masked his disappointment.

“Yes,” you replied fondly. “I use my gift to make other’s happy even if it’s only temporary.”

“Oh…and how long do they usually last?”

“At first, I could only last a couple of minutes but after making a vow, I was able to create fantasies that lasted up to three hours.”

“And what vow is that?” Chrollo asked, genuinely curious.

“Loss of my sight if I ever stopped using my gift. My eyes have no purpose if I can’t use them to search people’s minds and create fantasies for them.” Your smile dimmed as you uttered those words while something akin to pity stirred inside Chrollo; however, it wasn’t enough to spare you.

“What a beautiful sentiment,” Chrollo’s honeyed compliment warmed your heart and your smile brightened once more. “Shall we begin?”

Unlike most of client’s you dealt with, Chrollo’s positive memories and emotions revolved around a group of people instead of jewelry, money, fame. Instead of the luxurious mansions, clear skies, and sandy beaches you normally created the setting of Chrollo’s fantasy was a junkyard city.

You distanced yourself from the client as you usually did and watched from afar. Chrollo greeted each and everyone of the group members but tears welled up in his eyes when a large muscular man approached him.

You panicked at the sight of tears until you felt a wave of happiness from Chrollo and your worries faded away. For you, these moments were priceless and made you forget the pain in your stomach or the weariness in your bones. Seeing your clients happy negated any unpleasant emotions you held against your master and gave your life meaning.

Other clients merely forgot about your existence or purposefully ignored you but Chrollo surprised you by seeking you out.

Where are you? I want you to meet my family.

A strange warmth settled in your stomach at Chrollo’s request and you emerged from your hiding spot. You approached him hesitantly until he reached his hand out causing you to freeze in shock.

“Is there something wrong?” Chrollo asked, confusion written all over his face.

“I-I don’t know. Client’s usually don’t want to see me…why do you?”

“I want to share some of my happiness with you. Is that wrong?” Chrollo’s smile dazzled you and before you realized it, hot tears prickled your eyes.

“T-thank you,” you cried. “N-no one has ever done s-something like this f-for me.”

You accepted Chrollo’s hand and interacted with his family as if the fantasy were real. After delving into Chrollo’s mind some more, you learned that the muscular man was actually deceased and focused on perfecting him for your client.

Like always, you wished your fantasies could last forever along with your client’s happiness but it was an impossible desire and your masterpiece started to crumble. The flaming red sky of the junkyard city turned to fuchsia, then pink, until it became a white void. One by one, the group members disappeared as well until Uvogin was the only one left. He bid Chrollo farewell with a toothy grin on his face before he too became one with the white void.

“I see it’s time to return.” Chrollo commented staring into the white void that was once his beloved city.

“Yes, I’m sorry it ended so soon.” You answered, lowering your head.

Suddenly, Chrollo’s hand grabbed your chin and you met his eyes full of emotions that went beyond your comprehension. “No, Miss, it is I who is sorry.”

You wanted to ask what he meant but your fantasy dissipated into nothing and you were kicked out of Chrollo’s mind.

Your eyes fluttered open to blood splattered walls and your hand lying on an old book held by Chrollo. Everything had gone according to plan and the spiders eliminated everyone in the building including your owner. As the Phantom Troupe hauled out the treasures located in the bunker, Chrollo regained consciousness and fulfilled the last condition of Skill Hunter.

“What…happened?” Your eyes widened in horror when they landed on your fallen guards lying in a pool of their own blood. “H-how?!”

Chrollo watched as you whipped your head around for help only to be met with silence. Your seemingly constant smile was long gone replaced with a horror-stricken face Chrollo was used to seeing on his victims—but you were no ordinary victim.

You trembled as you watched the old book in Chrollo’s hands disappear and darted to your feet in an attempt to run away only to collapse on the ground when your chain extended its entire length.

Teary-eyed, you looked up at Chrollo who decided he never wanted to see that terrified expression on your face ever again. He softened his own face as he crouched down next to you and dried your tears with his thumbs. Confusion replaced fear on your weary face and Chrollo sighed in relief knowing it would be easier to dispel confusion as opposed to fear.

“I’m sorry it had to be like this,” Chrollo apologized, before knocking you out in a fraction of a second. “But I’ll take care of you now.”

When you woke up to the black void that was your vision, a broken wail erupted from your chest that alarmed various voices in the room. You flailed your arms in front of you to see if you could at least make out their outline but it was to no avail. With your vision gone, the gravity of your situation pumped adrenaline to your limbs causing you to scramble to your knees and crawl on the bed only to fall out of it and onto the cold floor.

“Hey!”

“Are you okay?”

“Get the boss!”

The shoulder you landed on throbbed painfully but the ringing in your head from listening to disembodied voices you didn’t recognize was worse. Curling up into a ball, you clamped your hands onto your ears to cancel out the harsh noise but it was to no avail. A plethora of negative thoughts filled your mind only to be dispelled by a familiar soothing voice that overpowered all noise.

“Dearest Client?” You uncovered you ears and uncurled your body only to hit your shoulder on the ground once again causing you to hiss in pain. Warm hands gently lifted you up and you jerked from the sudden movement.

“Shhh it’s alright, Miss. My name is Chrollo Lucilfer and I’ll be making you happy from now on.”

“B-but my sight…my gift—” The soft bed surprised you as he sat you down on the edge. “W-what are you—”

His hands cupped both cheeks and turned your head forward. “I’m sorry about your gift but I promise I’ll use it well.”

“W-what…how did…I-I don’t—”

“Stay still for me…please.” You were captivated by the gentle firmness of his voice and did as he asked.

When the meaning behind his words hit, you wondered if your gift would even work in your current state. Before you could voice your doubts, however, the darkness that enveloped you turned lighter and lighter until it was a white void you would recognize anywhere. Splashes of color materialized until they formed your last creation—the junkyard city.

“This…made you happy?”

Seeing Chrollo again made your heart swell and you ran to him wanting nothing more than to see his features up close.  You took in his disheveled black hair, pale skin, and pools of grey and teared up from simply being able to see another person once again. Raising your hand, you touched his cheek and gasped from how real it felt being on the receiving end of the fantasy.

“Amazing…I-I can’t bel—”

Chrollo’s hand shot out and pulled you into his chest while his arms wrapped around your frail form possessively. His scent and warmth assaulted your senses making your head spin but Chrollo only tightened his hold pressing against your skin harshly. Overwhelmed by the sensations pulsating through your body, you clung to Chrollo not knowing what else to do.

“You’re mine now,” his voice rumbled against the sensitive skin of your neck. “I’ll be your eyes from now on.”

A chill ran up your spine as Chrollo’s mouth trailed kisses up your neck to your mouth. An uncomfortable knot started to build in your stomach as his tongue probed your mouth and pressed against yours. You gave Chrollo free reign over your body not because you reciprocated his desire but because you didn’t know any better.

Your entire existence revolved around pleasing others, so when your tainted fantasy ends and you return to your dark reality; you learn to accept your new role. Moving forward whenever Chrollo visits your room, you continue to let him do whatever he wants to your body by convincing yourself that it’s his happiness that is most important. So when he leaves you naked and trembling with a dull ache between your legs, your mind does what it has always done best—it makes things up to help you cope with your miserable life.

[feirceangel]

Imagine | Tripping (Jotaro Kujo)

Imagine being bullied in front of Jotaro.

Word Count: 1017

~

School has never been a great place. Naturally, most everyone agrees with the sentiment, excluding some choice few.

The things that make school so awful can be narrowed down to a small number. Namely, homework, cliques, and bullies.

Every school has social groups and loners. Each school has the goody-two-shoes and the troublemakers. And, there are always those who enjoy tormenting others.

You fall into the 'loner' category, trying to survive massive amount of homework and not concerning yourself with other people.

The majority of the girls at your school do not share the sentiment.

They prefer to make themselves pretty and try to land a hot boyfriend. Of course, they all have one boy in mind: Jotaro Kujo.

Jotaro is in some ways like you. He stays quiet and keeps to himself even though he has all the girls worshiping him.

Unwanted attention comes to him, he doesn't ask for it. In fact, he tries to dissuade them by acting rude and telling them off.

You've had a few encounters with him, each one accidental on your part.

Whether it be in the hallway or walking home from school, you often find yourself nervously walking next to him. He doesn't yell at you or cross the street to escape your presence. Honestly, it's surprising.

Being timid, you've only spoken to him once or twice. Once was when you apologized for being shoved into him. He simply stared down at you and grunted in acknowledgement.

The last time you spoke, you had greeted him as you passed where he was smoking. He had dipped his head, either to ignore you or to acknowledge you. You’re not exactly sure which.

Currently, you're tapping your pencil against your desk, itching to go home.

You also hate school because of the dress code. Obligated to wear a uniform, you find yourself dressed in a knee-length skirt from Monday to Friday.

Glancing at the clock, you smile as the bell rings. You go straight to your locker to grab your bag which you sling across your shoulder before rushing out of the building.

You make it a few steps out the door before something unexpected happens.

A leg sticks out before you and you have no time to dodge. You manage to land on your back, staring up at the leering male above you.

A chorus of laughter and giggles makes your face heat in embarrassment before you realize what exactly they find so amusing.

During your fall, your skirt managed to flip the wrong way, covering your stomach instead of your legs. This leaves your underwear exposed to the prying eyes of your schoolmates.

Shame makes your heart clench painfully as your breath hitches. Everyone's watching. There's no escape.

Hot tears race down your cheeks as the jeers and taunts of the boys above you reach your ears.

Panic and humiliation have you in a vice grip. You're frozen to the spot for a split second.

A mysterious force tugs your skirt down, successfully covering you once again. This snaps you from your daze.

You are swift to stand and glare through tears which blur your vision.

The laughter doesn't cease.

"It's not funny," a deep, intimidating voice states. "Apologize, you asshole."

You turn to the speaker, stunned to find Jotaro standing behind you. His turquoise eyes hold unfiltered rage as he stares down the bully that had tripped you.

The smaller boy stutters, "It was just a joke-"

"Hurry, before I decide to punch you straight to hell!" Jotaro yells, fists closing on the boy's shirt collar.

"S-sorry!" The bully shrieks, clasping his hands and begging for mercy.

You watch the encounter, dumbfounded as to why the school bad boy is helping you. Your tears have dried by now, watching the mean boy pleading for Jotaro's mercy.

Jotaro kicks the boy away and goes to you. You hadn't realized that you had stepped back from the imposing teen.

"Thanks," you manage to say, looking away out of embarrassment.

"You should be more careful," is his gruff reply.

Your eyes tear up again as you relive the horrible event, "I-I know."

Jotaro sees the droplets forming in your eyes, and adjusts his hat, muttering, "Good grief."

"Are you hurt?"

You shake your head, even more embarrassed to be crying in front of Jotaro. Arms clutching yourself, you start to walk off, expecting him to leave you alone.

To your surprise, he keeps your pace and walks with you. You glance at him, uncertain.

This isn't the direction of his house, it's the way to yours.

He notices your curious glance, "I'm walking you home."

"Oh, you don't have to do that, Jotaro."

His expression is stone and he doesn't respond.

Shrugging, you guess you can't really stop him even if you tried. You have a feeling that he's very stubborn.

The walk is quiet, not that you mind. You actually like having the stoic teen beside you as you walk. He makes you feel safe, as if he's some sort of bodyguard.

You reach your house, awkwardly looking up at Jotaro, "Thanks for walking with me."

He grunts.

"And for... back there," you add.

He nods.

"Uh, see you tomorrow, Jotaro," you say before closing the door.

Eyes scanning the area, he shoves his hands into his pockets and heads to his own home. Truth be told, he wishes he had beaten the crap out of the punk that embarrassed you.

He had a clear view of the unfolding events, as he was waiting to see you leave the school like he often does.

The boy had snickered, jostling his buddy before tripping you. Jotaro's eyes narrowed as you collapsed to the ground, terror evident on your face.

He caught a glimpse of your upturned skirt and his anger overcame him. Your tears also affected him in a negative way.

He hates seeing you sad.

Jotaro summoned Star Platinum and made him hold your skirt down as he dealt with the bully.

From now on, no one is ever gonna mess you you, lest they face the wrath of Jotaro Kujo.

[kissinginkitchens]

You Bring Me Home—Chapter Two: Where the Heart Is

a/n: Thank you so much for all of the love you have shown to part one! I’m so glad to see that you’re enjoying YBMH so far, the story is just getting started. I hope you’ll stick around for the full thing, so without further ado, here’s chapter two! As always, my inbox is open so feel free to come chat with me when you have finished this part :) Much love, Mel <3

Pairing: Hawai'i!Harry x Original Character

Warnings: swearing, mentions of drug use

Word Count: 5.1k

read part one here

The phone screen flickers to life at the touch of Harry’s finger, flashing the exact same time that it had the last time he checked, though it feels like hours have passed since then. He sighs at the disappointing revelation and turns his phone over so that the screen meets the aged wood of the piano where it rests. In all honesty, Harry has no idea why he agreed to the interview in the first place. He had skillfully dodged the hundreds of requests for an exclusive tell-all following the untimely split of One Direction and successfully avoided the prying eyes of the general public for several months. So why had he indulged the first request from a girl he hardly knew without so much as a blink? The answer seemed a frustrating mystery to him, but to anyone else, the fluttering in his stomach when he caught a glimpse of her yellow Ford Bronco pulling up to the studio and the way he instinctively raked a hand through his hair gave the answer away.

“I know I’m late, I’m sorry!” Alani apologizes, emerging from the car with a notebook nestled under her arm and a smoothie in each hand. She closes the door with her hip before making a beeline to the studio entrance where Harry stands, his right shoulder leaning against the doorframe with the same stoic expression Alani recognizes as his signature look.

