#┊ ·˚ ༘ Ink took him. | Queue ┊

[inkedlights]

˚ ͙۪۪̥◌ tag master list —-

┊ ·˚ ༘ The Projectionist. | OOC ┊

┊ ·˚ ༘ He’s dead. | Boost ┊

┊ ·˚ ༘ In the darkness. | Signal Boost ┊

┊ ·˚ ༘ Stay out of his light. | Save ┊

┊ ·˚ ༘ No trouble. | Anon ┊

┊ ·˚ ༘ I’m watchin’ .. | Prompts ┊

┊ ·˚ ༘ Right behind ‘em. | Ask ┊

┊ ·˚ ༘ My projector. | HC ┊

┊ ·˚ ༘ Little devil himself. | Crossover ┊

┊ ·˚ ༘ Ink took him. | Queue ┊

┊ ·˚ ༘ Old friend. | Promo ┊

┊ ·˚ ༘ Dark abyss. | Starter ┊

┊ ·˚ ༘ Peculiarities. | ic, Norman ┊

┊ ·˚ ༘ SCREECH. | Memes ┊

( tag listing inspired by chocolatercake. )

[didyoulookforme]

need you tonight

part of give me a moment (aka stylist au as briefly described in this tag)

warning: 18+, smut. probably grammatical errors, typos.

au masterlist here

-----

“sorry—‘m sorry”

you’re pretty sure those are some of the only words that stumble past his lips as you go down on him. perhaps an apology for his ring getting tangled in your hair, trying to keep you close. but to be honest, the more cynical part of you hopes it's pure regret for fucking someone else just hours before.

it was not strange for you to crave a nicotine hit at this time, more often than not stepping out the bus to smoke a cigarette or two prior to calling it a night, that first inhale always making your head buzz a little as the all-too-familiar warmth runs through your limbs, a much welcome sensation to try leave the tiredness behind.

every day was like clockwork. bus arrives at the venue. stage and lighting are assembled. band soundchecks. you have a quick dinner. then it's time for him. after all, it's what you're here to do, work as matty's own personal stylist during the tour.

you had no clue luck had finally struck when you opened those dms earlier this year.

(13:43) trumanblack: hey (13:43) trumanblack: i found your profile via my friend (13:44) trumanblack: i really like your style n you look pretty cool

(13:58) trumanblack: sorry if this sounds creepy. promise i'm a real human tho (13:58) trumanblack: x

you didn’t recognize him. however from a swift scroll through the feed, you gathered that his name was matty. apparently the front man of a seemingly popular band with a fanbase head-over-heels lusting for them.

mostly him, though.

you couldn't help but gaze at his lanky frame and pale skin adorned with ink, zooming in on certain posts to try decipher what they were. he definitely had a point of view when it came to dressing himself—sometimes a bit messy and chaotic, but for the most part pleasing to the eye, a quality you appreciated given your line of work. his seemingly playful demeanour across photos made it seem like he was perhaps younger than you, this time a google search confirming that, in fact, he was born three years later. april 1989.

countless press photos appeared under his name and you spent the next half hour swiping back and forth between articles, finding him intriguing enough and giving you the surge of confidence to respond.

and that's basically why you're leaning against this tour bus now. the friendly banter with a stranger led you to travel the world and do what you enjoy most. the fancy clothes. the colourful glitz. the wild after parties. this stuff that you always dreamed about was somehow now your own reality that you often had to pinch yourself to ensure you weren't just passed out cold on the sofa back home.

however, this almost too good to be true gig also led you to fall for a guy, the same one whose collar you straighten almost every night.

the most fucking cliché story. some assistant falling for her boss just months after being hired. it actually makes you feel sickeningly stupid, embarrassed. still you can't seem to stop digging yourself deeper into a hole with every hour you spend caring for him, not being made any better by matty being nothing but affectionate towards you behind closed doors.

you know he’s the reason your nicotine addiction has increased tenfold, always finding yourself alone at this hour enveloped in smoke, part of you still wanting to pretend you do so to numb out the sleepless nights. took you a while to finally admit you did it as an attempt to cloud out any thought of him.

tonight’s really no different.

you’re not sure how much time has passed, but it’s enough for the cold to start settling on your skin. perhaps it’s your queue to stop and go back in. you snub out your cigarette, watching the red embers fade just as a car rounds the corner. it halts to a stop only a few meters away, and you catch the faint sound of a door creaking open, followed by the murmur of voices filling the night air.

then you hear it. that unmistakable high pitched laugh that can pull you awake in a single second. him.

and, of course. you immediately know why.

you’d learned pretty early on this was a common end to the routine: matty picks up a girl at the gig, goes fucks her somewhere, and has her drop him off right after.

reminds you of the number of red and purple bruises you often cover up before his show. it wasn't rocket science figuring out the cause, yet he never really addresses it, choosing silence and averting his gaze as your fingertips dab foundation on tender skin, temporarily hiding any remains of nights prior.

you didn't even notice your eyes had closed. not until the car door slams shut, jerking them open just in time to see him blow a kiss in her direction. your heart fractures at the sweet gesture, but only hurts for a second before he's walking towards you, his stupid wide grin mending it better.

"didn't expect to see you out here.”

open button-up untucked. blazer over his shoulder. dark curls frizzy and disheveled. everything making it crystal clear he's just slept with someone else and still not you.

"only making sure you make it back alright so i can tuck you in." of course, you wish that were the case.

it's only a few seconds until he settles next to you, leaning over to kiss your cheek. soft lips gently brushing against your skin. the way he always greets you—but only when no one's watching.

"aren't you sweet, then?"

"trying my best." given the circumstances, it's pretty much all you can do.

he pulls out his beat-up cigarette box, flicking it open and offering you one. you decline, showing him the smothered tip of your own before finally tossing it aside.

"guess it must've been a pretty good time today," you lick the pad of your thumb before rubbing a lipstick mark off his jaw. it’s always ruby red or deep maroon. those same tones which he'll compliment you on. a similar shade you left on his lips the only time your mouth had been on his.

you finish cleaning the stains off his skin, matty murmuring a soft ‘thank you’ for having done so. it’s your turn to kiss his temple. “‘tis my job, you know? making sure you look good.” you should be mad, upset, have some sort of negative emotion. instead, you can’t help but have your heart intermittently flutter when he returns a sheepish smile, his arm wrapping around your shoulders to pull you close.

neither of you say much, but that’s alright. you rest your head on the crook of his neck, noticing how nice it feels. how nice he feels. you see the chipped nail polish on his fingers. the wrinkled fabric of his flowered shirt. the dark hair down his torso. the unbuckled belt at his waist. it’s only then that jealousy creeps itself back in and suddenly your shoes seem all that more interesting than the man standing by your side.

"why do you do it, matty?" the sweetness of your voice never fails to mask the envy you actually feel. or at least you hope it does.

"hmm?"

"the sleeping around.” you finally lift your head to look at him, surprised that his pretty eyes were already on you. the toothy smirk is gone, though, replaced by a thin, expressionless line at his lips. he doesn’t owe you an explanation. you know that. thus why you’re surprised when he actually starts to talk.

"dunno, really.” he lights up another cigarette and you notice as he gets lost in his mind. “i mean, it’s kinda difficult to say no to sex or a blowjob when they’re literally throwing themselves at you.” he seemingly tries to joke, but you don’t have time for funny right at this moment.

instead you wonder if it’s actually that easy.

“let me do it, then.”

“so—sorry?” he chokes mid-drag.

“let me give you a blowjob just like those other girls do. just like she did,” you point at the ghost of that green car from before, “ just tonight.”

it’s like his face cannot figure out which expression to land on, flipping between confusion, surprise, and something else that reads between need and desire.

“what the fuck?” his voice is shaky and it stings when he pushes you aside, yet, he doesn’t try hard to put much distance between you two so it’s not difficult to invade his space, standing right in front of him until your face is a breath away from his. large, calloused hands grasp your shoulders tight, halting you from inching closer.

“don’t.”

“what’s the difference between them and myself, then?” seems like a simple enough question to you. “why can they have you and not me?”

but he has no answer, at least not one that he can properly voice. his hold on you starts to lessen, perhaps giving you some permission to let you do whatever you want.

you bring your hands up to his and pull them away, kissing his knuckles before placing them on your waist. an almost incoherent ‘fuck’ leaves his lips, and, as if on cue, his head falls back willingly, giving you the space to kiss his neck. the faint smell of her still on him.

“please let me,” you whisper against his skin.

it’s not even a question at this point.

his fingers dig into your hips as you look at him once more, now noticing a mixture of lust and care in those almond coloured eyes. for a minute there, you get lost in them, admiring how his pupils dilate when your hands find the button of his pants, and how they shrink back as you finally undo the zipper. you don’t want to waste any more time—you’ve already waited too long—so you slide your palm down his pants to grab his half-hard cock, his eyes instantly rolling to the back of his head when you wrap your fingers around him.

“is this okay?”

you take the buck of his hips as a confirmation, giving you the courage to spread the precum along his length. he feels nice. having him in your hand seems just right and you only hope that he won’t regret this when he wakes up next morning in bed.

tonight is your turn to suck on the skin alongside his jaw, the thought of having to cover your own marks making you smile.

“fuck, baby.”

you’re not sure if he even noticed that sweet name leave his mouth, but you like the sound of it, and it’s all it takes for you to drop to your knees, dragging his pants and boxers down just enough to pull out his dick.

you look up at him once more, his left hand coming to tangle on your head, his other loosely holding his cigarette, almost done and fully forgotten. you kiss his tip, your gaze still not leaving his, thoroughly enjoying yourself as he bites his bottom lip each time your thumb hits that spot under the head of his cock. his scent is almost too much to bear so you take him in one go, feeling his cock twitch inside your mouth. it doesn’t take long before he’s fully hard and hitting the back of your throat.

the plastic taste of latex is still on his skin. a sad reminder that you weren’t his first tonight. that maybe you are an afterthought. just another girl who he uses to make himself come. but at least it means you get to have him even if it’s just this one time.

matty. that’s all that’s on your mind. once again. somewhat difficult to not think about him when you’re sucking him off, those heavenly sounds coming from his mouth making your own slick drip down your leg.

you pull away to catch your breath, using your hand to keep stroking him, pleasantly surprised when he pulls on your hair each time your red fingernails graze the underside of his cock. you do it again and again until he breaks and fucks your hand, apologizing for not being able to help himself. it’s a sight you’ll commit to memory as long as you’re alive.

now that you’ve had a taste, it’s only so long you can go without having your lips around him. and that’s what you do, take him again, hands urging his hips to fuck your mouth. to fuck himself senseless in the hopes that you’ll be the one he turns to when he needs somebody else. he doesn’t deny your request, throwing away the wasted cigarette to guide you, setting a pace that allows him to stay steady on his feet.

purely drunk on him, you're barely aware when his phone vibrates in his pocket, matty muttering 'sorry' before grabbing and letting it drop onto the grass at your side. nosiness always gets the best of you, so you can't help but glance down, catching sight of a text from an unsaved number asking if he could fuck her again tomorrow.

you feel his hips falter. he knows you've seen it.

“’m sorry.”

this time it's a mix between a cry and a whimper. perhaps he did feel bad. perhaps some part of him did care about you in the way that you needed him to.

you reach back to place your hand on top of his, making him push your head further into him, to thrust into you until tears pool at your lashes just as he spills hard and fast down your throat. his taste overtakes every cell of your being as you swallow, feeling him soften against your tongue before you reluctantly pull away.

you didn’t even realize your knees were so sore until you stand up, not wasting a second to ask him is he's going to see her again the following night.

"do you want me to?" his thumb wipes away some of his cum off the corner of your lip. you reach out to suck it, slowly shaking your head in response.

he laughs nervously as his mouth clashes against yours, stealing both the air from your lungs. this wasn't the first time you’d kissed, but this wasn’t like before. the way he quietly moans against your lips. the softness of his fingers resting on your face. the crinkle at the corner of his eyes when he pulls back.

