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[mayuri-manufacturer]

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[mahesh23]

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[rajeshiv]

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[woso-dreamzzz]

Firsts V

Hardersson x Baby!Reader

Part of The Big Adventures Universe

Summary: Your first steps

There's something about your little family that makes Magda feel soft.

She isn't soft. Not really.

She's one of the best defenders in the world. She's intimidating and scary and people falter when she glared at them.

But here, in Germany, she isn't any of those things.

In Germany, she's lying on the sofa with Pernille on top of her, trading soft kisses while something random plays on the tv. You're sitting in front of them, banging some blocks together aimlessly.

You babble some half-words and Magda knows that you're very close to forming your first words soon. You grunt a little bit before deciding to taste your blocks.

Magda laughs. "Does that wood taste nice?" She teases and you turn to look at her.

You grunt at her again, before throwing your block over to where your girl-swan and girl-moose are sat further away.

"Oh!" Magda says," Did it not taste nice then?"

You hum, shuffling across the floor to where your stuffed animals await you.

Magda winces. "Does she have to do that?"

You shuffle more furiously on your bum to your other toys.

"She's happy," Pernille laughs.

"But..." Magda watches as you smash your moose and swan together. "She can crawl..."

"And she wants to bum shuffle," Pernille replies," She can crawl and she can bum shuffle. She tends to crawl more at training."

Magda pouts, something truly pathetic for such an intimidating Chelsea player to have on her face. "I want to see her crawl too."

She doesn't get to see you crawl often. When she comes over to Germany, you like to be carried and when you're put down, all you seem to do is bum shuffle your away around the apartment.

You giggle from across the room as you smash your toys together again.

"She's being violent, Pernille," Magda says.

"She's making them kiss," Pernille replies, glancing over at you.

"Really?"

"Yes," Pernille assures her with a little laugh," Princesse!"

You turn to look at her, halting your playing.

"Can you show me how your toys kiss?"

Your head bobs up and down and you smash your toys together again.

"Good job, princesse!" She says before grinning at Magda. "See, she's just aggressively affectionate."

"Aggressively affectionate?" Magda laughs," Is that we're calling it?"

"I think it's sweet."

Magda rolls her eyes, dipping her head down to press her lips against Pernille's. Pernille kisses back until suddenly they're trading lazy pecks back and forth as they cuddle together.

You turn your head to look at them both.

Whenever Morsa comes to visit, she's very cuddly with you and Momma. Today is no different.

She flew in last night when you were already asleep so today is a calm day at home. That's what usually happens.

The day after Morsa flies in, there's a chill day where you do nothing but stay at home and then the day after, you will all go out and do something together.

Most of the time it's the park and Morsa will push you on the swings and help you feed the ducks.

But that's for tomorrow.

Today is for kisses and snuggles.

Momma and Morsa have gotten started without you. That was okay at first when you were still playing with your toys but you're done now and want to be included.

You whine a little but neither notice you.

With Morsa home, you don't really need to use your legs because she likes to carry you everywhere.

You raise your arms for uppies but no one comes for you.

You huff.

You don't want to have to shuffle over because it makes a silly noise and you would prefer to be picked up.

It's a little annoying and you force yourself to your feet.

You've stood before at training, holding Caro's hands even as she glanced around the room in horror at being responsible for you.

So, you've had practice at standing so you stand now.

Momma and Morsa are still taking up all your kisses.

You want kisses too.

One foot comes down in front of the other until you're standing in front of them both.

Somewhere along the way, they've stopped kissing to watch but you're just very happy to get your own cuddles and kisses to really care.

"Did she just...?"

"Yeah." Magda's face splits into a grin. "Look at you, princesse!" She grabs you, fluidly pulling you into her arms. "Walking already!"

Kisses are littered over your face and you giggle, kicking out your little legs in happiness.

Pernille stays frozen for a while before she's taking you from Magda's arms and placing you back down further away.

You frown.

You're pretty sure you've already earnt your kisses.

"Come on," Pernille says to you, a camera in one hand," Do it again. Do it again, princesse!"

You place one shaky leg in front of the other as you toddle right back into her arms.

"Look at you," She coos," Such a big girl."

"I think this calls for cake," Magda says and you perk up.

You know that word.

"You want cake?"

Your head bobs up and down.

"Let's get cake."

[chrysalind]

last chance

pairing: kuroo tetsurou/reader wc: 860 tags: pre-relationship, fluff, high school setting (third year), bad flirting, kuroo is really trying

"What'd you get for number 8?" Kuroo asks as he leans over you.

"Umm," you tilt your head and the golden light of the late afternoon sun flickers across your cheek. "I think I put down 1868 to 1912."

"Wait, seriously?" He claps his hand on his forehead. That's five questions he's probably got wrong now, not to mention he'd barely finished writing his second essay, meaning the maximum possible grade he could get is...

"I hate history," he grumbles, trying to redirect his train of thought from its depressing destination. "I'm never taking it in university."

You sigh ruefully. "I feel the same way about chemistry. The moment I walked out of yesterday's exam, every piece of knowledge about thermodynamics just—" you wave your hand near your temple, "—vanished."

"Bet you're glad I gave you my notes though, right?"

The train doors slide open and a crowd of students from another school shuffle in. His legs brush against yours as he tries to make more room around him.

"Only because I gave you my English notes," you counter dryly, moving your bookbag onto your lap as a freckled teen slides into the seat beside you. The small plastic Keroppi charm on its side swings erratically against your thigh.

"A more than fair trade," he reasons. "Especially since I was getting the highest mark in chem, while you were just below Takaichi in English."

"Takaichi's mom is from New Zealand," you reply, with a roll of your eyes. "He's been practically fluent since he was born. Plus, your handwriting sucks, so you get points taken off for that."

Kuroo snorts, but has no choice but to concede. After all, he can barely read his own notebooks from last semester.

He watches as the Tokyo cityscape rushes past, still thrumming with life, even as the sun dips low in the sky. It's hard to imagine an afternoon where he won't be packed into the subway at this time, with his loosened Nekoma uniform tie around his collar, and your occasional company on the afternoons he's able to catch you at the school entrance.

His short spell of mourning is interrupted by the announcer as the train pulls into a familiar station. You both exit onto the platform and make a beeline towards the escalators.

"I'm not staying in Tokyo," he says, as you're halfway through the barriers.

Keroppi's face smacks against your zipper as you pause. "Oh?"

"I'm going to Osaka," he continues, weaving through the crowd. You fall into step beside him and there's a second in which Kuroo thinks he's vastly overestimated his importance in your life.

"That's..." He watches as a crease forms between your brows. "I thought you were going to Tokodai."

"Nah," he says, re-adjusting the strap of his bag. "I think it'd be good to gain some independence, you know?"

"Right," you say, tucking your Suica away. The sound of the city fills in the quiet that follows as you step out of the station.

Truthfully, Kuroo had been hoping for something—anything—more than the pensive silence that now settles between the two of you as you both walk the last few blocks of your high school era. But as you round the corner, the weight of the moment only grows heavier.

From his peripheral vision, he can tell you're sulking with your lips turned down in a pout that you probably aren't even aware of. And even though you've never admitted it to anyone, he's not oblivious to the way you can barely hold his gaze for more than two seconds, or how you linger at the intersection when you part ways.

"You know," he says, as you both stand before a crosswalk, "this is probably your last chance."

Your eyes flash up at him.

"What do you mean?"

He straightens up.

"Your last chance to admit that you're in love with me," he blurts. He had meant for it to come out a bit smoother, maybe aiming for a kind of teasing tone, but something had gone horribly wrong in the last second. Embarrassingly, he feels his own cheeks grow hot at the boldness of his declaration.

The crosswalk indicator changes, but you're both frozen in place.

You blink, looking absolutely bewildered, and he begins to fear that he's broken you.

And then an odd sound emerges from your mouth—a short snicker, followed by an open burst of laughter. Your giggle seems to carry over the noise of the traffic around you and Kuroo tries very hard not to die right then and there.

Instead, he forces himself to laugh along. How could he have miscalculated so bad?

He's sure he'll remember this moment for many sleepless nights ahead.

"Don't worry," you say later with the world's most bemused smile, as you near his building. "It's not my last chance."

Kuroo works up the courage to look you in the eye.

"After all, I still have our graduation ceremony."

[flusteredtuna]

Focus On The Target

Geralt of Rivia x !fem! Witcher Reader

Words: 3k+

Warnings: ( 18+ Mature Only ) Choking, Finishing inside, fingering, riding,

Summary: After months of tension, a visit to his bedroom sparks something that was a long time coming.

“Focus on the Target.”

Geralt of Rivia was a Witcher to be reckoned with. His hard exterior is thicker than bone and rock. It’s just the way he has to be, to be able to fight those dreadfully awful monsters.