“I had to get my sister to cover for me at the café and then I got lost because Google sent me to a Napua restaurant instead of the recording studio,” she rambles in an attempted continuation of her apology. “But anyway, this is for you. A peace offering and a thank you for doing this.”

Harry gingerly takes the green smoothie from her outstretched hand and offers a curt nod in response before ushering her inside.Alani pushes her sunglasses up and settles them into her windswept waves, trailing behind Harry and taking in the space. In one corner across the room, she notices a couple of brightly colored tapestries thumbtacked to the wall with a microphone stand perched in the center, all encased behind a screen of plexiglass. The adjacent wall is lined with guitars all standing at attention and glimmering, despite the dim lighting. Harry stops at the doorway of another room with a couch and a coffee table, the floor littered with wires and pieces of crumpled paper. He motions Alani to step inside and then clears his throat, which catches the attention of two other long-haired men chatting with amused expressions on their faces.

“Sorry lads,” Harry crosses his arms with eyes glued to the floor to avoid their questioning stares. “‘Fraid I have to intrude. Can we have this room?” 

One of the men grins behind a full beard,  popping a peanut M&M into his mouth before standing. “Sure thing, boss man. Let’s bounce, Rowland.”

The other man, also bearded but smaller in stature with a thin, pointed nose nods silently. He continues twirling two drumsticks between his fingers and points one of them at Harry in passing. Alani offers polite smiles at the both of them, and a quiet “thank you” falls from her lips as they exit without another word. Harry closes the door behind them and gestures to the couch, which she takes as her cue to sit.

“I like the uniform,” Alani smiles, gesturing to her hair as a comment on the fact that the three men all share similar lengths and styles.

“Thanks,” is all Harry says, taking a seat across from hers and clearly dismissing her attempt at humor.

To pacify the urge to fill the uncomfortable silence, Alani sips her strawberry smoothie and steals a glance through her eyelashes at Harry who is doing the same. She clears her throat after a minute and sets the drink on the table in front of her; a notebook takes its place on her lap.

“Thank you again for doing this, I really appreciate it,” Alani offers while digging through her bag for her phone. “I’m gonna record this on voice notes, just for the sake of quoting you accurately.”

“Sure,” Harry replies, occupying his gaze with the condensation trickling from the cup onto his fading black jeans. 

Dry retorts from everyone else, especially customers, have little effect on the way Alani conducts herself.  But every short comment from Harry, or lack thereof, makes her feel like a bug under a microscope. She settles her phone onto the coffee table and takes a deep breath to calm the trembling that spreads from her chest into her fingers and toes.

“So first, I wanted to ask about your time in Hawai’i. Are you enjoying it so far?” Alani poses the question lightly, hoping to open him up just enough to extract the story that she’s really looking for.

“It’s nice,” Harry nods, finally meeting her expectant stare. When she doesn’t respond for a beat, he clears his throat and adds on to the statement. “Weather’s good,”

Alani musters a half-hearted smile and glances down at the questions on her page. This is going to take for-fucking-ever, she sighs.

“Is that what drew you here—vacation? Getting away?” 

“Yeah, pretty much,”

The row of guitars behind the singer catches her attention suddenly and guides the next question.

“And to write or.. record?”

Harry shifts in his seat, calculating his response carefully. “Both,”

“Solo stuff?”

Alani watches as he takes a slow sip of his smoothie and crosses his legs, an action which tells her that she’s struck a dead end. Or, at the very least, a door that she hasn’t gained his trust to open yet.

“You were with One Direction for half a decade,” She recovers. “Constantly releasing new music and touring. But now you’re here, doing neither, and haven’t done so for almost a year. What is that transition like?” Alani isn’t sure if Harry will answer when she poses the question, but to her surprise he meets her gaze and nods, as if to say that he accepts the inquiry.

“It’s different than anything I’ve ever done, for sure,” he starts slowly. It’d be a lie to say that he hasn’t given the breakup and, subsequently, his future outside of the band much thought. He thinks about it every day, especially his bandmates and their supportive fans. That much he has been able to unpack privately, but the rest of it—the sudden need to escape and write new music— is still something he can’t quite put into words, so he leans into the nostalgia and hopes it’ll suffice.

“Like you said, it’s been non-stop for the past five years, so I guess it is a bit jarring to come to a sudden halt after so much momentum. Obviously, it’s nice to have the time off, but I love putting out music and touring it. I wouldn’t trade that for anything,”

Alani is grateful to have more than a couple of words of material, despite the fact that it doesn’t really answer the question or tell her anything new about the man sitting crossed legged and closed off in front of her. Looking through her notes, Alani selects another question and embarks on a new angle.

“You were really young when all of that began,” she starts, thinking about how she could never have left her family and home at just 16. Hell, she was 22 and still figuring it out. Hopefully, if all things went well with this interview and Rolling Stone, she would finally find the opportunity to do it. “Do you ever think about where you would be if you hadn’t auditioned for X-Factor?”

Harry knows that she’s playing it safe, trying to feel him out and test the buttons she can push. He also knows that he’s being difficult, much more so than usual due to his nerves. So with an unfamiliar pang in his chest, he decides to relent the tiniest bit.

“Well, I’m starting to think maybe I could’ve been a professional surfer,” he offers matter-of-factly which makes Alani flash an amused grin. Harry’s sudden humor makes the room a bit less suffocating for the both of them and she’s grateful for it.

“Surfing, huh? This I have to see.” she  quips back, suddenly trying to picture him ditching the black skinny jeans for a wetsuit.

He nods with a faint smirk. “Maybe you will.” 

Alani meets his gaze with a shy smile of her own and her eyes fall to his lips for a brief second. The almost imperceptible action sends another foreign jolt through Harry’s chest. She opens her mouth to resume questioning when a loud bang startles them both and causes Harry to spin in his seat, looking through the glass window of the sound booth.

“Sorry!” A man with short, blonde hair and a fading tie dye shirt laughs while lifting the tipped over drum cymbals. “Don’t mind us!”

The two men from earlier straggle in behind and poorly conceal their own fits of laughter. Harry flashes his middle finger briefly, mouthing something that Alani can’t see but knows is undoubtedly rude. She suppresses a giggle and sneaks a glance at her phone, which indicates only a few minutes worth of dialogue. When she lifts her head, the door opens and the blonde man peeks his head in.

“Hello,” he greets with an extended hand before entering and taking a seat next to Alani on the couch. “Tom Hull, or Kid Harpoon...or just Tom, whatever you like best,” 

 She accepts his hand eagerly, not missing the way Harry pinches the bridge of his nose in her peripheral vision. “Mahealani Hale, or just Alani. Nice to meet you,”

“Wow, beautiful name,” Tom compliments. “Sorry to interrupt, I didn’t realize you had company, H,”

“She was just—”

“I’m writing about-” The two speak at the same time, making brief eye contact before Harry turns his attention back to Tom.

“Did you need something?” He asks. Tom’s eyes dart between Harry and Alani before he clears his throat and reclines in his seat.

“Just dropping by to see if you wanted to go for lunch...” he trails off, which Alani takes as a cue to start gathering her belongings.

“Kind of busy here,” Harry offers with a glance back at the girl seated awkwardly across from him. “Another time,”

At this, Tom turns to Alani and ignores his friend’s protests. “Alani, do you eat lunch?”

Before responding, she casts an apprehensive glimpse at Harry who has suddenly become very intrigued by the drink in his lap, purposefully avoiding her eyes.

“Uh.. well yeah, but I don’t-”

“Great! Have lunch with us,”

“Mate—” Harry speaks up.

Tom grins, shrugging. “What? You plan on starving the poor girl?”

“I really can’t, but thank you for the offer,” Alani explains with a sheepish smile, standing and slinging her bag over her shoulder. “It was really nice to meet you Tom. And thank you again, Harry, I’ll see you around.”

The musician watches her shuffle out of the sound booth quietly and turns his attention back at Tom, who sits with an incredulous look on his face.

“What the hell’s wrong with you?” He asks, standing. “Go after her, dickhead!”

“It’s not like that she’s-”

“I really don’t give a fuck about your excuses, go!”

Harry scoffs and rolls his eyes, looking out the window as Alani slips through the front door.

She fishes her keys out of her bag and sighs when a familiar voice says her name.

“Alani!” Harry calls from the doorway, shielding his eyes from the afternoon sun. He makes his way down the steps and over to the driver’s side where she  ghosts the key over the ignition. 

“Come have lunch...please?” 

“It’s okay,” she purses her lips together politely. “I don’t wanna get in the way,”

Harry catches his lower lip between his teeth and runs a hand through his hair, choosing his next words thoughtfully. 

“No, you’re not—you won’t,” he starts. “I would really like it if you joined us for lunch, especially since our time got interrupted. Please, let me make it up to you.”

Alani can’t help the way her stomach flips at the words “our time” that fall from his lips and she finds herself nodding in agreement before her mind has had a chance to intervene. 

She makes her way to the passenger seat of the Range Rover parked behind the studio, which she learns is where all of Harry’s entourage keeps their vehicles. A variety of brightly colored vintage cars are neatly parked, and it amuses her that Harry skips all of them, instead going straight for the black SUV with darkly tinted windows. At least he’s consistent,  she smirks. As Alani climbs into the car, she is met by the warmth of Harry’s scent—something woodsy and vanilla— and the fact that she recognizes it makes her heart pound.

“You can connect your phone,” Harry nods to the stereo as he buckles his seatbelt. “To the Bluetooth, I mean, if you’d like.”

 “Really?” she asks, brow raised in mild disbelief.

“Only if you play something good,” he teases with a stony expression, adjusting the sunglasses on the bridge of his nose. Alani takes that as a challenge, scrolling through various playlists as Harry peels away onto the main road. Over the speakers, the beginning of “Don’t Worry Baby” by The Beach Boys surrounds the two of them. 

“Is this to your liking, my liege?” Alani poses in an exaggerated British accent that makes Harry cringe, though the small grin on his face gives away his endearment.

“Yes, but please don’t do that accent ever again,” 

“So you admit it, you’re the one with the accent,” she wiggles her brows, eyes peeling away  from the view out her window to Harry in the driver’s seat.

“If it’ll get you to never do that one again, sure,” “Dunno, love,” she continues, watching the coast shimmer under the afternoon sun. “Think  it kinda suits me,”

Harry shakes his head and checks the rearview mirror to make sure that he hasn’t lost Tom, Mitch, and Jeff in the car trailing behind.

“What’s it like?” Alani questions, studying the perfect slope of his pointed nose and strawberry pout.

“What’s what like?”

“England,”

Harry thinks for a second, recalling his London flat, lunches with his mum and sister, the streets of Trafalgar Square, and Abbey Road. 

“Rainy,” is all he says.

Alani scoffs, which draws  his attention over to where she lounges in his passenger seat, sitting comfortably as if it was exactly where she belonged. “That’s all?”

“What?” He questions, though he knows exactly what she means and is perfectly aware of his own stubbornness.

“Just seems like... I don’t know, such a generic description for a place you consider home,”

Harry mulls her response over, the word “home” especially catching his interest. It’s a strange concept in his mind because while, yes, England is where he has spent the majority of his life and where the people he loves most reside, he has never truly felt connected to just one place. And after spending his formative years traveling the world, who could blame him?

“It’s... safe,” he tries again, attempting to verbalize what he’s feeling. “When I’m there, I mean, I feel safe. Like I don’t have to be anyone or do anything specific, I can just... be. No expectations,”

Alani lets Harry’s words sit between them for a moment, sensing that there is still more he wants to say. When she doesn’t respond after a minute,  he continues in an effort to clarify and fill the lull in the conversation.

“I used to think that London was just a starting point and that if I could make it to LA, it would mean that I had really made it, and I would feel more at home there,” he continues, slow and calculated. “But I dunno... when I’m there it still feels like an extended holiday,  like I’m just buying time until I leave for the next place. London doesn’t feel like that, feels much more constant... so yeah, I guess it is home,” 

As if she had read his mind earlier, Alani adds on. “Not to mention that’s where your family is, I’m assuming,” 

Harry nods, once again thinking of his mum and sister. The image of their beaming faces  brings the shadow of a dimple to his cheek.  “Yeah,”

“What’s your family like?” She continues, truly interested and forgetting for a moment about the article she still has to write.

“Kind of small, I guess. S’really just my sister and my mum, but they’re,” Harry pauses, searching for the right words, “They’re the best. My mum’s probably the kindest woman I’ve ever met. Feel pretty lucky with that one, considering what a pest I was as a child,” he chuckles lightly and it’s a sound that Alani hadn’t heard up to this point, but one she knows she’ll replay in her mind over and over again.

“Gem’s pretty patient too—and brilliant, always the studious one,” he adds finally, a dreamy look on his face that Alani much prefers to the stoic one he always dons. .

“Ah yes, there’s always one,” she nods, catching the quirked brow he offers in response.

“Oh yeah? Are you the one in your family?” 

“I guess so. School just seemed to come easily to me,”

“And what made you want to study journalism?” He questions, stopping to let a woman and her toddler cross.

Alani thinks about it for a moment while twirling a strand of fabric from the hem of her ripped shorts around her finger. 

“I’ve always loved to write, ever since I was really little— like short stories and stuff. And I don’t know, I guess I like the idea of traveling and seeking out a story, too.”

Harry nods understandingly, pulling up to a curb across the street from a restaurant that Alani has frequented. It’s relatively empty at Pineapples for a summer afternoon, though most tourists don’t stray too far from the beaches, so Hilo maintains a healthy local population at all times. The pair climb out of the car and Alani makes her way to the rear where the rest of the group has parked. One of the men from earlier greets her with an outstretched hand while Harry chats with the other two that emerge.

“Hi I’m Jeff, it’s nice to meet you.” He smiles warmly,  pushing his sunglasses into his hair. 

