#light-gathering lens

[sw5w]

Summoning the Probe Droids

STAR WARS EPISODE I: The Phantom Menace 00:51:49

[lundenloves]

fatherhood

This happened. *Holding a fist to my mouth, biting on them knuckles.* This happened as a combination result of an awful sleeping schedule and unemployment. Banged this out in an hour. Don’t tell me it’s obvious, i’ll fold. Happy reading, kids.

↳ no warnings | 1.1k | f!reader

part two | dad!simon masterlist

the way his eyes make me want to howl in tears while digging my own grave isn’t actually canon. sigh.

Ghost stood still for thirty-two seconds, standing in near open fire on enemy view. One that was only guarded by a particularly large tree, saving his life when Soap had dragged him down to cover by his tac vest. “What the fuck, Lt.” He’d shout over the fire, his brows tightened in a frown toward his lieutenant. “Eh?”

Ignoring the sergeant, Ghost would continue the rest of the assault half-heartedly. Which was disconcerting to say the least, and so, so unlike him. Only mumbling over the comms when required, saving the already minimal chit-chat and failing to hear the multiple requests for backup from Gaz.

Johnny had been bold that night. Hitting his lieutenant on the shoulder and fucking grabbing his mask, turning Ghost’s head toward him. Well, for the mere two seconds Simon had allowed for it before pushing him off. “What’s wrong with you, Lt? For fuck sake. You’re scaring me ae.”

“Focus, Sergeant.”

“Naw. You focus, sir.” He placed a hand on Ghost’s shoulder, before standing up and checking round the corner. “Let’s move, yeah?”

Simon’s jaw tightened under his mask, begrudgingly following Soap. Comms fucking yapping on in his ear, and he barked back at them while gesturing Johnny keep walking. It wasn’t ideal, yet so poignant to see him so different.

You.

You had gone into labour with Simon’s baby. The issue was, he had found out before going out on the current assault. His military mind raced with every possible travesty to do with childbirth. He feared you weren’t going to make it without him for unknown reasons, he felt it.

Soap didn’t know. No one knew.

He was good at that, keeping things to himself. Especially the things that ate at him — never did they ever come out aside from when Johnny forced them. Even then it was a battle.

So when they arrived back to base in safety, all trudging back to a meeting room. Gathering thoughts and sharing collected information, it was odd that Simon hadn’t shown. Not just odd, but almost scandalous as Johnny would say.

No messages. Nothing.

He hadn’t heard from you and in his head that meant fucking death at this rate. The balaclava came off for a split second, looking at himself in the lens of some sunglasses sat on a shelf adjacent to him. The stubble he had left was itchy against the fabric, smoothing his hand across his jaw he put his head into his hands.

Although, the balaclava was back on in under a minute for the subconscious feeling of vulnerability creeping in. And he was right to feel so when the door to his office had been knocked on, so light that he knew it was Soap before even opening the door.

“Yeah.” He cleared his throat, standing in front of his desk with arms crossed. Johnny entered and shut the door behind him, his hands flat on the surface.

“Lt. Are you alright, sir?” The way his eyes narrowed was enough to make Simon’s roll.

“Just grand.”

Although the tough facade was almost dropped when his phone had pinged from the desk. Jaw tensing at the sound, he was sure his fingers had twitched at the need to reach behind himself for it. Soap stared pointedly at the way the heel of his boot tapped against the floor, his fingers now looped in the pockets of his tac vest.

“Check it then.” The Scot nodded toward the desk.

“Do you need anything?” Simon asked. The dead stare he gave was piercing, shifting his feet to lean forward from the desk a little.

Johnny pointed to the desk, “It’s ringing, sir.”

For a moment, Simon did consider kicking Johnny out but figured. Fuck it. Reaching for the phone behind him to find it were a FaceTime from you, his own masked face staring back at him. This was probably it. The worst or best news of his life only a swipe away. With fucking Johnny MacTavish only feet away from whatever reaction Simon would undoubtedly suppress.

And well, it wasn’t so bad, Soap knew you. He knew you well. Well enough to the point where throughout your pregnancy he had been labelled ‘uncle Johnny’ by yourself much to Simon's demise

So when he swiped to answer, and was virtually face-to-face with a newborn it was a… chaotic feeling in his stomach to say the least. One that dropped to the floor when the baby had cried loud, a strangled babble that turned into a scream.

“Shh, shh,” Your voice mumbled over the line, zero energy throughout but just enough for Simon. “Daddy is there. Look baby, he’s here.” You had framed both yourself and the tiny baby on your chest, voice wavering with the last few words.

Johnny couldn’t save himself from the steps he took forward, planting a hard grip on Simon’s shoulder and shaking him slightly in glee. “Congratulations, mate.”

Simon took the balaclava off, his hair strewn across his forehead and spiking in every which way. He had no idea what to say, holding the fabric close to his chest and staring in awe.

“She’s beautiful, Si.” Was all you had said, obviously exhausted but confirming the gender for the first time.

Simon felt his knees buckle at the thought of having a little girl in the world, the familiar feeling of worry was completely wiped. The image of the little person enough to change his whole mindset, no longer was he scared but ready.

Ready to give his little girl whatever she wanted.

He was still lost for words when the call had ended. A promise of another at the same time tomorrow was the only thing that kept him upright, pulling the balaclava back on and looking to Johnny who cracked a grin.

“You’re a fuckin’ dad, Lt.”

He nodded, rubbing his eyes before holding the door open for the two of them. “Can I tell ‘em?” Soap continued, gesturing toward the group they were walking to.

“If you must.” Simon let a small smile take his face, content in the fact it was well hidden.

“Oi!” He’d called out, jogging ahead of his lieutenant and slamming his hands on the information table, sending many papers flying off edges. “Lt has stepped into fatherhood.”

The men erupted into deep voiced cheers just to wind their lieutenant up, all shaking his shoulders and drawing the attention of the whole fucking camp toward them.

It was the first time he had felt himself smile properly in months. His ears tinted a deep red although not visible, neck likewise.

Fatherhood it was.

reblogs and comments are very much appreciated! i’ll sit in a hole if no one pats me on the head every now and then.

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[nariism]

Wriothesley has fallen asleep on the job.

It's not a surprise, not in the least. He's spent more time at the Fortress of Meropide than he has at home lately, overworking himself with an unfathomable amount of new inmates to house.

He's always taken his work quite seriously, both as a show of gratitude to the people of Fontaine and to protect his pride in having the most inescapable prison in the entire nation. And more than that, he's always refused your help much to your chagrin.

You find him asleep at his desk, piles of paperwork buried under his head as a makeshift pillow. He snores softly, meaning that he must have just knocked out recently.

A quiet sigh escapes you as you tread over to his sleeping form, draping the coat dangling on the back of his chair over his body as a temporary blanket. Fontaine is chilly, and despite his unusual warmth, risking Wriothesley getting sick is the last thing you want in the world.

It strikes you then. He's asleep. Asleep, in front of you, completely vulnerable and unknowingly allowing you to observe every part of him without judgement: the slow rise and fall of his shoulders as he breathes, human and alive; the hair that's fallen out of place and over the eyes which you love so much; the light murmurs of his recited dreams leaving his lips yet unintelligible.

You're surprised that it's never dawned on you before. You've rarely had the chance to see him sleep.

Wriothesley always roused before the crack of dawn, waking you after him with his lips pressed to your forehead. "Good morning, pretty," he would greet you before taking off for the day. And he was so warm to hold at night that you would often fall asleep before him, comforted by the slow beating of his heart against your ear.

It's a strange sight to see him looking so unguarded, all evidence of the torment of his busy day washed out of his expression as he snores.

You shouldn't. You know you shouldn't. But you can't help it. The Kamera is pulled from your bag before you can stop yourself, fingers nimbly getting the lens ready without stirring him. You're just about to take a picture worth a thousand words when—

"Mornin', pretty."

You almost drop the Kamera out of surprise, clutching it to your chest while you glare at the smugness written all over his face. There's a gruffness and slur to his voice that makes you weak in the knees, so unlike how you're used to hearing him in the mornings when he's already had his tea.

His steely eyes peer up at you curiously as you try and stammer out a weak excuse, to little avail. You should have known that the Lord of the Fortress of Meropide would have sharp enough senses to wake with even the smallest disturbance. He sits up straight, the coat hanging on his shoulders falling off onto the seat.

(It makes him melt that you've attempted to keep him warm, even though it seems like you've come all the way out to the Fortress at such an hour just to check up on him.)

He looks around. "No one escorted you?"

You bashfully avert your eyes, fumbling around with your Kamera and trying pathetically to hide it behind your back as if you weren't caught red-handed already.

"The guards let me in."

"But you came alone?"

His frown deepens when you nod. Wriothesley gathers up his remaining papers into one pile and shoves them aside before striding over to you. "Have a guard escort you home. It's dangerous to go back alone," is his demand.

"You're not coming home tonight?" You ask quietly, lips pulling back into a small pout of disappointment. His heart aches at the thought that he may have been neglecting you in the last few days, even more than he had been neglecting himself.

"I have to finish up some things," he tells you with the slightest bit of guilt bleeding into his words. He runs a hand through his hair before sighing. "Why don't you stay here tonight?"

It's a lame offer, asking the love of his life to sleep in such a dinky, run-down place. But the light that explodes in your eyes and smile tell him that you don't care. You never would, so long as you were by his side.

"Okay," you whisper, and he kisses you in apology.

That night, at an hour so late that not even the prisoners make a peep, he realizes that your Kamera is still set down on the coffee table beside your resting form. He has drowned you in his coat and a spare blanket, laid you out across his office couch, and though it's not luxurious you seem to be resting well.

Just a few more days. A few more days of processing all of the new papers sent by Neuvillette and he would be free to come home to your loving arms and fall asleep in your shared bed. For now, this would have to suffice.

The man gathers you up into his arms and slides beneath you, holding you atop his chest like he always does. He's careful not to wake you as he settles in to call it a night.

There's a faint shutter as he holds the device up in the air and takes a picture of the both of you, with your body curled up against his and his arm around your waist.

He presses a soft kiss to the crown of your head. "Goodnight, pretty."

("When did you take this?!"

"You don't like it?" He asks you nonchalantly, eyes busy with reading the morning Steambird.

"I didn't say that," you grumble, flustered at how he's holding you in the image. Did he always hold you so close? So protectively?

Wriothesley smiles at you with his lips on the rim of his mug. "You snore, by the way."

"Shut up!")

© ALABOADOA 2023 — please do not translate or post my works to other platforms.

[yanderecrazysie]

Twisted Zoo (Prologue)

Summary: You’re a brand new zookeeper at The Halfling Zoo- a place where half-animals live in captivity. Your job is simple- feed them and study them. Your main worry is that one of the more dangerous halflings might kill you. 

Unfortunately, that may become the least of your worries.

WARNINGS: none for now

Note: This is based on the stories of a keeper reader with the octotrio by @ashensgrotto and @merakiui except I decided to take it a step further and include all the dorms. I know that a lot of these animals don’t fit them perfectly, but I did the best I could. I left out Ortho because he has no age and he looks really young so… no.

All characters are aged up, since there will be mature themes in future parts.

Also, I can’t promise I’ll finish this. I suck at finishing stories.

Chapter One here

—----------------------

“Pleased to meet you Mr. Crowley.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you as well, Ms. (Y/n)!”

You smiled up at your new boss, taking in his eccentric appearance- everything from his crow feather-lined cape, to his sparkling suit, to his top hat, and to the black bird mask that covered half his face. 

That name suits him.

“Now, you’re mainly a researcher, but you will also be assisting with some of the general chores, such as feeding the animals,” Mr. Crowley explained what you already knew.

“That’s alright,” you said, smiling brightly, “That will allow me to observe even more of their behaviors.”

You were fresh out of college and ready to face The Halfling Zoo. There was plenty of debate whether it was okay to treat half-humans as animals and keep them in a zoo, but it was convenient for you. You didn’t have to travel the world to attempt to study animals from afar through a camera lens.

“You will be supervising the lion and hyena exhibit, the wolf exhibit, the panther and tiger exhibit, the bird exhibits, the reptile house, and the aquarium,” Mr. Crowley explained.

“Wait, did you mean to say the lions and hyenas are together? And the panthers and tigers? Or did I misunderstand?” you asked, confused.

“They are bonded groups, so it would be wrong to separate them,” Crowley explained, “Halflings don’t always act like their animal counterparts.”

You nodded, cursing yourself internally. You had learned that on your first day at college! How could I be so stupid to forget about the bonds different Halfling species make?

“Follow me,” Mr. Crowley’s voice broke through your thoughts, “I’ll show you around.”

The two of you left the cramped office in the main staff building and headed out onto the guests’ paths. You could see a few families walking by- less than usual, since it was nearing closing time. It felt as though the sky was growing darker by the minute as the sun made its way down the horizon, beautiful orange and pink clouds lighting its path.

You almost immediately arrived at the lion and hyena exhibit. It was a huge enclosure, the terrain so detailed that you felt as though you had stepped straight into an African savannah. In fact, you could even feel the heat emanating from the ground itself.

“We keep it as hot as their home naturally is,” Mr. Crowley explained, reading your thoughts, “They’re happy here- it’s home with no need to hunt to survive.”

You nodded, but inside you wondered if that was really true or not. Were they really happier in a giant cage on display for humans than they were in Africa? You couldn’t imagine feeling that way.

Mr. Crowley pointed out a big rock where a pride of lions had gathered, “On top of that rock is the top dog- er, cat, I mean. The king of the jungle.”

Upon closer inspection, and a lot more eye strain, you could make out a figure lying on the top of the large rock. It was a Lion Halfling, with tan skin and thick, dark mane of brown hair that fell to his shoulders, except for the braids in front of his face, which were even longer. You could just make out the lion’s ears on top of his head and the lion’s tail draped over the rock’s side.

“And those are the hyenas,” Mr. Crowley supplied, pointing to the edge of the enclosure, “They’re used to aggressive females, so the males might be a little jumpy around you.”

You remembered reading about that in school, but it was amazing to see all the Halflings in person. You couldn’t help but feel excited to study them up close. Imagine if you made a big discovery that no one else had ever discovered about Halflings! After all, there were a lot of unknowns about them.

“Onto the wolf exhibit!” Mr. Crowley said in a sing-song voice.

The enclosure was right across the way from the lions and hyenas, but it had a completely different feel. The air was cooler when you walked up to the giant forest. Through the trees, it was difficult to actually see any wolf halflings. You thought you saw a flash of white, but it was too quick to tell.