"can i see you tomorrow, then?"

you could’ve sworn you heart stopped. can you truly believe those words after watching him leave you behind all those nights? the soft circles his thumbs draw on your skin do feel sincere, the reassurance you need to perhaps let him in, give him a chance even though you know it’s a slippery one.

it’s your turn to brush your thumb against his mouth, slowly pulling at the bottom lip and watching it bounce back up into place. you kiss him one last time before confirming 'okay', immediately turning to finally head back in. not wanting to linger for too long in case he changes his mind.

you catch his reflection on the mirror, noticing as he tucks himself in, and it’s that slight smile on his face which keeps you awake for hours on end.

-----

for this lovely anon here. thank you for the inspo :) <3

[syoddeye]

consequence / ink

price x f!reader | 1.6k words series directory tags: alcohol, miscommunication (resolved) a/n: john is a down bad, as the youths would say. thank you to my beloved @/pfhwrittes for britpicking. ☕

her cast is gone. a sleeve hides the arm, but it’s clearly off.

john holds the door for a customer, unsure if he ought to take another step or retreat while he can. he tried to compose a text on the flight, on the drive, in the shower. a heads-up, a ‘hello, i’ve returned, i’m sorry, don't worry about my face when you see it’—but he couldn’t. somehow, he thought simply turning up would be better.

when she spots him, the look on her face says a text would’ve been the right call.

ah, well.

she glares over the other man’s shoulder as he pays. he’s truly awful because it only makes him happier to see her. if she didn’t care, her face would be a blank slate.

the man takes a short eternity to move to the end of the bar. john checks to ensure he isn’t holding up a queue he knows isn’t there, if only to buy another second—

“yurbeck.” she blurts out.

“sorry?”

slower, she repeats herself, “you’re back.”

“i am. you’re healed up.” 

“you’re not.”

the black eye he sports is ugly but faded. yellowish, with ugly splotches of blood still pooled beneath the skin. he’d like to say, you should see the other guy, but the bastard’s probably jaguar shit by now. instead, he shrugs. “looks worse than it feels. can we grab a drink when you’re off?”

she glances and frowns at her coworker, who’s clearly listening in over the noise of the espresso machine and sighs. her uncertainty is as plain as day.

“no.”

alright. damage control. he can fix this, he thinks, heart crashing into his gut. he didn’t leave her on bad terms. “listen, i know—”

she interrupts a second time. “we’ll go to mine.”

his mouth shuts, teeth clacking. he won’t argue with that.

~~

before you leave the café, you check your last exchange.

>> thanks for dinner the other night. i had a wonderful time. unfortunately, i won’t be by for a bit.

> ominous > prison?

>> not quite. work. i won’t be able to text.

> well don’t be gone too long > i might forget your order

it’s ridiculous, in hindsight, all your worrying over a man you assumed ghosted you. a regular you took a stupid leap of faith for. the shopping trip was a way to test the waters, and despite an awkward intensity he seemed desperate to hide and his bad jokes, john charmed you. even when you extended the exam to your place, he passed. no snide comments about cece or the decor. he helped with cooking without being asked. washed the dishes. it was a wonderful time. he said it. you believed it.

but two months isn’t ‘a bit’. it’s a disappearing act.

you say as much, as annoyed with yourself as you are with him. he quietly concedes he could have explained better. you tell him friends don’t go MIA for weeks. he laughs.

~~

“funny you should say that.”

“what?”

john stares hard at her profile as they walk. this part is always hard. pivotal. he puts it simply: “i’m in the military—special forces. that’s why i was ‘MIA’, as you put it.”

her brows raise, but she doesn’t falter. “oh.”

his lip curls. he’s been cussed out, fawned over, and ditched entirely for sharing his profession. no one usually reacts so little. it’s a divisive topic. everyone’s got an opinion. 

“that’s it? oh?” john echoes, trying to tease something out. he once listened to her harsh critique of the illegibility of packaging at the café—he cannot imagine her indifference as genuine. “you can ask questions, y’know.”

“okay. where were you? what were you doing?”

crawling on my belly through mud and fending off giant cockroaches. shooting. getting shot at.

“seeing the sights, meeting people.”

that withering glare returns, but it’s shorter-lived this time. she huffs. “see, i assumed ‘special forces’ means it’s the type of military business you don’t get answers about.”

“yes and no. i can’t compromise my clearance.”

“what can you tell me?”

he smiles when she sneaks a look, irritation giving way to curiosity. “i sunburn very easily.”

she snorts. “no way, not with that complexion.”

“and, i have thirty, forty mosquito bites where the sun doesn’t shine.”

john’s bruised cheek hurts from grinning as she laughs. this is the first time he’s heard it uninhibited, neither bitten back nor politely smothered by a hand. he needs to brush up on his humor. he needs to hear that sound more often.

“sorry. i’m a mess.”

john aligns their shoes and removes his jacket. it’s hardly messy. her flat appears mostly unchanged, except for the small mountain of citrus on her dining table. a single banana. she starts to sweep it into a plastic bin, but he catches a stray orange, and his thumb drags over an odd indentation. he turns it in hand, eyebrows pitching at the sight of a rose etched into the skin.

“is this…?” 

he watches her press a machine into a foam insert, then hurriedly zip a case shut. the look on her face clearly says he wasn’t supposed to see that. 

she takes the orange and shrugs. “something i’m having fun with. a new hobby.”

“solid work for a hobby.”

“don’t tease.”

“you’d know if i was.” 

she excuses herself to change after setting the bin aside, stepping over a wary cece. the cat stands guard at the mouth of the hall. unimpressed. he can practically hear the and where have you been?

john gives the cat a fond but tight smile. he’ll need to get in good with her again, too, it seems. he checks the water bowl before settling onto the couch. cece follows to investigate, her tiny black nose tapping his knuckles when he offers a hand. 

her aloofness swiftly melts after he coaxes her into his lap, though he suspects that the subsequent stabbing of her kneading paws is her brand of punishment. little thing seems to relish it.

“you can move her if she’s too much.”

his face lifts, and he wonders if the cat feels the palpitations in his chest.

given what he’s only just learned, he shouldn't be surprised, but the patchwork tattoos decorating her arms steal his breath anyway. the impulse to touch is instant. to trace every fine line and jealously ask where she had them done and by whom. 

he grips the arm of the couch hard, and cece pauses her biscuit-making, eyes half-lidded and judgmental. dismissing the cat, he nonchalantly places a throw pillow over his lap and scrubs a hand over his face.

the plot thickens.

“nice ink. didn’t realize you had any. makes sense.”

“yep. twenty-one. mm. no. twenty-two.”

far more than what the shirt shows. “any damage?” 

her head tilts as she cracks the refrigerator, pulling two bottles by their necks. “nope. don’t got anything there.”

john takes a beer as she plops down. she tucks her legs beneath, and he studies the artfully drawn black shapes on the one arm: a network of barbed thorns and flowers, a woman contorted into a skull, a mouse sleeping in a sardine tin, a stamp, and several stars.

“do you have any?” she asks, taking a swig.

nothing as lovely as hers. the first and last instance john had time to sit for a piece, he was clean-shaven and further from the thick of it. but she’s shown him hers; returning the favor is only polite. “one.” he sets the bottle aside to ruck up his left sleeve. she shifts, and the tips of his ears redden. fuck he wishes it wasn’t so—

“traditional. ha, had you pinned for the type. cute.”

cute. the ink has faded into muted tones, the lines softened. the mermaid’s once coy smile blurs into a vague shape, and now that he looks at it, the anchor’s shank is slightly crooked. the subtle, natural distortions of time make the mermaid perched in the curved arm of the anchor appear as aged as his face.

“can i?” 

she extends a hand. has she touched him before? intentionally?

“yes.”

her fingers follow the lines without an ounce of hesitation or hovering. the corner of her mouth quirks when john instinctively squeezes his bicep, the mermaid’s blue tail flexing under her thumb. he can’t tell what she’s thinking despite watching her pretty eyes. he simply laments he doesn’t have more to show her if only to keep her this close.

john’s focus narrows to the heat of her hand as it moves. he imagines five perfect ovals burning into his arm hair where she grabs and adjusts her view. that his skin might melt, and her palm would graft to his limb for all time, barring surgical intervention.

the first words out of her mouth in a minute are a bucket of cold water.

“six inches, right?”

“what?”

her gaze flicks up. “from the tip to the base?” a prolonged beat passes before she adds, “or, i guess, to the fins of her tail?”

she’s gonna be the death of me. 

“i think so.”

“it’s aged well.”

“ah. you’re taking the piss.”

“you’d know if i was.” she echoes. “i’m serious. i’m guessing it’s fifteen or twenty years old? it could look worse.” her nails scritch in a tight circle for a half-second, long enough that he might combust, but she pulls away and swirls her beer. “why’d you stop at one?”

“busy schedule. and i don’t want to be too identifiable.”

“yes. the chops are the subtler choice.” she smiles behind the bottle. “now i’m taking the piss.”

john thinks of precisely three responses to her cheek, none of which make it to his tongue. he sips slowly, catching on a slip of skin when she stretches, the hem of her shirt lifting just so. a tempting black line practically hooks his eye before it disappears.

“oh, you’re funny. got me curious, though. which one was your first?”

her legs straighten, and she pushes to her feet. “it’ll be easier if i show you.”

[chaoticloving]

my muse

harry styles x reader (masterlist)

summary: a lil blurb about the important moments leading up to Harry's wins, and little after <3

warnings: implied smut

As they’ve grown up and gotten use to being in the spotlight, Y/n and Harry have learned to enjoy teasing their relationship to the public. They still play dumb in interviews, even when the evidence is stacked against them, but as Y/n and Harry get older, they start to not care about the publicity of relationship.

One of those ways was going to events together. Ever since they've gotten invites to these types of things, their plus one has always been each other; whether it was the grammys or the oscars, they always were right there to support each other.

Tonight was no exception.

Harry was fidgeting with the rings on his figures as they were in the limo, waiting in the queue to get out and walk the carpet. He lifted up the ring on his left ring fingure to reveal a tattoo, one that matched the one on Y/n's same finger.

Y/n noticed Harry’s gazed on the ink and nudged him. “Don’t tell me that’s the one tattoo you regret.”

Harry’s smiled and shook his head. “Never would regret marrying you.” The inked band was delicately done, matching their actual wedding bands perfectly. Y/n took off one of her rings to reveal her matching one too, putting her hand next to Harry’s larger one.

“You’re going to do great tonight.” Y/n reassured. She squeezed his hand three times, a simple thing they did for each other just as a way to show their love. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

They were blinded by the lights before they got the knock of the window from Harry’s security team. For shaded windows they did nothing to stop the bright flashes.

"Ready?" Y/n nodded and slid her ring back on. She followed Harry out of the limo door and put on a smile.

"Harry! Harry! Look this way!"

"Y/n! Harry! Are you two official?"

"Harry! Are you going to go home with Y/n?"

They smiled as they posed for the cameras. After nearly ten years of the "are-they-aren't-they", you'd think they would get over it.

"Hey." Y/n whispered into Harry's ear. "You're doing a costume change right?"

"Yup."

“Want me to give you a pre-celebration present?” Y/n whispered, her voice airy and breathy against her husbands ear.

Harry gulped, not sure if she’s implying what he thinks he is—he’s been caught out too many times with misinterpreting her comments. “What-ah, would that be?”

“Head.”

He gave a flashy grin for the camera.

“Thank you for the pictures but I think it’s time we should go.” Harry announces to the photographers and interviewers lined up. He causes a commotion, but when does he not? He doesn’t care as he grabs Y/n’s hand.

~~

“I think that’s a new record.” Y/n jokes as she fixes her lipstick. “Get off from the couch and fix your hair. You look like a mess.”

“That was so good.” Harry practically moaned, still in his post orgasm high. “That thing you did with your tongue was truly some really great work.”

Harry was spread out on the couch of a small yet lavish room for performers of the night. It had a vanity, bathroom and small kitchen area inside--Harry thought he could live here.

“Nothing fancy.” She mumbled, but Harry wasn't yet done.

“And your hand groping my thighs and balls.” Harry gasped. "So good."