“Alani. It’s nice to meet you, Jeff,”

“Sorry about earlier. I didn’t mean to be rude by not saying hi it’s just-”

Alani dismisses his concern with a wave of her hand. “Oh don’t worry about it! I was kind of nervous then, too. I don’t know if he told you, but I’m interviewing Harry,”

“Oh, right! Yeah, he did mention that I think,” Jeff recalls, “Which magazine are you with?”

“None.” Yet, Alani thinks, her mind wandering to the Rolling Stone rejection letter. “It’s for a class, I’m a journalism major. Harry was just being nice and agreed to let me write about his music,”

Jeff nods. “Got it. You know, he’s not normally this serious. Just got a lot on his mind but he’ll loosen up,” he explains quietly just as Alani and Harry’s eyes meet. She quickly averts her gaze back to the kind, bearded man standing before her.

“Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind.” she smiles appreciatively.

“Where’s Jeffrey?” Harry speaks up, catching her attention. She looks back to Jeff, confused, before he shakes his head.

“Other Jeff, his manager.” He explains.

“Probably already inside, he said he’d meet us here.” Mitch pipes up.

With that, the rest of the crew head into the restaurant while Alani stays a few steps behind to follow their lead.

“Y’okay?” Harry asks, shuffling along beside her.

Alani startles slightly at his unexpected presence, but relaxes as their strides fall into sync.

“Yeah, thanks. And thank you for the invite, too.” She offers, the corners of her mouth upturned softly.  Harry responds with a tight-lipped smile of his own and clears his throat before holding the door open for her.

In the far corner of the restaurant near the open balcony, Harry’s manager Jeff waves the group over to the table he saved. Everyone exchanges greetings and settles into their seats, the two at the end facing each other remain open for Alani and Harry.

“Jeff, this is..Mahealani, did I get that right?” Tom gestures to Alani for approval.

She nods and waves. “Yes, but you can just call me Alani,”

“Nice to meet you,” Jeff calls from the other end of the table, glancing over to Harry in search of  an explanation for her presence.

“I’m writing a piece about Harry and his music,” Alani offers. “But I’d love to talk to all of you, if you have a chance.”

Jeff nods, still shooting Harry a knowing look. “Yeah, sure thing.” 

The two Jeffs, Tom, and Mitch engage in their own conversations, mostly inside jokes that go over Alani’s head. Harry watches, silent for most of the interaction and barely engaging the girl seated across from him, though he is overwhelmingly aware of her presence. When the server comes to take their order, warmth floods to Alani’s cheeks.

“Alani, hey!” the tall server greets, flashing a handsome, pearly-white smile. “Long time, no see. You’re looking good as always,”

“Mahalo, David. You look good, as well,” She smiles politely, catching onto the way that Harry sits a little straighter in her peripheral vision. David still pays no regard to the rest of the table, but his gaze momentarily flickers over Harry and sizes him up before returning to Alani.

“Oh, I’m sorry I didn’t realize you were on a date,” he apologizes, which makes Alani’s eyes bulge  and Mitch snicker beside her. 

“Oh no, we’re not—“

“He’s just—” Alani and Harry speak at the same time, eyes darting to one another before she explains.

“I’m... working on something—an article,” she says, and David nods understandingly.

“Oh...right. Big-shot reporter, I almost forgot,” David teases in a snide way that makes Harry’s blood boil with annoyance. “Anyways, what can I get you all? The usual for you, right Alani?”

She nods curtly while the rest of the group take turns ordering. After the server has gone,  Harry notices a shift in her easy-going demeanor and decides that it’s his turn to break the ice.

“Come here often then?” He poses gently, taking a sip of his lemonade.

Her lips press into a tight line as her eyes wander to the other patrons. “Yeah, kinda,”

“Asshole ex-boyfriend ruined that, I’m guessing?”

Alani lets out an amused breath and shakes her head.

“He’s not my ex. I mean we went out, like, once in high school... and maybe a handful of times in college but that’s it, really,” 

Harry studies the uneasiness in her expression trying, and failing, to understand what she’s holding back.

“Seems like you dodged a bullet,” he confides, leaning in. Alani’s eyes meet his and her pursed lips ease into a small grin, which Harry mirrors with a simper of his own. As he rests his smooth chin in his palm, she notices a large, healing scab along the underside of his forearm, and her brows furrow.

“How’d that happen?” Alani asks.

“He jumped out a window,” Mitch intervenes. “Though to be fair, he was high,”

Harry shoots a deathly glare at Mitch and turns back to Alani. “It was a one-time thing.”

“It was shrooms,” Mitch replies with an amused smirk.

“Hardcore,” Alani giggles lightly. 

Mitch swirls the straw in his mimosa with his index finger while extending a pinky at Alani. “You do drugs?”

She shrugs, taking a sip of her Mai Tai. “Smoked weed a few times, though not enough to consider myself a pothead, I guess,”

Mitch snorts and steals a glance at Harry. “Pot makes our boy sleepy, and hungry. Alcohol makes him giggly. Shrooms get him buzzed just right,”

Harry’s cheeks flush and he averts his gaze past Alani where families and visitors roam the streets outside. 

“Jumping out a window’s  ‘just right’? I’d hate to see what going overboard looks like.” she teases, watching the blush of embarrassment creep across the bridge of Harry’s nose and cheeks.

“Keeps things interesting.” Mitch shrugs, turning back to Jeff to join his previous conversation.

 Alani feels a strange sense of endearment wash over her at the thought of a giggly Harry, dimples replacing a deeply furrowed brow. In the short time she’d known and served him at the café, she’d only ever seen him reserved—polite, at best. Alani had hoped that interviewing Harry would provide some insight into his mysterious background, but she didn’t imagine that she would want to know more than what could be penned in her article. In the few minutes spent mingling with him and his friends, she began to think that maybe there was something worth getting to know, not just professionally, but before she can give it a second thought, David returns with their food.

“Thanks, Derek.” Harry says, flashing a facetious grin at David who stands confused for a second before sauntering back to the kitchen. Alani laughs, quickly clasping a hand over her mouth, and Harry’s stomach flips at the sound. He immediately wishes he knew what else he could do to hear it again.

Alani scrapes the last bits of potato off her plate and leans back in her seat, patting her growing food baby. 

“I’m thinking of naming mine Oliver, you?” She sighs contentedly. 

“Anne, after my mum,” he quips back, pulling out his wallet.

Alani reaches into her bag for her own, but Harry shakes his head and speaks up. “Don’t worry about it, ‘s on me,”

“Oh, no Harry you really don’t have to—”

“I don’t mind,” he shrugs, slipping his card onto the small clipboard attached to their receipts.

“Thank you,” Alani smiles, feeling warmth spread through her limbs, but she assumes that it’s mostly due to the rum in her system.

Harry pushes a lock of hair behind his ear and returns the wallet to his back pocket without another word. While there is no alcohol coursing through his blood, he refuses to believe that the burning in his cheeks has anything to do with the girl seated before him.

Alani climbs back into the passenger’s seat of the SUV while Harry settles behind the wheel. He braces his right hand behind the headrest of her seat and skillfully reverses, only becoming aware of their proximity when he turns back to switch gears. Alani peels her eyes from his and focuses on finding a playlist for their journey back to the studio, her mind racing as she clicks shuffle. Harry’s arm retreats, much to Alani’s disappointment, and his ears perk up when he hears the familiar chimes at the beginning of Fleetwood Mac’s “Everywhere”.

“‘S a good one,” Harry breaks the silence, tapping on the steering wheel. “Christine always says it’s her favorite,”

“Christine...McVie?” Alani questions with an eyebrow quirked. “You know Christine McVie?”

“Kind of,” he shrugs, the corners of his lips twitching into a smirk.

“Do you know Stevie Nicks?”

“Yeah. She lives in London,”

“Holy shit!” Alani marvels, covering her mouth in excitement.

Harry chuckles lightly, stealing a glance over at Alani still processing the news. “Big fan?” 

She whips her head away from the window and scoffs. “Massive. Named my car Stevie, actually,”

“Hardcore,” Harry teases, echoing her own comment about his psychedelic escapades.

“Yes, Mr. Spider-Man. In my own right, I suppose it is hardcore,” Alani retorts.

“I thought  Spider-Man climbed buildings. Don’t think he jumped out of them.”

“I’m sure he’s done his fair share of both.”

The two drive down the coast for a while without a word, Harry drumming against the steering wheel as the song dies out while Alani soaks in the view outside her window. Suddenly, she reaches over and taps him on the arm, drawing him out of his reverie. 

“Turn right up there!”

“Why?” Harry asks, already putting his blinker on. 

Alani doesn’t say anything, but she doesn’t need to. Harry saw it just seconds after turning into the lookout and it left him breathless. The car comes to a stop and Alani wastes no time unbuckling her seatbelt and stepping into the humid air, Harry close behind. Before them, the biggest rainbow either of them had ever seen shimmers in the high afternoon sun like a wall of unbelievable vibrant hues. Harry had never seen one this close, he felt as though he could reach out and feel each color slip through his fingers. 

“Are you making a wish?” Alani asks reverently, as if raising her voice too loud will spook it away. 

“I thought that was for shooting stars,”

“We’re literally staring face to face with a rainbow and you’re gonna argue with me about the logistics of a wish?”

“Okay, okay,” he relents, grinning to himself as his eyes flutter close. 

Harry takes a deep breath and searches his brain for something, anything, but there is only one word pounding in his mind. He doesn’t know why it stood out to him when Alani first said it, but it struck a chord within him that hasn’t stopped reverberating, so it must mean something. Harry swallows the lump forming at the back of his throat and releases the breath he didn’t realize he had been holding. When his eyes flutter open again, he steals a peek through the corner of his eye at the girl beside him and then fixes his gaze back on the rainbow. 

“S’quite big, innit?” He remarks, breaking the reverent silence. 

Alani snorts and shakes her head, turning on her heel back to the car. 

“You’re so eloquent. Can’t wait to hear what lyrical gems are hiding in your new album,”

“Heyyy,” Harry pouts, climbing behind the wheel. “Who said anything about an album?” 

As they peel away from the lookout, Harry can sense something has shifted in the atmosphere, though he can’t quite put his finger on it. He opts to ignore it and poses a lighthearted question instead. 

“What’d you wish for?”

Alani narrows her eyes playfully. “You’re not supposed to tell. It won’t come true.”

Harry hums, trying to imagine what she could possibly wish for that would require such secrecy, but his thoughts wander back to the singular word that has haunted his mind since it left her lips. 

Home.

Next Chapter

[phantompearlsalt]

Sour Cherry, Chapter 17

Preview AND the real deal in one day? I’m on a roll 😎 But in all seriousness: super happy I could share this (more or less) on time with everyone! I’ve started working on a side project I’ll share more about tomorrow so I’m still figuring out my writing schedule. Also promise I’ll respond to all asks this week as well! As always, feel free to check out this chapter on AO3 and know that I adore all kudos, comments, asks, etc. You all make this journey such a gift ❤️

These days, things somehow felt slow and exciting at the same time — it was odd. There was so much at stake and all of it lay within the borders of Republic City. In a few weeks time, Kuvira’s spirit cannon would reach completion and the army would be on its way to claim all that remained to consecrate the Empire.

Although you still find yourself caught up the more bureaucratic aspects of the work — paperwork, meetings, more paperwork — it feels like you can almost touch the weight of anticipation that hangs in the air. Nothing else slows down but everyone appears to hold a collective breath as Baatar works on the final touches of the machine.

Today in particular, you decide to take a trip to engineering. Kuvira is nowhere to be found so you assume she’s off in some pressing meeting with her sergeants. Perhaps strategizing for the City’s response and especially the Avatar’s. Given the scope of the army’s proposed attack, you can’t possibly imagine anyone, not even Korra, withstanding such magnitude of force.

You feel a slight twinge in your chest at the thought of what lies ahead. You think of Bolin, Varrick, and Zhu Li. You wonder whether Raiko will willingly submit to Kuvira and spare the damages that will transpire if he doesn’t.

But at this point, you know better than that. If the United Republic had wanted to end things peacefully, Kuvira would have already reached an accord with them. It was clear no one was willing to budge so you could only hope that the damages would be as minimal as possible.

You stroll into the warehouse, following the sharp sounds of electricity and metal clanking together. A number of privates salute you as you walk past and you offer them reassuring smiles. “At ease, privates,” you chuckle. Despite how much time has passed, you’ll never grow accustomed to the way people interact with you for being both Kuvira’s significant other and a critical role in her Inner Circle.

Baatar recognizes your voice and he looks down from the platform several feet above you. He calls your name excitedly and you can’t help but grin. Admittedly you’ve never been too fond of the man (even back in Zaofu) but you would be wrong to deny all of the incredible work he’s put into bringing the army this far along. Plus, he’s done his best to get on your good side once it became clear his chances with Kuvira were effectively eliminated.

“How’re things going up there?” you call out.

“They’re going,” Baatar responds, somewhat disillusioned. Your brow furrows together and you cross your arms.

“What’s the matter? You don’t sound too pleased,” you remark.

“I can’t seem to make the connection between the cannon and the suit’s body...each piece functions properly on its own but the wiring simply won’t synthesize everything together,” he explains.

“Hm...I’m not sure how much help I could be but could I come check it out at least? If anything it’ll be a good way for me to admire all your handiwork,” you say.

Baatar smiles halfheartedly and sighs. “I suppose. Perhaps there’s something you might notice that I haven’t been able to. Five straight hours can do that to someone,” he admits, leaning over to press the yellow button that unfolds a metal staircase.

Once it lands on the floor with a soft clink, you leap onto it and head up until you’re within an arm’s length from Baatar. Being much closer to him you can see the lines of exhaustion etched below his eyes. His hair is gelled down neatly, though some strands of it fall along his temples where it sticks to a thin film of perspiration.

“Baatar...have you seriously been working on this for five hours straight?” you ask.

He appears confused by the question and purses his lips. “Of course I have. What else would I be working on?” he replies.