“Yes, well, this exhibit is pretty quiet during the day,” the zoo director said awkwardly, “They’ll be out tonight, howling at the moon and whatnot.”

“Wolves don’t actually howl at the moon,” you helpfully supplied, “They howl to communicate with other wolves.”

Mr. Crowley stared at you for a moment and you wondered if you had annoyed him, until he grinned widely, “Such a knowledgeable new researcher!”

You smiled at the compliment, a little embarrassed as the two of you headed for the panther and tiger exhibit. You were surprised to see it alive with Halflings, all of them staring back at the two of you with narrowed eyes.

“There’s two black panthers,” Mr. Crowley pointed them out, “and two albino tigers. The four of them are as thick as thieves.”

You cautiously waved at them, but they merely turned away and disappeared into the jungle enclosure. You wondered if they were somehow curious to see you, or if they always did this to guests.

“Next, the bird exhibits!” Mr. Crowley led the way to the aviary. He pointed out Halflings left and right in the closely-packed enclosures, “A parrot, three albino peacocks, two flamingos, an owl, and a raven. You’ll get to know them well, since they’re mostly all very friendly. Except the peacocks are a little cocky.”

You giggled a little and waved to all the birds. It was a futile effort, because, save for the owl halfling, they were all fast asleep. The owl halfling stayed on his perch, wings tucked around his body, his bespectacled face scrutinizing you. Not in a rude way, just sort of deciding what you were.

You followed Mr. Crowley into a heated building with a glass wall on one side. You peered through the glass wall and immediately spotted the Boa Constrictor Halfling lying against the wall. Human until the torso, which then winded into a snake tail.

“Don’t be fooled!” Mr. Crowley said, “There is more than one snake in that exhibit. See if you can spot it.”

You looked at every angle, struggling to spot anything different. Then, a part of the sand moved and two gray eyes glared back at you.

“A Viper Halfling, right?” you said in awe, “Aren’t those venomous?”

“Ah, yes, well,” Mr. Crowley stuttered a little, “Don’t get bitten.”

You stared at him for a moment before it sunk in. All of these animals, except the birds, were extremely dangerous! And you were going to go into their enclosures to study and feed them? Were you insane?

You pushed down the panic and took a deep breath. This is what you signed up for. You probably already waived all your rights away anyway. You hadn’t looked at the fine print of your contracts, of course.

You noticed another tank on the other side of the room and walked up to it. You couldn’t see anything inside this one, but Mr. Crowley was quick to explain, “There’s a salamander in this one. A beautiful electric blue, but extremely shy.”

You peered inside, trying to catch a glance of blue, but you couldn’t see a thing.

“Lastly, the aquarium,” Mr. Crowley clapped his hands together, as though to bring you back to reality. 

The aquarium was a huge glass tank where visitors could go down the stairs and see inside. The two of you walked by it, and saw very little signs of life. 

“You’ll probably see the eel twins a bit. They’re a little shy at first, but Floyd is pretty playful. The octopus, on the other hand, rarely leaves his cave. He’ll venture out to eat, but that’s about it. We should have made that damn thing see-through, but it’s too late now.”

You were glad it was a normal cave, and not transparent like the glass. The Octopus Halfling probably felt safe inside it. It wouldn’t be fair to rob him of that simple pleasure.

“That’s the end of your tour, young lady,” Mr. Crowley said cheerfully, “You start bright and early tomorrow, have a long lunch break, then leave late at night. Are you sure you’re ready to do this?”

He looked down at you with a hint of nervousness, as though he expected you to say “no”. But you were determined and excited to explore what your classes had trained you for. Real life application.

“I’m ready!”

Note: So, some of the animals are obvious, but I’m wondering what you all think the others are?

[glitter-epoch]

Hiii, always love to see people obsessing over love and deepspace (bc I'm addicted too), can I please request zayne fic about his hands and fingers? Can be suggestive, can be pure smut, up to you lol, ok thanks byee

HIII yes i can!!! i can't believe my first request is a zayne's hands request this feels like a gift. thank you for requesting i hope you like!!!

[ there’s a part 2 now :) ] ☄. *. ⋆ gn! reader | 2.8k words | suggestive, not smut | zayne gives reader stitches but it's deliberately not described in detail/no mentions of needles/blood

“my lunch break ends in fifteen minutes,” zayne had said, staring past your head in thought. “it would be a waste of time to check you in.” 

you stood there in the bustling lobby of akso hospital, one paper-towel-bound hand pressed to the sliced skin over your hipbone, and waited. surely he wasn’t telling you to just leave. you were only friends, so it’s not like he had an obligation to you; but he was your primary care doctor, and...

and. there was, is, an and. you’re not sure what exactly to call it, and zayne is so adonis-like you’re embarrassed to even suggest he might like you.  

“i’m sorry,” you said in earnest, a little surprised by his usual coldness that you’d arrogantly assumed would thaw upon seeing your injury. “i didn’t mean for you to drop everything for me. i should have gone to an urgent care, or something, i just thought since you’re here...” 

zayne looked down from the spot over your head, clearly removed from his pensive mood. his intention to argue with you was clear, but he held his tongue stonily until you finished your rambling. 

“no,” he replied. “you should never go to another doctor. i was just thinking.” 

you blushed like an idiot. “ever?” you mocked. 

“mm,” he murmured, back to thinking again. he brought his forearm to circle the small of your back, not touching, and motioned you forward. “come with me.” 

and now, here you are: sitting on the grey sofa in front of the wall-length window, early afternoon light bleeding white all over zayne’s office. for a few moments, he’s left you alone to gather materials, and you relish in what feels like a small victory. 

i’ve been personally invited to the office.  

not like it’s the first time, though.  

zayne returns with a small kit swallowed by the size of his pale hands; the sleeves of his button-down pinned up to his elbows. you shift, balancing your weight unnaturally on one leg. His eyes snag on you as he grabs his glasses from his desk (far taller than the tabletop, he must lean down to grab those, too). 

“lay down,” zayne commands.  

you blink, glancing around to try to figure out the most convenient position to get into for him to work. by the time he’s come over and sat down on the glass table in front of you, you’re still sitting up. 

“you can put your head on the armrest and your feet that way,” he nods, not a hint of impatience in his deep voice. “i can see you squirming. when you sit up like you are, you’re putting pressure on the wound. it must hurt.” 

“i haven’t even shown you the wound,” you retort, not sure why you’re arguing so much- and swallowing a wince as you turn to prop your head up on the side of the sofa.  

“i see your handywork,” zayne replies. he pulls on a pair of blue latex gloves and they snap quietly against his wrists. he’s clearly careful not to let the noise be too loud. “hm.” 

you frown in place of a (shameful) gulp at the sight of the gloves hugging his hands.  

“is this bad?” you ask. “i’m sorry. i tried not to mess with it too much.” 

zayne pieces through the small kit on the table beside him. even his rummaging is succinct; long fingers deftly parsing through the stack of metal utensils inside. he comes up with two sets of narrow pliers and a cotton round.  

he passes the pliers through his fingers like pencils, balancing them between his knuckles, and pours a solvent that looks like lens cleaner onto the cotton pad. 

“not bad,” he says, eyes on the pliers as he polishes them. “the paper towel is fine. but you got it wet beforehand.” 

“and that’s bad?” 

“you’ll be alright,” he murmurs- or maybe he always sounds like that- and discards the cotton round. the corners of his lips just barely curl. “you won’t die, i suppose.” 

“well, i’d hope not. it’s just a cut.” 

“and what did you do this time?” zayne demands softly, fishing in the kit for what you now realize will be sutures.  

“i had an assignment with xavier and failed to climb a fence.” 

“you impaled yourself, then,” he remarks coldly. “and xavier.” 

he sets a roll of sterile surgical threads on a wider cotton pad and turns his eyes to your midriff, which is still mostly covered by your shirt; wound hiding beneath it.  

“xavier, yeah,” you inhale deeply, mentally preparing for the stitches. “my partner. i’ve mentioned him, i think.” 

“yes, you have,” zayne says. his voice is strained. then he inhales, a whole breath through his nose, mouth closed in stoic secrecy; and nods to your hips. “lift your shirt, please.” 

you’re grateful that he’s given you a task and you don’t have to look him in his eyes after that tiny display of disdain (for your partner? for your hips? hopefully the former?). But as you lift your shirt, the paper towel comes loose. 

“ouch,” you hiss. 

you realize you’re probably stressing him out.  

“it’s not bad,” you add, uncharacteristically hoarse. 

“it’s not,” zayne agrees softly, eyeing the wound with his usual cold stare. his eyes refuse to flicker above or below the cut, which rests just over the shallow ridge of your hipbone, right above the line of your trousers. “but it hurts, i'm sure.” 

you nod. “sure.” 

“sure,” he repeats, almost as if to mock you, almost as if he’s just making sure he heard you right.  

zayne busies himself preparing a cotton round of saline, and in the middle of this, says, 

“you’ll have to unbutton your pants. can you fold the waistband over?” 

your neck is suddenly clammy. “oh. yeah, sure.” 

“if you can’t fold them down far enough, you’ll have to take them off.” 

your eyes blow out like glass. 

zayne, whom you suspected might have been deliberately extending the length of his cotton-round-preparing, is surprisingly the one to smile first. almost wickedly. “i would get you a cover, of course.” 

“oh, how nice of you.” 

he laughs barely, an exhale from his nose. you unbutton your trousers, fabric shifting against metal.  

he inhales at the sound. 

the blue latex over his knuckles catches light from the windows. you watch moments later as he threads the sutures, fascinated by how efficient his hands are. they’re longer than they are wide, and slender, not bear-like; but big nonetheless. and yet his fingers move like knitting needles, never missing a beat, never shaking. “would you like to do it yourself?” zayne asks suddenly. 

his voice is like a hum, always vibrating in his chest. 

you bristle. “god, no.” 

“then why are you staring?”  

you’re hoping he won’t finish on that very word, but he does, and he looks at you with his usual resolve of steel. you decide that no answer is the only good answer, and instead say, 

“okay. good luck. don’t mess up, please.” 

he chuckles and leans over you, the breadth of his sharp shoulders blocking the sun. “i never mess up.”   

the words ‘mess’ and ‘up,’ are foreign on his tongue, like he’d never refer to a mistake so casually, like he’s never made one in his life. he probably hasn’t, you think. 

zayne lifts up the cotton round, which is practically the size of a pea in his hand. “i’m going to clean around it. the solution may sting, but not much. it will be over fast.” 

you nod. “sure.” 

he chuckles again. “sure,” he hums, and then, before he presses down, “here.” 

he swipes the cotton round over your hipbone, startlingly light. goosebumps rise instantly on your flesh. his fingers are icy, even through the gloves; they radiate cold like a lamp radiates heat.  

zayne is kind enough not to mention your instant squirming and moves quickly to start the sutures. 

“this will be fast, too,” he says, looking unwaveringly into your eyes. like he’s trying to will the fear out of you. “not as fast as that, but faster than you’d imagine.” 

you nod. “sure.” 

“there it is again,” he smiles. “sure.” 

you grin incredulously. “i don’t know what else to say. you’re about to stab me.” 

his smile is thin and almost prideful as he grabs his glasses and slips them on. he leans over your hips, then looks up at you; pushing them up the bridge of his nose. 

“aren’t you glad it’s me, at least, and not some stranger?” 

you’re busy inhaling and exhaling like a horse, trying to calm down. “i am glad it’s you, yes.” 

your desperation throws him and his jaw sets like a stone, adam’s-apple bobbing.  

“alright,” zayne says, nearly whispering. “now.” 

he begins the sutures. you gasp, instantly, at first through your nose and then through your mouth; which pops open unwittingly. it’s nearly a whine. 

“i know,” zayne murmurs, leaning back a tiny bit as he works; so his face is visible to you. “i’m sorry.” 

“it’s okay.” 

you bite down hard and screw your eyes shut, but all you do is flinch each time his fingers move. he stops almost instantaneously, like pulling the plug on a treadmill. 

“look at me,” zayne says, deep voice rumbling against your thigh.  

you peel one eye open and then the other. 

“i know it hurts,” he says gently. “but you can’t move. i could seriously hurt you.” 

“sorry, sorry,” you nod. “i know.” 

the pools of his eyes are clear. he’s resolute in his instructions as he speaks, every word confident. 

“breathe the entire time, through every suture. i can work while your stomach moves; i can’t work if you’re flinching away.” 

“okay.” 

his brows lift. “okay?” 

again, you nod. “okay. i’m sorry.” 

“no apologies,” zayne says. 

he presses his hand flat to the side of your belly that’s unharmed, the tips of his long fingers just barely curling around the slope of your waist. you inhale slowly at that, blinking rapidly. his hand is cool as glass.  

you panic, as if he can somehow feel the coil that winds up in your stomach; watching his fingers splayed across your navel.  

“i’m going to try again,” he says. you can feel the words all the way down to his fingertips. then his thumb moves, caressing the skin just over your waistband. “breathe.” 

well, i can’t now. 

“got it,” you grind out. 

“good,” zayne hums. “three, two, one...” 

and it starts again. you bite down, tongue taut to the roof of your mouth. 

“don’t,” zayne warns, stern as ever, but his fingers keep working. “breathe. i can see whether you’re doing it.” 

the coil in your stomach tightens. you peel your eyes open and watch him work, knuckles grazing over the soft, thin flesh that’s been revealed from behind the waistband of your trousers.  

his eyes flash away from your navel as you start to watch. moments later, you’re stunned to see how laser-focused he is, pupils never moving from your cut.  

“do you ever get nervous doing this?” you ask, apt to make the time pass faster by talking. like your mouth isn’t wet just watching him do his job. “are you nervous?” 

“no.” his reply is instant. “i’ve done this hundreds of times.” 

you’re stunned. “i would be nervous.” 

“you are nervous,” zayne murmurs. “close your eyes.” 

the ball of his wrist presses into the juncture of your hipbone.  

“no,” you gasp. too fast. 

zayne’s fingers slow, utensils suspended. he looks up at you, somehow feeling taller still. “no?” 

you shake your head. “i-i don’t like not knowing what you’re going to do next.” 

oh, sure.  

he’s stopped working at this point, watching you like a hawk. “then i’ll tell you what i’m going to do before i do it.” 