He took you under his protection initially a handful of months ago, when he found you lost in the forest. A lost and broken female Witcher. It was no law of surprise but you both found yourself inseparable. And with every foe you both have crossed, you have insisted that you can fend for yourself. It’s hard for you to resist being stubborn about it since you were both around the same age and once wielded power like his.

Today, he finally decided to teach you the trade of combat. Since you never learned under prior “guardianship”. For, there would be a point where you would lose at your attempt to get involved.

Your leather boots squelch into the terrain below as you pull your arm in with blade in hand. The slight breeze that carries sprinkles of rain falls into the bay of your parted lip. You swing the throwing knife at the target ahead, hearing it whisper its sharpness in the air as it flies. The knife thuds on the ground, refusing to stick into the wooden target.

“Your grip is key.” He places another blade in your hand gripping your fingers tightly around it to show you how hard you should hold it. “The angle you throw should follow your arm’s aim…” Looking over at him, watching his yellow eyes flicker as he focuses on your training, you admire his strong features. His husky jaw and broad shoulders. The way his hair looks like beds of fallen snow and soot, with a strand falling next to his furrowy brows. More than a handsome man, but a damn good-looking one.

“Just inhale deeply and let it go as you throw. Just like the bow and arrow.” You nod “I understand”.

You spin your head back toward the target that is nailed to the wide tree, narrowing your eyes. Throwing again you manage to make it stick, but not in the center.

“Better,” His voice sounds full of gravel. But it’s deep enough to be alluring.

You’ve been attracted to his presence since you met him. And he’s felt the same about you. There have been many times when hands graze, tension fogs a room, and sometimes your lips almost meet during the fading of dusk. Your hearts were more than friends, but you both never mentioned any sort of lust, when it fluttered in the air. You both just let it pass by for some unknown reason. I mean, how could you turn down a man so protective and valiant as him?

“Remember to take your time, the ease will keep you in line with your target.” He gets closer to you guiding your arm with his hand, “When the knife leaves your hand, you want to be aiming higher than the target.” Shifting your eyes from him back to the target, just to get a sense of how close he is. You inhale deeply, letting it all fly away with the throw of the next knife.

Geralt is impressed and nods. “Good, very good.” He hands you another knife. “Again.” His dominating tone makes him all the more attractive.

Continuing to practice, you make a good improvement. Even with the distractions of him looming over you, or showing you how to hold the blade correctly. Not to mention the exchange of glances here and there that feel so seductive. But his expressions are always too cold to tell half the time.

You practice until the sun begins setting in the sky. He plucks the last knives out from the spiral wooden target. “You did well.” As you move toward him he turns around to take the last two from your hand. “I believe I’ve made quite the improvement on the path to proving you wrong, Geralt.” His response is a huff. The closest thing you’ll get to a chuckle from him.

“We should get back inside before it turns dark.” He looks at you, “Get some food and rest”.

You both make your way back to the tall house you’ve decided to reside at for the month. It’s tall and made of cobble. Wide and large, but not as large as a mansion. It’s just more than enough space. The mossy stone is gorgeous with the way the golden light showers its surface.

After eating a sufficient meal you decide to head to the bath. Geralt leaves you to clean up and relax, as you’ve earned it. The bathroom is just as homey yet grand as the house itself. A large sunken smooth stone tub, with buckets and candles around it. Cloth to wash and dry with as well. You undress from your robes, covered in mud and grass stains. Slipping every item off with ease as your breath deepens in relaxation.

The bath is warm as you step in, one leg at a time, then sit on the inner step of the tub. The cuts on your knuckles sting as they meet the water. Training did not only involve throwing knives but it involved throwing punches. Some against hardwood.

Although you are exposed, you feel safe, finding peace within the subtle darkness of the room. You steep in the tub for a while, taking your time cleaning yourself. Tilting your head back and closing your eyes, you soak and relax further.

So relaxed you are reluctant to hear the door creek open. “Oh uhm.” That coarse voice makes you shoot your eyes open to find Geralt standing there. You catch him looking at your wet and free breasts, so beautiful as they glisten from candlelight. He quickly turns away, “Sorry I thought you had finished.” The last word echoes in your head. Finished. The interaction makes you grin. He’s felt the breast he sees before him yet he has trouble looking out of respect for your current nature.

“Not yet.” You tease and play with his words and smirk, looking him up and down. You wouldn’t mind if he were to look again. Maybe come over and join you. “I’m almost done. Unless you want to join me.”

Geralt nods and moves closer, refusing to look anywhere in your direction. You’re surprised he decided to join you, but you guess he just thought it was best to not waste warm water. “I cannot stay for long. I have tasks that need my attention later tonight”. He finally meets your eyes but doesn’t explore anywhere else.

“Well, There’s plenty of warm bath.” You gesture to the other side of the large tub. It’s spacious enough to fit four people. He starts to take off his ragged dark clothes of the day and steps into the bath, only leaving on his medallion. His body was covered in those familiar scars he lets you ask about. He sinks into the tub, and you watch him out of the corner of your eye, wanting to pay the same respect to him as he did to you.

He seems very at ease in the pool as if everything else is just white noise. He closes his eyes and sighs as if he were waiting for this moment of relaxation. The water blurs everything beneath the surface as it ripples, and you watch the water as it waves.

“So what does the night feature for you tonight? You said you have tasks.” Your eyes meet his. Geralt seems to think for a moment, the water lapping the sides of the pool. “Nothing too serious. Need to deliver a Kikimora leg to an alchemist in town.”

His voice is comforting and relaxing. He has a lot of experience with monsters, so it’s quite natural for him to speak of them so calmly. “I’ll be back in the early hours of the morning.”

“Then you should take your time now before you face another creature.” You grab a sponge and hand it to him. Your hands touch on accident, as they tend to do, and he takes the sponge. “Thank you.” It glides over his muscular arms and chest, and you can’t help but watch him a bit. He groans and it makes you squirm your legs a bit. As the noise would be lovely in another situation.

You let a few strained minutes of stubborn sexual tension pass before you notice how pruned your fingers are. “I’m headed to my chambers, I’m in dire need of my beauty rest.” You grab a towel and start to emerge from the bath. "I look forward to seeing your beauty upon rising.” He turns his face away and remains silent after this, seeming to restrain any further comment on your naked figure before him.

You dry yourself as much as you can before wrapping yourself in the warm towel. Starting to walk out of the room, you turn your head back to meet his eyes again.

“Goodnight, Geralt. And good luck” You smile and turn to walk away closing the door behind you, just hoping he makes it back as unharmed as possible.

-

-

-

You wake up in sheer terror, gasping for breath, clinging a hand to your heart, and feeling your pulse race a little faster than usual. It was another nightmare. One that was rare these nights. You sweep your curly locks out of your face and try to gather yourself. Maybe turning on a light or two would help.

The terrors fade a bit from your memory as you cool down, trying to observe the room to distract you. It must be late in the evening, creeping into early morning as it is still dark out the window beside your bed. He must be back by now, he has to be.

You throw your blankets open and slip out of bed, still wobbly from your slumber. With slightly heavy feet, you make your way out into the hall with candle in hand. The silence of the house is accompanied by the creek of the floorboards and the wind faintly hitting the window at the end of the hall. There is no glow from the outside seeping through the window like there is in the winter. Just darkness and shadows of your surroundings bathe around you and your candlelight.

As you carefully make your way down the hall, refraining from making as much noise as possible, you reach his door. You stand in front of the mahogany and iron, deciding if you should bother his sleep he so well deserved. Although you now desired more than one form of comfort.

Taking a deep breath, you nudge the door with your knuckles just enough to see and peek in. The door’s hinges creak quietly as it moves open a sliver.

You find that his bed is made, and he is not there. A strange discovery as you knew he’d be back in the early hours of the morning.

“Y/N.” A large warm hand lands on your shoulder and you gasp. “What are you doing up?” His hot breath lingers on your neck. You turn to face him, candle at your side. He’s a little cleaner than usual with a few small scratches on his face and his garbs and armor rugged from combat.

“I could ask you the same question.” His eyes glued to you as he takes your candle and sets it on the hallway’s table beside him.

“I am well within my reason. You should be in bed.” He wasn’t wrong about either. But it’s hard to sleep when the best comfort is supposed to be in the other room. Now it faces you.

Taking the pad of your thumb, you swipe his cheek and ignore his scolding. “Didn’t get too beat up, I hope.” He holds your hand in place and closes his eyes for a moment, taking in your palm. Then meeting his eyes with yours again, he lets go of the grasp and lets your hand fall.

“All went well indeed.” He moves a step closer to you backing you up against the wall.

“Now. I will ask you again. What are you doing up?” His voice makes you shiver with how low it is. Although it’s an intimidating tone, you find it protective.

“I’m safe and sound aren’t I? Why does it matter.” You try to throw your attitude at him to show he has no control over you.