“I understand but...you should take a break soon. At least a half hour or something,” you recommend. He vehemently shakes his head in protest.

“Absolutely not. Kuvira wouldn’t allow it and with good reason. Every moment wasted on anything other than this machine is more time lost to take Republic City for the Empire. I will not be the reason everything we’ve worked for is lost,” he states.

You stay quiet, watching him worriedly before you release a soft sigh. You always knew Baatar to be...a deeply passionate man since joining Kuvira. From what you had pieced together during your conversations with her, you learned that he grew up in his father’s shadow. He was always praised as the mirror image of the older Baatar, with an aptitude for design and engineering.

When he joined Kuvira, it was probably the first time in his life that something was entirely his own. Not an addition to his father’s work, not a continuation of everything so many people expected of him. What he created was novel, powerful, and completely his own.

Understandably, he had grown so invested in this final display of his autonomy and innovation that any potential threat to it was unfathomable.

“It’s alright, I understand,” you reassure him, stepping forward and tentatively resting your hand on his forearm. You feel him tense beneath you and you wish he hadn’t because now it feels even more awkward. You’ve never felt the urge to offer him any sort of comfort until now but then he relaxes and you can slide your hand away without feeling too uncomfortable.

“So!” you exclaim, hoping to break the odd tension. “You said you were having trouble connecting the cannon to the rest of the suit?”

“Indeed,” Baatar sighs. He peers into gaping machinery, sifting through thick cords of wiring and metal. “I’ve checked for any and all missing pieces and there isn’t a single thing out of place. I wonder if you’d be able to see anything I might be missing.”

You chew on your lower lip, growing nervous at the prospect of going anywhere near the obviously complicated technology. The chances of you damaging anything are close to none...though they aren’t quite zero.

Nevertheless, you lean forward just an inch to gaze upon the convoluted maze coiled within the massive platinum encasements. None of it makes sense to you and you feel foolish even bothering to check.

Even so, you angle your hand forward and throw Bataar a questioning look. He nods and you start carefully pushing aside the cords in hopes of seeing, well, something.

At the exact moment you feel an indentation in one of the metal fibers, you hear the echo of footsteps below and the sound of Kuvira’s voice. You mean to pull away in excitement but the hem of your sleeve gets caught.

Grumbling, you manage to pull it away but not before feeling a sensation pulse through your body that’s lightning hot and stinging all the same. The pain concentrates in your arm for a split second and your eyes are forced closed.

The only thing you’re aware of is the muffled sound of shouting around you beneath your own screaming before your head crashes against something cold and hard and your vision fades into complete darkness.

---

“This could have been so much worse, Baatar. Do you have any idea how much worse this could have been?”

The voice sounds distant, almost warped, as if it were coming from another room. Wait...are you in a room? It feels still and quiet so you assume you are.

Your eyes are sealed shut and it feels like your brain is trying to push out of your skull. When you try to twitch your fingers, a searing pain shoots up your left arm and a pained sound gets caught in your throat.

Okay. So no moving yet.

You inhale slowly and wince at the sharp ache in your ribs and your chest. Other than that, nothing hurts too bad if you stay relatively still so you focus on maintaining a careful breath.

As you start to grow accustomed to the aches and pains, you let your eyelids flutter open. Well, flutter almost seems too glamorous to describe the heavy feeling when you peel them apart. It feels like you’ve had them shut for weeks.

You try not to move your head around too much as you scan your surroundings, realizing you’re back in the tent you share with Kuvira. The lanterns have been blown out so you assume it’s nighttime until you hear the voices again.

“Kuvira, I apologize profusely for my lapse in judgement. I should have known better than to—”

“You’re right. You should have known better and you didn’t. Baatar, I expect nothing but the utmost professionalism from you and now is not the time to make such potentially fatal errors.”

Though you can’t see anything, you clearly envision what poor Baatar’s face must look like: crumpled in defeat and tight with regret. You want to get up and reassure him you’re okay, though you aren’t really sure what happened in the first place.

Instead, you clear your throat and before you can even open your mouth, Kuvira’s voice whispers something rushedly before she bends the door open and steps inside. You expect to see Baatar join her but she enters alone, sliding it shut and preventing anyone else from entering.

“You’re awake,” Kuvira sighs, rushing over to you and kneeling at your side. Her hands hover over your arm, unsure, and it catches you off guard. Kuvira’s self-assurance rarely falters — when it does, it’s a cause for concern.

“I am,” you affirm, attempting a soft grin before you try to push yourself up. As your left arm protests in agony, you realize it’s been bandaged with multiple layers of thick gauze. Kuvira notices your confused expression and her face grows grim.

“What happened?” you ask. Kuvira stares at your arm for a few moments in thick silence, almost as if her capacity to speak had been plucked from her throat the instant you broached the subject.

“There was a damaged piece of armored cable,” she eventually says. “Between the wiring and what little spirit energy was being transmitted from the suit’s core, it was exposed enough to deliver a shock that knocked you out for hours.”

Ah. So that explained the bandaged arm and why everything else seared in a dull, muted ache.

“Hours? That’s better than what I thought,” you joked. “I could’ve sworn I was out for weeks!” You attempt to laugh but Kuvira finally looks up at you and her expression is so grave it effectively shuts down whatever attempt you make to lighten the situation.

“You could have been,” she hisses. “Had you gotten any closer to that damaged material who knows what could have—I don’t know what I—”

“Kuvira,” you interrupt. Her eyes slide shut and she grips the bedsheet tight, closing her fist over the material with a force that would break anything else if it were more solid. You manage to lift yourself up with your good arm and once you’re upright, you press your palm against her cheek.

“I’m okay, really I am,” you reassure her. “It’s probably just some bruising here and there. Plus my arm will be good in no time, you’ll see.”

“I know that, it’s just…” Kuvira’s voice trails off for a few moments before she can continue. She swallows hard and exhales shakily. “I walked in exactly as it happened and...it looked like you were gone. I heard you scream and when you went quiet, your body hit the ground and I could’ve sworn you...you weren’t there anymore.”

“I’m here now, Kuvira,” you murmur, dragging your thumb over her cheekbone in that way she loves but has never actually verbalized. You maintain a slow pace until you feel Kuvira melt into your touch, her features softening.

“I’m right here with you, alright?” you tell her. “I’m not going anywhere anytime soon. I’m going to be okay and I promise I’ll be more careful. Now why don’t we go on a walk and maybe grab some tea?”

“No,” Kuvira responds quickly. “You stay here and I’ll bring you whatever you need. Besides, it’s late and you should be resting anyway. We’ll spend the night in the tent and see how you’re feeling tomorrow. Just...wait here.”

She leans forward to press her lips against your temple, staying there for a moment, confirming to herself that you’re really alive, and then breaks away with a reluctant stride. You sigh but smile inwardly, leaning back and hoping you get better soon so Kuvira will feel more at ease.

---

True to form, you recover within the span of a few days from the worst of it all. You take it easy in the days immediately succeeding the accident, even finding some spare time to meet with Baatar and assure him there’s no bad blood. He can’t find it in himself to accept forgiveness, though frankly you don’t blame any of it on him. You make it a point to eat the occasional meal with him when time permits...something you never envisioned doing mere months ago.

Character development indeed.

Though your arm takes longer to heal, you get back to work within three days time, albeit with slightly less mobility. Nevertheless, you approach your assignments with the same level of attention and detail as you would any other time.

However, the one thing that remains the same is Kuvira’s unwillingness to stay away from you for longer than thirty minute intervals.

Ever since the accident, she stays by your side almost nonstop except when she’s called away for business that doesn’t involve you. A hand on your waist when you lift yourself off a chair, her arms circling you as you get out of bed, her fingers guiding you towards an exit when there are too many people nearby.

Today, you’re filing away the last of the latest shipment updates from Yi. You sigh and Kuvira looks up from across the room. “Are you alright? Are you in pain?” she asks worriedly.

You bite your lip with hopes that it’ll stop you from rolling your eyes as you shake your head. “I’m fine, Kuvira,” you respond. “Head’s just feeling loaded from all these files. I think I’m going to close out for the day.”

“Of course. Let me take you to our quarters,” Kuvira replies, shoving away whatever she was working on and making her way towards you. She offers you her hand which you take, not without some exasperation.

“I can get there on my own, you know,” you remind her, hoping you don’t come off as too abrasive. Luckily it seems to go over her head because Kuvira is too preoccupied with making sure your knee doesn’t smash against the desk or that the wall doesn’t touch any other part of your body.

“Of course I know that but I won’t let you,” Kuvira says simply. And with that, she guides you back to the tent with one arm wrapped around your waist, her hand digging softly into your side. The guards look on with a mix of sympathetic glances and the occasional teasing grin. You grimace in response and do your best to ignore them, affronted that they’ve become so bold.

You reach the tent and you aren’t sure what look Kuvira gives the guards because they quickly scramble away (or as good as one can scramble in a bulky mech suit) so she can bend the door open. She steps in first, letting you lean on her arm to lift you up the two steps.

“Here, let’s get you into bed,” she murmurs, leading you towards the mattress and releasing your hand as you sit down.

“Kuvira…” You start to say but something in her face makes you stop. You’re tempted to tell her to ease up, that you’re fine and she’s worrying over nothing but you remind yourself what you would’ve felt in her place. You’ve seen Kuvira come close to death too many times and the thought nearly destroyed you.

So you keep quiet because you know she’s not actually being domineering. You hold her hand between both of yours and bring it to your lips, sliding the glove off so you can press your mouth against her bare skin.

“Don’t leave, Kuvira,” you murmur. “Can you...can you stay with me?”

“Of course,” Kuvira whispers, her face losing some of its tension as she sits to your side. She watches you intently and you can’t tell what she’s looking for. Perhaps some indication of pain? Discomfort?

The tent is quiet for some time and when Kuvira breaks the silence her voice is unusually hesitant. “I’m sorry if I’ve made you uncomfortable lately,” she sighs. You look at her and her expression is unreadable.

“What do you mean?” you ask.

“I’m afraid I’ve been rather...overbearing for the past few days. I know you’d never say it outright but I imagine it’s been difficult for you to deal with,” she explains. “I hope you understand why I’ve done it though.”

She adds that last sentence almost as if to reassure herself that her behavior is warranted which, frankly, it absolutely is and it pains you to think she doesn’t believe that.

You press closer to her until your thighs touch, lifting your hand to tilt her face towards yours and cupping your fingers around her jaw.

“Of course I understand, Kuvira. It’s absolutely fine. I can’t expect you to recover from something so frightening in such a short amount of time. I’m sorry if I gave the impression that you had to,” you apologize.

Kuvira exhales sharply and her lips curl into a faint smile. “Never. If anything you’ve been extremely patient for someone who’s had their partner doting on them for almost every waking hour,” she chuckles.

You grin and lean forward until the tip of your nose brushes against Kuvira’s. “Well I can’t say it hasn’t been kind of sweet having the Great Uniter at my beck and call,” you respond slyly.

“But don’t you always?” Kuvira asks, closing the gap between your faces just enough for her lips to nearly graze over your own.

“I suppose you’d think so,” you giggle. “Clearly you’ve been more...zealous as of late, haven’t you?”

Kuvira hums while she slides the other glove off her hand, lifting her fingers until they wrap around the back of your neck. The caress of warm skin produces a thrill that courses all the way down your spine. “May I kiss you?” she whispers and her breath tickles the skin below your ear.

“Please,” you respond, bridging the space that separates you and finally bringing her supple mouth against yours. The kiss is tentative and chaste, so similar to the ones you would share in the early days of your relationship. Kuvira’s hand stays still on your skin, mirroring the carefulness of her mouth, so evidently displaying her anxiety of moving too abruptly for fear of harming you in some way.

So you decide to encourage her further, parting your lips and letting the tip of your tongue playfully brush against hers. Kuvira gasps and jerks backward, her face already tinted a lovely shade of red. It’s an unusual look for her but one that you relish for its rarity.

“What’s the matter? Too much?” you ask. The inquiry comes out sounding much more playful than you’d intended.

“I, um. I guess I didn’t expect that. I thought you would want to take things slow for now,” she elaborates. Kuvira is normally so composed, hyper-aware of every sound and movement she makes especially when she’s being closely observed, which is why you’re pleasantly surprised to see the way her throat clenches as she swallows.

“I’ll take things slow if that’s what you want. Is that what you want, Kuvira?” you ask innocently, lifting your eyebrows and removing your hands from her body. “Do you just want me to kiss you nice and slow...not deeper and harder until you feel your heart pounding against your chest? Not until you start kissing my neck and moving your hand lower and lower...just enough to feel how wet—”

Much to your delight, you’re swiftly cut off when Kuvira seals her mouth over yours again, the force of it strong enough to push you back an inch. You make a pleased sound in your throat and finally throw your arms around her neck, readjusting until you can swing your legs over her thighs and rest upon her lap.

Kuvira’s hands drift mindlessly over your sides, not quite touching but not too far off either. You grow exasperated so you tug on them and wrap them around your hips, grinding downwards so she can feel the growing heat between your legs. How desperately you’ve wanted this for days now.

She moans softly against your mouth and her patience wears thin within moments. Between the havoc you wreak on her lips and the canting motion of your body against her thighs, she eventually cradles you against her arm before placing you onto the mattress on your back.

You gasp in pleasant surprise once she hovers over you. She carries her weight with even greater caution, overly cognizant of potentially pressing down too hard and hurting you.

“What happened to taking it slow?” you tease breathlessly, hovering your fingers over the metal plates on her shoulder. She notices right away and knocks them off with quick work of her hands. They’re tossed onto the ground with a resounding clash.

“I think you should be asking yourself that question,” she responds, leaning down until her lips dance across your neck. “What was that you were mentioning earlier?” she whispers against you, dragging her tongue along the skin that isn’t covered by your uniform.