“that’s okay,” you exhale. i’m dying. 

zayne’s eyes rove over yours, not unkind, but uncaring about how visible his assessment of you is. clinical, even still. the corners of his lips curl up.  

you’re not sure how it’s possible for your stomach to drop while laying flat on your back, but it does; your ears hot as irons.  

he goes back to work without another word. you’re so embarrassed, you finally shut your eyes and let your head weigh on the armrest until he’s done. 

“alright,” zayne says. “that’s it. don’t move.” 

you keep your eyes shut, nodding. “i really can’t thank you enough, i-” 

“watch.” 

for a moment, you lay there. then you open your eyes, peering down at him, too uncertain to be shocked yet. “what?” 

zayne takes his small kit from the table and places it on your lap. you startle, blink, as he sifts through the contents of it. gloves still on.  

“this is another cleanser,” he hums, his voice uncharacteristically musical. “i’m going to clean around the sutures.” 

you stare incredulously at him. “...okay.” 

he’s not fooled by your aloofness. zayne’s right hand works slow circles with a cotton round around your cut; the other comes down flat to keep the waistband of your trousers from getting in his way. both are cold to the touch; never quite warming.  

your jaws come apart and you barely manage to stop your mouth from falling open as discards the cotton round and takes the corner of your waistband into his hand. 

he buttons your trousers; pulls the zipper up. 

you watch like a fool. then, when he’s done, and you think you’ll have to admit to what you’re thinking, he furrows his brows at your face.  

“did you cut yourself here, too?” he murmurs. 

“where?” you croak. 

zayne shakes his head and slowly peels off the gloves; letting them slide slowly off his fingers. “mm. here.” 

he reaches forward and spreads fingers to cup your temples. one thumb glides over your browbone, low enough that you can see it; four or five times before removing his kit from your hips and leaning back.  

you exhale harshly and move to sit up, wondering if you’ll be able to somehow flee the office without another word. 

“not yet,” zayne says. “lay back again. you don’t have to put your head back; just lean back.” 

and you do it, instantly, because...well, because.  

zayne pulls a rectangular gauze pad with an adhesive border from the small kit. then he leans forward- he'd be positioned between your legs, if you opened them- and pulls your shirt up once more. 

as he presses the bandage over your sutured wound, it seems like even he can’t look at you. but his usually statuesque expression is lifted with amusement, plus something more sinister.  

“you like to watch me work,” he hums. 

his fingers dip under your waistband to smooth the bandage over. 

“shut up,” you bite. 

he leans back and watches you with no further offerings- words or otherwise medically dubious practices- and looks quite pleased. his breath is ragged, though; chest lifting and caving. 

“thank you,” you exhale. your tongue darts out over your lips.  

his pupils are swollen. “sure.” 

you grin, caught off guard by the joke. it sounds ridiculous in his voice.  

“my break will be ending,” zayne says, stony as ever once again as he walks to his desk.  

you stand, smoothing your hair down like something far more scandalous just occurred than stitches. 

“what do i owe you?” you ask. this earns a genuine, icy glare. 

“nothing,” zayne replies, pulling on his white jacket and grabbing his things. “but go to the front desk before you leave. i’m going to call in a prescription ointment for you.” 

you blink at him, thrice. a little dizzy. “oh, wow. thank you.” 

as zayne strides to the door, you think he might genuinely leave you there without another word. but he takes the door handle, and, almost shy, turns over his shoulder and says, 

“i’d like to stay with you, but i can’t. i’ll be working until dinner.” 

“no, no,” you rush, stepping to meet him at the door. “i’m fine. thank you so much, for doing this. i was just thinking.” 

he still can’t look at you, but at that; zayne grins. 

“i’ll call you when i get home,” he says. then, “is that okay?” 

you swallow. “of course.” 

“i want to know how the sutures feel in a couple of hours,” he adds. 

“oh, sure,” you tease. 

his eyes darken, like darts. you’re almost afraid.  

zayne opens the door for you and waits for you to pass by, eyes full of mirth as he looks down at you. “i’m glad i could be of service.” 

he raps his fingers on a clipboard until you look away. you blush feverishly all the way down the hall at how he says ‘service.’ 

☄. *. ⋆

this is not how you do stitches nor how you sterilize utensils. anyways FIRST POST. lol. anon if you or anyone else wants a part 2 of this (nsfw) i wiiiiiill do it lmk

[astrolovecosmos]

Taurus is known as the peaceful bull and being an earth sign is associated with many spring-like attributes or metaphors. Taurus is the forest, wildness, Gaia, wildflowers, roaming and content cattle, sturdy like a rock or tree, grounding, and compared to the beauty of nature. Below I expand more about the sign and its relationship to spring.

Despite being a fixed sign Taurus has qualities of growth, typically slower growth based on careful decisions. They embody stability and perseverance. Their routine, predictable, and dependable nature echoes what it takes to be the "managing, passive, or continual" energy of spring.

Spring is a sensory-rich season, marked by the sights, sounds, and smells of new life. Taurus individuals, ruled by Venus, the planet of beauty and pleasure, are deeply attuned to their senses. They appreciate the sensual delights of spring, such as the vibrant colors of blooming flowers, the sound of birdsong, and the scent of fresh rain.

Spring can be a busy time for many, but the nice weather and freshness can inspire relaxation and artistic pursuits which the indulgent and creative Taurus loves. Taurus individuals feel a deep connection to the earth and its rhythms, finding solace and stability in natural surroundings. The natural world helps recharge their energies.

Taurus is a sign that avoids conflict, tries to keep things calm and realistic, is warm, appealing, and welcoming. Much like spring's reputation for nurturing life, gentleness, and tranquilness, Taurus expresses themselves through an earthy lens.

Spring is a time to embrace warmth, light, color, and beauty. Taurus individuals appreciate life's simple pleasures and loves good food, drink, and company, many enjoying outdoor gatherings, picnics, or leisurely strolls in nature.

[anantaru]

— they‘re reading thirst tweets (celebrity au!)

including alhaitham, kazuha, scaramouche, venti x gn! reader

— ꒰ a/n ꒱ — i wrote this after watching the jackson wang and wonho thirst tweets video

— ꒰ genre ꒱ — crack, modern au!, celebrity au!

— alhaitham

the cameras change focus, lights on, 3.. 2.. 1..

in unlimited disbelief, alhaitham delicately held onto the little card he received from the camera crew— which was currently overlooking the interview he was in, as he attentively read through the letters on the paper with a careful uttering.

from @/milkboobielover69:

"i want alhaitham to suffocate me with his huge humongous tits."

at his words, the team of the late night segment— that was hosting the little shift, began to loudly permeate the room with their contagious laughs while alhaitham made severe attempts to cease his upcoming, flustered smirk.

"wow, this is turning into quite an occasion." he speaks in a monotone voice while his porcelain skin was saturated with a brilliant shade of red.

while his conveyance remained as usual, his instinctive body reactions had exposed him to the lens directly pointing at his face.

"i assume you don't mind if i question your username?"

he's facing the camera with his infamous, habitual smile, a brow lightly raised to further gather his thoughts, "it is quite, interesting, if you ask me."

frankly, at first, alhaitham couldn't believe he even agreed to do this, in his words, 'redundant arrangement'.

or that his manager put out said proposal in the first place— yet he acknowledged that it was altogether gravely important to embrace and further strengthen the connection he had built with his fanbase.

"are you all like this?" he asked, wholly amused, "because it is crucial for me to know before we execute that little plan of yours."

with a wink he ends his sentence, his eyes pointing straight to the main camera before playfully shaking his head— as to try to get rid of his flustered cheeks, gathering the next question soon after.

— kazuha

hello everyone, you may recognize me as kazuha from 6reeze and I'll be reading your thirst tweets tonight!

with an authentic greet towards the flashy cameras, kazuha decided to get on with his current performance right away, seeing this particular meeting as nothing more than an exchange of dialogue to further intensify his public relations.

"perhaps i should start with this one."

kazuha was excitingly leaving his pretty eyes roam over the little smartphone he held in his palm, gently scrolling over the numerous tweets the late night staff had specifically hand picked out for him.

from @/peepeeconnoisseur:

"kazuha gives serious hidden dom energy and i want him to ruin me."

at the tip of his issuing, he so soon had began to snicker into the transitioning lens, hiding his growing embarrassment with his hand and dramatically pressing it on top of his face to cover his eyes.

"compared to what i have encountered before-" he rapidly cut himself off, eyes widened in his own foolishness— the last he’d wish now was to accidentally air something personal out.

lightheartedly, kazuha carried on to rub his blurry eyes, in a powerless aim to cover his dazed look and tracks.

the fact that thousands of people were currently watching this right now didn't make it any easier nor turned the task somehow into simplicity, but to keep himself mustered and well collected was one of the very utensils he had been practicing on his entire career.

to have himself speak clearly he was coughing out, setting his attention back down to the phone in his hand, "i must admit, this is really quite tame."

the unexpected blows of laughs and convulsing titters packed the room with a genuine, hilarious response as one of the many staff members spoke out in a saddened voice.

"man, i really thought i'd get you with that one." the woman was crossing her arms around her body and frowned.

"if it was one of my band members i'm certain you would've stirred them off their footing." - "though some you might've flattered even."

the assurance was enough for him to almost completely forget the tweet he had read a couple moments ago.

though after the room went quiet again, kazuha decided to express himself on the topic just one last time, peering up to be to the core set in frame by the several cameras.

"all i have to add is that i am a man of hardly any words, i prefer to show off my skills instead."

— scaramouche

"you better not hold back with whatever we're doing here or you're wasting my precious time." ...

... "not my fans though, they're all important to me or whatever."

the blows and beats of irksome cameras and ring lights being shoved left and right towards their designated area had rigorously bothered scaramouche, who was, at present, situated on a cozy white chair with a couple cards in his hands, lazily leaning onto the armrest.

3.. 2.. 1..

... we're beginning now, massive apologies for the delay ... take one!

hello *rolls his eyes* i'm scaramouche from 6reeze and I'm forced to read your thirst tweets tonight ...

... you better have something good in store for me or I'll have to punish you in some unknown way.

instantaneously, scaramouche broke out of his established, not to mention unduly recognized, personality as he approached a quite nicer (in his own way) outlook for the cameras piloting on him.

after all, he was very much aware of how exasperating the media could turn out whenever he wouldn't control his disinterest in maintaining his public persona.

besides, the last setting he‘d need is for his band member kazuha to lecture him about the whole engage and its significant importance.

from @/http_scaranuts:

"i want scara to fucking spit in my mouth."

the way his body responded on its own was hysterically funny, "why would you want that?" in spite of the fact that he faked his disgust, his guise was revealing a different story.

his sides were splitting into an entertained smirk and not even seeking any effort whatsoever to hide his pleased smile.

he was engaging, almost hypnotizing, and managed to plant a significant impression onto many, which is what his fans idolized about him the utmost.

how downright blunt he was at times, mixed with a bewitching sweetness, a blazing firestorm that was able turn the whole music industry upside down.

scaramouche delightfully clicked his tongue— terrifically composed with an unchanging face.

"i'm barely two sentences into this and you already want me to spit on you."

with a little gesture, he finely brushed his hair strands back that were unkemptly falling all over his face, "how amusing."

"ultimately i'm going to give you a pass for the distasteful username though." he's innocently fluttering his eyelashes before blowing a quick kiss at the cameras, "so so sorry."

thus, scaramouche was carelessly flinging the little card back and tossing it onto the floor, already skimming through the next tweet.

— venti

the video established itself as the camera slowly shifted their focus on venti who was currently sitting in front of a white background, a couple stickers in his hands that had the late night logo inprinted on top of it.

"i didn‘t think anyone would write thirst tweets about me."

he‘s joking and setting up a pseudo guiltless attitude, as if he didn’t see a couple of those while curiously scanning through his notifications the other day.

but, well, to keep his performance going, he playfully waved at the camera and began to regret the fact that he had washed the rational thinking parts of his brain away with alcohol earlier.

venti always appeared wildly comfortable around the large screens and bright flashes of the studio room— essentially he was also known as one of the most talented as well as best performers of his entire group.

.. but maybe it was also due to the fact that he was mostly drunk, yet obviously not exposing it to his fans.

his eyes were now, a tone lower, when he glowered into the first of many cards, without further ado vividly brawling to keep his own poker face.

from @/l3t_thewindlead_thisp3nis:

"(i am not okay) if venti needs a stress reliever i volunteer as tribute."

subsidiary after prattling it out, venti narrowed his eyes towards the screen with a concerned look on his face before ultimately concealing his expression with the little card.

".. a stress reliever?" he asks, bluntly, before setting off the whole room to infectiously laugh.

venti himself nearly erupted into tears from how hard he’d been chuckling at the tweet.

"tsk tsk tsk." he‘s shaking his head with a sigh— as if he was disappointed, and carrying on with his high spirited words.

"a shame, i really thought you would elaborate on that a bit more."

giggling at his own remarks he instantaneously got reminded (by a staff member) to keep it as family friendly as attainable as to not suffer the brutish fate of his manager scolding him afterwards.

the cameras cut and set on a different frame, recording back again.

perhaps it wasn‘t the most brilliant idea to have venti go into this without a single form of preparation— nor a script he could base his answers on.

though beyond anything, he was a natural ar this and managed to engage the viewers with his quite peculiar charms.

"i‘ll leave that for now but i‘m coming back to you later."

©2023 anantaru do not repost, copy, translate

[min-gis]

''I’D LIKE TO TREASURE THIS MOMENT FOREVER.’'

SHOW ME YOU'RE SHAMELESS — choi san.

pairing. bf!san x fembodied!reader

synopsis. san needs to figure out just how his new camera works, and what better way is there to find out than filming something he's passionate about — you?

genre/warnings. established relationship, smut ! mdni .

word count. 2.3k

‘’THERE WE GO,’’

You suppose you should be shocked when the light on top of the camera flashes red, but you’re not.

Not really. If anything, you’re excited.

Excited to see just how your boyfriend will put the camera to use, the camera he had only gotten a few days earlier.

Raising the camera up to his face, he presses his eye against the viewfinder — only for a low exhale to slip past his lips, followed by a grin tugging at the corners of his lips.

‘’You look even prettier through the camera.’’

And you — you’re the first thing San has decided he wants to capture with his brand-new camera.

And just who are you to deny such a request?

You watch as he steps closer to the bed, allowing your hands to rest in your lap as he stands in front of you. His hand slowly comes up to cup your jaw, forcing you to look up at him and at the camera.

The pad of his thumb glides across your bottom lip, collecting the thin layer of saliva coating it with a low hum trailing of his lips. 