“Because. You tend to linger by my bedpost when you’ve had a night terror.” He’s not wrong. You would come to him when it was unbearable because he was the only company you knew to turn to. You stay quiet with a tough look on your face, and he clearly reads you like a book.

He takes a step forward and as a result, you are pinned to the wall between his door and the table with the candle lit. “Or are your intentions…” Leaning in, he puts a hand on the wall right over your shoulder. Another attempt at protective imitation. “More seductive?”

“Perhaps a bit of both…” You analyze all his features, letting your eyes wander. “Perhaps…” You move a smidge closer to him, breath upon breath, “more seductive intentions.”

He doesn’t even let you catch your breath before taking a firm hand to your hip and locking lips with you. The kiss is filled with a feverous passion that makes you ache for more. You reach for his face again, pulling him closer, while you put another hand on his chest starting to unbuckle his armor at the sides.

This felt different than the other moments when you’re lips met each other. This felt like it was going to lead somewhere more permanent. It was rougher and made you more in need of his touch. His chest piece falls to the floor while he works on taking the others off, throwing it to the side. Geralt was now easier to feel, with fewer clothes to shield him from your touch.

In a swift motion, he grabs you by your thighs and picks you up, pressing you into the wall while your legs wrap around him. Tongues interlacing in a dance, swirling.

As you both pull away, your lips burn with sensation. He huffs into your mouth and presses his temple to yours, swinging you around and taking you to his bed. His grip on your ass as you travel is firm.

His room is almost as humble as his, but his bed is just as handsome. The headboard is stained Mahogany with carved features of trees and animals. And the canopy drapes over the bedposts, making it a cozy resting place.

He plops you down onto the edge of the end of the bed and starts to loom over you again. Leaning in to kiss you once more, you scoot backward. Making him work for it. “Catch me if you can, White Wolf.” You make sure to annunciate the name, just to tease him further. Every quick move you make back, he advances. Until you hit the headboard, letting him have his way with you.

The kiss again is tender and filled to the brim with passion. He grabs your wrist pinning it above you as he starts to kiss down your jaw, then your throat, until he hits your night dress. A thin white gown made from cotton cloth that comfortably drapes your body. He sits up, staring down at you for a second.

“I’ll get you a new dress.” He grabs the opening right above your breasts and tears it open, turning the garment into mere scraps of fabric. And just as he found you in the bathing room, you are exposed to him yet again.

He takes you in, being so mindful of every hill and plain on your body. It looks like he’s mapping you out for a plan of sensual attack. He murmurs low at the sight of you, and a hint of a smile appears on his face.

Your knees are bent, stuck together, while your heels lay far apart. With his medallion dangling, he takes a hand from your stomach and glides his calloused palm down your side. He sweeps under to grab your ass, releasing his grip to then move to your thighs. Trailing up his hands meet your knees, and he moves them apart. Opening you.

As his hand moves, his eyes follow to meet the center of your opened legs. His treasure. His reward to reap. He dances his fingers to your inner thigh, closer and closer to your center.

“Am I to watch as you dangle satisfaction above my head.” You say softly while your breath hitches with every change in touch. “Mm-hmm.” He nods as he finally reaches your clit making slow circles. You gasp and arch as his touch consumes your entire being shooting pleasure up every vertebrae.

Leaning in closer, he grabs your face sternly with control and kisses you again. The sensation fills you with desire. He then fills you again but with his fingers. Not rushing but not hesitating either. In and out, he pushes again and again. Although this fills you with more than mere lust, you want to show him how you can overcome his territory.

You push against his chest with a hand and he follows the motion sitting up with you and slipping his fingers out. He might be dominating but he’d do anything for a beautiful creature such as yourself. As he’s up you sit on your knees before him and begin unbuttoning his shirt.

Stopping only four buttons down you look into his eyes with mischief in mind. You tear open his shirt the same way he did to your dress. Taking his medallion in your hands you pull on it just enough so his lips are once again close to yours. “I’ll get you a new one”. You smirk at him and his hint of a smile grows a little larger from your playfulness.

You unlatch the buckle on his pants and push him back onto the mattress. It was your turn to be the cat climbing over him.

As your breasts dangle in his face he starts to take his trousers off. You stop him and do it yourself, throwing them on the floor. Now he’s just as vulnerable as you.

Starting from his ankles you prowl your way to his hardness.

Within your grasp, it is firm and thick. Only growing thicker as your breasts hang in his face again. This throat purs with his low-toned vibrations making you chuckle. Lifting his head, he places his mouth on your breast while placing a hand on your waist. This leaves your entrance to hover over his cock in your hands. A tease for you both as you continue to move your hand up and down his shaft while his tip kisses your wetness.

Moaning and humming, you both stay here in this series of actions. But he desires more of you. Moving his mouth away from your breast, he places both of his hands on your waist. “I trust you remember our horseback lesson, yes?” He says looking at you.

Your grin is naughty after he says this. With his permission you slide onto his mass, stretching you, while he guides you with his grip on your hips. His length fills you and you struggle to look at him straight. It’s just too large to handle without going slow.

Now that you’re sitting upon him, you start to ride. Just like he taught you. Starting slow you bounce up and down letting your hair hang in front of your face. The pleasure is too much to bear with eyes open. Grabbing your face again he says “Look up, darling”.

His grip tilts your head up to face a mirror you failed to notice at the other end of the room, facing right at you. You also fail to continue to ride him, now distracted by the surprise of your reflection. With your hips now hovering, he gives you another surprise and starts to thrust into you. You start to close your eyes again as your face scrunches in pleasure.

“Keep watching.” He tightens his grip on your face as moans continue to escape your mouth. And you watch as he fucks you. He frees his hand on your hip for a moment to smack your ass as it creates a tantalizing sting, leaving your cheek red. He watches as you watch your reflection jolt up and down from his thrusts. Moving his hand down to your throat, he flirtatiously chokes you, while he arches his head back to watch the mirror with you.

Reaching a hand to hold his arm that has a grasp on your throat, he finally lets you throw your head back as you grow tighter around him. “Gods…” You exclaim. “You feel…so…fuck”. He chuckles low at you and starts to thrust at a faster pace.

As you both get closer to ecstasy his hands move back to your hips, and you bow down to meet his temple. Moaning into each other’s mouths, the sensation of your parts meeting is what the afterlife should feel like. It’s more than safe to say that this is the furthest you’ve taken each other than ever before.

Your temples continue to meet as he trusts, and your grip on his shoulders tightens as you feel yourself pulse around him. Holding you close his movements get tighter and tighter. Until finally, a rush of sensation washes over you and within you, as he finishes as well.

Slowing down, sweat drips from your brow. He lets you feel him twitch inside you before lifting you by your hips while you gasp at the release of fulfillment. You feel the mixture of fluid drip down your inner thigh, a satisfying tickle.

You both try to catch your breaths lying on his chest. As your hand lays on his heart you feel his body rise and fall with each breath. It’s so calming here, even if your legs already feel sore. He puts a hand on your back to soothe you.

“Feeling better?” He asks. You realize that you had forgotten the original intention of lingering at his door. “I am feeling…” Sitting up you look into his eyes, tucking a piece of hair away from his face. “Magnificent.” A well-earned and rare smile appears on his face as he looks into your eyes. You feel proud to know you made The Witcher smile for once.

[gogobootz1]

The Mentor pt.4

Finnick Odair x Reader

Summary: Back at home in your district, you debate the merits of calling the phone number you've been given

part three | part five

You stare at the phone. You’ve been on the floor next to your bed, staring at the phone on your nightstand for an extended period of time. 

A crumpled piece of paper seems to taunt you as you clutch it in a tense fist. It has his number on it. Not that you needed to write it down, but you practically ran to the nearest pad of paper when you boarded the train yesterday. 

You sat in this same spot last night, as well, for probably an hour. Ultimately, though, you decided calling the same day would come off as desperate or uncool. 

Although Finnick has thoroughly demystified and made himself available for you, you can’t help but want to make a good impression. The two baby breakdowns you’ve had in his presence probably haven’t helped. Really, to retain your reputation, you should simply not call. But that’d be mean. Would that be mean? But that’s beside the point. You want to call, you do. But you don’t know what exactly he gave you this number for. Talking specifically about your unfortunate shared trade? Trauma dumping? Breakdown hotline? 

Currently, you're handling things as best you can before Snow throws you back in the deep end. Rehashing everything would probably be more damaging. 

You want to call, but would he want to have a normal conversation? Are you capable of having normal, authentic conversations with people at this point? 

Besides, you don’t even know if this is his District Four number or the number to his Capitol residence. Really, you might not reach him at all. 

“What are you doing?” Darla’s voice causes you to jump four feet in the air. Your head snaps quickly over your shoulder to glare at her. Darla had been watching trashy Capitol TV at your house since the train brought you back. She said she didn’t want to be alone.