“Styles!” A loud bang, a distinct one at that. “Put your clothes on! I don’t want another Munich situation!”

Harry’s dazed was cut short by tripping over his old outfit—didn’t even take it fully off before Y/n went down on him—and racing to the hanger with his outfit for the evening. He knew that angry pounding on the door, and he did not want Jeff to see him naked again.

Y/n was giggling as she fixed her hair and got some spray to keep her makeup in place. "Stop ya laughin'"

Y/n shook her head as she got up from the vanity chair and opened the door, peeking her head out. "Jeff."

"Y/n." Jeff sighed and stifled a laugh. "Is he getting dressed?"

"Yup."

"Alright, just be out in five. Make sure he looks good."

"Will do."

She shut the door and was met with Harry tucking in his shimmery tank and buttoning the pants. Y/n smiled as Harry looked up, causing him to grin.

"Wha?" Harry grinned, walking over to his love. "Want another round? Could pay ya back."

"As much as I would love that I think Jeff is ready to kill us." They giggled as they lightly kissed, foreheads resting on each other.

"I love you."

"I love you too."

~

"And the grammy, for Album of the year goes to..." Trevor Noah held his breath as he opened the envelope, smiling as he read out the card. "Harry Styles, Harry's House!"

Applause rang out as Harry cupped his face with his hands and then reached over to topple onto Y/n--who was frozen with shock--engulfing her in the tightest hug they've had since their wedding.

"I-I won." He voice was shaky, breathless despite sitting. "They called my name right?"

They broke apart, staring deep into each others eyes as Y/n nodded, eyes watering. "Yeah, go accept your award!”

She pushed Harry away, towards the stairs and the award. Lizzo was filming their hug and kept her camera focused on Y/n a bit longer before she flipped it round and filmed her face.

"Shit." Harry's voice rang out. "Thank you for this award. Since it's a big one, I want to explain this album a bit more."

Harry cleared his throat before he spoke. "I wrote this album for my person. Someone that has been by my side for everything in my life. All of the big things and all of the things that caused me to go to my lowest, you've been there, and I hope you could tell by this album."

Harry looked at y/n directly, something that was not missed by the room.

"I always keep you in my heart, especially when I can't be with you physically. Writing about you makes it seem like you're there right beside me. And I want you to know how much I love you when we are apart, when you can't reach me or my mum won't let me hang up the phone."

Harry sighed, not sure what to say next, except for one thing.

"For family." Harry lifted up the grammy and applause rang out. He was escorted off the to the side of stage, making sure to catch one last look at his muse. He didn't want to be apart from her for much longer. He wanted to go spend time with her, but of course, photos needed to be done.

He tried to reach for his phone in his pocket every now and then, wanting to call his mum and sister, tell them the big news even though he knew they would be home watching it on their telly—no doubt they were calling Y/n as he poses for some updates on the boy—but he left it with y/n who no doubt was taking a bunch of photos of herself while waiting.

Harry ment everything he said about his family, his with his wife and child, even the little critters that he wasn't too sure of at first; Harry just couldn't believe his life was going this perfect.

Once he was finally released from the photographers hold, Harry ran back to Y/n, making a couple wrong turns along the way, but eventually running in to the girl he was looking for in a small room outside of where they were filming the show.

"I won!" Harry's voice broke, nearly in tears again as Y/n's head whipped from who she was talking to--Adele, who quickly excused herself with a smile-- to embrace her love.

"I'm so proud of you!" They squeezed each other until both could hardly breath. "You deserved both of those grammys, love."

She started peckering a bunch of kisses all over his face, hands now squeezing his so squeezable face. "What do you want to do now? Go back to the show? After party? I got us invited to a couple so you can pick-"

"I kind of want to head home." Harry admitted. "Spend some time with you and the babe. That's all I want now."

Y/n smiled, giving him one last kiss on his little stumble. "Not even sex?"

Thats caused Harry to smile, kissing her cheek. "As enticing as that sounds I think it would be best to keep that for the morning." Harry sighed, starring into the mother of his child, his wife, his love, his one and only's eyes. "I love you. More than anything I could describe."

"You're going to make me cry." Harry's own eyes started to water, kissing the corner of her eye. He pulled her down the hall, to the back, where he organized a limo to be able to drop them off home whenever they pleased. Now seemed like a good time.

Harry came, saw, and conquered. Now, all he wanted to do was spend time at home with the ones who mattered.

[kuroppiii]

  stickers ᵕ̈        boyfie!akaashi keiji x gn reader ˎˊ˗

⋮⋮ ˒ ₍ᐢ..ᐢ₎ 𖥻 ⿻ : where does he   ⋮⋮  get them from ?

📋 content     ♡ # 𝘧𝘭𝘶𝘧𝘧 🐮     ♡ # 𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘵 🥛     ♡ # 1.4k 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘴

🧸 directory ‹ ✩  like what you read ? check out more of my blog !  •ᴗ•

akaashi always handwrites you notes on special occasions. the first one you had the pleasure to receive was for your one-month anniversary. you had seen his handwriting on the assignments you’ve worked on together or the exams he’s gotten back, but that was the first time you saw his written words dedicated to you.

you’d be lying if you said that first note didn’t make you tear up a little bit.

he always uses a black, fine tip ballpoint pen when he writes his notes to you. his handwriting is practiced and wispy—you can tell each stroke flows through to the next yet it’s not rushed, it’s careful. you know that because his words indenting ever so slightly through the paper they’re written on is evidence he’s a little heavy-handed as he translates his words to you through ink. it shows he really means those words you read off the page.

and another charming detail about your ever-growing collection of “keiji notes” is that they have stickers on them. small ones, blink-and-you’d-miss-it ones. in the margins, or in the corners, or even right by where he signs his name—laying claim to the inky confessions precededing it.

but for the life of you, you can never seem to find where he keeps them. the stickers, that is.

you’ve been together for a little over a year now—a year filled with many, many stickered notes—and yet you’ve never seen a single sticker sheet in his possession.

not in his bag…

nor his locker…

not in the drawers of his room’s desk…

nowhere!

and other than where he kept them, you had plenty of other questions. how many did he have? where’d he get them from? when did he get them? you spend so much time with him yet have never seen with your own eyes him buying them.

it was like a special mystery to you; something yet to be discovered in you and akaashi’s relationship that kept it fresh as long as it remained a secret. to preserve this little bit if whimsy, you never voiced out your curiosity. a silly part of you was convinced if you dared to even mention the stickers, next thing you’d know, they’d stop appearing in your precious notes from akaashi.

so you let it be. you accepted it without asking your questions—occasion after occasion, note after note…

،   そ   ✧   の後    🌱 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗻 ...

that was until one day: a friday night in winter as soon as school got out for the week, when the two of you were at a local corner store, splurging on snacks for a cozy night in with akaashi at his house. you had lost him in the fluorescent-lit aisles in your excitement to assemble the ultimate date night feast for the two of you.

after you’re finished carefully selecting the ramens and drinks and chips you concluded would perfectly accompany the queue of movies you and akaashi had picked over the past week’s lunch breaks, you start to roam the aisles to reunite with him.

peeking over the mountain of cheap treats you have balanced in your arms, you finally spot him in the very corner of the store, intently looking over a section of an aisle, “keiji, i’m ready to check out now!”

hearing your voice, he quickly turns around and you catch a sheepish smile creep onto his face as he leaves what he was checking out to make his way over to you. he immediately starts gathering some of the food items you have piled up in front of your face in his own arms to help alleviate your load.

with each new small snack pack akaashi took on, you get a clearer view of which aisle the two of you were standing in—it was the stationary aisle.

you look further down to where your boyfriend just was. he was looking at the corner store’s sticker sheet selection.

so that's where he gets them from.

“you think we’re really going to finish all this?” akaashi’s voice snaps your attention back to him. now with his own arms holding up a dozen or so items, he starts heading toward the self-checkout.

without getting a moment to further think about catching your boyfriend red-handed (sticker-handed?), you start trailing close behind—pointing out something along the lines of how he always pays for your date night food expenses, and so he could simply ask you to return some of the items back onto the shelves if he was so concerned.

and as the items get scanned (beep… beep… beep!) and akaashi packs them into the provided ‘thanks for shopping with us!’ plastic bags (all for him to carry out the doors of the corner store himself, so that you don’t have to worry about lifting a single finger), he defends himself with something that sounds vaguely like, “you’re too cute for me to resist. that’s not my fault!”

،   そ   ✧   の後    🌱 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗻 ...

you both make your way back to akaashi’s place under the street lights, alternating between periods where you can see each others faces lovingly looking at each other and small stretches of time where you have to rely on your voices to communicate that same emotion.

akaashi always had a way with words, written or otherwise. he’s quiet with his volleyball teammates or when he’s in class. with you, however, he makes sure your voices always mingle in his ears no matter what—always asking you to elaborate on things to hear your voice more or telling you about all the mundane things about his day that reminded him of you.

but while he thought he may have diverted your continuously flowing conversation away from the corner store sticker incident, he thought wrong.

“how many stickers do you have?” you quickly ask in a hushed voice as soon as your back-and-forth banter reached the smallest lull, beating akaashi to the punch with one of the questions that have been floating in your mind for so long.

“hm?” his voice perks up.

“stickers. like the ones on the notes you give me…” you trail off, as it feels weird acknowledging the childish touch to the heartfelt paragraphs you’ve been receiving for so long.

you’re both passing through between street lights, but you can almost hear akaashi’s smile grow in the dark as he asks, “you saw me in there looking at them?”

“yes!” now you’re in the light, and his smile is in fact there, making your heart skip a beat. but you push that thought away—he can’t charm his way out of this one—as you push him further, “now tell me! how many do you even have?”

“hm…” the rumble of his hum slices through the chilly night air as he thinks, “i have a few holiday ones, for when i write cards for the team—santa hats, birthday gifts, volleyballs, stuff like that."

“the stickers i get don't look like that,” you comment questioningly.

akaashi agrees with you with another calm hum, “yeah, well… i only really started buying the cuter stickers when– when i started going out with you, so—"

you feel your face warm up despite the cold breeze gliding past the two of you going down the street, “you still haven’t answered the question: how many?”

your boyfriend sighs and shakes his head lightly, “fine, let’s just say i have enough to keep making you notes for the rest of our lives. does that finally answer your question?”

very much delighted at his answer, the corner store bags clutched in akaashi’s hands rustled as you suddenly fling your arms around his shoulders once you reach the next street light.

akaashi lets out a huff at the sudden embrace but when he turns his head to face you, you can clearly see his smile hasn’t faded away one bit—just as content with the notion of his answer as you were.

“you really mean that?” you tease in a whisper, fingers playing with the hair at the base of his neck.

“of course i mean it,” he whispers back. he means it like he means every word he’s written to you on the page. he means it like every moment of every day he spends with you.

you lean in for a soft kiss, feeling your smiling lips against one another. akaashi’s hands are still occupied with the bags, so your arms hug him tighter and closer before you two finally pull away.

“where do you keep them?” still so close that your lips brush against akaashi’s as you speak, you try to question even further.

“oh, i can’t tell you that.”

“why?”

“can’t have you finding them and spoiling them for yourself. some of those will be for our wedding one day, after all.”

[mywrittengartgallery]

PEDRI - Second regard

Words : +4,6k

Warning : Fluff / medical terms 

Summary : You had never believed in love at first sight anyways. Neither had Pedri. That’s probably why both of you had needed another chance to meet. 

☁️  

“I can’t do it Martha !” you gasped, a stressful wave taking over you. You clutched the jersey you were holding, close to hyperventilating as you were frantically looking around you. Oh, how much you hoped he wouldn’t show up.

“Yes, you can, obviously you can. You just have to use that pretty mouth of yours and to stretch your arm…” she rolled her eyes before pushing you a little bit forward. You stumbled, turning around with a dark gaze, ready to swear at her. She only shrugged before pushing you again, more gently this time.

“It’s nothing Y/N, really!” she really tried to reassure you, but she had put you in this situation in the first place, so she could keep it. You gulped and took another step, eyeing the counter where a little group of people were waiting.