Your body instantly arches upward, feeling Kuvira’s breasts press against your chest. Between the accident and how busy everything already was before that, it had been weeks since you’ve been with her like this.

Therefore it’s no surprise that your body responds accordingly.

“Now don’t tell me you’ve gone all soft on me,” Kuvira says, pushing away the collar of your uniform and carefully sinking her teeth into the flesh at the base of your neck. You’re at a total loss for words, the sounds and syllables dissipating with each brush of Kuvira’s mouth on your body.

“Because that would be such a shame. I do love it when you make me work for it,” she sighs. Her hands, firm yet careful nonetheless, drift downwards until one rests over your hip. Even through the layers of fabric, her touch produces a sensation like fire that spreads from the point of contact all the way to each bit of muscle and nerve.

“But you also love it when I’m completely at your mercy, don’t you?” you shoot back, rather proud that your voice isn’t as weak as you expected it to be. Kuvira cocks an eyebrow and removes her mouth from your neck. You mourn the loss momentarily but keep going.

“You can’t deny it, Kuvira,” you continue, your eyes widening with glee. “I’ve seen the look in your eyes when you have me all tied up, completely and utterly at your disposal for whatever you desire. Haven’t you missed that? The way I’m completely helpless when you bind me up and all I can do is wait to see what you’ll do next.”

“It sounds like you’ve been thinking about this for some time,” Kuvira exhales, already short of breath.

“Oh I certainly have. And given how you can barely get through an entire sentence without gasping for air, I’d say you’re quite a fan of the prospect yourself,” you murmur.

“Are you sure? You’re not in any pain at all? I don’t want to hurt you,” Kuvira says quietly, the lustful look on her face morphing into one of concern.

You nod assuredly and shyly press your lips to hers again. “Yes, I’m absolutely sure. We’ve got our word, remember? I’ll let you know if I need you to stop.”

Kuvira nods against your touch and moves her hand to the back of your neck once more, this time undoing the buttons that hold the article together and lifting your arms to pull it away. The fabric bunches up around your bandaged forearm and though the gauze isn’t as thick anymore, it’s enough to make you both pause.

You bite back the laughter flooding your mouth and Kuvira looks vaguely irritated. Nevertheless, she approaches the minor hiccup with her usual, unhurried maneuvers until it slides away and you’re only covered by a soft undershirt.

The scars beneath the gauze start throbbing a bit but you manage to keep the worst at bay. It’s nothing too bad — nothing worth paying much attention to.

Kuvira spends the next few moments showering kisses, bites, and caresses over every inch of skin she can reach with her mouth. She takes you apart with slow and intentional movements until all you can do is lay frenzied with desire beneath her ministrations and attempt to hold back the pathetically desperate sounds that fall from your lips.

She begins to lift up the undershirt until it glides over and off your head and falls to the ground, along with the growing heap of Kuvira’s clothes mixed with your own. She keeps your arms high above your head, sliding her fingers over your skin and pauses. When she stops, you realize your eyes have been shut so you snap them open and look down at her impatiently.

“Don’t you worry...I’ve got exactly what you’ve been waiting for,” she murmurs. Kuvira lifts her hands and starts to coil her fingers. You hear the sharp sound of metal sliding against metal and then you see two silver strips emerging from her abandoned uniform. They float menacingly above your bodies, gradually curling into crescent shapes that hover over your wrists.

“I think it’s about time,” Kuvira whispers. Not a moment is wasted between the time she utters those words and the sensation of frigid metal clasping around your wrists, pulling your arms together and holding you down tight.

You’re met with an immediate burst of exhilaration and you ride it for about five seconds before it’s overridden with a growing feeling of discomfort that spreads under your bandages. You do your best to ignore it and instead focus on Kuvira moving downwards until she reaches the hem of your trousers.

“Now let’s see just how much you’ve wanted this,” she purrs against your hip, clipping her teeth over the edge of the fabric and using it to guide her hands as they slide it off. She’s soon met with the throbbing heat nestled between your thighs and you sigh in shameless pleasure.

As delicious as it feels, the pain in your arm only intensifies with each passing moment. You attempt to zero in on Kuvira’s mouth brushing against your bare hip, your thigh, the feeling of her lips hovering over the wet fabric of your underwear. It becomes overwhelming — the tension of wanting more but feeling your arm quiver with increasing pain.

“May I?” Kuvira asks, hooking her finger over the thin fabric and hinting at tearing it off. You murmur a quivering “yes” and hope she can’t sense the discomfort in your voice. She promptly removes them, dragging them down your legs and pressing her face against the crease where your hip meets your thigh.

It’s such an unbearable union of tender and carnal that it makes your body jerk hard against the restraints. The material digs into your injury just enough to make you cry out in distress.

“Silver, Kuvira! Silver,” you grunt through gritted teeth. Kuvira immediately breaks away and bends the metal strips off from your arms. They land on the floor with a harsh sound that makes you flinch.

“What do you need? What should I do?” she asks calmly. It would almost startle you how quickly she manages to shift tonalities but right now, it brings you a comfort you didn’t realize you needed.

“My arm...it-it stings,” you mumble, carrying it down until it rests on your abdomen. “I just need a second. Maybe that healing salve?”

“Of course. Stay still, alright? I’ve kept it in my desk,” Kuvira reassures, leaning down to press a kiss against your forehead and leaping off the bed. She throws a spare bed sheet over her body as she strides across the room, shuffling through a drawer until she finds the salve and a sealed green pouch.

She kneels on the bed and slides her arm around your bare back to help lift you up with little pressure. Once you’re upright, she gingerly takes your injured arm between her hands and begins to unfold the gauze.

The skin that emerges is marred with a thin layer of scarred flesh, much less angry than how it appeared just last week. Kuvira uncovers the glass jar and scoops a portion of the salve onto two fingers that she presses against the wound.

It feels awful at first, almost exacerbating the pain, but it gradually melts into a refreshing coolness that numbs the discomfort. You hiss a bit at the beginning and Kuvira lifts her hand away.

“Is it too much?” she murmurs. “I’m not pressing down too hard, am I?”

You shake your head adamantly. “No, not at all,” you respond. “You’re totally fine. Just stung at first. It feels good now, I promise.”

Kuvira nods in understanding, rubbing the last of the substance onto your skin and pulling open the small pouch. She pulls out a long strip of gauze that she untangles and starts folding over your arm, sealing the salve’s properties against the scars.

She moves smoothly, indicative of one who has done this many times before. You wonder how often she had tended to others’ wounds as a guard in Zaofu.

“You’re all set,” she affirms once she ties it all together. She rests her hand over her handiwork, stroking her thumb over the material and looking up at you concernedly. “What else do you need?”

“I hate to say it but I think you were right,” you chuckle. “I think...I just want to sleep now. Do you, uh...do you mind, er—holding me?”

Kuvira’s face brightens even in the darkness of the tent and she nods, guiding your bodies back down to the bed so she can curl her body around yours, mindful of where your injured arm rests. Your legs tangle with hers as Kuvira tugs a thick blanket over your shoulders, bringing you closer to her chest until your forehead touches her collarbone.

The silence is comfortable, soothing. Exactly what you need. But you can’t shake the slight degree of embarrassment that clings to your thoughts.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper.

“You don’t have to apologize for anything,” Kuvira murmurs. “I know you want to...and I understand. I won’t scold you for it but just know you don’t have to. I’m glad you told me. That’s what we do, right? Honesty.”

You nod against her and swallow. “You’re right...I appreciate it,” you respond. And though you don’t exchange any more words for what remains of the evening before you fall asleep, you lose yourself in the calming silence that follows. Kuvira’s hands float up and down your back and your shoulders, guiding you into a dreamless sleep that welcomes you with warmth and safety.

[kurtstinypurse]

for the prompt meme thing: 18. celebrity!au + 9. strangers to lovers + “i’m rambling again, aren’t i?” pretty pls. for the rambling of it all and us etc

so this is way longer than that prompt post had in mind, but. I needed to give this the length it (and you) deserved!!

-

Kurt shouldn’t be checking his Instagram comments, and he knows it.

In fact, he makes a point not to, usually, because he knows what he’ll find - a sea of half-assed compliments and ass-kissing that, as nice as they are, all run together, and a scattering of rude remarks that will inevitably stick out to him and ruin his day.

And so he doesn’t check them, simple as that.

Well - until now, apparently, and he isn’t even really sure why he’s doing it as he opens the app, goes to his own page, clicks his most recent post.

Maybe he’s a masochist looking for reasons to feel insecure and beat himself up, or maybe he’s a narcissist and looking for an ego boost, or maybe he’s bored, or maybe it’s the fact that he’s home alone on a Friday night, two glasses of wine deep - but that part of it is pretty much business as usual.

But regardless, there he sits, scrolling through the comments on his latest picture - a snapshot of a model wearing his newly finished suit, floral and understated, a design he’s content with every stitch of.

As to be expected, the comments run together. There’s a lot of them these days, a larger following than he ever expected to get, back when he was an up-and-coming designer.

He’s not so up-and-coming anymore, though.

He’s established, made a name for himself and kept it, a big name, actually, becoming one of the most sought-after designers to create custom suits for events in New York - and, ironically enough, for most events in the Broadway world, for premieres and awards shows and the like.

It’s a small connection to the very world he once thought he’d be immersed in, but at the end of the day, he’s happy with what he has.

Kurt is scrolling, and he’s scrolling, and then- he pauses.

A blue verified check mark sticks out to him next to one username, and so he stops to read the comment, finding a name he recognizes, one he hadn’t expected to see.

blaineanderson ✔️ this is incredible! your designs are always great, but this one really captured me. fingers crossed I can wear one of your pieces one of these days!

Oh.

It’s interesting, actually, that Blaine hasn’t worn one of Kurt’s pieces before.

Kurt’s been aware of Blaine for a while now, vaguely tracking his progression from a stand-out off-Broadway to an understudy on Broadway to, finally, a full-fledged lead role.

He’s a hot topic, having been labeled as one to watch more than once, and Kurt knows Blaine attends the events and premieres Kurt often designs for, but they just...never crossed paths.

Or apparently they had, and Kurt’s just been missing it.

He blinks, and he reads the comment again, and he takes a long drag of wine, and he swallows, and he blinks, and he reads it again.

He realizes he’s smiling, down at his phone all alone in his apartment, no one to see it, no real reason to be doing it.

There’s no real reason why he clicks on Blaine’s profile, either, and there’s definitely no reason to explain why he clicks to follow Blaine, but if that wasn’t enough -

He clicks again, and he pushes away all room for logical thought, and he composes a message.

kurthummel: hi! this is really random, but I thought your comment on my post was really sweet, plus if you meant it, I’d love to design for you. anyways, just thought I’d say hello and thank you.

He presses his phone onto the couch cushion beside him, and he drains the rest of his wine, and he goes into the kitchen to refill his glass, and when he’s back - there’s a message there waiting for him already, much to his surprise.

blaineanderson: hey, kurt! this message was really exciting to see! I’ve actually been following your work for a long time now, and...wow. do YOU mean it? I’m not sure I’m worthy of wearing one of your designs, but at the very least, I’m so glad you said hi!

Blaine’s gracious, and he’s sweet, and Kurt already knows he’s handsome, and-

Kurt has had far too much wine.

And he has been single for far too long.

But Blaine… In a single comment and a single message, Blaine has managed to make Kurt feel more special than he’s felt in a long time, and he’s not sure why.

It’s probably the wine.

The wine is also why he writes back again - and another time, too.

kurthummel: of course I meant it! and why wouldn’t you be worthy? I actually happened to see the falsettos revival on opening night, and yours might be my favorite interpretation I’ve seen. I’m a big fan of the show, of course, and being such a lover of broadway, too… I’ve seen quite a few boots at this point, but your whizzer might have tugged at my heart the most. and your voice!

And your eyes, and your face, and your smile.

Shit.

The wine, the wine, the wine.

kurthummel: sorry, I’m rambling...

He wants to apologize for a lot more than that, but he manages to stop himself.

blaineanderson: no need to apologize! I...wow. again. you’re so kind, and it means even more because you’re so talented, too. your visions for your designs are just so thoughtful and original, especially that last one, and so I’m sure your ear is just as well-tuned so…yeah. wow. now I’m the rambling one! anyways, whizzer quickly became such a personal role for me, and I’m so happy to hear that shines through even a little bit. 

And they kind of go from there.

They keep complimenting each other for a while - there’s probably a ridiculous amount of compliments traded, actually, but they’re both doing it, and it feels like a creative exchange, almost, on topic and essentially business-related. It’s meant to be a precursor to business, actually, hopefully culminating in a project for Kurt and an attention-grabbing, show-stopping outfit for Blaine.

But then they just...keep talking, about their careers and how they like the city, about how they got to the city and where they were prior, about the songs they like and the shows they’ve seen and the movies they’d managed to miss.

It turns out they have a lot in common.

They keep talking, as Kurt finishes off his bottle of wine, as he moves to the bedroom and crawls under his sheets, burrowing into the pillows and blankets with no light but his phone screen illuminating the dark room.

At some point, he realizes he’s smiling, and he’s been smiling, to the point where his cheeks hurt, actually, but he just kind of lets himself.

Just for tonight.

-

But then it’s the next morning, and Kurt wakes up to a message from Blaine, and the conversation continues, direct messages scattered through the morning, during Kurt’s commute to the office, at work when he has the chance to sneak a moment on his phone.

And he finds himself looking for those moments to sneak a read of a message or a reply to one, kind of whenever he can.

Which is exactly what he’s doing when his boss, Isabelle, pokes her head into his office.

“Why are you smiling at your phone?” she wants to know, raising a curious, knowing eyebrow when Kurt shoots his head up to look at her, phone clattering onto his desk. “A new guy?”

“There’s- There’s no guy,” he stammers, because there isn’t, at least not the way she means, and he’s not sure why his face is getting hot.