“What the fuck, D? You can’t just sneak up on a person like that!” You insist. 

She makes a face at you, “It’s not my fault you’re having a staring contest with the phone.”

“Did you want something?” You ask, jaw clenched. 

“Yeah,” she shrugs casually, “someone’s at the door.” Now that surprises you. You jump up, leaving the worn-thin paper beside the phone. 

“And you just left them there?” You breeze past where she stands in the doorway to your enormous bedroom. 

Tramping confusedly down the stairs, you pad barefoot across your wooden floors, through the hallway, and up to the thick oak door separating you from the elements. 

Swinging the front door open, you momentarily regret not grabbing a robe to cover your old pajamas. There’s no one there to witness your fashion faux pas, however, and your nose scrunches in confusion. You lean your torso out of the doorway and into the crisp night air- thankfully warmer than the Capitol. Shaking your head, you seal the door back up and flick the deadbolt. 

“Did they leave a name?” You shout up to where you’d last seen Darla. She doesn’t reply, but as you start walking back to your room you swear you hear her faint voice. 

Suddenly, it clicks. You really should have learned not to underestimate her by now. “Darla!” You break into a sprint across your house. 

“She’s been staring at the phone alllll night,” you hear as you make it to the second floor. 

You know who she’s talking to. And you just know he’s wearing a smirk. You don’t even have to hear the pleased “Really?” that comes through the phone.

Bursting into your room, you tackle her away from the phone. “I’m gonna kill you!” You growl as she starts fighting back. Darla didn’t win her games through pure luck, after all. The phone sits a foot or two away, unattended on the ground, as the two of you wrestle. 

Finnick hears the fight over the phone and listens with a concerned smile. He won’t deny that it’s entertaining. 

Finally, Darla elbows you in the nose and uses the chance to escape. “Sorry! Don’t hang up!” She calls out as she flees your wrath. 

Your shoulders drop in annoyance, and you wipe your upper lip to see she knocked you hard enough to make you bleed. “Bitch!” You call half-heartedly after her. 

Grabbing some tissues, you turn to where she left the phone on the ground. You cautiously make your way over and pick it up with a grimace. “Hello?” 

“Hi,” Finnick’s smart reply rings in your ear, “good wrestling session?” 

“She gave me a bloody nose,” you bemoan. 

“Poor baby,” he taunts, and you scoff. 

“Shut up!” 

“You know, I was told you’ve been staring at the phone for forever,” Finnick ventures, and you can practically see his grin. 

“It wasn’t that long,” you correct, quietly. 

He sighs, “Why didn’t you just call?” 

“I just- I didn’t know if you’d want to talk to me,” you say defensively. 

“I gave you my number,” his confusion is audible. 

With some hesitant, you huff, “Yes.”

“And you called it,” you can hear his smirk through the phone. 

“Not quite,” you snap. 

“That’s ok, you’ll call without youth assistance soon enough,” he says confidently. 

“Are you calling me old?” 

“Never, darling,” he replies lazily. “So… why’d you want to call?” This is the part you were dreading. 

“I don’t know,” you snap defensively. After a moment of silence, you take a breath. Reluctantly, you say, “Aren’t we- friends now?” 

“Wow, a lot of confidence in that statement,” he teases. You glare at the phone. 

“Fuck off,” you say, only half joking. 

“Okay! Friends,” he concedes. More silence. 

“I’m just bad at this, okay?” You admit, feeling awkward. “I haven’t really had a friend in years.” 

To your luck, he takes the information in stride rather than replying with pity. “You mean falling in cow shit didn’t endear you to people?” 

He earns a small grin from you, “You’d be surprised, actually. The family who owns the corner store ate for a week on the money my nana gave them for soap. They loved me.” 

He chuckles thoroughly at that, “Look at you, stimulating the local economy.” 

“Oh yeah,” you laugh too, “you know, that’s happened a few times, actually! Once-“ you cut yourself off. 

“Why’d you stop?” Finnick asks, after a second of silence.  

“You know a lot more about me than I know about you,” you reply cooly. “You don’t get another of my hilarious and charming childhood tales.” 

“Booo,” he complains. 

“Nope,” you stand firm. “That’s how it works. You’re missing out on some good ones, too.” 

“Fine, would one of my childhod stories mske you feel better?” He asks.

“Yes, actually,” you nod. 

“Okay, when I was twelve, there was a district-wide competition and whoever had the biggest catch won. I helped my father pull in the winning fish,” Finnick offers. 

Your face falls flat, and you don’t reply for a few seconds. He calls your name, thinking you might’ve lost connection. “You totally missed the point of this,” you tell him. 

“Excuse me?” He asks defensively.

“Has the great Finnick Odair never had anything embarrassing happen to him in his life?!” You ask, almost frustrated. "Falling in shit is very different than being a champion fisherman,” you say. 

You can almost see him rolling his eyes. “Fine,” he gives in and you grin, “that same day, I kept refusing to wear sunscreen. So by the time we docked with our catch, I’d spent about eight hours in the sun. Well, I didn’t feel it until the next day, but I was so burnt I got incredibly sick.” 

Your shoulders drop, “Finnick, this was supposed to be funny, not sad.” 

“I was wearing sunglasses on the boat all day. When I finally went back to school, all the kids called me ‘goggles' because of my tan line,” he grumbles. You break into a laugh, and he smiles. He likes the sound even more than he did yesterday. 

“Sorry,” you apologize for laughing. 

“No, no, you asked for it,” he shakes his head. “Was that good enough?”

“Definitely,” you nod. 

“So, do I get to hear the story you were about to tell me, then?” He asks expectantly. 

“If you insist,” you tell him. “This was before the poop incident, by the way,” you preface. 

“Naturally,” he nods. 

Smirking, you start, “So, I was sort of a ringleader when I was really young, and one day, I led a group of local kids on a forest adventure.” 

“This can't be good,” he says, and you shake your head. 

“While we were in the woods, we came across some sort of nest.”

“No.” 

“Yes,” you nod, continuing, “So I poked around a bit, and I saw some babies, when suddenly, the animal it belonged to showed up.”

“Of course,” he said. 

“It was unhappy, and started hissing at us. So everyone wanted to run, and I reluctantly agreed, but not before it sprayed us.” 

“Don’t tell me it was-“ 

“A skunk? Yeah,” you confirm, “I was single-handedly responsible for about seven tomato soup baths across town.” 

He laughs, “So whoever made tomato soup was grateful to you too?” 

“Well, the family that sold the tomatoes was, but everyone who had to make the soup was really unhappy with me.” He laughs even harder at that, and you smile at the sound. 

“You know, I doubted you, but I’m starting to think your childhood stories are all charming and hilarious,” he admits. 

“Thank you!” Before you can say anything else, Darla shouts up from downstairs. 

“Your TV is broken!” 

“Hold on a sec,” you tell Finnick, then try to muffle the receiver. It hardly helps, he can hear your whole conversation. 

“So what?!” 

“Come fix it!” 

“Do it yourself!” 

“Hang up on your boyfriend and help me!” 

“No!” 

“Then come spend time with me!” You pause at that one. “Please?!” 

You bring the phone back to your ear and sigh, “I have to go, Darla needs me to fix the TV.” 

“Oh, so you’re a tech wiz too?” He teases you. 

“No, but I might be a babysitter,” you reply.

“You love her,” he corrects. 

You huff, "I do."

"Tell the kid I say hi," you smile at that.

“Will do,” you nod and go to put the phone down. The sound of your name stops you. 

“You know I’m gonna call you now, right?” He asks, and you grin a little. 

“Good.” 

“Good?” 

“Good,” you confirm, “I’ll be around.” 

“Not staring at the phone I hope,” he says. 

“No, I might be too busy tending to the diva,” you shrug. Darla validifies your statement when she shouts out asking you to make hot chocolate. 

“Good luck,” he offers, "I’ll let you leave before she gives you another bloody nose.” 

You chuckle, shaking your head, “Bye, Finnick.” He wishes you the same before you hang up. You sit there a moment longer. 

“Are you staring at the phone again?” Darla shouts. You roll your eyes, and start heading her way. 

“Just for that you’re not getting hot chocolate,” you taunt, and she complains. 

It’s nice to have friends. 

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

taglist: @emerald-09 @iwantmyredvelvetcupcake @daixylie @imaegonstargaryenswife0 @fandomhopped @axelinchen

It is getting progressively harder to find good pictures to use for these.

Anyway, I didn't really edit this, but I hope you all enjoyed <3 also I might write something for Johanna soon because I love women - if you have any requests let me know ig?

[mayuri-manufacturer]

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𝐓𝐖𝐎 - 𝐖𝐄𝐋𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐄 𝐓𝐎 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐀𝐑𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐀𝐋

series masterlist - here!