‘’Wish you could see what I’m seeing,’’ He mumbles behind the camera, eye still pressed against the viewfinder. A small smile forms on your lips as you keep your eyes on him, on the camera — you don’t need to see what he’s seeing.

The sight in front of you both feels and looks just as sinful, you think.

The pad of his thumb taps against your lip once, then twice. ‘’Open,’’ He mumbles, the tip of his thumb pressing against your bottom lip in an attempt to part your lips. So you do, you part your lips, allowing your tongue to poke past your bottom lip — something that pulls a groan out of the man standing in front of you.

‘’Holy shit,’’ He groans as he presses his thumb against your tongue, sliding it further down your throat with a hiss trailing off his lips. You keep your eyes on the camera, looking at him through the lens — something that causes his grip around the camera to grow firmer.

It’s not until his whole thumb lays flat against your tongue that you allow your lips to shut and wrap around the base, one of your hands coming up to grab onto his wrist as you do. The first swirl of your tongue pulls yet another groan out of the man, and for a split second, you think he might put down the camera.

He doesn’t. 

Knuckles now slightly turning white from the firm grip, he keeps the camera to his face — and the red flashing light tells you he’s still recording, too.

A breathy chuckle escapes past his lips as your tongue swipes across the pad of his thumb, ‘’Putting on a show, huh?’’ 

His teasing causes the corners of your lips to tug onto a smile, a playful one — one he mirrors from behind the camera. Your lips part once more as he slowly pulls his thumb back out, now coated and wet from your saliva.

Swiping it across your bottom lip once more, he grabs onto the side of your face — allowing his fingers to slip into your hair. ‘’Save it.’’ You slightly tilt your head, leaning into his touch as his thumb comes up to stroke your cheek. 

‘’For what?’’ You ask, a small whine leaving your lips as he gathers strands of hair between his fingers — a small grin plastered on his lips as he gently tugs at the roots. ‘’For when you’re sucking my cock.’’

The whole situation feels dirty. It feels sinful, unholy, as you stare into the camera and he looks at you through the viewfinder — in the best way possible, something the stickiness forming in your underwear proves to you.

Using his grip on your hair, he suddenly tugs your head backward before you have the time to respond. Another whine trails off your lips as your back hits the sheets, his hand still tangled into your hair and back arched as he keeps you from moving. ‘’Wanna record every part of you,’’ He mumbles as his fingers slip out of your hair and trails down your neck.

Fingers coming down to gently stroke your sides, softly grabbing onto your flesh as he does. You just watch as he lets his hands trail up and down your figure, a small exhale slipping past your lips as rough fingers slip under the fabric of your shirt.

He keeps the camera to his face, following every movement of his hand — recording every part of you, just as he wished. Slowly tugging at the fabric, he lets it wander up your stomach before allowing it to slip over your chest.

A small moan quietly slips off your lips as his hand comes up to knead one of your breasts, a low hum of approval followed by a hiss leaving his lips. ‘’You look so fucking good,’’ He breathes, fingers slipping past your bra to pinch your nipple.

‘’San,’’ You breathe, fingers wrapping around his wrist once more in an attempt to tell him to give you more. 

He doesn’t respond. Instead, he allows his fingers to trail ever so softly across your skin before grabbing onto your other breast. ‘’Fuck, why haven’t we done this before?’’ His words combined with his fingers gently kneading your flesh causes a broken moan to slip past your lips, one you know he’s happy he now has recorded.

His fingers trail further down your body, ever so gently ghosting across your now warm skin. You just watch as he gets down on his knees, fingers grazing the skin just above the zipper of your pants. ‘’Can’t have these on you anymore, need to get them off,’’

The camera hitting the sheet just by your legs takes you by surprise, eyes darting to look over at it. The red light is still flashing, indicating that it’s still recording — and that he doesn’t plan on stopping anytime soon.

You don’t want him to.

His kiss pressing against your skin brings your attention back to him, a small gasp leaving your lips. Hooded eyes meet your own, and for a moment, you think you might pass out.

He hums against your skin as he places another small, wet kiss onto your skin before bringing his fingers up to fiddle with the button of your pants. You resist the urge to buck your hips against him, anything to relieve the ache now present in between your legs.

The ache to feel him, to have him.

His fingers comes down to tug at the material as soon as he’s managed to undo the button, pulling it down your legs with a satisfied hum leaving his throat. The same fingers grab onto the insides of your thighs, separating them — before leaving one last, wet kiss right by your knee.

You miss the way he reaches over to wrap his fingers around the camera once more, your eyes fluttering shut the second he leans forward to press a kiss onto your clothed core. He hums against you before he pulls away, watching as your head rolls sideways.

He slightly leans back, one hand — the one not busy recording — coming up and grabbing onto your thigh. ‘’You’re soaking,’’ He murmurs, fingers ghosting closer to your core, ‘’Is it because I’m recording you, hm?’’

A moan rips through your chest as his fingers press against your clothed slit, rubbing small circles over the sticky fabric. ‘’Fuck,’’ He hisses, fingers running up and down the fabric before slightly pushing it to the side.

Your eyes flutter back open as he does, and only then do you realize he’s gone back to recording.

The sight, of him on his knees and his bottom lip placed between his teeth as he pulls the sticky fabric to the side — exposing you, to the camera and to whoever might be watching the tape in the future — causes your walls to throb around nothing, something the man seated in front of you notices.

‘’Could cum my pants by just fucking watching,’’ He mumbles, so quietly that you almost don’t even hear him. But you do, and a chuckle rips through your chest as you roll your head back to look at him.

‘’Don’t,’’ You let out, ‘’Wouldn’t you cumming inside of me look good on camera?’’

The groan that rips through his chest following your words is guttural, one he follows up by letting the fabric of your underwear rest beside your entrance. ‘’Don’t say that,’’ He murmurs, fingers coming back up your slit to collect the arousal seeping out of you, ‘’I can’t contain myself if you say shit like that.’’

You just hum as his fingers swipe across your clit, ‘’Then fuck me,’’ You almost beg, ‘’Fuck me and you won’t have to contain yourself.’’

The man lets out yet another groan, one he muffles by gently sinking his teeth into the flesh of your thigh. You gasp as he does, his fingers tracing down your slit once more — before allowing one of his fingers to slip into you.

A broken moan rips through your chest upon the unannounced entry, his finger easily slipping into you — perhaps recording is something you should’ve thought about doing earlier, you think.

He hums into your skin, finger slowly pumping in and out of you as he angles the camera to focus on the way his finger disappears inside of you.

‘’Can’t do that yet,’’ His words come out mumbled, followed by allowing another finger to slip into you, ‘’Need to see you come around my fingers first.’’

The pads of his fingers press against your g-spot as his knuckles comes into contact with your sticky entrance, something that causes you to bury your head further into the sheets as another broken whine spills past your lips.

San just hums in response, thumb coming up to rub your clit — and the camera — it stays in his other hand, recording as you shudder under his touch.

You wonder if this is what he had in mind when he insisted on buying it, if this — recording as his fingers pump into you — is what he had in mind. 

If it was, you’re not complaining. Far from it, something the wetness that coats his fingers as they pick up their speed proves.

‘’You look so fucking good,’’ He grunts, fingers still pounding into you and thumb gently rubbing your clit, ‘’Can’t wait for you to see how you clench around my fingers, fuck,’’

The thought of watching yourself come undone around his fingers causes a whine to leave your lips, your hips slightly stuttering as he curls his fingers inside of you. ‘’Say my name, baby, let them hear you,’’

You’re not certain as to who he’s referring to when he tells you to let them hear it. You’re not sure just who they are, if there is anyone — you’re not sure, but the thought of there being someone to watch the sinful tape your boyfriend is currently making — it’s what almost sends you over the edge.

‘’San,’’ You pant as the tips of his fingers push against your g-spot, ‘’So good,’’ You’re almost rambling, something San takes as a sign that you’re close.

‘’Already?’’ He chuckles, his thumb still drawing fast and harsh circles over your clit. ‘’Fuck, never knew this would turn you on so much,’’ He cooes, his fingers relentlessly pounding into you and drawing you closer and closer to the edge.

Neither did you, you think — something that’s now very obvious to not only you, but to San as well as one of your hands come down to grab onto his wrist. In an attempt to stop him, or to urge him to keep going — he’s not sure and frankly, neither are you.

‘’Come,’’ He murmurs, ‘’Show them how good I make you feel.’’

You can’t stop it from happening, even if you wanted to.

Your orgasm washes over you as his fingers stills and curls inside of you, fingertips relentlessly pounding against your g-spot — eyes squeezing shut and body going stiff, thighs threatening to slam shut around his hand.

The broken attempt at calling out his name as you come undone pulls a grunt out of the man, his fingers stilling as you clench around him. His thumb keeps rubbing your clit, slightly slowing down but never stopping as he eases you through your orgasm.

By the time his fingers slip out of you, you’re panting and gasping for air — a whine in overstimulation leaving your lips as he runs the same fingers up and down your slit.

‘’Good,’’ He cooes as he presses a kiss onto your now quivering legs, ‘’So good for me.’’

You grab onto his hands, tugging him towards you — the camera landing on the floor as he stumbles to hover above you. You’re quick to tangle your fingers into his hair and bring his lips down to your own, capturing them into a messy, wet kiss.

He hums against your lips, his fingers coming down to gently stroke your leg. To comfort you, you think, to calm you down and help you come down from your overwhelming orgasm.

‘’Did you like that?’’ He mumbles as he pulls away, pressing a soft, chaste kiss onto the corner of your lips. You just nod in response, eyes still shut as he presses yet another kiss onto your cheek. 

He hums against your skin, fingers dancing further down your leg before wrapping it around his waist.

‘’Good,’’ He breathes, lips coming down to leave a wet kiss on your jaw and his hips pressing against your own — pulling a gasp out of you as the hardness of his clothed bulge presses against your exposed core.

‘’Because I’m about to turn you around,’’ Your breath hitches in your throat as he nibbles on the skin right below your ear, ‘’And record every single part of you.’’

[ijustmissyouraccenths]

Chocolate Hearts

CW: Smut

Word count: 4,541

Growing up in a small town was never easy. The days appeared to drag on with gloomy skies and bleak summers filling the calendar. Rain and storms consumed the days, leaving Stella feeling trapped inside her own home, binge-watching Netflix to pass the time. Despite these dreary conditions and the small town gossip that cause her to suffocate, Stella found solace in two things: reading novels at the quaint local bookstore and pursuing her passion for photography.

Behind the lens, Stella was a master. She had an eye for capturing beauty in the simplest of subjects. Her clients ranged from families to businesses, and sometimes beloved pets. While most of her projects were fairly small, she had managed to gain a decent following on social media thanks to the artistic and creative nature of her photos.

Then, through pure luck, an opportunity presented itself about an hour away - the chance to photograph Harry Styles at an arena for her portfolio. It would be a stark contrast to her usual work - the bright lights and frantic movements on stage would provide a new challenge for her skills behind the lens. When her sister's boyfriend, who worked security at the venue, offered her this rare opportunity, Stella couldn't turn it down. It was a chance to showcase her talent on a larger scale and potentially open doors for her career as a photographer.

She meticulously packed her gear, carefully selecting the best lenses and camera body for the upcoming task. Her vintage-style paperboy camera bag was neatly filled with all the necessary equipment, ensuring that she would be fully prepared for whatever lay ahead. Taking a moment to center herself, she sat down and focused on her breathing, a technique her therapist had taught her for moments when she needed to relax and gather her thoughts.

With a deep breath, she swiped the keys off of the counter and bid farewell to her cat before heading out to her car. While she wouldn't necessarily classify herself as a fan of Harry Styles, she found him charming and had enjoyed his performances in the few movies he had been in. There was something about his energy that drew her in. She couldn't deny that she had a One Direction phase in high school, so there was a small part of Stella that felt giddy at the thought of seeing him in person. She always thought her was attracitve and even had a little crush on him. 

The drive to the arena was smooth, but finding parking proved to be a nightmare. Eventually, she made it inside and checked in, grabbing her pass before being escorted to where she would be shooting. In her mind, she imagined that she would have a decent view of the stage, but when the security guard handed her off to Harry's manager who then led her down winding hallways backstage, it became clear that she would not just be photographing the show - she would have access to something much more intimate and behind-the-scenes.

The manager wheeled around to face Stella, his slicked-back hair catching the light as he spoke. "I hope you're okay with this," he said, over the hustle and bustle of the backstage preparations for Harry Styles' show. "Originally we  needed someone for the show, but our usual photographer is out sick and we need some content for Instagram."

Stella nodded, trying to suppress her nerves. She had been ecstatic when she was offered the opportunity to shoot photos of one of the worlds biggest musicians, but now that it was actually happening, she was feeling a bit overwhelmed. Her palms were getting clammy as she mentally went through her checklist, making sure she had everything ready to go.

"I'm good," she replied, flashing a quick smile at Harry's manager. "I'm all set up and ready whenever you guys are."

But what Stella wasn't prepared for was walking into Harry's dressing room and seeing him shirtless, with his stylist carefully crafting his iconic hairstyle. She couldn't help but feel a flutter in her chest as she took in his toned tattooed torso and muscular arms. This wasn't how she imagined meeting her high school celebrity crush.

Harry turned around from the chair and greeted her with a warm smile. "You must be Stella," he said as he walked towards her with open arms.

Stella couldn't believe she was actually hugging Harry Styles. She took in his scent, the strong muscles of his back pressing against her as they embraced, and she couldn't help but feel herself falling deeply in love with him. It was like a bug had bitten her and infected her with an infatuation for the charming and talented musician.

"I am," Stella finally managed to say, trying not to let on how starstruck she was. "Thank you so much for allowing me to come today. I've never really done anything like this before, it feels like such a big opportunity."

Harry chuckled and then ran a hand through his hair, causing it to fall in soft waves around his face. "No worries, love," he replied with a playful wink. "We're happy to have you here. And I was thinking we could mix things up a bit for the photoshoot. Let's do some portraits but also some candid shots of me getting ready, organizing my clothes, that sort of thing."

Stella's eyes sparkled with excitement at the idea. She couldn't believe she was going to be taking intimate behind-the-scenes shots of Harry Styles. This was definitely going to be the highlight of her photography career so far.

As Stella clicked away with her camera, capturing every moment of Harry getting ready, she couldn't help but feel a newfound sense of confidence around him. It was as if his vibrant energy was contagious and had spread throughout her body, lifting her spirits in its wake. She found herself contorting into unusual positions to get the perfect shot, lost in the thrill of documenting this experience.