You might want to know what was going on? Well, you had been waiting at the fcb shop for Pedri to sign his jersey, with a bet weighing on your shoulders. It’s a combination of several things that led to this: to begin with, your brother’s birthday in a little more than a month who was a big fan of the mentioned player, then your university having some sort of deal with Barça and so allowed you to meet some of the players this afternoon. They thought it would be good publicity for the club to show that they cared for the Barcelona youth, even if they had nothing to do with football. Obviously, you had taken it as an occasion to get a special gift for your brother’s eighth birthday, even if it meant losing three hours of your time, you might as well get things done. However, your friend, who you happened to share an apartment with, had other ideas. She knew your taste in men, she knew how you liked them and she had always joked that your brother liked his players like you liked men. With an entire thinking process, she had come to the conclusion that you just had to try something with Pedri. She had probably occulted the part where it wasn’t only your choice, like the boy had probably a girlfriend and if not, well he had many many girls to see before even thinking about you. In the end, with her pushy comments and the drinks you had had the night you had discussed it, you had agreed to give him your insta. Here you were now, completely regretting your life choices and contemplating chickening out.

“Oh, here he comes…” she had whispered it but it felt like she had screamed it to your ears. God, your hands were shaking and you were already feeling ashamed. He would so reject you, you knew it. It’s not even like you cared that much, you weren’t really interested in him, you hadn’t even paid him a second thought, but a bet was a bet. You didn’t feel like getting humiliated in front of everyone. That was what was disturbing you, and if someone had the guts to film this ? You would just die right on the spot. You finally looked up, feeling lightheaded, and took small steps while other students were taking pictures and asking him to sign their shirts. The queue was getting shorter and shorter, that was just awful. You weren’t sure if you would have preferred being at the end of the queue in order to brace yourself, or right at the beginning so you wouldn’t have had time to think and just going through the motion. Stuck in the middle ? The worst. You looked around, other players were there too, each having their own counter. You had recognized De Jong, Dembélé and Koundé. They seemed, nice…

“Y/N, come on!” Martha whispered as she nudged you. Alright, only one person before your turn. The blondie slipped a small paper in your hand, your insta in black ink on it. It could have burned your hand with the way you retrieved it. You tried to rationalize. He was a normal boy: your age, brunette, not that tall, a little bit lanky, brown eyes and a nice smile. He didn’t appear that threatening and as you were watching him interacting with your fellow student, he seemed quite polite and nice. You had nothing to worry about, right? He wouldn’t laugh at your face or make fun of you in front of everyone ? That would be totally out of the way, degrade his reputation even. Sure… But maybe he could ignore you, or something. You didn’t know what to think and nothing seemed to ease you. Pedri gave back the jersey, thanking the young man and nodded, it was your turn. You took a deep breath, not daring meeting his eyes.

“Hello” it was practically a whisper but you were sure that if you had said it louder, he could have heard the shakiness in your voice. He smiled politely and returned the salutation, grabbing the jersey you were holding out.

“Name ?” he had asked as you were petrified. He definitely thought you were weird; you were so dumb. You cleared your throat and said your brother’s name. You saw how his movements were fluid, he was obviously used to this but it still amazed you, his writing wasn’t half bad you noticed. He gave it back to you as you thanked him, still not meeting his gaze. You would have to make sure Martha was going to regret this.

“Want a picture?” he asked, obviously he would, it was the usual thing to do after all the signing stuff. However, you were so out of it that you declined, earning a surprised expression from him and a roll of your friend’s eyes. You didn’t really want a memory of the humiliation that you would go through. So, no thanks; it was enough seeing him all around Barcelona, his face on everything. You didn’t need it on your phone. He shrugged and was ready to continue with your friends. It was now, you had to do it.

“Also…” you swiftly put your paper in front of him, his hands two centimeters away of it. He took it, opening it and seeing what you had written. He opened his mouth to say something but closed it right away. That was awful to live, his eyes seemed apologetic and to say he was uncomfortable was an understatement.

“Y/N, what are you doing ?” asked Daniel, another student who took the same class as yours. You laughed, a laugh that literally meant: I don’t know how to react, nor what to say so I laugh to make it less awkward but this makes it just weirder. You had forgotten about the rest of the students, they had seen it. Damn, your life was going to be hell.

“Bye!” you exclaimed and turned around, grabbing Martha’s arm, trying to go faster and faster towards the exit. Maybe you could go on a walk near the beach so you could drown in the Mediterranean Sea. Still, your tried to steal a look at him, see what was his reaction. He had dismissed it, carelessly giving it to his manager. The older man was talking to him, probably asking him what to do with it. The Canarian had only shrugged. That’s how your paper met the bottom of the trashcan. You would lie if you denied that you hadn’t felts a small pang in your chest.

___

“You analyze it and make a full report to me after you’re done” you nodded, internally rolling your eyes at the doctor’s words. It would be your fourth ECG this morning and you were more than annoyed with counting the squares within the R-R interval, the red color of the paper messing with your eyes. You followed her in a corridor that seemed way more crowded than before. Your brows furrowed, not remembering your supervisor’s schedule this full. 

“Lucas ! You make him pass the stress test alright ?” she, again, asked without much warmth in her voice, to the junior doctor. He nodded, just like you, and took a clip board with many papers. You followed him, joining another fellow student on the way, until you entered a room that was even more crowded than the previous corridor. 

“What’s going on ?” you asked, confused, to the brunette who seemed less surprised. You put your hands in your lab coat pockets while tiptoeing to see over the sea of people. 

“Well, the Barça sent their players to pass their stress test here, don’t know why though... Do they do this every year?” 

“Huh?” you had never heard of that before. You would assume that this club would have their own medical room and their own doctors, why come to a University hospital? Well, it wasn’t your problem so you shrugged and turned to the junior doctor that would lead the procedure in a moment. You had just one wish, that your patient wasn’t one of them because you weren’t confident enough to work in front of that much people. 

“So Y/N, let’s go there...” he pointed at another door that led to a smaller room and with far less people. “Our patient is Pedro González López, 19, born on the 25th of November, no known pathologies neither past surgical procedures. Doesn’t smoke, doesn’t frequently drink alcohol, lives in a pretty recent building, so no risks of contact with asbestos...” he delivered his speech in one go, reading his notes and going through the crowd, not looking if you were still behind him. Thankfully you had quick legs... Registering everything, you tried to anticipate for the potential questions he would ask you. You wouldn’t lie, you had felt a wave of relief hit you when you had heard the name. It wasn’t familiar at all, meaning he wasn’t a Barça player, so no crowd, no hawkin eyes, no possible judgment.

Finally you entered the room, Lucas, the Junior doctor’s name, directly going to the computer on the desk. Three large screens were displaying tables with numbers in many colors, one with an heart line completely flat considering there wasn’t anyone attached to the electrodes. A treadmill was on the side, cables and a mask hanging on one of the arc. He clicked on some settings, adjusting the ranges and choosing the datas he wanted to see. 

“So, what payload range should we use for him ?” 

You tried to think a little while remembering all of the infos he had given you.

“I would say 30W every 2 minutes?” he nodded, and typed it on the computer, not even glancing at you. You rolled your eyes and leant against the wall, making yourself small because you knew they kind of hated students being around. Sure, you didn’t have the biggest utility and you kind of were in their way but you had to learn at some point. While you were waiting like a kicked puppy on the side, and your senior was busying himself, you both heard a knock on the door, turning around at the same time to look at a woman standing in front of you. 

“Pedro is here.” she said, with a cold voice as she seemed pretty stuck up, with her black tailor and patent heels. Even Lucas looked surprised by the blatant display of disdain. However, he didn’t comment on it and made a sign for him to come. What was going on today? Everything seemed so weird, especially people. 

And everything just got weirder, even worse, awkward. A “your age, brunette, not that tall, a little bit lanky, brown eyes and a nice smile” boy entered the room. Pedro is Pedri apparently. Your eyes were wide and a deep blush had began to paint your cheeks. For the first time in your student life, you felt relief for being so unashamedly ignored and forced to raze the walls. You couldn’t do this, not with him. Lucas did his work, as usual, asking questions, writing everything down and taking in the youngster, obviously without showing any emotion, because it would be weird for him to do so. You were now making one with the wall, your hands glued to it. You couldn’t hear well what was said, from being farer than you should from the interaction, but now Pedri was taking off his T-shirt while sitting on a medical bed and you hadn’t been prepared for it. Quickly, you diverted your gaze in favor of focusing on the weird pattern of the floor. You wanted to keep it like that, until you felt eyes burning holes on you. It was your cue to look up again, what kind of nightmare was that? You did it, at first meeting junior doctor’s eyes which were void of emotion, normal, then Pedri’s. He smiled at you, a nice one that wasn’t the biggest he had in stock you assumed, but a faint one that still let  small crinkles form on the corner of his lips. His eyes were displaying a certain warmth, kindness, the type of look you have when you meet someone for the first time and you genuinely want to politely establish the first contact. That made you question if he remembered you, then you thought a little and probably not. To begin with you had your mask on, and he had probably met a hundred girls since the last time you saw him. So you decided to take it like that and sighed, relief washing over you as you relaxed a little. 

“Y/N?” Lucas voice interrupted your inner rant. He was now annoyed. 

“Yes?” 

“Are you going to take the constants or not ? Listen to his heart maybe ?” 

His voice clearly indicated you that he thought of you as dumb, and maybe, maybe just for this time, you would allow him to think that because really, you knew you had to do it and he shouldn’t have had to tell you to do it. 

That’s how you found yourself in front of the youngster of the Barça, stethoscope in your ears as you approached him. 

“That might be cold...” you said lowly, your voice just above a whisper, not daring meeting his eyes. Yet, you could feel him looking intently at you as you brought the chestpiece to his chest, his deep brown eyes detailing your face. The metal piece met skin, goosebumps running on his skin, and you saw it, just like you saw the shuddery breath he had let out. That had made you feel strange, a little fire budding in you. His heartbeat was soft, calming even. It was steady, not too fast and loud, easy to hear. And that made this budding fire just sprout sparks around. How could it be so intimate when you were doing this all day? You then went to his back, instructing him when to breathe in or breathe out, feeling his rib cage moving with it. 

“Do it entirely Y/N, so you can get used to it.” 

You nodded and went back to face the midfielder, shying away from his glances. You turned around the chestpiece, opening the smaller one so you could hear through it. With an hesitant hand, you put it on his neck, trying to find the carotid artery in the small area. He wasn’t helping much, especially when you felt his faint puffs of air meeting the skin of your hand. It was hard to focus and even more now as you were beginning to feel self conscious: you couldn’t find the soft thumping of blood. Finally meeting his eyes, you cleared your throat. 

“Could you turn your head please ?” you asked as you showed him the opposite way. He obliged without saying anything, letting veins appear, creating relief on his olive skin. Finally you found the right spot, hearing the steady rhythm that matched with his heart. 

“Everything is alright” you said as you straightened up, turning around so you could escape the grasp Pedri had on you right at the moment. It didn’t make sense: you could have sworn that you had never really been attracted to him. It had just been a bet about him, you hadn’t spared him a second thought, never thought of him like that. You could even say you hadn’t think of him at all, apart from the shame of this past moment that would hit you whenever you would hear his name. He had rejected you, not outwardly, but it had hurt you. Even without caring, the action hurt. And now this ? You wanted to say that it was the rush of seeing him right when you couldn’t imagine it, or not being prepared to see him again. Certainly a part of truth was there. But, attraction? This weird pull you felt, the way your breath would catch in your throat every time you got closer and had to touch him. Medical fields required some sort of intimacy, invasive touches and could easily make patients uncomfortable, but that was not it. It was something entirely different that unsettled you. His shy glances, your need to avoid it, the goosebumps... It was too much and so confusing. He was confusing because you couldn’t recognize the boy from the store right at the moment. His demeanor towards you had changed. 