AUSSIE STAR TRADES BLUE FOR RED

HALLIE KING BREAKS AUSTRALIAN A-LEAGUE RECORD AFTER SIX FIGURE DEAL IS STRUCK FOR THE CHAMPION STRIKER OF MELBOURNE CITY.

•°. *࿐

LONDON, ENGLAND

HALLIE.

"everyone, this is hallie king-"

i stand awkwardly as the room falls into silence around me, all i can hear is a low shuffling and the sound of my heart thumping erratically in my chest. i try and keep smiling through it, coaching myself mentally through the panic in my limbs.

after a beat of quiet and before jonas can fully finish his sentence, there's a gasp and a small squeal from somewhere deep in the group ahead of us. my smile falters momentarily, eyes lifting to scan the group and identify the source of the noise.

i recognise faces, sending each of them meek smiles as my eyes flit along the line. it doesn't take long, small laughs breaking out as an all too familiar aussie pushes her way through the crowd of bodies.

"hallipops!" she screeches, arms open and running full speed towards me at the front of the room.

"stephbear!" i mimic, dropping my bag from my shoulder and throwing my arms around her.

we squeeze each other tightly, i let her familiar perfume seep through my senses - inhaling contently when she rubs her hand along my back. we share a quiet laugh when i hear her start to chuckle on my shoulder. steph stays attached to me for a minute or so, our bodies swinging side to side in a silent repute of our friendship. after a while she pulls back, but keeps me locked to her side when she turns back towards the group of girls now watching on with smiles of their own.

"this is hallie, my hallie," she explains, emphasis on the my when she squeezes my shoulder further into her side for a second. i try not to overthink the fact that means she's probably spoken about me, maybe on numerous occasions - but the way her smile beams beneath her eyes tells me i have nothing to worry about. im ushered away from jonas and into the center of the room without another word, surrounded my a sea of red jerseys.

i look back at jonas and mouth a small "thank you," to which he replies with a wicked smile and a small head nod.

he leaves the room with a "i'll leave you all to get acquainted, see you on the pitch, ladies!" everyone shouts an absentminded byes and agreements before the attention is turned back to me.

•°.

we spend twenty minutes or so greeting each other and exchanging the usuals. steph is stuck to my side for most of it, almost bursting with pride as she leads me around the group. i say hello to caitlin first, who i haven't seen in a good 6 months, giving her a tight squeeze. she asks about my family, i avoid the subject - like usual, then we move on.

that's how most conversations with most people seem to go recently, honestly, they ask how i am; how the family is, i avoid it and brush it off and then we move on.

i recognise beth, katie and jen from my countless calls with steph and cait. they all say hello, give me a small hug and introduce me to the rest of the girls.

they're kind, welcoming. easy to bounce off of. it calms my nerves to know that i haven't been fed to the lions in the middle of hunting season - a few of the girls explain how excited they are to have me playing with them, it feels strange. knowing that people know me, that im not just a young girl in melbourne hoping to play with her older brother any more.

after the pleasantries are done, they show me my cubby - it's essentially a locker space, where i can hang my kit and put my bag before and during training or games. i had assumed i'd be placed at the end, considering everyone already had their respective places within the room. i sit in front of my space for a moment, after the fuss has died down, my back pressed against the wall and my feet flat on the floor.

it's not as awkward as i thought it would be, even though i was going in with people i knew already.

i start changing my socks, shoes. smiling at the new red fabric that hangs around my thighs, then smiling out at the room surrounding me - i feel like a child again, playing dress up with my brother.

my mind wanders off as i tie my laces. the guilt tugging at the thread of my new kit outweighs the  joyousness of the occasion, the unraveling of my mind is cut short by the hollar of my name from across the tiled floor.

"oi, hallie!" my head snaps up, the voice is a bit harsh - loud, and scottish. i look around until my eyes land on jen stood by the exit with a confused look, "you coming or not, slowpoke?" she says with a laugh, causing me to jump up out of my seat.

i laugh with her and follow the group out onto the grass, chatting aimlessly amongst and over each other. jen, steph and me walk in a three into the middle of the pitch, where we stand in a semicircular line, steph still next to me with our arms interlinked, as if we were teenagers again.

steph has always been like a sister to me, an older, wiser, more attractive sister as she would describe it. we met at melbourne city, in 2015, and for a year we were inseparable. i had assumed that when she left for the states the following year that the contact, the talking, would trickle away and into nothing more than passing comments and instagram likes. but the opposite happened, we spoke everyday - saw each other when our schedules and flight times allowed. i stayed in melbourne, content in the comfort and safety inside my little shell. i stayed longer than i should've, and put up with a lot more stick than i should've in those years too.

she was aware the conversations between mc and arsenal were happening, but nothing more than the details i had told her - or that she had seen on social media. but stepping out of my australian shell and into a new city, knowing she was there, made the decision a lot easier.

we all stand listening to jonas and the other coaching staff, allowing them to flood our early-morning brains with their knowledge. i listen intently, nodding along to everything each of them say - he runs through the plans for the morning, what drills we will do - what time we will have gym and then a break.

i daze off half way through, listening to the sprinklers in the distance; watering the multitude of pitches that lay beyond our feet. before he waves the groups away, my attention is peaked and back on him.

"one last thing team, leah won't be attending training today, as i'm sure you have all noticed. i'm going to have kim drop back..."

then my attention is gone again, fixated on the grass beneath me. when i tilt my head to whisper towards steph, who has noticed my confused face.

"leah as in williamson? where is she?" i whisper,

"appointment i think, she should be back tomorrow though," steph replies mid-shrug

"should i be scared?" i question lowly, with wide sarcastic eyes and a pinched mouth.

"oh yeah, very," she teases, smile lacing her lips momentarily before dropping to a serious and stern face - we share a laugh between us, then zone in.

jonas finishes his speech a few minutes later,

"and for a final time, lets all give hallie a proper gunner welcome. you're gonna do great, great things here. welcome to the arsenal." his words are echoed with a round of applause, and accompanying shouts of encouragement.

i feel my cheeks prick along with the tips of my ears, laughing as the girls clap for me. i pull the sides of my shirt to make a makeshift skirt and curtsy for them, before joining them in their applause.

everyone puts their hands in around me, and mine sits on top of the others. the smiles and energy is contagious, buzzing around the group and facility. i look around, waiting for someone to lead.

"go on then, hallipop," steph whispers, gesturing her head towards our pile of hands. i smile widely, met with a crowd of nodding heads and expressions of encouragement around me.

"team on three,"

— RG x

i hope everyone is having a great monday! and you are all enjoying this, can't wait to see where this goes! sending my love to everyone, love always.

[rajeshiv]

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[dira333]

Of Worries and Dejavu’s - Sugawara x Reader

for @iiwaijime (not a drabble, but I don't think you'll be mad)

“What are you worried about?” You ask in the awful lighting of a 7-eleven after midnight.

“Hm?” Koushi asks, slurping up noodles, spraying himself and the table with Chili oil.

He looks nice, from this angle. Your face pressed against the table - disinfected beforehand - squinting up. You’re too tired for this, yet forever unable to say no.

“You don’t take me all the way to a 7-Eleven because you’re sleeping like a baby,” you defend your question.

“A lot of the underclassmen are taller than me,” he offers, offering you a bite of his Mapo Tofu. 

You open your mouth despite knowing it’s going to be too spicy for you. It’s too spicy for him, you know, he’ll complain about his numb mouth for days.

“Too spicy?” He asks just seconds later, wiping a tear from your cheek.

“You’re the worst,” you sniffle, pushing yourself up to take a sip from his drink.

Sometimes you wonder how often you’ve indirectly kissed him. How many of those indirect kisses do you have to trade for a direct one anyway?

“You love it.”

“I love you,” you joke, but his face falls, visible even in this terrible light.

“What?”

“My mouth’s numb.”

And it feels like a dejavu. Like something you’ve lived through before. Because you have, every month since you’ve turned fifteen.

Graduation is just around the corner though. Who knows what’s going to happen after that. Maybe he’ll finally confess to someone he likes.

Maybe that won’t be you.

Your hand curls into the fabric of his shirt, pulling him forward even as your brain screams in panic, a frantic, capital-lettered “NO!” right behind your eyes.

Koushi tastes like Mapo Tofu and sugar-free ice tea, like exhaustion and the thrumming fear of growing up.

“Still numb?” You ask when you pull back, his eyes wide open, brimming with emotion.

“Think so,” he mutters, his lips red from the Chili Oil. “Can we try again?”

-

Summer break means loose limbs, napping in the sun as the boys train behind you.

Sometimes it feels as if you’ve always spent your breaks to the sound of Daichi cursing, Asahi panting and Koushi egging both of them on.

“Hey,” today his face appears above you, blocking the sun.