Blaine is nice, and Kurt is nice back. That’s all it is, really - it’s nice to have someone new to talk to, to get to know, especially when they’re so- well, nice.

Isabelle hums like she doesn’t believe him, and Kurt suddenly isn’t completely convinced he believes himself.

Blaine posts a new picture of himself on Instagram that night, a classy shot from behind as he watches the sun set over the city from a tall skyscraper’s balcony, and if Kurt falls asleep thinking about the narrow lines of Blaine’s waist and the way his ass looks in those pants, well.

Kurt’s only human, after all.

-

He’s not sure when things start to change, exactly.

He can’t pinpoint the moment, but their conversations go from friendly and sweet to something more - deeper, first, a gentle delve into Blaine’s complicated family, a brief conversation about Kurt’s mom and his stepbrother, and then just- just more.

He’s sitting at his desk at work, poking at his salad with his fork and grinning at a silly picture Blaine sent him when he realizes - he feels light, and he feels giddy, almost, and he feels towards Blaine a sort of way he thought he couldn’t feel, not anymore.

But he’s feeling it, and he’s been feeling it, and he realizes, too, that he just kind of knows Blaine feels the same way.

It’s in Blaine’s messages, and it’s in the compliments that reappear when Kurt least expects it, and it’s in the emojis he uses, and it’s just-

It’s everywhere, and Kurt sits there, and he blinks, and he blinks, and he chews thoughtfully for a moment, and he decides, yeah.

He’s not going to question it.

It’s that night that Blaine asks for his phone number, and it feels like a step, and Kurt can’t help but wonder if maybe Blaine’s going to ask him out for coffee or for dinner or for drinks - they live in the same city, after all, and they know a ton of the same people and essentially run in the same circles, and it would be so easy, so easy to just take another step forward and make this real.

Kurt should be scared of that - and in the past, he would be, with a string of brief failed relationships and over three years of being fully single in recent history. He has no reason to think - well, anything.

But he’s just...not scared.

He’s cooking dinner when his phone vibrates, and he reaches for it with his free hand, expecting to find some sort of question or invitation, but instead he finds-

A video.

Unknown Number: Hey, you. It’s Blaine. I know I haven’t told you about this, but it’s only because I haven’t really told anyone about it. But besides just singing on stage, I like to try my hand at arranging my own songs, too, and I felt like sharing this one with you. xx

The attached video is just about three minutes long, and it’s of Blaine on his couch, dressed down in a sweater that screams cozy, and he has a guitar in his lap, and he smiles shyly at the camera before starting to play and to sing.

It’s an upbeat sort of song, and Blaine sings about being a king, about thinking he has it all worked out but figuring out he’s wrong, about his kingdom falling apart but being okay, about being foolish and unexpectedly falling in love.

Kurt knows it’s not for him - he isn’t stupid.

But his heart is stupid, and it’s racing in his chest, and his mouth is stupid, too, because he can’t force away his grin, and his hands are worst of all, because when the song is over, he presses to replay it, and then he replays it again.

And then he picks up his phone, and he types.

From Kurt: Blaine, that was… I don’t know what to say! The lyrics were so clever, and you’re so wonderful at guitar, and you know how I feel about your voice. I listened to it a few times, honestly, and I already want to listen to it again. Sorry, I’m rambling again, too, aren’t I? I...guess I tend to feel kind of foolish around you, actually.

From Blaine: It’s funny, I wrote this song almost a year ago with nothing to apply it to. But it’s starting to make more sense, I think. Or maybe I’m foolish, too.

From Blaine: Besides, I love to listen to you ramble.

Kurt breathes out shakily, and he blinks, and he reads the message again, and he blinks, and he smiles.

He doesn’t hesitate, and he knows he won’t regret it.

From Kurt: Are you free tomorrow night?

Blaine’s reply is near instant.

From Blaine: For you? Anytime.

-

It’s only been a week, Kurt realizes the next night as he fusses over his hair in the mirror, picks an invisible string of a thread from his vest.

A mere week since he messaged Blaine, a mere week since Blaine messaged back, and yet-

It feels like so much longer, so much more than that.

Blaine has agreed to meet Kurt at a cozy, low-lit cafe a few blocks away, one of Kurt’s favorite spots that’s coincidentally one of Blaine’s favorites, too.

It’s funny, really, how connected they’ve always been, even when they didn’t know each other yet.

Kurt isn’t used to not wanting to cancel at least a little bit. On every first date he’s been on in the past handful of years, he’s had to practically force himself out the door, force himself to try, already knowing nothing will come of it.

But now, he has to force himself not to leave for the restaurant too early.

Of course, time moves forward as it inevitably does, and it comes time, and so Kurt heads out, and he walks down the street with a rush in his chest, pulling his jacket close around himself, ready.

A breath catches in his throat as he sees Blaine waiting outside the restaurant, rocking slightly up and down on the balls of his feet in an impossibly endearing nervous motion, a bouquet of colorful flowers in his hand.

Kurt can tell the very moment Blaine sees him, too, eyes locking with Kurt still about a block away, and Blaine positively beams, radiant and happy and beautiful, and wow, Kurt made him do that.

Once he gets close enough to say hello, close enough to see all of the colors and the softness and the warmth in Blaine’s eyes, close enough to touch, Kurt is pretty much done for.

He isn’t the type to kiss on the first date, particularly not before actually having the date, but he’s not the type to pay so much attention to his Instagram comments or send someone a direct message out of the blue, either.

As he pulls Blaine close and presses their lips together, Kurt finds he’s never been happier to surprise himself.

-

(A handful of months later, Blaine wears a Hummel Designs original to the premiere of the Waitress revival, an adaptation of the very suit he commented on the picture of - with Kurt on his arm, too, there to stay.)

[beautiful-bau-beau]

helloooo!! I have a Spencer request :) Could you write one where Spencer is injured (maybe like when he broke his leg or something like that) and he stays round yours and you look after him, help him shower, comfort him and stuff :)

Anonymous said to beautiful-bau-beau: could u do a soulmate au w spence where you feel the share pain with your soulmate, i think it would be interesting since spencer seems to be shot or nearly killed in almost every episode 

Sticks and Stones

fem!reader/Spencer Reid

masterlist

[Set in season 5 when Spencer gets shot in the leg but makes references to Maeve]

----

To the average eye flowers are soft, simple little things. They spark romance in the hearts of budding couples, they aid the grieving widows, their beauty inspires the masses in forms such as poetry and art. For some, flowers only caused distress.

Few were "fortunate" in the world to have soulmates. Once twelve years of age, a soul bound to another would feel the pain, to a lesser extent, as well as receive a flower at the sight of the intrusion. Small purple blooms grew at bruises, at a cut, the flowers would mimic the length and size. Any other type of pain was indicated by large, red blossoms. As each wound healed, the flowers would wilt and die.

You were among the many to few flowers as flimsy nuisances, only serving as reminders of the pain you had to go through.

Before turning twelve you often wondered if you had a soulmate. You had spent many days vividly imagining who your soulmate was, what he looked like, what he did for a living, choosing to ignore that if you indeed had one, a lifetime of pain was sure to follow.

Lifetime of pain indeed.

Your soulmate must have been a stuntman, a police officer, hell- even a lion tamer with the amount of pain he seemed to put you through. The occasional bruise and scrape seemed to hit you up until your early twenties, that's when the real pain began.

Every other day it seemed that you were doubled over, screaming in agony. You were an ugly vision of purple and red, but hell, it seemed to strike up a conversation with you and your patients.

You served as a private duty nurse, taking care of patients in the safety of their own home. You enjoyed the one-on-one with your patients, and it was decidedly better than working in a crowded hospital with a difficult schedule.

You had just finished a job working with an elderly woman, as her granddaughter had recently decided to move in with her to take care of her. It was a sad departure, but the job had finished and it was now time for you to find another patient in need.

You were employed through a small local medical office and received career requests through their office website.

One particular request caught your eye that morning from a Ms. Penelope Garcia. A friend of hers had recently been shot in the leg and needed to quickly recover before returning to his job.

You eyed your own leg, sighing heavily. It still seemed to throb harshly every once in a while.

A week ago, out of nowhere, an extreme pain radiated through your leg, causing you to drop what you were doing and scream. Thankfully you hadn't been on the job but the look of pity your neighbors gave you the next day felt just as awful. Every time you glanced at the offending appendage you could swear you saw another blossom grow.

"You and me both, buddy." You mumbled, picking up your phone. The job seemed simple enough, and hopefully you would be able to bond with this new patient by shared leg pain.

-

"You ordered a nurse for me?" Spencer hissed into his cell, turning to look over his shoulder. "I can take care of myself!" He eyed your figure, currently unpacking a medical bag. You had entered his apartment mere minutes ago, not understanding his confusion.

"Are you Spencer Reid?" You asked, greeting his wheel-chair bound figure. "I'm Y/n Y/l/n, the nurse your girlfriend Penelope ordered." You were met with a blank stare. "Is she uh.. here?"

"I'm going to have to make a phone call." Spencer blurted, wheeling himself inside. He left the door open so you took it upon yourself to enter.

"Spencer, I love you but are you listening to yourself right now?" Penelope replied, twirling a pen around her fingers. "You were shot a week ago, you're in a wheelchair. How are you going to shower? Replace your bandages? Sweets, this nurse will help you. And before you even have to ask I already checked and your insurance covers this!"

"Garcia-"

"I won't hear anything more about it as I know I'm right! Goodbye, dear!" A heavy sigh came from the man, and he placed his cellphone back in his pocket. He turned to look at you again, wheeling his way over to you.

"I apologize for earlier. I wasn't exactly informed that you would be coming here." He placed his hands on his lap, awkwardly.

"That's alright!" You chirped. " You’re low-risk so I won’t invade your space too much by staying overnight with you. I'm here to help with personal medical care, bathing, trimming nails, and making you comfortable.... as well as urinary and colostomy care." His eyes widened and you simply waved him off. "I get it. It's weird. But from what I read through of your medical reports, the bullet went clear through and you'll need a crutch in two weeks! At least you're not hooked up to a catheter?" You tried to joke. You were met with another simple stare.

"Let's uh, change your bandages, shall we?"

-

It had been a few days since you started working with Spencer. He was a nice man, a little awkward, and seemed to be more of an introvert, so you respected his space. He seemed to take to staying in bed, simply asking for books every once and awhile.

"There's no way you're able to read all these so quickly. You'd have to be superhuman..." You teased, bringing him a stack of his latest requests.

"I have an IQ of 187 and can read 20,000 words per minute." Spencer replied, catching your eye. He flushed under your surprised glance. "...Not to brag."

"Well... that'll do it." You set each book in your arm down, one by one, a particular title catching your eye. "The Narrative of John Smith?"

"Have you read it?" He asked, trying not to sound too eager. He hadn't originally pegged you for an Arthur Conan Doyle fan.

"Uh, no." You scratched behind your ear sheepishly. "But a few friends of mine have, they all highly recommend it. What do you think? Does it live up to all the hype?" Spencer opened his mouth but shut it almost immediately, causing your brows to furrow.

"I can't tell you what to read... it's just a very special book to me."

"Did someone special give you the book? Penelope?" Spencer let out a chuckle, hissing as he adjusted himself on his bed.

"Garcia is just a friend but you're correct, someone special gave me the book."

"A soulmate?" You asked, immediately regretting your choice of words. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have assumed. I'm just the nosy nurse that asks too many questions." You knew it was a sensitive topic for some, with or without the soulmate.

"No, it wasn't from a soulmate... but I wish she was." Spencer's voice grew soft. You felt as if you had stepped too far, intruded upon a fond memory.

"I do have one though." He continued, noticing your unease. "Sometimes I worry I imagined her but every once and awhile, I'll notice some flowers by my legs, the likely result of a cut from shaving or bruises." You let out a laugh, leaning against his door frame.

"I would love a low-risk soulmate like that. He must jump through flaming hula-hoops or something. I could make a decent living as a florist." You murmured.

"That's got to be tough." Spencer observed, noticing no flowers on your arm.

"I guess he's a lot like you." You lifted up your pant leg, crimson petals on display. "His reason can't be nearly as heroic as yours, though." Spencer couldn't suppress the smile that grew from the compliment.

"Well I guess you'll have to find him and ask."

"Well you're in the FBI right? Let's formulate a profile and find him so I can give him a piece of my mind. You in?" You teased.

"Sounds like a worthy use of all my newfound time." He let out a small huff of amusement, eyeing your figure. He appreciated how lighthearted and casual you were. He noticed the space you gave him and your little efforts to make the apartment easier to maneuver around. Although he hadn't seemed motivated at first, something told him he should get to know you more.

-

"Y/n?" Spencer asked, drawing your attention away from one of the books you had borrowed from his shelf. "Is there any way we can wash my hair?" He had procrastinated in asking, too embarrassed for whatever your plan was for showering.

"Of course! I could cut it too if you'd like." You offered, standing to wheel him into the bathroom.

"Are you saying you don't like my hair?" He faked an offended tone which he knew would make you laugh.

"I think your hair is beautiful, right at that perfect length before it gets too weird for any man to wear." You snorted. You moved him to a stool, not too difficult a feat as he was able to support the majority of his weight on his good leg. "Alright, the shirt has got to come off."

"Isn't against a code to try and seduce your patients?" Spencer teased. Since your conversation the other day he had grown to feel more comfortable with you and a friendship ensued. You took care when treating him and told stories of past patients. It was clear you loved what you did and cared for the people even more.

"Oh please. If I was seducing you, which I'm not, you'd know." You rolled your eyes, waiting for him to lift his arms before peeling his shirt off of him. He leaned back, long tresses falling into a pool in the sink.

He was extremely handsome, you couldn't deny it. His sharp cheekbones and jawline, his full and enticing lips, the way his hand flexed as he read.... you didn't notice any of that. You especially didn't notice how wonderfully intelligent he was, or how kind. Not at all.