Without having to be told, you took the ECG’s electrodes and put it on his naked chest, circling around his left pectoral muscle, small colorful dots contrasting with the tan of his skin. He was holding his breathe, you could sense it. Your touch was light, not wanting to apply too much pressure, avoiding to make it last a second too long. Yet, it made it just that more personal, because his body was trying to respond to it by sending shivers down his spine and quickening his heart rate. He was as lost as you, not understanding what was going on with him and his mind.

Minutes passed and the paper offering the heart line had finally been printed entirely. It had seemed so long, waiting for it in silence, not daring starting anything with Pedro.

“Y/N, can we discuss about it now?” the doctor who had sent you here said. You slightly jumped, unaware of her presence. She had came silently, looking intently at you while tuning out Lucas. You knew she disliked him, though you weren’t sure why and you weren’t really in a place to pry. She was looking down at you, her being way taller than you added to her severe stare could only intimidate you.

“sure, but he didn’t pass the stress test yet? I can’t make a full synthesis with that?” you said unsure. She crossed her arms and shrugged, not caring one bit about what you were saying.

“Stitches needed in the ER, so we just debrief this fast and then you go there.” she said, not letting room for debate. Not like you would actually try to go against her words. You nodded and unfolded the paper, putting in on the table as you took a pen out of your pocket. She came closer, arms still crossed. That was only now that you felt self-consciousness wash over you, not only was she testing you but Pedro was also interested in what you had to say. You couldn’t make any mistakes.

“There is no sinus bradycardia...” you said, unsure if she wanted to hear it.

“Why bring that up?” she asked, genuinely curious and you cheered inside, you had marked a point.

“Because half of the athletes have a heart rate inferior to 50bpm, also often associated with respiratory arrhythmia.”

“Is there one here?”

“No” you said, this time more confident in your answers. She nodded and scribbled down on the ECG. 

“Also, the QRS complex is hypervolted, which can be an explained by a right atrial hypertrophy, however the Sokolow index isn’t positive, therefore it’s benign.” she wrote down everything you had said and circled the lines you had talked about. “It’s a physiological adaptation from his heart, so he can have a wider range of adaptation through the exercise...” you added sensing that all the words you had said could put Pedro on edge. You had used scary words, hypertrophia isn’t generally a good sign, for anything really. You felt that it was the right thing to do to explain it better. She nodded again, passing the paper to Lucas and then, finally, she decided to put her eyes on you.

“You can go now, they are waiting for you.” and that was all she had to say. 

While you put back your stethoscope in your pocket, you looked up, meeting Pedri’s gaze. He smiled at you, a hint of something you couldn’t decipher tingling in his dark orbs. You waved lightly and left without a word. Why did you wave ?

What you didn’t know though, was that your action hadn’t phased him one bit, the contrary actually. He had found it endearing and maybe it only was the cherry on top. He had felt all of the tension clashing between you two during his auscultation, how his skin had reacted to the simple graze of your fingers, which had been so delicate. He knew you had felt it, if how you had seemed fidgety was to say anything. He hadn’t been able to entirely see your face, disappointment hinting its way in him, but your eyes could put him in this strange trance by themselves. How could they hold so much, sparks of concentration littering the deep color of your irises. And your voice, it was sweet, and the shy edge it held was even sweeter. The way you had answered everything with ease, how you knew what you were talking about, the over-explaining. That had left him wanting, no, needing more. Who were you ?

“Pedro? We will start in a bit” said his manager, who had been standing on the side all along. 

“Sure, but before...” he gulped and turned around to face the older man, “Could you find me the insta from the girl who was there?” he asked, voice low and a faint blush on the apple of his cheeks.

His manager frowned and came closer so this conversation could stay only between them, no curious ears catching words of what was going to be said. 

“The student one ?” at that, the midfielder nodded eagerly, pleading with his eyes. 

___

“I can’t believe we are here Y/N! That’s the best present ever!” your brother screamed as he held onto the barrier preventing him from falling down. His little jersey, with a giant eight on it, still looking a bit too big on him. What a coincidence that the number of years he had lived and that you were celebrating today was the same number printed on the back of the young man who had quite deviated your life from its axis recently. A fond smile found its way on your face as you watched over him, his fluffy hair ruffled by the wind and his grin that could light up the entire stadium. His eyes, which were a carbon copy of yours, were shining with happiness and you had never felt prouder of yourself. You had brought him this much joy, you kind of had accomplished your role as an older sister. Well, you hadn’t quite done it alone, if you were to be honest.

“I wish Pedri could have scored though...” he said still smiling, looking around the pitch for players. 

“An assist is still great hermanito” that had you ruffling his hair more. 

“Don’t worry, he will strike, sooner than you think.” Martha, who had excitedly accompanied you to the game, said while sending you knowing gazes. You rolled your eyes and threw her a middle finger while your little brother wasn’t looking. You exactly knew why she had wanted to come with you: if this girl wasn’t the biggest fan of football, she was on the other hand the biggest one of gossips. 

On the pitch, the Barca team was celebrating, hugging each other, thankful for the win today. Xavi seemed pretty content with the team, just like the culers all around the stadium. 

“Let’s go” you said loudly for your brother to hear as you grabbed his smaller hand, passing through the security and approaching a small area were other fans were waiting. You had been offered VIP tickets, and maybe you hadn’t told your brother how. 

“Oh my god! It’s Gavi and Dembélé!” you weren’t sure his voice was going to be there tomorrow with how much screaming he had done, and still was doing. However, his high pitched sound had attracted the attention of the two said players who came to sign his shirt, warm expression on their faces. Then, Lewandowski happened to pass by too, offering another smudge on the red color of the fabric. Your brother was shaking from excitement, stars falling from the sky to lodge in his pretty irises. 

“Y/N, it’s Pedri! Oh my god!” now that was a whole over level of excitement. You had never seen his eyes that wide. You knew Pedri was his favorite player, from the day he had signed with Barcelona until this night. Even if you had never paid attention to it, you felt like you had heard his nickname as much as yours coming from his mouth. 

The Canarian spotted the three of you, smiling shyly but still taking steps towards you. His hair were disheveled, some strands sticking to his forehead thanks to the ninety minutes and more of running around the wide pitch. His shorts had splashes of green that matched the grass he had met while being tackled many times. But he looked as good as ever, scratch that, he was hot. 

He grabbed the pen your brother was holding out to him and made him turn around so he could sign directly on the “8″, his signature standing out from the others. Then, he placed himself next to him, bending his knees so he would be closer, motioning to you to take a picture. Which you obviously did: you had caught two perfect smiles matching joyful, genuine, expressions. It was the most beautiful picture you had ever taken. However, you would show it to your brother later because now he was more preoccupied with doing a handshake with Pedri. After that, the older boy ruffled your boy’s hair, emanating so much affection towards him. It was the sweetest thing to see.

Your brother looked up at him, excitedly.

“Thank you so much Pedri, it’s the best day of my life!” you could hear his voice breaking a little from having been exhausted all night long. He looked at you, so drunk on happiness. that’s probably why he did what he did, he couldn’t possibly be thinking straight right now. “Oh! Also, did you know that my sister likes you?” 

You would definitely kill him once his fun was done. Your eyes went wide, crimson red being your new skin tone. That had Pedro looking at you, a smug smirk playing on his lips from the newly found information. 

“Huh?” you could see the playfulness in his eyes while he was openly teasing you. 

“Huh?” you responded, still on edge from everything. He chuckled and came closer, weirdly left alone by your brother who was showing his jersey to Martha. You knew she was faking captivation for your sake, and it was one of the rare times that you were thankful of her. 

“You like me, Y/N?” 

You bit your lower lip. He did the same. 

“Maybe I do?” you wanted to tease back, therefore not giving him straight answers would do. You saw him squint his eyes at you, containing a nervous laugh. 

“You like me, Pedro?” you asked, mimicking his question.

“Maybe I do?” 

☁️ 

I hope you liked it! English isn’t my first language so I hope I didn’t make too many mistakes!

Don’t be shy and tell me what you thought of it.

[theflyingfeeling]

so yeah, I went to the BC signing session at Nokia Arena today, because what else would I, a full-grown adult with a respectable dayjob, do on a wintery Saturday if not stand in a queue freezing my toes off surrounded by sugar-high teenagers for hours, just to exchange a few words with some band dudes? 🤡

(wrote this for me as to remember at least something about it afterwards, but you may read this as well <3)

The queuing part was every bit as shitty as it always is when queuing to any BC event really, but I was in high spirits and great company who were polite enough to laugh at my shitty amazing jokes 🥰

Niko was so soft and nice and aaaaaaaaaa the way he laughed so heart-warmingly at the silly (practiced) thing I said?? 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺 I want to put him in my pocket <3

So when I was a kid I used to collect stickers (this is relevant, trust me), especially dog stickers because dogs are cute, and I happen to have a full page of dachshund stickers that look exactly like Rilla, so I thought I'd give Aleksi a couple of those, and the other day I jokingly checked my local supermarket's sticker selection to see if they have any more fun stickers I could give him, and lo and behold I actually found some cool Spider-Man ones, and naturally I JUST couldn’t help myself 😂 and awwwwwww the way his entire face brightened up and he went "NO WAY!! 🤩" when he saw the dachshund ones aaaaaaa 😭💞😭💞😭💞😭 he said he'll put them on his laptop where he has also collected other stickers 🥺💞 I gave them in a Minigrip bag so that he hopefully won't lose them before he gets home (see the picture below for the stickers)

Aleksi’s hair looked super fluffy btw 🤲 you're welcome for this crucial information

The last time I saw Olli at a signing session I was so blown away by his beauty that I could barely speak a word to him, so this time I was determined to actually have some sort of a conversation with him, and I did succeed, even if we only talked about the weather (my go-to conversation topic) 😂 it's difficult to translate the Finnish word tarjeta, but basically I asked him how's the weather been in Oulu, and he said it's been cold ("Mites Oulussa on tarettu?" "Kylmä on."), but apparently he actually likes cold weather, my reply being "well I don't you fucking weirdo &lt;3"

Joonas heard this intellectual exhange of opinions and put in his two cents as he told me how they had recently visited Oulu and that it had been significantly colder than in Helsinki 👍

Also, as you may have seen from pictures by now, he was wearing no shirt under his blazer and yeah, I may have taken a good look at his rug while he was signing my totebag 👁️👄👁️ In my defence, he had it out for everyone to see, so where else was I supposed to look? His eyes? 🙄

At that signing session I went to in Stockholm last year (see the link above) I didn't manage to say a damn thing to Tommi lol (I blame Joel and Olli), so that was my other goal for this time and yaaaay, success! I didn't say much to him though, just "hi" and "ah darn, is that bloody marker not working? and here I thought I had bought a good one" ("Olin ostavinani hyvän tussin")

For context: I had brought my BC totebag (which I bought exactly 2 years ago tomorrow and have used maybe twice during all this time) with me for them to sign, and as I wasn't sure if they'd have fabric markers, I had gone and bought one for the purpose myself, and I had tested it (on paper) at home, but I guess the cold weather had affected the ink, so it was working quite poorly. They all did manage to scribble down their autographs though, and the extra time it took for them to do so offered me some extra time to chat with them, which was nice actually 🤭 (hehe sneaky meeee)

To Joel I said the new song is great ("Helevetin hyvä se uus biisi"), which he was pleased to hear. He gave me back my totebag but not my marker, so I had to ask for it lol, to which he said his brain was not working properly anymore (felt 💀), to which I said that at least he hasn't been standing in the freezing cold for hours, to which he said: "yeah, you're the actual heroes here" and hell yeah we are lol, I wouldn't do this shit for any other band 😌

Then he tried to give me the autograph card of the next person in line dfdggdgdgddd poor Joel, I guess his brain really wasn't working

Afterwards my mouth was SO dry from talking so much in such a short time lol, but I was happy I got to say most of the stuff I had wanted to say to them. I was planning to show Aleksi a picture of our family dachshunds like I had done in Stockholm, but with all the hassle with the marker I kinda forgot about it (I kept grumbling about the shitty marker to literally all of them except Joel), and anyway I didn't want to slow down the queue any more than I already was 🙈

After the signing session we had pizza and went to the local Christmas market that just opened today and I bought some organic coffee beans for my brother for Christmas, so all in all I had a lovely day (ignoring the cold-as-balls weather) 🥰💞

here are the stickers I gave to Aleksi:

and here's my freshly-signed totebag (why is Olli's autograph so cute 🥺)

(I know it looks like there are some strange stains on the tote but there really isn't, as I said I've barely ever used it, so I guess it's just the fabric doing a weird thing in that lighting)

[just-here-with-my-thoughts]

Soup of the Day

A Bad Batch (Crosshair) fanfic for @ninjadeathblade​ in which Crosshair finally manages to finish his soup in peace (inspired by this YouTube video)

~1500 words

Rating: General

If you prefer, click here to read on AO3

It was lunch-time, and Crosshair headed on autopilot for the canteen. The usual cacophony greeted him, clone troopers and clone cadets all talking, laughing, calling out to their friends as they lined up at their allotted time slot to collect their midday meal. Chaotic, disorderly. Thin lips twisting into a grimace, Crosshair thought – not for the first time – that he was glad he was not like them. Wished – not for the first time – that he didn’t have to take his meals alongside them.