“Hey,” you blink back lazily. “Done already.”

“No, I got bored.”

“Hey, get back here!” Daichi calls from somewhere but Koushi just leans down to kiss you, the angle so weird that your nose hits your Adam's apple and he coughs, falling into you.

“Dork,” you complain, his head on your chest.

“Hmm,” he snuggles into you, pretending not to notice Daichi stomping over to get him. “You love it.”

-

“When did you fall in love with me?” Koushi asks, legs dangling out his window. You’ve chosen the relative safety of his bed, huddled into one of his sweaters despite the warm weather. 

“Don’t know,” you admit. “One day I found you annoying, the next you were irresistible.”

“Irresistible?” You can hear the grin in his voice and the worry he tries to hide with it.

“Wanna go for a ride?” You ask before he can make a joke. “I’ll pay. I’m kinda craving Super Spicy Mapo-Tofu from 7-Eleven.”

He’s quiet for a while, swinging his legs in only after a full five minutes. “Sure.”

His hand finds your thigh while driving, curled around it as if it’s the lifebelt keeping him afloat. You draw a heart onto the back of his hand, feel the tension bleed out. It returns and you draw again, repeat the cycle until you park the car.

“We kinda have to get out if we want to eat,” you remind him, drawing a heart and an arrow going through and his name and yours, not once letting go of the hand curled around your thigh.

Koushi’s staring through the windshield, motionless.

You hold your breath, checking to see if you can hear his, the slow intake and the slower exhale, the almost not-there rise and fall of his chest.

He blinks and the tension shatters around him, though his smile does little cover his unease.

-

You don’t know when you met Koushi for the first time. To you, it feels as if he’s always been part of your life, like a tree that has dug its roots into your body, has grown so close you no longer know where one part ends and the other begins.

Still, there are shadows to him you have yet to see, secrets he has not yet uncovered.

But you’re not scared. Never of him.

“Hey,” you breathe against the soft skin of his cheek, “did you know I can read your mind?”

“Yeah? What am I thinking about?”

And if you’d have to guess, you’d come up empty, because yesterday he told you about mermaids and the day before he was dreaming about curry buns the size of Volleyballs. 

But you keep talking, a fear spilling out you didn’t know you had, hid it so well you forget it existed.

“Do you think we’ll be together forever?”

And in the way he blinks, the lights of the 7-Eleven no longer mirrored in his eyes, you can tell he’d been thinking the same.

“I hope so,” he admits. “But I don’t know.”

“Wishes do count, right?” You tell yourself more than him. Because there’s College for you and training for him, an unknown nothingness stretching out in what others call future. “Because I wish to be with you.”

“I wish to be with you too.”

“Good,” you swallow thickly, picking his hand from your thigh and kissing the back of it. “What more do we need?”

- - -

And isn’t this Dejavu?

Finding yourself under the unflattering lights of a 7-Eleven, sharing Super Spicy Mapo Tofu and Sugar-free Ice Tea?

“Don’t spill on my dress,” you tell him as haughtily as you can manage at three in the morning, half drunk on champagne and cake, the ring on your hand glittering. 

“Wouldn’t dare,” he bites back, grinning from one ear to the other like he’s drunk. Maybe he is, he had more Champagne than you.

But you doubt it, because you feel it too, the happiness bubbling in your throat despite the late hour, despite the spice you still can’t tolerate, and the bright lights blinding you.

“Miss Sugawara,” Koushi says at that moment, pushing himself up and toward you even as you eye the food in between and its dangerous red pigment. “Care to give me a kiss?”

“Your mouth is numb?”

“Never too numb for a kiss from you.”

[autisticlancemcclain]

The first bout of whispering, Shiro can ignore. He’s a teacher by trade, after all. Astronaut, sure. Paladin, even. But he always expected to be a teacher, trained for it, and he knows when you put a group of teenagers in a room and expect them to start learning by lecture, there’s going to be some whispering. He’d be concerned if there wasn’t, frankly.

But as it keeps happening, again and again, to the point where it’s almost constant, Shiro begins to lose his patience.

“Lance, Hunk,” he says, catching himself long before then. He tries to smile, gentle but firm. “Everything okay?”

The two boys clam up immediately. Lance even begins to lean slightly away from Hunk, although Shiro’s not sure he notices.

Shiro frowns, puzzled at the reaction. That’s — uncommon. He’s seen embarrassed, seen sheepish, seen unbothered, even seen downright rude, but Lance looks almost… afraid. And Hunk looks at him with a lot more anxiety than the situation calls for, but Shiro is beginning to notice that that’s just Hunk.

The both mutter some semblance of apology, and Shiro moves on quickly, unwilling to dwell on the incident too long.

For the rest of the briefing, he keeps an eye on them. He’s still focused, of course, as their break-in and recon on a nearby Empire warship is not only hugely dangerous, but will also be hugely beneficial, but he lets his notes do a lot of the talking for him. He flits his eyes to the pair every so often, and while Hunk meets his eyes on occasion, smiling slightly, Lance keeps his head down, hunched over his tablet.

Shiro notices that the tablet is powered off. He doesn’t write a single note.

His shoulders are hunched up to his ears.

———

“Alright, kiddo, good job.”

Keith grins, stepping backwards and bowing to finish the fight. Shiro bows back, matching his smile.

“You did great.”

“I know,” Keith says cheekily. “You’re getting easier and easier to beat. Probably because you’re elderly.”

Shiro raises an eyebrow. “Am I.”

His annoying little brother hums, completely unconcerned. He steps off to the side and starts swinging around his training stick, very clearly showing off. “Mhm. It was super easy to fight you. I just went whoosh, smack, bam! —” he punctuates every sound with a swing and slash of the stick — “and every hit just landed. Honestly, I think a punching bag would have been more of a challenge. Adam is a way better spar partner than you. I wish I was shot into space with him.”

Shiro’s eye twitches. It’s a clear goad, he knows it is. Keith isn’t even trying to hide it. He’s a twerp with too much energy and too much experience pressing all of Shiro’s buttons — a favourite button of his, of course, being the bit of…healthy competition Shiro has always had with his boyfriend.

(He’s well aware of the irony. He hears Adam pointing and laughing in his head every time he endures Keith’s complaining about Lance pulling his mullet, so to speak. In fact keeping his mouth shut about the parallels is the only thing keeping him from throwing Keith down the laundry chute. He’s waiting for a moment when the reveal can be well and truly devastating.)

Shiro manages, with herculean strength, to step away from his turd of a brother, putting his training stick away.

“I am leaving,” he says loudly, pointedly turning away. “I said I’d train one hour with you and not a second more.”

He feels Keith’s pout more than sees it. “Coward.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Shiro snorts, waving his hand dismissively. He hears swishing sounds, and the clicks of buttons — Keith is starting up his own training. Again. “Don’t be late for dinner or I’ll send Lance after you.”

“Can’t promise I won’t maim him,” Keith mutters. “Sometimes I just want to wring his neck.”

Shiro is very familiar with that feeling. Or at least the raving about it. He used to feel great pleasure in driving Adam to that point, just because he was hot when he was mad. But Shiro values his limbs — or at least what’s left of them — where they are, so he keeps the comments to himself as he makes his way out of the training room, meandering back to his own quarters.

He takes his time showering and redressing, knowing he’s got some time before dinner. He thinks Hunk even managed to wrestle Coran out of the kitchen, which means no food goo. It also means that he’s banned from even breathing near the kitchen until the food is fully cooked and completed — which is a bullshit ban and one based in false accusations — but he’s sure he can help set the table, or something. Stir a pot. He’s good at that.

He towels off his hair, not bothering to style it, and takes his time walking over to the kitchens. The castle floors are cold under his bare feet, he finds himself wishing he had the lion slippers Lance made him. They’re very warm. He never wears them because he’s terrified of ruining them, but it’s so icy in here that he might start having to, or else he’ll freeze.

As he approaches the kitchen, he hears voices. He freezes, quieting his steps and pausing behind the wall to listen. Hopefully no one else walks by, or that will be humiliating.

“— all you have to do is ask, Lance, just casually, it’s not even —”

“— it is even, Hunk, it’s the worst and I’m not doing it, why would I inconvenience —”

“— it isn’t! Not even a little! It’s the smallest tiniest thing!”

“Hunk —”

Hunk throws his hands up in exasperation, spoon going flying and splattering some kind of blue sauce all over the cabinets. Neither of them even blinks at it.

“I am tired of watching you struggle, Leandro! Heaven forbid you ask for help!”

Shiro frowns. That’s not good. That sounds serious.

“I asked for help,” Lance huffs, arms crossed over his chest. “I asked you, didn’t I?”

“I don’t count and you know it,” Hunk says sharply, mirroring him. “I already knew.”

Lance looks away, clenching his jaw. His fingers are tangled in his jacket’s sleeve, tense.