"So Stella, we have a whole week off and I want to explore. I never get out to this area of the US. What's there to do around here?" Harry's deep, smooth voice sent shivers down her spine.

Stella paused for a moment, caught off guard by this unexpected conversation. "I um," she stuttered, "I actually live in a small town about an hour north of here. I'm not too familiar with the area."

Harry nodded, his curiosity piqued. "Is it cool?" he asked, his tone laced with genuine interest.

Stella shrugged, "It's alright. There are some nice bakeries and vegan restaurants. I have my studio there. It's a bit hipster but quiet and charming. Oh, and there's a really cool vinyl store. And hey, if you need a place to crash, I have a guest room." She added the last part jokingly, assuming that a famous superstar like Harry Styles would be staying in a luxurious penthouse suite.

"Let's do it," Harry declared with enthusiasm, catching Stella off guard once again.

"Really?" she gasped in disbelief.

Harry simply nodded and explained, "I've been wanting to escape to a smaller town where I can blend in and do normal things without being recognized. Sounds perfect."

Stella couldn't believe her luck as the show went on and eventually came to an end. The plan was for her to go home and wait for Harry while he finished up his final performance and got cleaned up before heading over to her place. She inwardly thanked herself for deep cleaning her house the day before, she was prepared to have everything to be perfect for Harry's stay.

"I-I didn't think you'd actually want to come," Stella admitted as they said their goodbyes.

Harry chuckled and replied, "Isn't it a bit crazy?"

And with that, their unconventional journey began.

.

Stella sat at home, anxiously awaiting Harry's arrival. She had cleaned her small apartment, lit a few candles, and put on a record to set the mood. With a quick glance at the clock, she grabbed a bottle of wine and poured herself a glass to calm her nerves.

As she took a sip, her doorbell rang, causing her cat to scurry off in alarm. Stella placed her glass down and smoothed out her outfit before opening the door. The crisp fall air rushed in, bringing with it the tantalizing scent of Harry's cologne - a masculine blend of woodsy and spicy notes that never failed to drive her wild.

"Welcome to my humble abode," she greeted him with a shrug, trying to play it cool. He hugged her tightly before setting his bag down and taking off his shoes.

"It's lovely," he remarked as he looked around her eclectic apartment filled with vintage knick-knacks and furniture straight out of the 70s. Stella blushed with pride - she may not be much of a decorator, but this was her personal style and Harry seemed to appreciate it.

"I don't think there are many places open for dinner right now, but we can order takeout if you'd like. I know it's late," Stella suggested.

"Oh, that would be great. I'm actually quite hungry," Harry admitted with a sheepish grin.

Stella returned his smile and poured him a glass of wine.

"For you," she said softly as she handed it over.

Together, they sat on her cozy couch, looking through takeout menus. Their options were limited, so they settled on a 24-hour Korean BBQ place that offered delivery services.

"You know," Stella began as they waited for their food to arrive, "I was somewhat surprised when you agreed to come over tonight. You don't even know me."

Harry simply shrugged in response.

"You seemed nice and warm. Sometimes, you have to take a chance in order to truly live," he said with a hint of wisdom in his tone. "I'm constantly surrounded by strangers in my line of work, always staying in hotels. I thought, why not spend some time with a stranger who offers a sense of home? That sounded nice right about now."

Stella placed a comforting hand on his knee and rubbed lightly with her thumb.

"Well, if I can provide that sense of home, even for  a little while, then I will." As they sat on the couch, making small talk and waiting for their food, Stella couldn't help but feel grateful for this unexpected connection she had made with Harry.

Stella and Harry’s conversation was soon interrupted by food arriving. The two sat in silence and then cleaned up in silence. The energy of the room could only be described as tired. Stella took Harry down the hall and showed him the bathroom and then took him to the room he would be staying in.

They hugged goodnight and said their goodbyes before Stella finished turning off the lights and heading to bed herself. She wondered how she would sleep. She felt guilty for  trying to fall asleep. A part of her felt like she had to stay on duty and protect the treasure that was in the room over. When in reality, if someone broke in she would be the first to go.

The next morning dawned, and as her drowsy eyes gradually cleared, Stella almost forgot that Harry was in the room next to hers. A warm, sweet scent wafted through the air, reminding her of home. Slowly, she got out of bed and walked over to her vanity, taking a moment to fix her disheveled appearance before stepping into the living room.

There stood Harry in the kitchen, his back turned to her as he focused on cooking. He must have heard her footsteps because he turned around with a smile.

"Got up early. Went on a run, found a store and decided to cook for ya," he said over his shoulder, his voice filled with warmth and affection. Stella's heart skipped a beat at the sight of him.

"Oh Harry! You could've woken me up," she exclaimed, feeling guilty for not helping him with breakfast.

But he just shook his head, his light curls bouncing slightly with the movement.

"It was nice. To  go out and not be known," he shared with her.

Stella looked at him with loving eyes, marveling at how this famous celebrity could find solace in anonymity.

"I can only imagine. I don't know how you do it all the time. No privacy. Going on a date and having the world see it even if it sucked. I can't imagine, and I’ve been on some pretty bad dates.” she confessed to Harry, unable to hide her admiration.

He laughed lightly, his eyes sparkling with amusement.

"Well. Why don't I take you out on not a bad date?" he suggested casually, but Stella's heart nearly stopped in her chest at his words. She couldn't believe it - was Harry asking her out on a date?

"If you're sure," she managed to say, trying to keep her cool.

He came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her close and giving her a warm hug.

"It wasn't just luck, Stella. I found your Instagram a while ago. The small town pics, the cat, the photography. I know your sister's boyfriend and I knew I had to meet you. I was practically drawn to you," he confessed, sending shivers down Stella's spine.

She couldn't believe it - this famous, talented, and incredibly attractive man had an interest in her. With a newfound sense of confidence and excitement, Stella accepted his invitation for a date, eager to see where this unexpected connection would lead them.

Despite being unfamiliar with the town, Harry managed to find a quaint restaurant and drove Stella there in his rental car. For once, he felt a sense of normalcy - the feeling of dating someone without the baggage of fame and paparazzi constantly hounding them. The drive was short, but it gave him time to take in the picturesque scenery of the small town.

As they arrived at the restaurant, Stella's face lit up with recognition. She had been here many times before, and it was clear that she loved this place. The staff greeted her by name as they walked in, and Harry couldn't help but tease her about being the "famous" one.

"It's just a small town," she laughed, "everyone knows everyone."

Over dinner, Harry couldn't shake off the feeling that he already knew Stella, or perhaps had known her in another lifetime. He found himself wanting to do simple things like eating Korean barbecue in bed or buying silly chocolate hearts from CVS - anything to make her smile.

Stella too, felt an instant connection with Harry. Just yesterday she didn't  remember his name, now she would drop everything and run away with him if he asked. She wanted him in every way possible.

Their meal ended too quickly, but the silence between them was comfortable and filled with unspoken feelings. After dinner, Harry suggested going out and doing something adventurous, but Stella simply wanted to be home - home with him and a bottle of wine. Much to his surprise, Harry was completely content with that plan.

He drove her back to her house like he had lived in that town his whole life. As they entered her place, Stella kicked off her shoes and made a beeline for the kitchen where she grabbed a bottle of wine. She poured two glasses and handed one to Harry as she fumbled with setting up the record player.

Taking a few sips of wine to calm her nerves, Stella couldn't find the right record to play and let out a frustrated sigh then finished her glass by chugging it. In that moment, Harry realized that he would do anything to make her happy, even if it meant spending the night listening to terrible music.

Stella felt him behind her as he placed a hand on the back of her shoulders. Stella felt the heat of his body, an angelic presence stirring her senses from behind. His touch was electric on the back of her shoulders, sending shivers down her spine. She turned around to face him, their faces just inches apart. The scent of his cologne filled her nostrils - masculine and intoxicating.

Wordlessly, she poured and handed him another glass of wine. Their fingers brushed against each other in the transfer, sparking a flame that coursed through their linked bodies.

"Your choice," she said with a teasing smile, gesturing to the records spread out on the table. He picked up one at random – some old jazz record she'd forgotten about. Harry placed it on the turntable and the sultry sway of a saxophone began to fill the room.

He moved closer to her then, invading her personal space as if he had every right to do so. Harrys hands found their way to her waist, pulling her flush against him. Stella gasped at the feel of his firm body pressing into hers.

“Is this okay?” he murmured into her ear. His breath tickled her skin and made her giggle.

“More than okay,” Stella replied. Her voice was husky, inviting.

His lips trailed kisses from her earlobe down towards her neck, stoking the fire that was quickly building between them. She clutched onto his hair for dear life as pleasure washed over her in waves.

As Harry's hands slipped under Stella's blouse, he gently brushed his fingertips along the small of her back before pressing softly against her bare skin. His touch was electric, sending shivers down her spine as she leaned into him, her heart pounding in anticipation. His other hand slid around to her waist before moving slowly downwards, tracing the lines of her hip and finally reaching the edge of her silk panties. Stella gasped, feeling a rush of heat spreading through her core at his touch.

"Harry," she whispered, unable to form complete thoughts as he began to explore between her legs, teasing and stroking with expert fingers. She leaned into him, letting out soft moans that were quickly drowned out by the music playing in the background. His warm breath caressed her neck, sending shivers down her spine as he nibbled lightly on the soft skin there.

In response, Stella reached up to run her fingers through his hair, loving the feel of it between her fingertips as he continued to tease her. The way he touched her was unlike anything she'd ever experienced before - it was like he knew exactly what she needed, right from the start. With each gentle caress and sigh, she felt herself growing hotter and wetter under his touch.

His fingers found their way inside and she couldn't contain a moan as he teased into places that made every nerve ending light up like fireworks going off in slow motion. He moved with an almost practiced ease that left her panting for more; it was clear that Harry knew exactly what he was doing and it felt so good -  better than anything she could have ever imagined. She couldn't help but wrap one leg around him in anticipation.

The music flowed around them, the silky jazz notes wrapping them up in a sensual embrace as Harry's fingers danced with hers, his hands exploring every curve and contour of her body.His touch was firm yet gentle, eliciting soft moans from Stella. 

As his mouth neared hers, she parted her lips, eager for his kiss. Their lips met in a tender yet passionate embrace that left them both breathless. He tasted like wine and desire, his tongue dancing with hers playfully before delving deeper into her mouth. They broke apart for air, panting heavily as Harry trailed kisses down her neck and collarbone while continuing to stroke her inner thighs.

 Stella continued to run her fingers through his hair, tangling herself up in those curls that smelled of sandalwood and sex appeal. The scent alone made her dizzy with lust; she needed more of him than just this small taste. The warmth from his body seeped into hers as they swayed together to the music—a slow song that matched their slow dance of seduction. She could feel his hardness pressing against her leg; it wasn't long before she grew wetter than ever from anticipation of what was to come next.

Harry leaned back slightly to look at Stella who looked back at him longingly. Her eyes were filled with desire, her pupils dilated from the alcohol and passion. He took a step back to remove his shirt, revealing toned abs and muscles that rippled under his tattooed skin. His hair fell onto his forehead in soft waves, framing his face as he reached for the button of his jeans. With a low growl of need, he undid the button and slid down the zipper before pushing the denim down to rest on his hips.

Stella watched hungrily as Harry stepped out of his pants and kicked them off to the side, revealing a large erection that strained against his boxers. She licked her lips involuntarily at the sight of him, feeling her own arousal growing stronger by the second.

The jazz music continued softly in the background, creating an intimate ambiance between them as they moved closer together once more. Their bodies swaying slowly as if in tune with the melody. Harry pressed himself against Stella's Core invitingly; she could feel how hard he was through their thin fabric separating them.

His tongue traced her earlobe gently before nibbling playfully at it causing shivers to run up her spine. He whispered huskily into her ear, "I want you.” His accent driving her crazy.

She moaned softly in response as he trailed kisses down her neck and collarbone, his warm breath sending shockwaves through her body. His hands roamed over her curves possessively.

"Harry," she breathed out wanting more than just teasing now; needing completion beneath this hands.

The sight of his arousal straining against his boxers made her lick her lips in anticipation. He was thick and hard, and she could see a bead of pre-cum glistening at the tip. "Oh god," Stella moaned quietly under her breath.

Harry swiftly discarded his boxers, revealing his  length fully to her gaze. Her eyes widened slightly at his size, but there was no fear in her eyes – only an eager curiosity as she reached out to touch him. Her small hand wrapped around him firmly, making him groan in pleasure.

With one swift move he pushed her onto the carpeted floor, pulled off her panties, and spread her thighs wide apart. She looked up at him from beneath heavy lashes, anticipation brewing like a storm within those sultry depths. His fingers found their way to her slick heat, nudging open sensitive folds to gain access to the secrets hidden within.

His finger dipped within the wetness, coating himself in it before retreating to rub circles around the swollen bud nestled above. A bolt of pleasure shot through Stella's body and she writhed beneath him; gasps spilling freely from her parted lips. "Fuck...Harry..."

He continued to tease gently at first, before picking up speed - each stroke sending waves of pleasure coursing through her body as he taunted that sweet spot relentlessly. His other hand kneaded and tweaked her breasts, heightening the pleasure. Stella's back arched off the floor as he brought her closer and closer to that edge.

"Harry... I..." she stammered out breathlessly. Her hands grasped at his shoulders, nails digging into his skin as an orgasm ripped through her body.

Her screams of pleasure echoed in the dimly lit room as Harry continued to stroke her through her orgasm, drawing out the waves of pleasure until she was left panting and spent beneath him.

Slowly, he nudged her legs further apart with his knee before guiding his hardness to her entrance. She whimpered slightly at the feel of him pressing against her but nonetheless lifted her hips to meet him halfway.

He filled her slowly; each inch driving a gasp from both of them until he was fully embedded within her. Their bodies were connected now - not just physically, but emotionally and spiritually too. Their movements soon found a rhythm; slow and deep thrusts that had her wrapping her legs around his waist to pull him deeper.

His pace gradually increased as they both chased their release; Stella's nails leaving trails down his back as she clung onto him. It wasn't long before she felt another rise in pleasure peaking; this one even more intense than the last. "Harry...I'm going to..."

With one final deep thrust, she screamed his name as pleasure fell over her once again; Harry following suit shortly after with a groan of his own. He collapsed on top of her panting heavily; their sweaty bodies entwined in bliss.