Besides, it would never work. You both had your respective soulmates and he seemed to still be carrying a torch for the past relationship he was in. Not to mention the most important factor of all, he was your patient.

You carefully stepped around him to grab a large and small towel, snickering as you found a familiar design on one.

"Star Trek fan?" You asked, hanging the fabric on the shower rail and turning the tap on to warm water.

"Typically I'm not one for fiction but surprisingly there aren't that many scientific errors in Star Trek, especially considering how long ago it was made. There are certain improbabilities, but not that many outright errors, which make it so enjoyable to watch."

"Eh, I've only seen the film from 2009, and I was mostly paying attention to the deliciously handsome cast." You knew that would agitate him. "And not just for Chris Pine but Zachary Quinto as Spock? Oh, he is gorgeous, even if he is gay. Not that there's anything wrong with being gay, and not that I had a chance with him anyway." You laughed.

"Y/n, I am not one to comment on the education of another but you are seriously missing out! Star Trek: The Next Generation is one of the most influential series of it's time. the new film doesn't even have Data! Data, y/n, Data!" He grumbled as you washed his hair.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Next you're going to tell me that the 1996 Doctor Who movie is better than the series?" He opened his mouth when you raised your soapy hand. "Disregard that statement, I can't afford another argument, I'm already too emotional from our last one." You faked a sniffle.

"You know, most females I talk to don't watch Star Trek or Doctor Who."

"I'm just that amazing, I know." You sighed, moving to grab the washcloth and dousing it with water, handing it to Spencer so he could wash himself. You grabbed the Star Trek towel and started to dry Spencer's hair.                                           

"You're something alright." He retorted, drawing a gasp from you.

"I could have let you sit with greasy hair, you know!" Just for extra measure you rubbed his head a little harsher than before but miscalculated your aim, accidentally hitting your wrist against the marble sink.

Spencer felt pain radiate through his wrist and time seemed to slow. It suddenly seemed to dawn on him all at once. You experienced constant pain, pain he gave you because he was often injured on the job. Not to mention his gunshot wound on your leg and now the purple blossoms forming on his wrist.

 He wanted to shout, yell, jump up, wrap you in a hug. He had finally found his soulmate! However, he remained silent.

When you spoke about your soulmate the other day you seemed angry and forlorn at the amount of pain you had to endure. There was no doubt in his mind that if you knew he was your soulmate, you would walk right out of his life, but not before giving him a swift kick to the ass.

So he stayed quiet.

-

You weren’t sure what changed between you and Spencer. After the shower he mentioned he didn’t feel too well so you guided him to bed. Since then he stayed in his room, barely calling you to his side.

It was weird. If it was any other patient you would have paid no mind and kept to yourself but you thought you had made a connection with Spencer. You enjoyed the banter between you both and finding out your shared interests. It must have all been in your head. You brought yourself out of your thoughts to prepare Spencer’s tea. 

“Here you are!” You called, stepping into his room to hand him the mug. “I’m about to head out, do you need anything else?”

“No, thank you.” You stayed by the door, waiting to see if he would even spare you a glance. When he made no motion to move, you gave up, spinning on your heel to grab your purse and coat. 

“Ah!” You heard Spencer hiss from the other room before feeling a sharp sting on your tongue. Your hand came up to cover your mouth, brows knitting together in confusion. Was he…? Did he…? 

Spencer was your soulmate, he had to be. There was no possible way that him burning his mouth and your pain that followed were coincidences, right? Spencer was your soulmate! So why did you feel your heart drop into your stomach?

You shut the door, racing down the stairs and out of his apartment building, letting the cold air sweep over you. 

There was nothing special about you. You were just a simple nurse and he was your patient. Besides, how were you deserving of Spencer? You weren’t. 

He couldn’t find out, he just couldn’t.

-

You didn’t know if it was just because you knew that Spencer was your soulmate but the tension between the two of you was… palpable. 

“Hey!” You popped your head into his room, his figure jumping in surprise. “I’m sorry I didn’t mean to startle you!” You exclaimed.

“Hi?” He greeted, trying to seem calm. You were leaving tomorrow and he was panicking. The past few hours were spent debating about whether he should tell you that he was your soulmate. Could he really just let this opportunity pass by?

“I just wanted to know if you needed anything? I figured you probably ran out of books by now. Everytime I think you’ve reread all the books in your library I keep finding new ones.” You tried to joke. 

“I… Yes. Yes, please.” He mumbled, hiding his gaze. You sighed, wondering for the millionth time what you had done wrong to make him so distant and reclusive. 

“Alright, I’ll take the stack.” You bit your lip to keep from sighing once more, groaning as you picked up the books littered around the room. “God these are heavy.” You whispered under your breath, trying to waddle into the other room as you quickly realized you were losing your grip. It seemed as if it was too late, the pounds of literature falling on your feet.

Both you and Spencer let out a groan, heads snapping towards each other in surprise. 

“Did you- did you feel that?” You asked, even if you knew the answer.

“I did.” Spencer’s voice seemed small. “Y/n, I am so sorry.” You were taken aback, eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

“You’re sorry?” You questioned, pain forgotten as shame radiated through you. “Am I that bad of a soulmate?” You whispered, clenching your fist to keep tears from pricking your eyes.

“No! No, no, no!” He tried to sit up as straight as he could, internally cursing at how hurt you looked. “I only apologized because… I can’t help but feel like I disappointed you! I am an FBI agent, I’m always going to be in danger therefore putting you in danger. When you first mentioned your soulmate you seemed so… upset. I don’t know if I’ll ever truly be able to make you happy.” He admitted, the tips of his ears turning red as his gaze fell to his lap.

“Disappointed? Past-tense?” You cried. “Did you know about this?” He didn’t move.

“Well… I guess I can’t be angry with that.” You sighed. “I knew too. I just thought that… you wouldn’t want me. You still seemed so in love with whatever woman gave you that book. And out of my league. And my patient.” You let out a wry laugh, sitting on the edge of his bed. 

“Are you kidding me? You are the most gorgeous woman I have ever met. You make me laugh and you are so kind and caring. I am proud to be your soulmate.” He swallowed thickly.

“Spencer you are selfless. You dedicate your life every day to helping others. You are handsome, sweet, and hilarious.” You reached for his hand. “And I am so happy you turned out to be my soulmate.”

Your eyes finally met and before you knew it, your lips smashed against his. 

“I don’t know if you know this… but I happen to get injured on a lot of missions.” He uttered as you pulled apart. “So I have a feeling that I’ll need you around more often.”

“Well Doctor, I think you just might be right.” You giggled, drawing him in for another kiss. 

-----

Feedback is always appreciated!

[starryseung]

can u write a seungmin smut wherein he's a school nerd?🥺 pls i love your writings sm♥️

kim seungmin + smut

☾ 

word count; 2.7k words warnings; oral (giving), car sex, kinda dumb plot but yeah haha

Tutoring

“Hey y/n! Look at this, come quick!”

Your best friend Taehwa, held up her phone, showing you the new class seating arrangement. Your teachers had suggested for a while now, that only a few students were socializing with the rest of the class in group projects, and so, they decided to shuffle the positions you all were usually seated in. A few other girls from your class gathered around, hoping they would find a seat next to the queen bee.

Who, you may ask? You! Of course.

(a/n: this is so cringe wtf)

The girls that were previously huddled around you slowly started moving away, cursing few words in disappointment. You take a good look at the excel sheet, cocking your eyebrows at the list. You were seated right next to Kim Seungmin. The biggest nerd of the school. He was quiet, always glued to books, was rumored to be a virgin, but no one cared. And the fact that the school’s nerd™ was seated right next to the school’s queen™, you knew you were going to have some serious fun. 

••••

The first day rolls about pretty well, better than you’d expected, at least. You realized just today that you and Seungmin shared almost all classes. However, you realized, above all the things he was good at, he undoubtedly sucked at literature. He seemed to never get the hang of all the allusions, metaphors, imagery, symbolism, and even lucid things like the poetic devices or similes in the piece of literature given to him. At least, there was something he was bad at!

Nevertheless, your teacher paired you up together so that you could tutor him to fill in the dents he was lacking in. You happily agreed, feeling pride and honor that you were going to be tutoring The Kim Seungmin. Today was your first day tutoring him, so during your recess, you decided to hoard all resources for him so that it would be easier for the poor boy to understand the complexities of the subject.

The library was rarely packed, including today. You quickly find a spot in the near end where you and Seungmin could peacefully study, isolated from all the commotion at the front of the large hall. You flipped through a few pages, opening your laptop so that you could be ready for whenever Seungmin arrives.

You hear footsteps, and you look up to look at Seungmin with an apparent friend, someone you’d never expect to be with him. Hwang Hyunjin— the school’s prince. You two were… good friends. You two were paired for a Chemistry project a year ago, and after that, you stopped contacting him, until he started dating Taehwa six months ago. Nothing had gone wrong between you two though. It was just the usual teasing and insults thrown at each other since he was your best friend’s boyfriend. But now that you learned that he was friends with Seungmin, you were a little confused, to say the least.

Hyunjin looks at you and laughs in shock. “You’re going to be tutoring him! The world is finally ending! Come on Seungmin, I’d even believe that the sun rises in the west then believe that this dumbass is going to tutor you!”

“Excuse me. You can see who the dumbass is after he aces every test in Literature with the help of this dumbass!”

“Silence, students. This is a library.”, the librarian glares at you two, placing a finger at her lips to emphasize her point. You two bow at her and Seungmin waves away his friend, who glances at you and pokes his tongue out at you cheekily before leaving. You ignore him, acknowledging Seungmin walking towards you, his previous toothy-smile faded and replaced with the usual simper. He sits next to you and places his bag down, straightening up for the tutoring. You decide to inquire about Hyunjin later on and stick to tutoring for now. 

Shortly after, when Seungmin starts to get the hang of the sixteen-page document in front of him, he sighs in content and leans back in his chair. You decide to strike the iron when hot and reach out to ask him subtly.

“So… You hang out with Hyunjin?”

He giggles softly, taking off his glasses. 

“Yeah. I can have friends too, you know.”

You think he thinks you think nerds can’t have friends? Well, he was right somewhere along the lines, but you had never seen him with Hyunjin, who was the parallel opposite of him. 

“N-No! I meant, you,” you wave your hand up and down him, and then point a thumb in the direction Hyunjin had left in with an expression of disgust, “friends with… him?” 

He laughs this time, finding it hilarious how you seemed to be astonished at the bond between the two males. He puts his glasses back on, stretching his arms and legs after being in the position for so long, the grin not leaving his lips. Leaving your question hanging in the air, he closes his notebook, picking it and getting up while slinging his backpack across his shoulders. He starts taking small steps away from you, turning mid-way to declare with a smirk,

“It’s getting late. I’ll see you tomorrow, y/n. Thanks for the help.”

••••

The next few days advance, and you’re quick to grasp that Kim Seungmin was a two-sided coin. The smirk he would toss at you spoke a story that his innocent looks would dare reveal. You knew you had to up your game to show him you were more daring than he believed you to be. You and Seungmin were meeting up at the library for the past week, and today you knew just what to do. At the end of the day, you message Seungmin to meet you at the same spot, to which he replies with a ‘sure’. 

“Seungmin! Here!”, you whisper-yell, catching the attention of Seungmin as well as the tall man walking next to him. Hyunjin bares you a look, smirking as your eyes meet. You smile back in return, and Seungmin shoves him, making him leave your field of vision. You giggle and drag back the chair for Seungmin, pulling back a few books to start teaching him. You don’t miss the frown lingering on his features, but just like before, decide to trouble him later on.

You start with lessons on allegories, explaining each paragraph simultaneously from the chunky book in front of you two. He nods and hums attentively, asking doubts somewhere where he thought you were going briskly. He seemed to understand everything so to test him, you hand him a small exercise to fill in some basic literary terms. You start surfing on your Instagram feed, occasionally glancing at him to see if he was answering correctly. After a while, he huffs and hands you the piece of paper and you take it from him.

As you start skimming through the answers, you inquire, “What’s with the frown, huh?”

“You’re doing it on purpose, yeah?”

You giggle, eyebrows raising at his sudden change of demeanor, “Doing what?”

He doesn’t even try to explain himself and instead, crashes his lips onto yours. You press your palms against his chest in a failed attempt to push him away, but lean in to kiss him further. Things had taken a sudden swerve, but you definitely didn’t mind. Your movements are halted when Seungmin wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you closer to him. 

You shift to his lap, wrapping your hands around his neck to deepen the kiss. His grip on your hips never falters, and you gasp into the kiss when he pushes you down on his crotch. Either it’s the heat of the situation, or the fact that you were doing it in the school’s library, but you started to feel hot all over. You start grinding down on his hips, a low groan erupting from him. He bites down on your lips, shoving his tongue between your lips.

You whine softly when his arms rub up and down your sides, nails digging into the flesh of your waist. You reach your hands lower to press against the rising tent in his jeans, and he grunts into the kiss. You smirk —realizing that behind all his strong and innocent character, he’s all putty in your hands— and grab his length through the thick layer of jeans. He whines and loosens his grip on you, throwing his head back. 

He grips on you tightens when he hears footsteps near the aisle of books right next to you, but resumes his actions once the sounds move further away. 

“Hey! What’s going on!”

A voice booms from a couple of feet in front of you two. You gasp and stand up, fixing your skirt and tousled hair. The librarian looks down at you two from her glasses, nostrils flaring. 

She posed an option to you: Either call up your parents and get them to pick you up, or sit in detention until 3. You two obviously chose the latter,but even so, it didn’t help that she had you two sit in detention after school for around two hours.

“This is my first time here, in detention”, the boy speaks up softly, cautious of the teacher almost dozing off in front of you. 

“Me neither, and this is so exhausting. I can’t wait to go home,” you huff out, holding your head in your hands. 