“You don’t have to help anymore if it’s too hard,” he mumbles. “I can handle it myself.”

Hunk softens. “It’s not that, Lance.” He wipes his hands in his apron and pulls Lance to his chest. Lance goes, although he doesn’t move his arms, burying his face in Hunk’s shoulder. “You know it’s not that. If that’s all we have then I’ll keep doing it, damn the consequences.” He pulls back slightly, nudging Lance back so he can look him in the face. “You can just do better, dude. All you gotta do is tell Shiro about your —”

A hand claps over Hunk’s mouth, cutting him off, and Lance squeaks, “Hey, Shiro, hello, hi!”

Shiro startles. He scrambles upright before Hunk turns all the way, so at least he’s only seen crouching by the door like a weirdo by one person.

He clears his throat. “Uh, hi.”

“You’re banned from the kitchen,” Hunk says, muffled. How he looks so mighty and dignified with Lance’s hands still very much pressed to his face is well and truly beyond him. Shiro is frankly awed.

“I just came to help set the table,” he assures, hands held up in surrender. “Promise I’ll stay away from the actual food.”

Hunk narrows his eyes, but must decide he could use the help, because he nods, stepping backwards so Lance’s hands fall back down.

“Alright,” he sighs. “I’m making stew. You can set out utensils if you must but know I’ll judge you heavily for it. Lance, come help me finish up.”

Lance scrambles after him, avoiding Shiro’s gaze like he’s sure he’s going to get yelled at. Shiro watches him go, perplexed.

———

The next few days are, for the most part, manageable. Their mission goes well, Keith is surprisingly mellow — Shiro suspects the little nerd has discovered a library of some kind — and distress calls are minimal. All in all, Shiro should be taking the time as the blessing it is and catching up on some much needed R&R.

Instead, he’s worrying about the Blue Paladin.

Shiro can’t say he knows him well. They’ve hardly been in space a couple of months, after all, and while Shiro must have taught him a couple times — he was in the piloting program so it’s almost impossible that they didn’t cross paths — the Garrison is huge, and Shiro largely teachers younger students. Shiro can’t recall teaching a Lance, anyway.

But he can tell something’s off.

Besides the fact that Hunk keeps looking at Lance with concern, the Cuban seems…withdrawn, almost. He still works hard in training and smokes them in any kind of long distance, but there doesn’t seem to be any joy in it. Even his arguments with Keith seem halfhearted, which Keith will never admit leave him agitated as much as it has Shiro’s eyebrows raising. Shiro is sure, basically, that something is the matter, and surer still that he has to be the one to fix it.

How exactly he should go about it…well, that’s the part he’s struggling with. He knows Lance is kind of star-eyed around him, even though they’re on the same playing field, so Shiro’s not sure just regular talking to him about it is going to do something. And he seemed pretty resistant when Hunk pressed, in the conversation Shiro overheard. He’s just not sure what to do.

Luckily, the situation starts to resolve itself.

“Hey, Shiro, can I talk to you?” Lance mumbles into his breakfast, as everyone else is distracted by Pidge and Keith’s loud argument about cryptids (Shiro has heard it too many times at this point. He’s tuned it out).

Shiro blinks. “Sure,” he says, trying to keep the shock out of his voice. “Now?”

“Uh, after we eat, maybe.”

Shiro tries very hard not to seem over enthusiastic. He sucks at that, so it doesn’t work, and it seems to make Lance more stressed, which only stresses Shiro out more. By the time everyone has finished up and people are starting to file out to various tasks, the tension between them is so thick Shiro feels as if he might suffocate.

Suddenly, as if he propelled himself, Lance springs to his feet, snatching his bowl and Shiro’s and powerwalking towards the kitchen sink. Shiro, startled, follows him.

“You okay?” Shiro asks softly, noticing the whiteness of Lance’s knuckles, clenched around a sponge, and the robotic way he scrubs it across a dirty spoon.

Lance says nothing. He keeps his eyes trained resolutely on the soapy water, spine ramrod straight, nerves bleeding from him in waves.

Hesitantly, Shiro rolls up his sleeves, standing beside him and beginning to dry what he rinses. As Shiro gets close he gets tenser, shoulders hiked up to his ears, but as the minutes drag on, empty kitchen echoing the sound of swishing water and clanking cutlery, he begins to calm down. Shiro watches his face relax, easing its worries twist, and terror fade from his brown eyes.

He hands Shiro the last clean dish to dry, then pulls the plug on the sink, darting over to grab a hand towel and starting to dry.

“Can you write mission plans in pink?”

The words rush out of him, like he’d been holding them between his teeth for God knows how long and they’d finally spilled out. He looks almost nauseous after he says them.

Shiro blinks. That was…not what he’d expected.

“…Why?”

“It’s perfectly okay if you can’t,” Lance continues, as if Shiro had not spoken. “I mean, whatever. I’ll figure it out. I’ve gone without this long, after all, and it’s totally doable. Of course there’s the migraines and the agony but that’s all light work. It’s war, after all. Ha.” He chuckles nervously.

He’s shrunk in on himself, looking almost small. Shiro stares at him with a dropped jaw and wide eyes. Lance doesn’t even notice, eyes focused intensely on the hand towel, breathing worryingly erratic.

“I just swore to Hunk that I’d ask, you know. He said it wouldn’t hurt. And of course it wouldn’t but I don’t need it. It’s just. You know.”

Shiro cannot stress enough how much he doesn’t know. He hasn’t felt this lost in a while.

“Pink makes the letters stick to the page. And I know that sounds stupid as shit and that’s because it is stupid as shit, unfortunately. Dyslexia is the dumbest thing in the world, actually. And who named it that? You know how hard that word is to spell? It’s hard. They should have called it — I dunno, I just mean, it’s whatever. It’s fine. I’ve handled it this long. Uh.” He looks up, finally, and maybe he doesn’t know how to make sense of Shiro’s expression, because he winces, shame overtaking his face. He sets down the towel and gestures vaguely behind him, stepping towards the door. “I’m just gonna — go. Sorry. See you later. Sorry.”

He all but flees out of the room. Shiro barely manages to snag the back of his hoodie, holding him in place.

“Lance. Chill a second. Give me time to respond.”

Lance looks deploringly at the door, then back at Shiro. He looks like he’s accepting his death. Shiro can’t help but feel the teensiest bit offended.

“I’m not going to bite you,” he says, aghast. “Jesus, kid. You’re going to give me a complex.”

To Shiro’s great relief, the remark makes Lance grin. Some of the tension eases from his face.

“You sound like my mother.”

“From what I’ve heard, that’s a compliment,” Shiro says lightly. He pulls out two chairs, orienting them so they’re facing each other. He deliberately takes the one farthest from the door, so Lance doesn’t feel trapped. He gestures to the other one. “Sit.”

Lance does.

“Now. From the beginning and with a little less fear, hopefully. Tell me what’s up, kiddo.”

Lance looks down at his hands, where he’s picking at a scar on his wrist.

“Um. So. I have dyslexia. I can’t read too well.”

Lance cringes as he says it. Shiro wonders who he has to kill for putting the idea that this is something to be ashamed about in his head.

“Cool,” Shiro says, as encouragingly as he can manage. “The main character of my favourite book series as a kid had dyslexia. I was jealous of everyone who had it. I used to pray for it.”

The revelation startles a laugh out of Lance, like Shiro hoped it would. The tension melts right off of him.

“You prayed?”

“Every night,” Shiro affirms, grinning. “I even crossed my eyes and pretended when it didn’t work. My mother didn’t believe me for a second.”

“You’re a dweeb,” Lance says, sounding kind of awed. Like he’s shocked that Shiro, too, is a nerd loser on this castle full of other nerd losers. “Dyslexia sucks.”

Letting his face settle into something more serious, Shiro nods. “I imagine it does.” He reaches over and squeezes Lance’s hand, subtly stopping him from picking at the skin. Keith has the same bad habit. “Writing in pink helps?”

Lance shrugs. “Sorta. Dunno why. But things are less squiggly when they’re written in pink or red. Not perfect, but it’s something. I can hardly read at all when they’re in black; it’s like my eyes are spinning out of my head trying to focus on ‘em. Gives me migraines like you would not imagine.”

“And thus Hunk whispering the plans to you so you don’t have to read them,” Shiro surmises, the whispering during briefings suddenly making sense. Guilt twinges in his belly.

“Yeah. Sorry about that, by the way. Didn’t mean to be rude.”

“Of course not,” Shiro says gently. “I get it now. Sorry for not understanding.” He frowns, remembering something. “I should’ve asked beforehand. Or suspected something, or known better, really. I had a kid a few years back in one of my astronomy courses. Li-something. I marked all his stuff in red for the same reasons.”

Lance makes a very particular face. Warning bells go off in Shiro’s head.