Sighing around his toothpick, he joined the queue. He was hungry, not that his mood was much altered by this. He always hated spending time around the regs, and lunch hour was an ordeal to be endured for the sake of fetching food.

At least he could look forward to his meal. Soup today.

If he had a chance to finish it.

At the serving counter he punched in his number, 9904, so that the system would dispense his rations. He reached for a tray from the stack, smacking away the darting hand of a reg who dared to try and snatch the top one before him. For a moment he thought the trooper was going to square up to him – it wouldn’t be the first time the regs had started trouble with the Batch. He narrowed his ice-cold eyes into a withering glare, top lip curling in an unconcealed snarl. The other clone turned away with a shrug, letting Crosshair take the top tray. Cross wanted to believe that it was because he was intimidating, but he couldn’t help but wonder if that was pity in the sniggers of the other clones.

At least before he had had his brothers.

Now he was alone, the sole Batch-99 clone in this facility full of perfectly similar faces.

He banged the tray onto the counter harder than he intended, snarling away the thoughts. He liked his solitude. Things were simpler this way.

The vending counter had ejected his meal, and he loaded it slowly onto the tray. One glass of water. One side plate with a buttered, crusty roll. One bowl, warm to the touch, chunks of vegetable swimming in hearty nutrient broth. A small meal, but nutritionally dense, carefully formulated to provide the clone troops with all the energy they needed for their busy training schedules.

He took his time moving across the canteen to find a table, sharp eyes darting across the sea of brown-haired heads to try and find an empty bench. Better that than to be forced to take a seat beside others and feel the scorn of their rejection as they moved away. He weaved his lean body between jostling troopers, tray perfectly level, gaze never leaving its target.

Crosshair reached the empty table at the same time as a trio of clone cadets. Their orange and white uniforms were pristine, each jaw unshaved, skin un-inked, hair a regulation crew cut so that even Cross’s enhanced eyesight would have trouble picking one from the other at this stage in their training.

They would develop their own styles and personalities as they went through training. For now they were young and earnest and seemed about to sit at the same table as Crosshair.

He could see it already. An older clone trooper, ready to tell the cadets to give him a wide berth. Heard the whispers at the edge of hearing – or imagination? – the sly, snide words, calling him defective, warning not to mix with him lest his sour demeanour or harsh manner rub off on the impressionable cadets.

Before they could reject him Cross slammed his tray onto the table, hard enough to slosh soup over the lip of the bowl. The noise didn’t ring far in the general hubbub of the canteen, but it was enough to get the attention of the cadets who stopped talking and stood straight and alert, wary of this scarred, sneering sniper.

“This table is taken,” said Crosshair in a cold tone, folding his long legs onto the bench and straightening up his tray, aligning the spoon and re-centering the roll where the force of slamming the tray had knocked them askew. He started intently at the tray, shoulders rising as tension thrummed through his frame, pointedly refusing to look at the cadets. With some confusion they left, and Cross let his shoulders relax just a little. His jaw loosened where his teeth were clamped around his ubiquitous toothpick, and he discarded it.

The last time he had eaten lunch with three cadets, they were his three brothers.

Crosshair dropped his head to one hand, fingertips finding as always the pitted scars on his right temple and he grit his teeth as he tried to banish the ghosts of his lost brothers. Not lost. They abandoned me.

Thumping his hand onto the table in a fist, he straightened and with a determined movement grabbed the bread roll from his tray, tearing through the thick crust and using a soft edge of bread to mop up the spilled soup. The roll was still warm and as he took a bite his stomach growled, reminding him how hungry he was.

Please, let him finish this meal in peace.

He took up his utensils and spooned soup into his mouth rapidly, hissing as the first mouthful scalded his tongue. It was hard to taste it around the burning feeling, and he bitterly washed it down with cold water. With the second spoonful he was more cautious, blowing gently on the spoon to cool the soup but all the while his anxiety rising. This was taking too long. There was bound to be some interruption, some call for his attention and he would have to abandon his meal half-finished. The spoon was halfway to his lips when the tannoy went and he flinched, waiting for his number to be called.

“CT-2306, report to med wing. CT-2306, report.”

Not him. The tension in his shoulders eased a little. He waited for a moment before putting the spoon to his lips and taking a mouthful. This time the soup was cool enough to savour and he let it run over his tongue, avoiding the scalded area from the first spoonful. The veg chunks were soft and he chewed thoughtfully, enjoying the taste and the texture of a simple hot meal, something that the clones couldn’t always count on when they were on missions.

Unbidden the thought came to him – I wonder what the others are eating.

NO. He shook his head sharply, not wanting to think of it. Tech, neat and fastidious as he was in all things, choosing his foodstuffs methodically in even-sized forkfuls. The way Wrecker would hoover up any food left on their trays if they weren’t fast enough at eating – even though he was served a larger portion in the first place, to keep up with his metabolism. Hunter, making sure Wrecker didn’t snatch food away from Echo who as the newest of them was still settling into the routine of life in the ‘Bad Batch’.

They were gone now. No point dwelling on it. He’d given them a chance to join him – join the Empire. It would have been like old times, their squad being sent out on missions… No! He stopped the thoughts once more. His hand was trembling slightly and he dipped the spoon back into the soup bowl to still it.

He had been eating soup that day too. The day the kid came and sat at their table.

Everything had changed after that.

His left arm curled guardedly around his tray, remembering how the lunchtime brawl that day had robbed him of his meal, and his eyes darted suspiciously around the canteen. The other troopers were all engaged in convivial banter; none turned their attention to him.

Another spoonful of soup, and then he dipped the bread roll again and tore a chunk off with his teeth. He had made the right choice. They were the ones who were misguided.

They should all have been here, at the lunch table.

Clone Force 99, taking their rightful place in the new Empire.

His brothers, by his side.

“CT-4695, report to armoury. CT-4695, report.”

Another flinch, but still not his number. Crosshair realised that his bowl was getting empty – he tilted it now to scrape up the last spoonful, then wiped the bread around the edges to get every last scrap of flavour. Trying not to appear urgent he stuffed the bread into his mouth, the over-large bite filling out his usually hollow cheeks as he chewed rapidly. He felt sure that any moment he could be recalled to duty, and he had so nearly finished his meal.

And then he was done. The bowl of soup empty, side plate bearing nothing but crumbs, water drunk. Tension thrummed through his narrow frame, long fingers gripping the edge of the table so tightly that his knuckles whitened. He was waiting for the tannoy, sure it would call him to duty at any moment, and when no such summons came he couldn’t relax.

What was there for him to do with the rest of his lunch hour, except wait for the next order from the Empire?

Slowly Crosshair stood, picking up his tray and skirting the room to deposit it in the cleaning chute. He paused at the doors leading back to the rest of the Imperial complex, glancing up at the tannoy, waiting for it to call his number. When it remained silent he turned to stalk down the huge, empty corridors.

 What would he do by himself in the quiet hours of downtime, without the camaraderie of his brothers?

 ******

For context (do you need context?) the soup video is looping on repeat in my soul and I said to @ninjadeathblade​ that we needed a fix-it fic so that Crosshair could finish his soup. They challenged me to write it. I said I’m sure I could knock out 500 words about Crosshair eating soup.

I was wrong. Apparently I am unable to write 500 words about Crosshair eating soup. I have to write 1600 words of combined soup and angst.

(I have only watched TBB season 1 so don’t know if/how Crosshair will eventually reunite with the rest of the Batch! So this is just from season 1 and the soup video)

[dustyhyena]

38 soak! and/or 11 drastic!

so this one ended up longer than expected :] who's ready for dendy being angry at turf war?

11. drastic

Unbelievable.

Unbe-fucking-LIEVABLE.

A lone octoling of short stature stomped out of the tower, lowering the hood of their flap cap with one hand, phone with the official Ink Battling app open in the other. Their tentacles writhed in shame as they glared at the results on their phone screen from the match that had just ended. Good thing they had stepped out of the queue before their head exploded. 

5 matches, 5 whole matches of being met with NOTHING but the rapid blasting of a hydra splatling, sending them right back to spawn every time. It seemed no matter what weapon they chose, no matter how many booyah bombs they threw, the hydra was always waiting for them, perched in their stupid little safe spot in the Scorched Gorge. Just thinking about them sitting up there made the mimic octoling's ink boil. It was at a point where they couldn't mask their anger no matter how hard they tried - a reason they were grateful to be wearing a flap cap that obscures most of their face. Like they needed some prick to poke fun at how worked up they're getting over a game where you paint the ground.

How the hell were they supposed to be calm when that hydra was able to skirt by getting splatted only 3 times, but splatting others upwards of 9 times?! How was that ALLOWED?! Dendy's 2:6 K/D ratio seemed absolutely miserable in comparison. And they fucking hated it.

"Stupidass fucking, piece of shit," Dendy mumbled under their breath as they stomped around outside of the battle tower, skillfully keeping their facial expression hidden from any passers by. "The fuck you need a firerate like that for anyway. Fuck you, fuck your life, and fuck-"

The octoling stopped abruptly, spotting something in the corner of their eye. Namely, someone.

Grey sweatshirt. Cargo pants. Those stupid fucking socks with sandals. And that mess of a hairdo.

Of all the people to be walking out at the same time as them, of fucking course it would be the very hydra user they were quietly cursing out!

The squid didn't seem to mind or even recognize their presence though, as he ambled over to perch himself on one of the platforms next to the tower and whip out his phone, as if it was just another day for him. He looked… relatively unbothered.

And it made their skin crawl unlike anything else.

Something about being completely ignored made the octoling want to scream. How dare he?! Was this some sort of joke to him?!

Their wounded pride and boiling rage took the forefront, shoving all rational thought aside. They marched with purpose right over to confront their offender, pocketing their phone to walk with both arms, with an intimidating scowl to compliment.

"HEY! HEY, YOU!!"

The hydra user winced, having Dendy yell so loud and so close to his pointed ear. Frustratingly, though, that's about as disturbed as he seemed to be, as he looked around him before his eyes landed on the octoling below him. He simply smiled and raised a hand in greeting.

"Mm? Oh, yo." he answered back, his calm directly challenging the rage emanating from the cephalopod in front of him. "Ya need somethin'?"

"Don't act all innocent, you cunt!" Dendy spat back.

The inkling simply blinked and tilted his head.

"You think you're all high and mighty with your stupid splatling up there?" The octoling hissed, indignantly jabbing their finger in the inkling's chest (to which he barely seemed to react to, other than looking down at their hand). "Don't think I wasn’t gonna find you!"

The squid's relaxed smile dropped as he furrowed his eyebrows at the octopus, seemingly racking his brain. It was almost as if the only thing he was missing was a buffering icon floating over his head before his eyes lit up with recognition. "...ohhh, you're that one dude I kept splattin!"

"DAMN RIGHT!" the octoling puffed out their chest, before stopping themself after registering what the inkling had said. "Er- NO, GOD DAMMIT! Listen here buddy! And you better listen loud and clear! Cuz you're gonna find out the hard way that it was a mistake to cross my path!"