You look up at the old man sitting on the desk ahead, and notice he’s almost snoozed. You quietly pick up your bag, motioning Seungmin to get up too. He looks up at you wide eyed, contemplating if he should be doing this after all he’s already done. 

Nevertheless, it doesn’t take much to convince him, and soon enough you two are out of the building. 

“I can drop you home if you want..?” you inquire, as if asking for a chance of an apology. To your surprise, Seungmin immediately agrees. 

Of course, he had other plans.

You get in the car, revving up the engine to life. You turn on the air conditioner and sigh, mouth agape as you calm down from the recent fiasco. Seungmin chuckles softly at your state and runs a hand through his hair to push them back. 

You unbuckle your belt and lean up to him from the driver’s seat, kissing his jaw and nipping at the soft skin. You feel his hands wrap around your waist, carefully pulling you towards himself, which was possible thanks to your rather spacious car. You settle between his legs, lips not leaving his. 

You unbutton his pants and push them down, looking at how his cock strained against the fabric of his boxers. You took your sweet time, grazing your nails against his shaft, squeezing the tip between your fingers.

He bucked his hips, craving for some action. You give in to him, pulling his boxers down, and his length springs up. Your mouth waters at the sight of his angry red tip, and you quickly shuffle out of his lap so that his length is right in front of you. You lick a strip from the base up, and he groans, mouth hanging  open in pleasure. You note his response as a key for you to go ahead, and so, you suck at a spot right under his tip, licking at the vein jutting out across the length. Seungmin’s grip shifts towards the soft cushion of the seat, nails digging into the leather. 

You quit teasing and lick your lips before wrapping your lips around his tip, slowly taking him in. You go down on him, devouring every inch each second, and once his length touches the back of your throat, you swallow around him, your muscles pressing against different spots of his shaft. He gasps, accidentally thrusting up into your mouth harshly. You quickly clasp your hands on his thighs and push him down, and he mumbles a soft “sorry”. You look up at how fucked out he looks, mumbling incoherent profanities and ‘oh god’s every now and then. 

A sense of pride swells in your chest when you realize you were going to corrupt him, and the fact that you were going to do it in the school’s parking lot made you go crazy. You swallow around him once again, lying your tongue flat against his shaft. He whines from above, upset at the restraints your hands provide that stop his movements. You feel his dick twitch inside your mouth and you release his length with a lewd pop, replacing it with your hand. You pump your hand up and down his length, the other rubbing small and harsh circles on his slit. 

He releases his cum in spurts, coating his length and your hand in his juices. You grab a tissue from the box placed on the dashboard and wipe up the mess he made. He reaches out his hands to pull you up into a kiss. The kiss was still passionate, but more heated, considering the situation. 

“Being bold now, are we?”

He shakes his head, muttering a small ‘no’. You cock your head to the side, buy he does nothing and instead holds both your hands behind your back, slightly tugging your hair, as if experimenting with everything he had available. You groan when you feel his hands run up and down your panties under your mini skirt. His fingers press your hole through your panties, and you try your hardest to stifle a bubbling moan when he grinds his hips against yours. 

You throw your head back, the intense feeling coursing through your veins. Seungmin doesn’t waste a moment and pushes your panties aside, stuffing you with his fingers. You moan aloud, not afraid of being caught anymore. His digits pump in and out of you, curling them inside you every other second. You feel blood rush to your cheeks when you hear the squelching sounds of your arousal which slowly drips out of you and creates a mess on his fingers and jeans. 

You grip the base of his cock, giving it a few pumps before aligning it with your heat. His fingers leave you immediately, and he slowly pushes his length into you. 

Grunts and groans leave both of you, and you arch your back when he is inside you upto the hilt. You gyrate your hips on him, pushing him deeper in. His grip tightens on your waist, and he starts thrusting into you steadily. Each thrust feels deeper, harder. There are a million sensations swallowing you whole, and your legs feel weak and your mind goes haywire.

The cramped space of the car doesn’t help much, and the car windows start steaming up. Your breathing turns erratic, hips giving out. You can feel your oncoming high, and your movements stutter before you spasm around him, walls convulsing around his cock buried in you. You feel your abdomen loosen up, your juices flowing out freely.

Seungmin doesn’t stop. He continues thrusting into you, the overstimulation pushing you over the edge. Just when you feel you can’t take any more, Seungmin thrusts into you one last time before his orgasm washes over him. You lie on top of him, a sheen line of sweat covering the two of you alike.

Both of you come down from your highs, the sensations taking a while to leave your minds. Seungmin is the first one to nudge your shoulder, and you take the hint and get up slowly, cautious of the roof close above you. You grab a few more tissues and clean yourself up, handing over the box to him to do his business.

You pull down the car windows and drive out of the place. A smile never leaves the boy’s face, and you giggle at his expression, deciding to ask him about the things amusing him. 

“What’s on your mind?”

“Nothing. I guess that was… fun?”

—

a/n; so this one’s kiiiinnnnddaaaaaa longer than usual??? it took my like 3 blocks and 5 days to actually finish this off,,, so it isn’t proofread hahaha 😔✊

[goldenforrestt]

Lost In Time

Requested by @tranquility-or-chaos

Pairing: Geralt x Modern!Reader

Summary: You own an antique shop. One day, a customer comes in with a wolf medallion that puts your life in the hands of time. While back in time, you run into a strange white-haired man with a matching medallion. 

Word Count: 1.7k

A/N: This was a really fun request but I had no idea how to end it, so I hope you guys like what I did! Also, this was only semi-edited because my beta reader is on vacation, so my apologies for any spelling mistakes!

No warnings for this one!

❦

You ran an antique shop, which you inherited from your father. He was old and could no longer run it, so he bestowed it into you. You happily took the shop, as you basically grew up in it. It was a simple little shop, old red brick with big windows in front and cozy inside. It wasn’t too big, but it was more than enough for the myriad of small antiques that lined the shelves.

❦

It was about noon when one of your regular customers walked in.

“Hey!” You greeted happily.

“Hello Y/n! I’ve got something for you today!”

“Oh?” You questioned.

“Yes, one of my distant relatives died and we cleaned out her house today. Her children let me have some of her stuff.” They explained, gently putting the box of antiquities on the cashier counter.

You looked inside the box. It was mostly worthless brooches and random jewelry, but there were some small treasures. One thing that caught your eye was a large metal medallion. It was a brute-looking chain with a circular wolf charm that seemed large for such a small chain, but it managed to hang elegantly. You picked it up, the medallion sending shivers through your fingers as you examined it.

Strange, you thought. It didn’t have a maker’s signature anywhere, Not even a few scratches to indicate ‘hey!! Someone made this and they want you to know they made it!’ Nothing. Just blank.

You added the medallion to the small pile of items you had decided to buy from your friend, putting it down gently on top of the cashier counter.

“I knew you were going to go for that one!” Said the customer excitedly.

“So,” you asked, “how much for what I’ve picked?”

“Oh, you can have it for free. We’re friends, after all.” They gratuitously offered.

You thanked them, and they were on their way.

❦

It was closing time, so you walked up to the door and flipped the ‘Open!’ sign over. You came back over to where the items you had picked out earlier were still stashed, putting some on the shelves of your store and leaving others on the counter for your personal collection. You were going to move the wolf medallion to a case that was apart of your collection, but the moment you picked it up, a burning sensation ran through your hands, causing you to drop it. It fell to the ground with a soft clang

What the hell? You thought.

You bent to pick it up, but ended up doubling over in pain. It felt like a molten stock was prodding your brain. In your last moments of consciousness, you reached for the medallion.

❦

You did not have a single clue where or when you were. With a disorientingly bright flash of green light, everything you had once been familiar with was gone, replaced with some sort of forest.

You looked around frantically, thankfully the medallion was still in your hand.

What the heck am I wearing? You thought, noticing your clothing had taken a rather… Interesting change.

Instead of your usual casual attire you wore to work, you were now wearing a black overdress with tight, full-length sleeves and a white hooded cape that only went to your mid-back. Your shoes were surprisingly comfortable black leather shoes that fit well. You put the medallion on and tucked into your dress for safe keeping.

You continued to frantically search the new forest setting until your frantic searching led you right into a horse.

“Oh! Sorry” You said as you bumped into the horse, the force of it pushing you to the ground.

Before you could get up, a strong force pulls you off the forest floor and pushed you against the tree the horse was tied to, a knife suddenly on your neck.

“Trying to steal my horse, thief?” The man asked.

The man was gorgeous. Beautiful white hair and a jawline to die for. What pulled you out of your beauty-induced trance was the man’s pendant. It was the same as your medallion, right down to the smallest details.

“Y-you’re the medallion man.” You choked out, words hard to form with a knife pressed to your throat. Great going, y/n. That makes no sense. 

You struggled in his grip, shifting in a way so that the medallion came untucked from your dress and into his vision.

He dropped the knife and unhanded you immediately.

“You- no, you can’t be,” The man trailed off, then asked, “How did you get that?”

“Inheritance.” Was your simple response.

“Impossible,” He took his dagger out again, “Where did you really get it?” His deep voice asked once more.

“The previous owner died.” 

He looked confused for a moment. He sighed, then untied his horse.

“Wait-” you said frantically, “Where are you going?”

“To find work.” Was all he said.

“Wait,” you repeated, “Let me go with you. I have nowhere else to go.”

“Really? You must have some home to return to.”

“I-” you started, but you didn’t know how to tell him. How exactly do I tell someone that I’m not from their time? Now I wish I watched more time travel movies, You thought. 

You continued, “I’ve no memory of how I got here. Please, help me.” You pleaded.

The man sighed.

“Fine, you may come with me, but I’m dropping you off at the closest village. Maybe someone there knows you.”

“Thank you!” You said.

❦

The two of you arrived at the village a few hours later. He led you to a tavern and started asking around. When nobody said they knew you, he sat back down at your table next to the wall.

“So…” You pondered.

“You can stay with me tonight. Tomorrow, we’ll continue searching.”

Thank God, you thought, I don’t have to spend my first night in god knows where on the forest floor. 

The room of the lodge he booked was cozy, a wooden interior with a large bed. Only one large bed.

“I’ll sleep on the floor.” He announced the moment you walked into the room.

It was night now, and you two went to sleep in your respectful places.

Hours passed, and you couldn’t sleep. You noticed he was probably having the same problem, constantly tossing and turning.

“Having trouble sleeping?” You asked playfully.

“That’s an understatement.” He responded.

You chuckled.

“Thanks for saving me and all, but I never got your name.” You requested.

“Geralt of Rivia.”

“That’s a nice name. Oh, I’m y/n of Smorgasbord.” 

Smorgasbord was a type of Scandinavian buffet, you just needed a name. 

“Smorgasbord? I’ve never heard of that place.”

“Oh, it’s uh… East of here. Really far away.” Nice save, you thought.

Soon you two were having a full conversation. Sure, it was mostly you going on about things you had to slightly lie about to make it fit the time and Geralt mostly nodding, but he also made a few verbal additions.

“So, Smorgasbord,” he asked, “where exactly is that?”

“The future.” Was all you said before you could stop yourself.

You could tell he was giving you a confused look, even in the darkness.

“What?” He asked, bafflement lacing his tone.

“Uh, yep- the future. That’s how I ended up in the forest, lost as hell.” You explained.

“You’re crazy.” He stated.

“What?”

“You heard me.”

“How do you think I got your medallion?” You retaliated.

Geralt’s blood ran cold at this.

Maybe you were some sort of sorceress from the future, he thought.

“So that’s why I feel drawn to you.” He said after a few moments of silence.

“What?” It was your turn to be confused.

“The medallion reacts to sources of magic and other such things. It must want you here for a reason.” He explained.

So that’s how I got here you now understood.

“We will continue this conversation on the Morning.” Geralt announced groggily.

❦

The morning sun filtered through the thin curtains and onto your face, gently waking you from your sleep. You sat up and stretched, letting a yawn escape your mouth. Getting out of bed, you noticed a note at your bedside.

I left to tack up Roach. Meet me outside. -Geralt. was all it read. Thankfully, you learned Roach’s name when you smacked right into them, or else you’d be very confused.

You put on your shoes and headed outside, immediately seeing Geralt outside the entrance of the lodge.

“We’re leaving so soon?” You ask.

“Yes,” Geralt stated, “We’re visiting a sorceress.”

That confused you. They must have magic here, you thought. 

Soon enough, you had arrived at a lavish castle. Geralt led you through the many guards and into the lower level, where a woman in a blue dress with curly black hair was working on some of what you assumed was magical stuff.

“Geralt. Long time no see!” Said the sorceress, not stopping her work. 

“Triss, same to you,” Geralt greeted.

“I’ve got a problem,” he gestured to you, “They got sent back in time by my medallion.” Geralt explained.

The sorceress, now known as Triss, turned around and studied you with a quizzical look.

“Such things aren’t unheard of, but toying with time is no easy feat,” said Triss.

“Do you think you can get her back?” He asked.

Triss took a moment to think, then nodded.

“Do you know what brought you here?” She questioned.

“The medallion.” You handed it to her.

She took it from your hand a gently examined it. Then proceeded to quickly scan through some pages in one of her books. After a few minutes, she gave it back.

“If it got you here, it can take you back,” Triss announced.

Suddenly, you fell to the ground, the same molten stick feeling prodding your brain once more. Before you knew it, you were back in your antique shop, wearing the attire you left in.

❦

One moment you were there, the next you were just gone.

Needless to say, Geralt was furious he was unable to say goodbye.

“Is there any way I can reach her?” He asked Triss.

“Possibly,” she responded, “since the medallion is what connected her to you, you can possibly wish her a goodbye through it’s magic.”

Geralt nodded. He knew what he had to do.

❦

One thing had changed since you were suddenly thrust back home. The medallion now had an engraving on the back.

I will always be with you. -Geralt of Rivia