“I appreciated that very much,” Lance says politely.

It takes a moment for it to click.

Shiro considers banging his head against the table.

“Please tell me no,” he begs, ears reddening.

“It was a great honour to be renamed by the Takashi Shirogane,” Lance insists.

“I had you in my class for three years!” Shiro says, aghast. “I — I called you Li all the time! In front of people!”

“I didn’t want to correct you! That’s — embarrassing!”

Shiro cradles his head in his hands. Dear God. He knows he’s not great with names, but — Jesus. To rename a kid. Blatantly. Other teachers must have thought he was some cruel jackass.

“I think there was a Li McKinney ahead of me in roll call,” Lance offers, patting Shiro’s back delicately. “So. Pretty easy to mess up.”

“Did you write your name as Li on tests? And assignments?”

“After the first couple times, yeah. Hunk laughed at me. At a certain point I’d just dug myself too deep, I think.”

Shiro sighs, dragging his hand down his face. It’s still quite hot. He looks up at Lance, who’s mouth is twitching.

“You were short as shit back then,” he observes, trying to picture the kid in his class. “Like, shorter than Pidge.”

Lance scowls. “I was — saving up on growth spurts. Yeah. So. Purge that from your memory.” He smirks. “Like my name.”

Shiro groans. “I’m never hearing the end of that, am I.”

Lance smiles. “Probably not. I didn’t know you were uncool. It’s interesting. I’m seeing you in a whole new light.”

Shiro rolls his eyes, but reaches over to mess with Lance’s hair, like he would Keith. Unlike Keith, Lance freaks out way harder, screeching something about hard work and artistic expression.

He smiles. “Glad you came to talk to me, kid.”

Lance sticks out his tongue, but he looks pleased, too. “Yeah, yeah.”

[sarahisslytherin]

lovely.

harwin strong x reader

summary: after your life is threatened, you convince ser harwin to train you in combat.

contains: swordplay, flirty banter.

a/n: ik they should be using wooden swords but valyrian steel is so much cooler and i don't care. also this one's short n' sweet!

word count: 0.6k

Harwin dodged your blow as you sent the weight of your body lunging towards him. Steel met steel and sang through the otherwise vacant courtyard. There had been an attempt upon your life at the last royal ball, and though Harwin had indeed been quick to scoop you up and escort you to safety, you did not wish to rely entirely on him should such an encounter repeat itself. So you asked him in the most charming tone you could muster if he would be willing to train you. His initial response was no, as was to be expected. It would hardly be very becoming of a princess to handle weaponry such as the Valyrian steel sword you now wielded. He had started you off with wooden swords, but you soon surprised him and yourself with your natural skill for swordplay. Now you stalked towards him as if he were your prey, your hands growing more and more accustomed to the weight of the steel. 

“If I didn’t know any better, Ser Harwin,” you taunted playfully, “I would take that look in your eye to be something akin to fear.”

The knight barked a laugh at that. “One must admire your — arrogance?” He lunged, the steel clanging once again as you found your footing.

“You dare speak this way to your Princess?” you teased, reveling in the pink hue that blossomed on his cheeks. “You surely have a lot of faith in me and my gift for forgiveness.”

You moved in tandem, swords swinging here and there. It looked like a dance more than anything as you fell into step with each other, gazing at each other with such intensity a third party might’ve felt the need to look away. A particular maneuver led you to stop mere inches away from Harwin’s face. His hazel eyes did not leave yours as you breathed heavily.

“I do have faith in you, my Princess.” he heaved. “Though I must admit it saddens me that I will no longer be needed to protect you.” You stepped back, angling your sword once again as you resumed your lesson. 

“What makes you say that, Ser?” you asked before trailing off into a grunt as Harwin lunged for you once again.

“At this rate,” he paused to maneuver himself out of a compromising position “you’ll be taking my spot as captain of the City Watch out from under me.” 

You laughed as you swerved away from his blade. “I’d gladly trade places with you.”

“I doubt I’d have what it takes to be Princess.” he smirked in return. “Don’t think I would look as lovely as you, Your Highness.”

It was in that moment that your stomach flipped and you lost your concentration long enough for Harwin to sweep your feet, your limbs thudding as you hit the ground. You heard his laughter fill the air as your cheeks became flushed. He knelt down beside you, his russet curls falling perfectly onto his equally perfect face. At times you couldn’t stand him, his unrelenting boyishness. 

“What ever is the matter, my Princess?” he jested beside you. If your scowl was any indication, you were not pleased with this brand of trickery.

“Nothing is the matter.” you huffed somewhat childishly. “It is not very becoming of a knight to mock his Princess, Ser.”

“Oh, I see.” he did his best to stifle his grin. “I did not mean to offend, Your Highness. I meant every word.”

You shot him an incredulous look.

“Now, don’t be looking at me like that.” he clicked his tongue as he extended a hand to you. You couldn’t fight back your smile as you took it and rose to your feet. He towered over you, forever shielding you from harm’s way. 

“Am I?” you asked, and clarified after seeing his brows furrow. “Lovely.”

He beamed down at you, gently clasping your chin between his thumb and forefinger. 

“Loveliest lady in the Seven Kingdoms.” He took a step back, unsheathing his sword once again as he smirked. “Let’s make you the deadliest as well.”

tagging: @velvetcloxds @oweninadaydream @spxllcxstxr @auroravelaryon @locinne @solangeminou @nikipuppeteer

[chaosology]

chills

— Sam Kerr x reader

based off this request. i hope i did you justice :)

“Bit cold this morning, are we Kerr!?”

Sam’s head rose as the voice reached her ears. Her favourite hoodie had been missing from its normal spot and she was left freezing in the middle of the field, the morning sun no use. How did this happen? Sam was a routine person - the same socks at every game, the same seat on every bus. She wore her hoodie every morning she trained, placing it atop her bag the night before as to not forget it.

She stood midfield, her Aussie accent loud and clear as she let out an exasperated “I don’t know where the fuck it isss” at the sky. The team just laughed at her antics, chucking a ball at her feet and mumbling something under their breath about how it “wasn’t even that cold.”

Though, it was an unusually frosty morning in Melbourne. The grass crunched under their feet as they walked across the field, leaving trails of green footprints in a sea of almost white. The Australian was racking her brain, where the actual fuck was it? The wind was beginning to bite, and she resorted to rubbing her hands up and down her arms just for some relief.

That morning’s training passed quick, and Sam eventually warmed up as she stretched with Kyra. She had formed a now loved routine: wake up, train, go for brunch with her girl. Y/N would swing by after training to pick her up, rolling down the window and smiling as she pulled up on the curb. She usually didn’t get out the car, instead choosing to admire from afar and pick the most raunchy, explicit song to blast when Sam got close.

It’s funny, you should see your face! A little bit of Megan Thee Stallion never hurt anyone...

She would pretend to be annoyed, but Sam knew Y/N loved the idea of the team’s stoic team captain climbing into a car blasting “real hot girl shit.” And Sam just loved seeing her happy.

As coach dismissed them, she wandered over to the changing rooms to grab her bag and meet Y/N at the car. However, she wasn’t expecting for Alanna to clap her on the shoulder with a giggly I think you’ve got your answer, Sammy.

Y/N stood by Sam’s locker, chatting with Katrina and twirling Harper’s hair absentmindedly. Something had made her laugh, and Sam just admired. The way her eyes lit up and she threw her head back, her hand coming to her chest to fiddle with the strings of her hoodie.

But it wasn’t Y/N’s hoodie.

The slight frustration that had built up over the morning had lifted. She looked so goddamn cute, and Sam couldn’t help but stare. She was walking over in an instant, her hands coming to rest on Y/N’d hips as she whispered a small “hey, you” from behind.

Y/N turned in an instant, excusing herself from her prior conversation to embrace Sam. She was warm and soft and adorable, and the star striker almost couldn’t let go. By now, it was just the two of them. Y/N looked up, her eyes almost glassy.

“I’m so sorry, baby. Mini told me this was your special one and I was just cold, I really didn’t know”

“Stop”

“No, you love your routines. What if you really needed it, or-”

“Stop,” she said, pulling Y/N to her chest. “To hell with that. Do have any idea how goddamn adorable it is to see you in my clothes?”

Sam’s hand came to Y/N’s chin, tilting her head upwards. Her finger ran delicately across her lip as she sighed,

“Don’t ever take it off. Wear it to my games, make that our routine now, hey?”

No words were shared as they kissed, Y/N’s arms coming to wrap around her love’s neck. In truth, Y/N had purposely seemed out this hoodie. She didn’t know it was special, but it was the one Sam wore the most. The collar smelled just like her, and when she slept that morning without her girlfriend by her side she’d feel less alone.

“So, if we’re trading now… does this mean you’ll wear my barbie hoodie?!”