Their shared connection was undeniable. Passionate yet tender, their lovemaking was something far beyond mere physical satisfaction. And so their story began, Harry fell in love with the small town over the week and vowed to visit in when his time was free.

-

As the week in the small town came to an end, Harry couldn't help but feel a sense of sadness. He had never expected to find such a powerful connection with someone in such an unexpected place. But as he looked at her sleeping form next to him, he knew that this was just the beginning of something special.

He gently brushed her hair out of her face and placed a soft kiss on her forehead. She stirred slightly and opened her eyes, a smile spreading across her face when she saw Harry watching her.

"Good morning," she said, her voice still heavy with sleep.

"Morning," Harry replied, unable to keep the smile off his face as he leaned in for another kiss.

They spent their last day together exploring the town, holding hands and stealing kisses whenever they could. They were both reluctant to say goodbye, but they knew it was only temporary. They had promised to stay in touch and make plans for future visits.

As they stood at the airport saying their farewells, Harry made a promise to himself – he would come back here whenever he could. This small town had captured his heart in more ways than one.

In the weeks that followed, they kept their promise and stayed connected through phone calls and messages. And when Harry's schedule allowed it, he would make the trip back to that small town, always finding new adventures and creating more memories with her by his side.

His bandmates noticed a change in him – he seemed happier, more at peace. And when they asked about it, all Harry could do was smile and tell them about this magical place that had become his sanctuary.

But as much as he loved visiting this small town and spending time with her, Harry knew that eventually their paths would diverge once again. His music career took him all over the world and she was rooted in this quaint little town. With that knowledge looming over them, they cherished every moment they had together. And in those moments, their love only grew stronger.

[sykokilljoyy]

hello 🤍 i really enjoy ur writing and would like you request a w2s x reader- where they both attend ethan & faiths gender reveal party together and he ends up getting major baby fever and also just very soft, in love, clingy harry. thankyouuuu :)

baby fever - wroetoshaw imagine

request: hello 🤍 i really enjoy ur writing and would like you request a w2s x reader- where they both attend ethan & faiths gender reveal party together and he ends up getting major baby fever and also just very soft, in love, clingy harry. thankyouuuu :) words: 797 warnings: none! a/n: hes actually the sweetest shut up. also thank you for your patience!

TLDR: harry just loves his partner and wants a baby.

Festivities were high, the energy of your friends bubbling through the crowd as you all stood outside, looking on at the beautiful decorations set up for Ethan and Faith’s gender reveal. It had been a special few months, a lot of celebrating and congratulating your friends for their massive milestone in their relationship.

Whilst it was emotional, seeing the man you’d known since you were a teenager, grown up with a beautiful girlfriend and a baby on the way, you couldn’t help but be elated for them.

Feeling a strong arm pull you into his side, your boyfriend, Harry, dragged you from your thoughts.

“You alright?” He muttered to you closely, pint in one hand and the other tucked around your hip.

“Yeah, yeah, I think so,” A sniffle crumbled your entire facade, earning a sympathetic smile from Harry.

“Come here,” He pulled you fully into him, placing a kiss onto your forehead and feeling you bury your head in his chest.

The cameras weren’t on yet, only a few handheld ones capturing Ethan’s friends and family’s bets on the gender of his future child, and so you let yourself have a little cry before the spectacle starts.

“I’m just so happy for them both,” You cried with a smile, a chuckle reverbarating through Harry’s chest.

Pulling you from his warmth, he tenderly put his hands on your shoulders, looking you in the eye, a soft smile on his lips, “I know, love, now come on, lets get you a drink and go see them.”

Wiping your tears, making sure not to smudge any of the makeup you had spent an hour on in the morning, you grabbed Harry’s outstretched hand and followed him through the crowd of Ethan’s loved ones.

The rest of the afternoon was filled with talking, laughing, singing and dancing as friends and family managed to catch up and celebrate before the big reveal. Both of you had been dragged from couple to couple, mums and siblings, cousins, distant friends and people you’d never even heard of before. As tiring as it was, the excitement still hadn’t died down.

It was Harry that surprised you most. Usually, these bustling social events would drain him until he was empty. He’d be distant and sensitive, usually a drink in hand. Today was different, however.

Not once had he left your side, his tone giddy and exciteable as though you’d only arrived moments before. Clingier than usual, his hand was slotted comfortably around your waist and hadn’t budged once. You pinned his flushed excitement down to happiness for his friend’s announcement, but something about the elated grin on his face whenever he introduced you as his girlfriend had your heart leaping from your chest.

“Yeah, I think it’s gonna be a girl!” You smiled at the camera pointed towards you, bright pink badge pinned to your jacket.

“I’m putting £250 on boy, so it better be one,” Harry laughed towards the lens, his tone playful and light, before smiling at the cameraman.

“Perfect, got it, thanks guys! Enjoy the afternoon.” With that, the cameraman walked onto another, gathering bets for the intro.

Nonchalantly, Harry looped his shoulder around you, taking a sip from his drink, “I can’t wait for us to throw something like this one day.”

Looking up at him, you grinned, “A gender reveal, or a really extravagant bet?”

“A gender reveal, you know. Our future kid is only gonna get the best.”

Shocked, you choked slightly on the drink you were sipping, halting your walk, “What?”

Stopping in front of you, Harry turned to you, confused, “What? You don’t want that?”

A slight sinking feeling reached his stomach, and you could see as his brow fell that his nerves crept in, “Of course I do, you know I do! I’ve just never really heard you bring it up, Harry.”

“I know I don’t talk about it much, but I love you, a lot, and I can’t wait for the day we have a little Harry running around, you know,” His words were soft, almost soft enough to distract you from how sheepish and nervous the man looked in front of you.

“Oh, come here,” You spoke, the warmth of his words hitting you in the chest, matching his flushed cheeks, you pulled him towards you. Though usually his hugs were gentle, as though you would break in his arms, this embrace he held you tight and flush against him.

“If this wasn’t Ethan’s big day, I swear I would propose right this second,” Harry mumbled into your hair, and you pulled back, about to speak when he continued, “But just know, I’m gonna marry you one day, Y/N, I promise.”

“I love you, Harry,” You whispered, the words delicate on your tongue.

“I love you, Y/N,” A kiss met your lips, sweet and special, as though the whole world had turned their backs, as thought it was only you.

[percheduphere]

I wanted to find and gather some lesser appreciated Mobius moments from S1, and some thoughts occurred to me.

When we see Mobius drill into Loki about his choices, his thought patterns, whether or not he enjoys hurting people, Mobius comes down on Loki HARD, cruelly, goading, and manipulating (Sound familiar? Just wait...). He does so in a way that's confident he will get the answers he expects from Loki, which he does.

When we cut to the scenes with Renslayer, Mobius's truer, gentler side appears. The side that is kind and soft and believes in second chances. Notice, also, the difference in lighting between these scenes.

And then it hit me:

Mobius was using a carefully constructed persona--an illusion--with Loki to control the situation and get Loki into the headspace of self-reflection. He uses the very same technique Loki uses regularly to get the outcome that is beneficial for both of them.

Genius, really.

As we move into S1E2 and E3, the power dynamics are decidedly uneven, but once they are out in the field, Mobius's actual power and control over Loki is quite limited and actually banks on a LOT of faith. A ridiculous amount of faith, to be honest. Despite logical misgivings, Mobius makes a POINT of giving Loki freedom and trust because he has analyzed Loki enough to know that lack of trust perpetuates a destructive self-fulfilling prophecy.

So when Loki chooses to escape with Sylvie, all those centuries of belief and good will Mobius invested in him were thrown in his face. He's understandably furious, but the interrogation scene after both Lokis are captured simply does not read as normal without the additional lens of jealousy. If Mobius were not emotionally compromised in some way, he would have handled the interrogation clinically, and he would have sent Loki to be pruned without a thought.

Mobius doesn't do either of those things. Rather than asking Loki objective questions, he focuses on Loki's attention on Sylvie and verbally twists the knife where he can. His punishment for Loki after the interrogation is shockingly personal:

A word about the Sif loop scene: I really, REALLY hated that Mobius did that. It honestly made my gut churn. I think the writers tried to play it off for laughs because Loki gets kicked in the balls repeatedly, but the emotional undercurrent of Sif's words and everything that it means is just awful.

That said, I understand that this scene reveals not only Loki's vulnerability but ALSO Mobius's. This is a "passionate diagreement" through proxy. Mobius knows what would hurt Loki the most psychologically. But why would Mobius choose to hurt him this severely with these specific words?

Remember, this might be a memory, but Mobius is choosing to speak his feelings to Loki through Sif.

I think the answer is 4-pronged: First, Mobius put his career, reputation, and friendship with Ravonna on the line for Loki. The stress of the potential repercussions (which were HIGH) should Loki betray him was a constant heat on his neck. Despite this, Mobius chooses the riskier route of believing Loki would not betray his trust. And yes, within the context of what Mobius has done to advocate for Loki and what's at stake for Mobius should he fail, Loki absolutely betrays him.

Second, Loki told Mobius everything he believed about the TVA and his place in the multiverse is a lie. When was the last time Mobius reacted so violently?

When Brad called him a "nowhere man".

Mind, there is guilt beneath this anger. Not only has everything Mobius believed in been revealed as a lie, it is revealed he was complicit in the genocide of multiple timelines for which there was never any ultimate good. YIKES. That's a lot to take in, and Mobius at his core is a deeply empathetic person. The guilt of this horror, at his hands, is probably why Mobius does not defend himself when Sylvie tears him a new one in S2E4.

Three, I think Mobius may have wished for a friendship with Loki long before his intervention. I've written elsewhere that his intervention appears to be premeditated. Mobius was only waiting for his chance to come along. Who knows how many centuries that took. I believe he may have rationalized away his emotional attachment as a means to help the TVA succeed. Mobius is adept at suppressing not only his emotions but his wants.

Four, by S1E3, Mobius came to love Loki to some degree, platonic or otherwise. I think it's very difficult to not develop love for someone or something you've been tasked to be an expert on. Having Loki actually beside him, engaging with him over lunch and work, no doubt added some much needed color in Mobius's life. It's hard not to become infatuated with someone fun and exciting.

The jealous rage that overwhelms Mobius doesn't last long. When it comes down to it, Mobius can't help but believe in Loki. Doubt in the TVA takes root once his immediate anger dissipates. So Mobius steals Ravonna's TemPad, verifies Loki's claims, and immediately self-corrects. Mobius could have dug his heels in with more denial, but he doesn't. Why? Because Mobius ultimately cares more about Loki than himself.

When Mobius returns to Loki, he asks a few other questions that I can't share images for because of the 10-image limit. Those other questions include but are not limited to:

Do you care about Sylvie?

Do you really believe you deserve to be alone?

I should point out these questions are not at all tied to the well-being of the TVA or the multiverse. They are specifically tied to Loki's well-being. Loki's happinness.

Why does Mobius ask these questions? Because, in my opinion, Mobius was preparing himself to let Loki go, be with who he wants to be with (Sylvie), and fight the battle he wants to fight. Mobius will not be the obstruction to Loki's path to personal success even if that means letting go of the TVA, letting go of Ravonna, letting go of Loki himself.

All of this is a selfless act of love. What kind of love that is is up to the viewer, but it is very much there. It's real and integral to the story.

Classic Loki points out that this is a high cost. In response, Mobius takes the crux of his belief in Loki and directs it to himself.

The beauty of the goodbye scene in S1S6 is that the emotional thrust of selfless love is echoed and amplified in Loki's own self-sacrifice in S2E6. Loki lets go of the TVA, lets go of Sylvie, lets go of Mobius himself. Ouroboros.

[sw5w]

Maul's Electrobinoculars

STAR WARS EPISODE I: The Phantom Menace 00:51:38

I believe that the lights in the distance of this shot are Mos Entha, as opposed to Mos Espa. Maul first turns around (next shot), then pans to left (west) which according to the map in Complete Locations (pg 28) would indicate that he first views Mos Entha in the east.

Map showing Mos Entha to the east, across Xelric Draw from Maul’s landing site. When he pans to the left he would be facing Mos Espa. It would also mean he landed facing the east, then turned north to view Mos Espa. (Map from Complete Locations)

[noirflms]

୧ ˚₊ EVERYBODY’S FALLING IN LOVE ( AND I’M FALLING BEHIND ) — itoshi sae

he has never been a lover, but the day he met you, he finally found what love felt like.

itoshi sae has never been a lover, because love has never been his cup of tea. it certainly not his thing to love, or do anything related to this word; he just dislikes it, for it leaves a sour taste in his mind. he has seen people around him fall in love, be so infatuated with the very thought of it, while dopey and lovesick grins stay on their faces.

and in that sense, itoshi sae is not a lover.

love to him is like a sour candy, too sour to contemplate that it might leave your taste buds numb for a while. love to him is fragile, and it is not in him to take care of delicate things, and a thing like that, he might just back out as is. he doesn’t like the way makes you weak, he’d rather be brave and have a harsh front rather than a soft and gentle one.

love is for the weak in his dictionary, it is for people who don’t have any strengths, to him love is just a mere words, a meaningless and a waste of time, to itoshi sae love is just a hindrance, nothing more or nothing less.

but sometimes a change of perspective could bring one to have a different view, and that was what brought itoshi sae to think about the world love again, a new point of view he gathered through a dreamy lens, one that was conjured up by the likes of you, a certain someone that brought him to like the way love felt.

a lot changed the day he met you, quite like a slap to his face ( literally ).

flashing cameras and crowding paparazzis are all he sees, they are quite blinding for sae, but he is used to bright lights and this lifestyle, having been a self made prodigy, he was surrounded by cameras and paparazzis. but he hated having eyes on him, for then he couldn’t have a life out of this captured world.

it’s always an article where he has been shammed or either an article which quite literally ensues rumours of him being a womaniser — having a new girl at his arm every week. it leaves a bitter taste in his mind to even think about such absurdities, so this time he was by himself at the latest football gala, a party for all the new club members to be exact.

sae finds it hard to be in the focus of everyone, men and women alike all like to be around him, but women are more to throw themselves at him, he despises the very fact such women exist. strained and fake smiles are all he shows, jaw clenched as he talks with men with mindset’s so different, five glasses of wine have been emptied by him since the time of arrival.

so soon he finds himself wanting fresh air, a breather from all this chaos, he finds a way out as soon as the lights dim and all focus on the stage in the room. he is silent as a predator is, and as good as an escape artist to make such an escapade but seems like the gods were not in his right, for as soon as he turns the corner, his cheek meets with a hand and it begins to sting.

never in a million years had itoshi sae thought of getting smacked in the entirety of the premiere.