The inkling simply watched as they took their finger out of their chest and took a stance, pointing directly at him. The scarf wrapped around their neck flowed in the wind behind them theatrically as they raised their voice.

"My name is Dendy, and the next time I see you, I'm gonna kick your fuckin' ass!"

Dendy's pose didn't falter in the silence that followed, even as their eyes darted around to everyone who's attention they grabbed. The hydra user didn't even flinch, instead opting to reach into one of the pockets of his cargo pants and pull out a cardboard container of fries.

"Dendy, huh? Cool. You want a fry?"

"..."

This time, the silence managed to take a knife straight to Dendy's pride. They simply scoffed and stomped away, hands in pockets after they made sure to tug their scarf to conceal their lower face. Without looking back, they ran until they were out of sight. They could feel eyes watching their departure. For once, they wished the attention would be on anything else.

Fucking idiot, Dendy scolded themself. It's not even that big a deal. Just paint the ground better next time and stop getting worked up over nothing. It's not that drastic.

Even if they knew it to be true, their hearts would say otherwise.

Their name is Dendy, and they refused to be looked down upon.

–

Just a few moments later, the inkling’s ear twitched as he heard the sound of the doors to the Shoal open and closed, followed by a familiar distressed voice.

“Good god,” an octoling with curls framing his face and standard Shoal employee uniform stepped out of the doors, immediately walking over to the inkling. “Boon, the hell was all that shouting about? Are you okay?”

“All good,” the aforementioned Boon waved his hand and tried again to give his fry peace offering, which was happily accepted this time. Usually, he’d go in to visit the octoling to pass him some snacks over the counter at this time of day, but it seemed the ruckus from earlier brought him out from his post. “Sorry.”

“And why are you apologizing?” The octoling questioned, adjusting his glasses out of habit. He popped a few of the fries he had been given into his beak. “You were the one being yelled at! I came out to make sure you were alright- you really shouldn’t just stand and take that kinda stuff, y’know!” He paused for a moment, mulling over the possibilities. “...what, were you bullying that guy or something?”

“No, no, not at all,” Boon chuckled. 

The octoling raised an eyebrow at him.

“... I ain’t that kinda squid, Quincy. I wasn’t even payin’ that much attention to the rounds, or who was winnin’ or losin’.” Boon folded his arms. “You know how I play.”

“Yeah, and I know your ratio tends to piss people off, whether you realize it or not…” Quincy muttered, pulling out their own phone to refresh his dry Squitter feed as he sat down next to the squid. Boon makes a stupid joke about being ratioed that the octoling can’t help but at least snicker at before he continues. “The way they were yelling at you, I almost thought you splatted them like, fifty times or something!”

Silence followed.

“...well…”

"Aaand there it is."

“They weren't exactly uh, makin' it hard for me,” Boon quickly explained. “They kept running up to me the whole time expecting something different was gunna happen… I barely even moved.”

"What, like in plain view of you? You're a hydra user. Nobody does that."

"... Quincy, that is exactly what happened."

"... for real?"

"Repeatedly."

Quincy found himself a little less concerned about whether or not the other octoling was in the right, all of a sudden.

“Still, like-” Quincy pinched the bridge of his nose. “Couldn’t you have like, I dunno, gone easier on the guy?”

“I… really don’t know a nice way of saying ‘please stop running in front of my splatling.’ Haha.” 

"Boon, I'm being serious." Boon immediately straightened up upon hearing the familiar phrase. "I'd rather not have you be yelled at again, or have to tear an angry squid- or octopus off your face."

Boon scratched the back of his neck, remembering how furious the small octoling was. New-found guilt itched at the back of his mind. It somehow didn’t click until it was said to him that he really upset the poor octoling back there, but he mentally waved it off. Somehow, he was sure he’d see the little guy again. There was time.

“For sure. I’ll try that next time, Quince.”

[namuneulbo]

week one hundred and twenty two

week started off good with a successful job interview. i can't believe i got so lucky with finding a job. it was definitely worth spending an entire day on applying to like 50+ jobs. it's a receptionist job at a hotel quite nearby which is nice. it looks so fancy and the people there seem nice! it's an extra job so it's even less hours than part-time but honestly, that suits me really well. from my experiences from part-time they always end up giving me more hours than i can take and i end up feeling like shit. i am quite scared of being exposed to german and dutch though because i might've added those to my resume although i definitely only knows the basics, especially of dutch. i've been grinding duolingo to get my german back to the level it was a few years ago but it's still a long way to go.

on thursday i went out with l and his friends, more specifically, ONE of his friends and their friends. it was nice but the vibe was OFF. he's recently been replying SO DRYLY and now it was even happening in real life. it actually got me feeling so shit i ended up texting him about it afterwards and asking if everything was okay to which he responded "i'm just really busy rn," WHICH IS FAIR but i don't know, you don't keep your headphones on when i'm talking to you because you're busy... like i get not being able to meet as much but being busy doesn't equal acting like that when we meet up.

at least his friend was really nice!

on friday i queued all day with m and two other swedish-speaking finns that she apparently knew and, oh my god, the world is so tiny because one of them knew a lot of people i went to high school with.

we were queueing for the 1975!!!!!!!!!!!!! i actually didn't feel like it took too long. we would've gotten barricade if they didn't let the other queue in before us and i'm still so pissed about that because WHY ARE THERE PEOPLE WITH NUMBERS ABOVE 100 IN FRONT OF ME WHEN I WAS ONE OF THE FIRST 15 PEOPLE IN THE FUCKING QUEUE?!?!

at least they were good live. they played so many of my favorites, jesus christ 2005 god bless america, a change of heart... i only wish matty would've talked more. he barely said anything :(

i also ended up not getting any merch because the only shirt i wanted was sold out TT

conveniently, on saturday, i had booked an appointment to fill in some ink for my tattoo and i had to get up early and i was not having it!!! literally was more annoyed about having to get up and get ready than the actual travelling and getting the tattoo fixed. i had some time to spare before the appointment so i went by a shop to get a monster and also left the appointment with a kexchoklad that another artist gave to me. what a guy! forgot how good they were too... yum.

the rest of the day i played sims and watched family guy.

now it's sunday and i'm thinking about going for a jog. i would've already been on one by now if it wasn't for the bathroom being occupied for the past hour or so TT to be fair, i also take my fair share of time in there when i'm getting ready.

i haven't gone for a jog in so long since it's been winter and icy and just... not appropriate weather because you will never catch me buying a jacket and specific shoes and shit just for a little jog. i already bought a pair of shoes and workout clothes last year so i can grind during the summer.

sotw: the 1975 - a change of heart

[songs-about-girls-like-me]

chapter 13: an almost deleted scene

(a/n: lol this adds nothing to the plot but I decided to keep it in)

"Liv, get him!" Olivia and I were still playing superheroes now and then, and being on a bouncing house was a perfect place for it. I ducked under an inflateable arch and hid behind it while she attacked "Syndrome" who was almost always flying over us. At the end of it, we would just be playing to climb up to a small inflatable dome and pushing each other off of it.

It was ridiculously fun, even more when you were caught off guard and you would be aggresively thrown to a 1.5 meter fall, landing without even being able to position your body in any way, feeling like a stuffed dummy or something. It felt as violent as an action movie. I had just thrown Olivia on her back and I tried standing on my feet on the wobly surface and fell too.

"Ouch" we said together when my elbow got her leg. We were about to spring to our feet again but

"Hey, you two are out. You're Time's up." It was a highschool girl, one of the bunch who was in charge of the bouncing house for this recess. For a whole week in november our school would do this "Fraternity Week" which was like a charity fair which took place mostly during recess, and maybe some extra Time for special activities like attending a haunted house or the dance showcase. Despite that, the over all "fair-party feeling" bled through all the (almost) 8 hours of classes for the entire five days, leading to an absurd amount of doing nothing but play, and even fight, and a disproportionate feeling of freedom and chaos.

The girl kicking us out the bouncing house must have been 16 or 17, but she and all her classmates looked almost like adults to my 10 year old self, laying on my back on the ground with Olivia next to me. They looked like authority, even while giving the impression that someone could literally get killed inside and they would have no idea cause all they did was talk and flirt with each other. I looked at Liv on the bouncy ground and knew we should cave in and take the rest of our money out to buy more Time.

"Get out and queue again" said the girl, wearing two layered spaguetti strap tops.

We had to stand up and jump our way out like fools. It wasn't nice to feel the rock hard ground of the school yard after jumping around for 15 minutes, it almost felt like it was folding itself to get your feet arches.

"Fuck them, I hate when they do that"

"Me too" I agreed to being pissed as we made our way back to the line. We counted our money together. If we combined it, we could get another 15 minutes each, but we wouldn't have enough money to attend the dance showcase. We did some math and paid another highschooler for 12 more minutes on the bounce house each, then our game resumed by Liv throwing me against the inflateable arch and we both screaming laughing at how I fell.

Elizabeth was probably somewhere with the other girls, she had spent some money at the bouncing house with us but it was honestly too much what Olivia and I would waste there. Ella would probably be doing something a little less childlike, like going to get best friend certificates at the civil registry stand. When our Time ran out again, Liv and I went searching for her and found her with some girls but not MJ or Poppy, cause they were dancing at the showcase and had had to leave 10 minutes earlier. The three of them had actually gotten best friends certificates together which was crazy cause MJ still had her other friends, and Poppy hung out more with this girl called Abigail rather than us. They were printed in blue ink in a third of white bond paper and we decided to get one together the next day. People were buying frappuccinos and popsicles and donuts and I made a mental note to not spend aaaall my money on the bouncing house tomorrow. People were also getting married and getting secret admirors love letters and friendship letters and paper flowers on the "mail". Meaning some older girls were handing them out to all the classrooms at the end of the day. Joe actually asked Poppy to marry him but I think she said no, even though they were real-life dating lol.

When our recess ended it was Time to flod into the auditorium with the rest of primary school to spend at least an hour watching horribly choreographed and just half-entertaining dance numbers. I always got excited until I remembered it was kind of boring. Still, I always enjoyed it to a certain extent cause I really liked dance that much.

A lot of kids were still doing Michael Jackson tributes, and some were good. These girls who were a year above us and were popular for these performances did Lady Marmalade that year (the song that goes "Voulez vous coucher avec moi?" which was way too hot for people's standards) wearing "hip hop clothes". I liked it and thought the sexy factor was pretty cool, even if I thought it didn't hit AS hard as their performance of TiKToK last year. I remember people saying it was too sexy and sl* t shaming them a bit. Terrible. "Some people don't get dancing" I thought with an eyeroll. Our classmates equivalent to those girls were MJ and her friends, and they were performing Candy Man by Christina Aguilera (which felt a bit off since, if you recall, we had done the same song in jazz a couple of months back, but I decided not to think badly of them... even if it wasn't a popular song at the Time at all). They were wearing coordinated outfits with sparkly top hats. I thought the fits were ugly but the dance was fair, and we cheered for MJ. Then Poppy and Abigail performed umbrella by Rhiannah doing a simpler choreography, wearing baby pink mini dresses with spaguetti straps and also baby pink umbrellas. The fits slayed. They were critizised for wanting attention.

When we got out, everyone who had performed was taking pictures. My friends and I looked for Mary Jane and Poppy.

"You guys did great!"

"Really?"

"Yesss!" We said to MJ in the middle of the chaos, having to follow our line back to the classroom.

"Thank you, guys, love you!"

"You look gorgeous, Poppy!"

"I know! You too, girls"

The three of us left them behind to take pictures that would either end up in the school yearbook or over on FaceBook. These actually took over my feed for a couple days and it was kind of annoying cause some of these girls were so smug about their dancing and it was really not that good. And no one cared about jazz but us, so our dancing was irrelevant, while back in the classroom we had to see our classmates perform again with the school's cd player. Ella and I thought it was okay, since it was not fair to even compare the quality of the performances.

And okay, we all agreed, even MJ did, it was suss to do Candy Man. I didn't dislike them enough though, so I still clapped for them in the classroom and was glad to see their dance again, instead of doing math.