“oh my gosh! i’m so sorry! i thought you were a stalker or something!” it’s a heavy accent he realises but the stinging on his cheek overlooks anything that happens around him. he shakes his head focusing at the voice at hand, but his heart almost leaps out of his chest at the sight before him.

( e.c ) eyes that gleam with worry as it seems to etch itself upon your features, you bite your lip in distress as you take notice of the red mark on his cheek, but his eyes are set on the way you bite your lip and he gulps, heart thumping in his chest. you observe his face that is just looking at you in awe, and as he looks into your eyes he realises you have no clue of who he was.

“i’m so so sorry!” the voice of yours breaks his stupor and the ache upon his cheek returns — it sure was a hard slap. you gulp as you see him fix his jaw, you swallow hard, the way he was suited up to the nines made you figure out that he was much more than just a creep; he looked famous.

your blood runs cold at the thought. your heart racing in your chest, as you await any loud gesture or shout for guards, or anything related to you being thrown out made your head spin.

“it’s alright, i was the one that turned the corner unannounced.” and sae is bamboozled at the words that slip past him, he looks at you, his eyes wide, and he notices your tense demeanour relax. a heavy sigh escaping briefly past your lips as you look up at him with a smile.

“but i-, um, i still apologise for the inconvenience.” you awkwardly chuckle, not cool [name], not cool, a voice rings in your head as you bite your tongue. it is then you make eye contact with him, his eyes are quite unlike any, and to him, yours were better than any. sae likes the way your eyes look like a hazy dream, he likes the way his reflection looks back at him through your eyes.

and in the moment he realised that he liked the way you looked at him, for you saw him for him, and not for the famous persona of his.

and since then, it’s been encounters here and there, finding each other at places you thought you’d never, bumping shoulder in areas one could have never fathomed. it turns from light glances to lingering ones, timid laughter turns into ones filled with nothing but genuine joy, small talks turn into conversation that ring through coffee shops.

then one hangout at his place, turns into a date at a place you like. then one date turns into two, then three, then four and soon they turn into long nights spend at your cost apartment, to ranging from movie nights at his. longing touches turn into never letting go of you, kisses that were once pressed onto his cheeks begin to linger upon his lips.

but itoshi sae was not a lover, so he never named the thing you had with him, but he liked that way you felt in his arms, he liked the way you fit right with him, he liked the taste of your lips on his, he liked the way you were his, yet not for him to keep.

for love was not meant for him, so then why did his heart ache at the thought of seeing you go. the mere thought of you being with another was like a nightmare to him, the very thought of you not being his, was utter torture for the said male.

yet here he was, a coward, he once again was a little boy who was scared to face the world to early, and love was once again becoming the victor and he could not accept defeat. he has watched many flourish within love, yet it wasn’t in him to be able to bear this sweet fruit of entanglement.

“you’re kind of stupid, you know that sae.” and for a moment, oliver aiku sounded right, he sounded to be much more truthful in the heat of the moment than he ever could be, much more better than itoshi sae was what oliver aiku had become in that instance. “certainly you look like a coward to me right now.”

and those were the last words, sae had heard from oliver before he was up on his feet, they ached as he rushed to your house, panting and huffing as he finds the door to your house to be right before him, shaky hands tremble in fear to press the doorbell, heart racing, he liked you, so what was there to fear in that.

as soon as his trembling hands press the bell and the door to your house opens, it takes everything in him to stop him from pressing his lips against yours. you were the only thing matter to him the most, in present and in future, you’ll be the sole thing that he’d like to call his forever and ever.

that fickle day itoshi sae had learnt so much more. he had learnt that love was not for the weak but for people who knew what strengthened them to the core. he learned that love was not bitter or sour, it was just missing from the right person and when you fall in love with the one that you know is true, you’ll know how sweet is the taste of the fruit.

and for the first time in forever, he wasn’t falling behind in any prospect anymore, especially in the case of love, for he had you.

the sole thing the brought him to a purpose he could have never known.

i like a chase, and itoshi sae is a man who certainly hates the idea of love but internally wishes to find just the right one ;)

NOIRFLMS 2023 ! all rights reserved - plagiarism is a crime , do not translate my works without permission. REBLOG MORE PLEASE !

[cybrpwup]

ᴀʟʟ ʜᴇ ᴡᴀɴᴛᴇᴅ || ʏᴜᴍɪ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

Jealous!Yumi x f!reader !

Warnings: smut, mentions of alcohol, idk how I feel ab this one it might b bad summary: Yumi wants to talk to Y/n, but Nick got to her first requested?: yes ! ↳ Hii, I was wondering if you could do a Yumi x y/n smut? ↳ PLEASE I NEED JEALOUS YUMI SMUT PLEASE

It could have been luck; many people believe in luck and fate and coincidence because life is difficult to explain. And it was even more difficult to explain just how Yumi came to be at that same gathering on that same night as Y/N.

He thought it could have – must have – been luck.

Yumi never saw Y/N outside of video plans. He first met her in one of Isaac’s discord videos. Then he finally saw her for the first time when Will invited her over for a vlog. And again when she came over to the house for a video. Closest he ever got was sitting in the same table at a restaurant. And in all that time, he still was not 100% sure who she was or who she was with.

Who was she?

A star in an obscure corner of youtube? A secret girlfriend kept hidden from fans?

He did not know.

But he did know that every time he’d noticed Nick grin and his change in body language when they were talking, he felt a twinge. It wasn’t anger or hatred. This was something else entirely. His heart would pound in his ears and he could feel a lump forming in his throat. He didn’t want to feel like this, not when everyone else was so happy. Yet there he was, turning green with jealousy. Worse yet, he couldn’t understand why.

He’d only talked to Isaac about his crush, to which he reassured him, Y/n and Nick weren’t going out and he should just go for it. But he found it hard to believe.

KNOCK. KNOCK.

He was taken out of his thoughts

"What, Nick?"

Nick had already popped into his room multiple times before.

A soft voice muttered, "Not Nick. Can I come in?"

"Oh. Um..." Yumi grimaced at the state of his dim bedroom. "...Yeah."

The door opened with caution, creaking on its hinges. Behind it was Y/N. As she came in the room she made a motion with her hand to the light switch and – after waiting for an approving nod – flipped it.

Awash in off-white lighting (the least flattering of all light) Y/N was still beautiful. Not that all aspects of her matched cosmetic conventions, but that it could not possibly matter to Yumi. Because he was not enthralled with the shape of her nose or cheekbones. He was enthralled with her.

Or no. Yumi was not enthralled. That would be wrong.

Y/N could be Nick’s girlfriend. And Nick is his friend.

He respects him. He respects that. Right?

"Hi. Nick told me you were up here. I hope that's ok." Y/N smiled. She looked around for a second before crossing to his bed, and taking a seat on the edge of it.

"Sure, no worries.” Yumi put his feet flat on the floor but remained seated.

“Listen. I know I could've texted, but I wanted to tell you in-person."

"Tell me what?" He hit a button to turn off his monitor. Lacing his fingers, he held his hands together in his lap. Yumi moved his desk chair to be facing Y/N. Level with one another. He searched her face.

Perhaps disliking the weight of his eyes, she stood and began to pace the length of his bedroom. Stopping far from him – on the other side of the bed – near his door. Y/N rubbed her neck before speaking in a rushed voice, "Isaac told me something."

He nodded. "Ok." Yumi’s ears perked up, and he sat straighter in his chair. He felt his phone buzz in his pocket. Someone was calling him. It was not the time to answer.

"He had a couple drinks,” she started, “he said something about how you could steal me from Nick – if you wanted."

Shit. Colour drained from his pale cheeks. His adam's apple quivered as he wondered how come things all of a sudden looked like he was viewing them through a fisheye lens. Shit. Fuck.

His suspicion was confirmed. They were seeing each other

His phone buzzed again; he ignored it again.

It was clear Yumi was not prepared to speak, so Y/N followed up with, "He also said you did."

She shortened the distance between them, positioning herself to be standing, so his knees (him being seated still) were centimetres from touching her thighs. Yumi made no comment until she took another half step pushing Yumi to part his legs, so she stood between them.

"Um—I did? Did what?" He asked in a shaking voice.

"Did want to..." Y/N bent forward, putting a hand on the top of his chair for support. Diving into him, she appeared as if she were going to attack his neck, but a graceful swerve at the last possible moment sent her placing a light kiss behind his ear "...steal me from Nick."

Doing his best not to move, Yumi held his head straight. He stared with extreme intensity at some wall shelving and wondered if his eyes could be shaking. "Isaac talks—um—uh a lot. I don't know wh—where he came up with that."

In his pocket, his phone buzzed and buzzed.

"So, it's not true?" She held her face just above his, so her sweet breath hit his lips. Y/N took advantage of him being distracted and set her knees on the outside of his legs on the chair in a clean, single-motion.

Out of instinct and having been in similar situations before, Yumi grabbed the outside of her thighs to help hold her up. Realizing what he did, he retracted and held his hands up like he was in the middle of a shootout.

All the while, his phone continued buzzing, and he continued ignoring it.

Unable to keep focused on the conversation, Yumi allowed himself to dreamily gaze upon Y/N. Lost in himself: in her: in their closeness. He was spellbound. Each move dripped with intent. Y/N pulled her hand off the top of the chair and brought it to rest on his shoulder, with her thumb swiping slow across his collarbone. She ducked her head.

His phone buzzed.

Yumi’s eyelids slid down in defeat, and their lips met in the soft exchange.

And it might have continued – might have escalated – but he withdrew and whispered practically into her mouth, "Stop."

Y/N pulled back enough that their noses could still touch and gave him a look like a kicked puppy.

"I can't be doing this with you." Unrelenting. Yumi took hold of her shoulders and guided her off him. "You're with Nick. It's wrong."

Y/N attempted to cover her face under the guise of fussing with her hair. Eyes welled with embarrassment.

His phone buzzed, and that was it. Exhausted. Irritated. Yumi pulled out his phone and looked at it. The moment he did, his vision went out. Out – like he had finally hit the ground after a long fall.

Yumi woke up alone in his bedroom, curled in his desk chair with his editing software sat idling on the monitor. A quarter through raw footage, he had fallen asleep. Y/N had not been there. Y/n was not in a relationship with Nick.

Regaining his composure at what he considered as being too much to process at once, he sighed.

—

Commemorating Nick for hitting 1 million subscribers, they hosted a small get together at the house including a couple friends and her

Yumi watched Y/N dancing and laughing through the open space of the living room, swimming amongst the small group of people, and being accepted into smaller groups – smiled at – chatted with – recognized. Everyone had eyes on her at some time or another though his eyes never left.

She bounced with the beat and danced moves that were not the most graceful but were also not exclusive to the robot. Y/N held onto a playful closed-mouth smile. Her tousled hair shined with product or maybe a little grease. Blue of the lights bounced off her eyes and cheeks and lips; Yumi’s gaze lingered on her lips.

Y/N was a dream – better than a dream because she did not fade – it was then unfortunate that he thought himself a nightmare; that while her presence brought delight and laughter, he brought depression and uncomfortable smiles.

It was unreasonable of him to flush hot with spite at watching a Nick approach Y/N. But he did. Nick tapped her shoulder and – when Y/N turned around – hauled her into a serious embrace. He held her flush against his chest. Ten seconds passed, a lot of time to be stood motionless. As she pulled back, Nick dragged her hand down Y/N’s arm, stopping to hold Y/N around the wrist after the two separated.

It was obvious, perhaps not to everyone, but certainly, to Yumi. Nick was not peering upon Y/N’s face with eyes of friendship but of desire, an amorous gaze which screamed that he was interested.

And Y/N did not look to be refusing.

Yumi’s throat tightened, and his mouth tasted of dirt. All the swallowed words he wished he had said, sat in his stomach like a stone. Earlier that evening, he had fussed over his hair; put thought into his clothes; worked and reworked conversation starters; made himself ill with nerves; all in preparation to impress a woman with a boyfriend. It was almost laughable.

There was a pinprick behind his eyes, and he looked down to blink hard. His shoulders fell, the corners of his mouth fell, his heart fell, and met the stone in his stomach. He left to refill his drink; he had to weave an odd path through the people to avoid sloshing drinks, drunk stumbles, and the occasional near elbow to the nose.

Yumi did not know what to do with himself; he wanted to leave – all he wanted to do was leave – but it was not an option. Leaving would mean questions and concerned looks, and though he was grateful for his friends at times, he knew he would go mad if even one of them asked him a single—

“You alright?” asked a familiar voice as a familiar hand landed on his shoulder. It was Nick. Yumi was so lost in thought he hadn’t noticed him - his forehead was wet with sweat.

Yumi shrugged. He was content with stopping the conversation there, but Nick’s hand on his shoulder squeezed him hard. Yumi looked up into blue eyes too insistent to let him go. He sighed, “I was looking to talk to Y/N, but looks like you got to her first..” he almost mumbled

Nick cast his eyes out in the vague direction Yumi had pointed. There was Y/N off in a somewhat secluded blue-lit corner now accompanied by Larry. Y/N was laughing; she brought her hand to her mouth as she calmed then dropped it as a new laugh bubbled up. Larry smiled and said something. Y/N nodded, and Larry left.

“Me and Y/n?” shouted Nick, almost laughing, “Y/N’s single, far as I can tell. Go talk to her, idiot”

Yumi curled his fingers a bit tighter around his cup despite the relief that washed over him. He brought it to his mouth and muttered something like, “I’m not—I don’t—after I’ve finished this drink.”

“You’ve finished.” Nick smacked the bottom of Yumi’s cup.

“Fuck!” Yumi jumped back as the drink flooded his mouth and splashed into his face; some even ran down his neck and onto the collar of his shirt. His eyes narrowed, and his lip curled into a snarl, “dude!”

Nick giggled. “Look how red you are!”

“Asshole.” Yumi turned and left with the final word, still clutching his then empty cup in his shaking hand, he again spotted Y/N.

She was stood alone on the outskirts of the makeshift dance floor. Though her feet were still, she swayed her hips a bit to the rhythm of the music. She held onto her signature closed-mouth smile as her eyes drifted around the room.

Anxious anticipation dissolved the jealous stone in Yumi’s stomach into something which bubbled and sloshed about. It felt a lot hotter than before, like there were ten times the people in the space. He walked towards Y/N; he thought he did not want to get ahead of himself and overthink too much as it might end up that there was nothing between them. But in that second, when her eyes first met his, he knew he would rather die than not give it his all.

“Hey.” Was all that fell out of his lips.

“Blake! I didn’t think you’d noticed me.” Y/N said, giggling. “I’m joking. I saw you looking at me earlier; what took you so long?”

“Just now got up the courage.”

She looked back at him with a soft smile and his heart skipped a beat. He had just spent the last hour building up the courage to ask her on a date.

It wasn’t long before Yumi got comfortable talking to her and was his usual self, talking about anything and everything he could think of - and when he’s drinking it’s not easy to shut him up.

Y/N smiled wide and caught Yumi’s hand in both of hers, “Want to dance?”

“I do, but it wouldn’t be attractive.”

“Come on, you got to!” She leaned closer to him. “Or I might think you’re no fun!”

“And what if I’m not?”

Y/N laughed. “Fuck off!”

And with that, she dragged him to the dance floor where they more so flung body parts around instead of dancing.

Yumi cleared his throat, “Hey, Y/n?"

"Yes, Blake?"

All of a sudden his heart spiked at the mention of his name, his voice hitched in his throat and he could only gaze into the girls eyes.

He leaned forwards, hovering over her and the urge to kiss her was overwhelmingly strong.

It seemed the whole room went quiet and it was just the two of them, until they were almost touching noses. His eye's widened and he looked down at her lips, giving her another moment to back away if she so wanted to, but she stayed. Any onlookers could've mistaken them for a statue - it seemed neither of them were breathing.

Y/n’s breath against his lips made his stomach do flips. Y/n decided he was without movement for too long, craving his lips against hers.

It was Y/n who leaned in and closed the space between them. Only pecking his lips first, just that much contact made him feel as if he could melt.

Her hands ran through the hair on the back of his neck, using that to her advantage and pushing his head into her, kissing him more passionately. And after what felt like forever, but all too short, she pulled away for air, gazing into each other eyes.

The hand on his neck pulled him close and Y/n kissed him again, this time softly and much to his dismay, shorter

This was all he’d been hoping for since he’d seen her and he hoped it wasn’t the end.

Their eyes met, Y/n’s eyes hinted how desperate she was to get her lips back onto his, “Your room..” She panted, tilting her head up the stairs

His eyes widened - he wasn’t expecting to go from first kiss to sleeping together.

He didn’t hesitate to drag her up the stairs behind him, lips reattaching as soon as possible.

Fingertips pressed into her skin letting his blunt nails make crescent marks, his lips attached at her neck, rushed and desperate.

When he got her laid down, it felt as if his bed was on fire, the heat engulfing their own in sleepless kisses, in hands that were uncertain and fixated on her.

She can’t help but run her fingers through his unruly curls, never getting enough of its softness.

She grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and pulled him close, kissing him.

He fell on top of her, groaning slightly as she bit his lip. He removed his lips from hers and held her waist moving them upwards onto the bed.

Her head hit the soft pillows, Yumi straddling her thighs as he pulled his sweatshirt over his head, revealing his bare skin.

She sat up next, pulling her shirt over her head and throwing it somewhere in the room. Yumi pushed her back into the mattress gently. He kissed down her chest, kissing all the exposed skin available to him. He moved a hand to her back, looking into her eyes as if asking for consent. She nodded, as he slipped open her bra and tossed it. His eyes wandered all over her exposed chest, his eyes turned almost black with lust as the pupils expanded to a much bigger size.

He sucked on one of her breasts, his hand gently massaging the other. She whimpered under him, tugging on his hair roughly as his hands slowly moved to her waistband, feeling a shiver from the the girl. His hand made it's way down to her core and inserted a finger with utter care. She shut her eyes, feeling pleasure take over her body. He moved to kiss her while pushing another finger and speeding his fingers inside, stretching her out perfectly. She whimpered, feeling a knot in her lower abdomen. She clenched around him, but to her surprise, Yumi immediately removed his fingers.

She whined from the loss of pleasure, earning a light laugh. Yumi leaned over to the bedside table and pulled out a condom, rolling it down his length and lined himself up with her core.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" He asked

"Yes. yes, Blake, please move-", she blurted out.

He moved slow at first letting her adjust to his size. She moaned loudly, his tip already hitting her spot. He thirsted his hips, speeding up slightly and holding her in place by her hips. Her back arched and toes curled as he hit the right spots at the right pace. His cock went deeper, making her see stars. His breathing got erratic as invisible aphrodisiac filled the room. Bed creaking and hitting the wall. No space left between the both of them. Not having a care of the world, both of them felt themselves at the edge of pleasure, his movements never faltering as he released into the condom, continuing to chase her release. Her vision went white with euphoric pleasure, as she clenched tightly around him making him groan.

She opened her eyes to meet Yumi’s loving, adoration filled gaze. She smiled as he bent forward to give her a sweet and delicate kiss.

It would be difficult to explain just how Yumi came to be at the right place at the right time and with the right amount of courage to kindle that spark with Y/N.

He thought it could have – must have – been miraculously good luck.

[trashquisitor-shirozora]

*enables you* what happened with TLJ 👃

After all these years I still can't properly find words to explain how deeply betrayed I felt after the credits rolled and I shuffled out of the movie theater with everybody else. There was a TON of hype surrounding this movie, an absolute fuckton. I only saw positive reviews about it, the cast, the director, the plot. I got excited to see where Rian Johnson & Co. would take the ST.

The only remotely negative comment I saw before watching the movie was a fandom blog saying they didn't like what happened to Poe. Since this blog was about racism in fandom, I knew something was off. That was my only warning.

And y'know, it was like, five minutes in? Ten minutes? And Poe makes a "Yo mama" joke at Hux? I used to go into movies with an open mind and spent days gathering my thoughts about them because I was always slow to react, slow to gather my thoughts into coherent strings of words. It's how I enjoyed Michael Bay productions and JJ Abrams' love affair with lens flare. I never got actively angry with a movie I was watching, and I was fucking angry by the time the movie ended. I still remember texting a friend while standing out in front of the theater because I was so confused. The response to TLJ was so positive so why did I come out of the movie so frustrated and confused and dissatisfied with the whole thing?

It's been years and we all know how this movie divided the Star Wars fandom and just... broke Fandom Spaces in a way I never expected. We all know what TLJ did and didn't do, and how TROS provided the final nail in the coffin that was the ST experiment. But back then, all I saw was positive commentary about the themes and messages of TLJ, how it portrayed failure and the dangers of putting someone like Luke Skywalker on a pedestal, how the Force was female, how... important it was to see Poe get characterized as a hotheaded hotshot who needed to be demoted, slapped around, and stunned in order to learn some kind of lesson, how important it was to see Finn lose everything he gained in TFA so that he could relearn how not to be selfish or something while starring in a fucking incredibly tone-deaf B plot, how Rey... I'm not sure exactly what because she didn't need training anyway and then spent most of her time trying to bring Ben Swolo back to the light????? Rose was so promising as someone who grew up under the FO's thumb but she and Kelly were fucking abandoned by Disney so I don't know if Rose existing was actually a good idea if it meant giving Kelly unending trauma. Mark slipped up by calling Luke "Jake" and expressing his displeasure in front of cameras, and I was so fucking baffled and alienated by his character after knowing how his story ended in ROTJ that I couldn't connect with whatever lessons I and he are supposed to be learning. JJ set up Snoke like a mystery box and Rian just yeeted him off without so much as a fucking explanation so what was the point of that? Hux was a fucking joke. Phasma was barely there. The only character that Rian cared about was fucking Kylo Ren and Adam says years later that he was never supposed to get a redemption arc anyway.

Like, this was the movie everyone hyped up? This was the movie that didn't answer any questions left unasked by TFA and didn't bother to move forward with character development for any of the known characters? I spent money watching a slow space chase that ended on a planet made of salt and killed off Luke for Reasons? Am I stupid? Am I dumb? Am I a peasant incapable of understanding the masterpiece Rian directed, this so-called Best Star Wars Movie Since ESB?

But I couldn't say anything. I couldn't be dogpiled for hating such a empowering movie for women, a diverse and inclusive movie that had the likes of John and Kelly and Oscar. I couldn't be lumped in with the Star Wars dudebros with their raging misogynistic and racist takes on the movie, the cast, Kathleen Kennedy and Lucasfilm, Disney, etc. I couldn't be seen as one of them just because I didn't like a movie that I should like, I'm supposed to like. So I sat in silence, read meta, witnessed the fucking catastrophic explosion around some wild ass AO3 fandom essays written by a racist OG member of OTW about Finn/Poe, saw hate piled on black and bipoc fans, saw r*ylo fans come for John and John clap back at them, just saw an absolute fuckton of hate, and so by the time TROS came around I just... checked out. There was no way JJ could salvage what Rian had done and I was right. TROS was a corporate-run soulless garbage end to the Sequel Trilogy, but it ended just as The Mandalorian finished its first season and regained a lot of good will with this small story about a lonely Mandalorian bounty hunter who encountered a Force-sensitive Baby Yoda.

And then TBOBF/Season 3 of the Mando Show happened, just like how TLJ happened. All the promise, all the unanswered questions of the previous movie/season, all fucking dropped or provided with the worst, most unsatisfying answer. I'm sure others have found better answers and can live with what Star Wars gave us, but I haven't been able to. TLJ came out years and years ago, and I am still so bitter today. I'm still so bitter because TFA had such an incredibly compelling setup with such promising characters, and then TLJ Did That.

I got so heated while writing this. I'm still so mad. I'm still so bitter. I bury my head so deep in the sandbox I built for myself so that I don't have to think how Disney is twisting and contorting all these Mando'verse shows so that they all eventually lead to the ST, their precious hot potato child that just... didn't have to end the way they did if they actually had a fucking plan and fucking stuck the landing. I'll give the MCU this - their Phase 1? They fucking stuck the landing. I fell off the train tracks and haven't really watched the MCU since Captain Marvel, but at least they had a fucking plan and didn't fucking derail themselves like Disney did with the Sequel Trilogy.

I could be nice to people who like this movie but I'm not going to be. They can be nice on their own blogs.

Man, I can't even watch Knives Out or Glass Onion because my blood starts boiling. Just. TLJ did a lot to ruin what I hoped would be a positive and creative connection with Star Wars, and it took the Mando Show and the 2 minutes where Din and Luke locked eyes on the Imperial light cruiser to bring me back.

I'm gonna stop before I get way too heated for sleep.

[mysticficti0n]

hey doll can you do fem!reader dating Tom and she's a model and she gets asked to do a lingerie shoot and she's questioning to do it or not and Tom convinces her with little flirty comments and then on the day he comes to pick her up and she's still posing in this black lacy stuff on a bed and he's watching until she notices and he asks if they can take the pieces home????

love you 🤭

girl yes yes yes

∞༺♥༻✧✧༺♥༻∞　　∞༺♥༻✧✧༺♥༻∞　

rip it off

warnings- flirty, angst??, model!gf+TomK

words- 744

"okay thank you- bye" I cut the call and looked to see Tom giving me a questionable look "I've been asked to do a 'fall lingerie' shoot next Wednesday, but I don't know" yes I model but usually fully clothed, I'm not very confident about every inch of my body and Tom knew that "what if I just look like a idiot?"

"babe you wont look like an idiot, I've seen you In lingerie thousands of times and every time It happens oddly enough it ends up with you in my bed and that on the floor" he smiled moving from his place on the sofa to be closer to me "plus Y/n you are sexy as fuck, men are lucky to even look at you and I'm the luckiest because I get to come home to you and do this" he pressed his lips to mine and I couldn't back away from a kiss from Tom, who could?

"what If my dad see's it? god that also means my horrid step-mom too!" I cringed at the thought of those two seeing me nearly naked, dad hadn't been a large part of my life until I started gather fame at 16 for acting in adverts, then dating Tom in one of the most famous bands in Germany and now a world-known model

"so what of they see it? he has a gorgeous daughter who has a successful career unlike him who owned a car company that went bump and his wife looks like Jabba the hut so you have nothing to worry about" I laughed pressing a kiss to his cheek "I'm not wrong- but anyways I think you should do it babe I mean you're the fucking most beautiful girl I've ever seen and I know everyone else would agree"

"fine I'll do it, and thank you you're such a sweetheart when you want to be" I drew circled on his palm seeing him let a small laugh out

"yeah wait till I come see you on Wednesday"

∞༺♥༻✧✧༺♥༻∞　　∞༺♥༻✧✧༺♥༻∞

"thats it Y/n push that hip out hun" I was stood in a make-shift door frame with bright white lights making my skin glow while wrapped in a night black lacy piece "okay I think we need you on that bed, and how good can you arch?" I felt a blush come to my face as we walked to the bed

"pretty well..." I climbed onto the plush fabric and watched as they fixed the camera onto me "where do you want me to look? camera or just off it?" I asked Jenna who stood smiling at me

"erm look to the camera and then we can try other stuff but doll you look stunning right now- so ready?" I nodded sliding down the bed and pushing my ass up as much as I could and stared into the lens, the camera clicked a few times and people switched lighting and my make-up until I herd a familiar wolf whistle fill the room, I looked over to where Jenna and the editor were sat and saw in the shadow behind them was Tom sucking his lip, I blew him a kiss and carried on with my shoot, I found myself pushing my positions more as his eyes laid upon me

"okay can we get one of you in the shower? but change into that baby pink set first and Pablo will come lighten your make up because we want cutie in the shower vibe okay?" Salma rubbed my shoulder letting me off set to change, I walked to Tom who sat playing his lip pricing, I purposefully swayed my hips a little more and let a salutary smile come on my face

"afternoon" I hummed feeling his hands immediately go around my waist "you okay?" he stood towering over me pressing a kiss to my forehead

"I'm amazing" his eyes drew narrower, he lowered his head so his mouth was next to my ear "need some help getting this off my love?" his tone sent shivers down my body and all I could do was nod, his hand slipped down to the globe of my ass giving it a quick squeeze before looking to Jenna who had a smirk along her lips "can we take these home?" Tom asked referring to the lingerie "and maybe some spares in case" I hit my boyfriends shoulder as a red shade covered my face

"damn Y/n didn't see you as a girl to have her clothes ripped off" she giggled winking at me

"right well I'll go change" I quickly walked to the backroom and I herd heavy steps follow behind me

"don't fuck for too long!" Jenna called as Tom shut the door after him