[harrison-abbott]

Clouds in my Head

He slammed the door after him. And it caught my pinkie finger … when he slammed it, I mean.

I mean, my little finger was lying in the gap between the doorway and door. And the door crushed the finger.

The pain was actually valuable in a way because it detracted from what’d just happened. I was on the floor in the first place because he’d just punched me in the face, hard enough to knock me over. My boyfriend. Yet I expected, as I heard him thunder downstairs, that he wouldn’t be with me much longer.

Did he know what he’d done to the pinkie? I suppose it was in second-effort to the fist blow, in terms of dramatic insult.

For a while I stayed there on the floor and held my crushed finger with the other hand. Then I sat up. And thought I was going to be sick and this dizziness made clouds in my head – so I waited for them to pass over and my wits to go clear. Then brought my other hand away.

The nail had come off from the little finger and it bled like … oh, like if you’d imagine a red ink Biro pen exploding. If that’s a good enough simile?

I gulped and the first thing I thought of was to take out a tissue from my back pocket. I’ve always been fond of tissues. They seem to bring a certain aspect of comfort, or homeliness, don’t they? For they have so many functions, aside from nose blows; they can wipe up spills when you muck up; can deal with any grimy stuff that you’d rather not deal with with your own skin.

Upwards, I stood. It was real quiet in the house and I paused and listened as if expecting a sound to give me the next cue.

Nothing happened and so I went downstairs. I locked the door. In case he came back.

Then I went into the toilet and opened the tap onto my bashed finger. As if the water might heal it with its elixir fluid. It’s crazy when something brutal happens to your body, physically: it tends to shun out everything else in terms of problems. Whether it’s money or relationships or family, etc. When you’re injured you revert to animalistic terms.

There was an A & E a mile away from my house.

I didn’t have work today. Didn’t have anything to do; so I put my coat on and left for the hospital.

Outside it was a lovely pretty birdsong filled day.

I saw one of my neighbours walking his dog at the end of the road. Luckily he had his back to me and was forty yards off, so I didn’t have to go near him: and then I took the side path off and away from him so he wouldn’t see me.

This new path was up next to the supermarket. On any normal day I’d go in there and get the newspaper. For today, a place like the supermarket gave me a vaccination for going to the A & E; the mass public panic, the widespread unease.

But, I’d have to deal with it.

Got to the motorway and the buses were filled with depressed people and cars with who knows what mood.

I walked through the next district with the tenement flats and the fields underneath them which must’ve given plenty hope and eventual failure to many young kids kicking balls about. There was nobody on the grass as I passed. And the goalposts had an eerie gesture, rather like dock piers in early morning, or market squares at night.

When I got to the hospital I didn’t quite know where to go.

I’d seen the building many many times because it was hard to miss on any city horizon; this mammoth complex.

There was a man inside an idle ambulance nearby, and I knocked on his window. He scrolled his screen down.

“Can I go into that entrance,” I asked, pointing, “if I have an injury?”

“Yes, you can.” His expression was genuine and concerned and was what belonged to one of the good people on the planet. That’s who I needed to meet right now and I was grateful to him.

When I walked into the hospital atrium there were around 300 people already there, 5% filled with nurses and paramedics and 95% with civilians with all kinds of intense problems needing solved. I waited in the queue leading up to the reception for fifteen minutes. And when I got there there was a lady receptionist.

“I have damage to one of my fingers,” I said. And showed her the wad of tissue. This was a mistake because I didn’t realise how bloody it’d become by now. She frowned when she saw it.

“How did that happen?”

“I was pulling the window down at home and shut it on my finger. I just did it too fast. It was stupid, I know.”

Just by the way she gazed at me I knew she knew that I was lying but she didn’t ask for any more details aside from my date of birth and my full name and then told me to go and sit somewhere in the atrium of three hundred people and remain there until somebody else called my name.

There was a little boy next to me. With his mama. He had breathing difficulties – as if his throat was on fire. I really wished I had the power to help him. And hoped that he would be seen before me.

He was. Some nurse came out of the sliding doors of the interior and called the family name and then the mother lifted up and took him away to her … and he buried his face in her upper bosom.

And a long time later somebody came and called my name too.

It was another female nurse.

“What happened to your face?” she said.

That’s what she asked after I lied about the pinkie injury.

“Nothing.”

“Your cheek is swollen and your lip is all discoloured.”

“That’s … No. I just. No.”

“Did you get beaten up?”

“I just …”

“You just what?”

“I want to get my finger healed up. Please. And that’s all.”

[kylo-wrecked]

She was painted under his eyelids and across the mall KFC’s duotone landscape, step printing even as she sat using a packet of chili sauce on a napkin like a piping bag. Ben took the white square in a tanned hand and turned it upside down, then right side up again. The chili ink dripped onto a paper boat full of fries.

"Yeah," Ben said, meeting Leaf's gaze with wrought iron from behind the napkin's fringe. "I am."

A ghost. But an imp? The edges of Ben's face softened as he studied the next character. Maybe once. Maybe in New York. Certainly in his dreams. Dreams which were night-dark, flashing red. Ben ate one chili-drowned fry, released the napkin like a paper offering, and sighed. His features fell gravely upon the dripping 鬼. His shoulders fell against the back of his cold, damp t-shirt, then in on themselves.

Life went on, swelling to Ben's right. A Hong Kong expat just joining the swiftly growing queue frowned in their direction. The young Malay woman behind the counter repeatedly called out a number, and the queue members started muttering. His ears would've burned had Leaf not been sat across him, smile step-printing, shoes brushing his.  

'Maybe I don't believe in my own existence.'

Ben stopped Leaf's reaching for another napkin by leaning and laying his collarbone over her forearm. His hand was an uncertain creature balanced on her shoulder, blurring with her small movements.

"I believe in you."

Ben believed in Leaf like the Greeks believed spilled coffee brought good luck. She was the pineapple lantern swinging under the awning of his dark house.

"Not sure how much that means to you—my being a ghost and all."

Then he pointed at the chili 本.

"This looks like a man standing in a cornfield without the slightest clue why he’s there," Ben said, eyes flicked up at Leaf owlishly from beneath his spilling hair. "Am I getting that right?"

@redt34

He wasn’t just a coward -

“You’re a ghost.”

People could be ghosts but were ghosts really people? Nowhere more fitting than KFC as the ultimate roundtable discussion. 鬼. Leaf drew the written character on a napkin using the scarce leftover of the sauce - sweet and spicy like their dynamic. “It means ghost, demon or in your case, imp.” Derived from time knows, spiritual stories transpired to haunt modernity. “Here I thought the hungry ghost festival just ended. They say wearing red or black attracts frivolous and restless spirits. I should’ve listened.” Now his presence haunted her. Next up, Halloween. “Do me a favour, don’t unleash hell”.

She wrote on another napkin. 本 like book, like containers of lessons and accounts. Spelled like Ben. He has his own account of events. A wry smile took to her lips. “Believe me, I don’t remember.” Should she? It poured that night. Strange winds drifted and fire blazed but most importantly, she died that night. The sacrificial lamb for another to live in her stead. So why does she feel so uneasy about her return? What did it mean for the other who lived?

“Maybe I don’t believe in my own existence.”

@kylo-wrecked

[skyfallensoldier]

October 28

The Birthday of Preparation

Your Greatest Challenge Is: Taking a risk. The Way Forward Is: To understand that when a risk is calculated, it is not reckless but a way to move forward in your life. On The Dark Side: Workaholic; detached; confused. At Your Best: Dedicated; detailed; inquisitive.

People born on October 28 tend to be very committed to their career and therefore the choice of career is of utmost important to them. They may take a while to find their vocation, but once they do they nearly always reach the top of the field. This is in part due to the incredible effort they are willing to put in and their eye for detail. One of their biggest fears is being caught unprepared but this is largely unfounded as they are among the most organized and well-prepared individuals of the year. 

They will often be completely absorbed in their work to the extent that they don’t have much of a life outside. Although this means that they nearly always reach the very top of their field, which more often than not is dedicated to improving or educating others, there is a heavy price to pay. They may come across as overly serious or preoccupied and, if they haven’t got friends and family to give them a sense of perspective, they are in danger of becoming emotionally isolated, completely losing their spontaneity and ability to have fun.

Until the age of twenty-five they are likely to be at their most serious and intense but after this age there is a turning point that highlights a need for freedom. Opportunities will be presented to them to expand their horizons, whether through travel, further education or study, and it is important that they take advantage of these because they offer them the chance to become a more fully rounded and fulfilled human being, rather than a human working.

Above all, these people are inquisitive individuals with an insatiable desire to explore. Fascinated with the tiny details that can make all the difference, their logical mind gives them the potential to make pioneering contributions to the world. And if they can learn to expend as much energy discovering and preparing themselves for the wonderful adventures life has to offer outside work, they will also be able to create lasting connections with the world.

                                                                            — The Element Encyclopedia of Birthdays

[linkerbell]

hello it is nearly 4 am and i have finished drawing some very good bois designed by the amazingly talented @unu-nunu-art 

for those of you who dunno, this is template and pale, two precious skeles out just having some good fun times. 

[littlemissnoname13]

Hihi!! I really loved your professor!Draco hcs (and all of your draco fics, i think I've read them all lol) I was wondering if maybe you could write smut for professor!Draco? Maybe elaborate on the whole "sitting on his lap while he's working" thing?

Hi Anon. I’ve been wanting to write this as soon as I saw your ask because Professor Draco is my guilty pleasure. Sorry it took this long.

Take a Break, Professor Malfoy (D.M)

Summary: a one shot based off these head cannons (the reader is a little whiny here. Just saying)

Words: 2000ish

Warnings: smut, age gap (reader is 18+ and the gap is not too big), some form of degrading, pet names, cock warming, spanking if you look hard enough. 18+ Mature content, mature words, read at your own discretion. Also, there is consent from both parties at all times and this is not proofread. 

A/n: Hi, I’m currently away from tumblr at the moment because my daytime job is busting my proverbial balls. If you see this, this post was on queue. I have a few fics on cue actually. I’ll get back to your messages and asks ASAP. 😭🥲

Masterlist

It’s a hot day. 

It’s a day stowed right in between spring and summer where days are suddenly longer and sweaters are a thing of nuisance. Especially during the afternoon. 

She's already peeled off her school sweater and tossed it carelessly under the foot of his large four poster bed. Her school tie lays next to all her other things slowly accumulating on his bedside table. He’s made space in his drawer for her to put her stuff in but she is tired from all her classes and the bedside table is closer.

“It’s such a lovely day outside.” She muses out loud, rolling on the bed and onto her back. 

He doesn’t say anything. He hasn’t said anything for the last hour. 

“I’m thinking picnic by the lake.” She tries to get his attention again. “What do you think?” 

“Everyone will still be out.” He reminds her, without bothering to look up from the sack of papers in front of him. 

“But I’m soooo bored, Draco.” She grumbles. Tendrils of her hair cascade off the edge of the bed and she blows a strand away to look at him. 

Wire rimmed glasses rest on his nose and above his glasses, she can see his brows furrowed in concentration. His shirt sleeves are rolled up neatly  and the corded veins on his forearm bulge just a little with every moment of his quill that is moving faster than the golden snitch. 

He makes one last scribble and drops his quill back into the ink pot. The chair creaks against the floorboard when he turns his body to face her. 

“Cmhere then.” He says, giving her a crooked grin that makes her feel lightheaded. “You can sit on my lap while I grade these papers.”

Hearing that, her body automatically leaps off the bed and darts towards his desk. She worries that she looks way too thrilled to be close to him but he doesn’t seem to mind. 

A lazy smile is pulling on the corners of his mouth and his arms are wide open in anticipation. 

She is quick to sink into his lap, her legs straddling him as she gets comfortable. When satisfied, she curls up into his chest and her face on the crook of his neck. 

Long fingers brush her spine in gentle strokes and all the restlessness inside of her is put to an ease. She can fall asleep like this. She can die like this. She doesn’t even care. 

It's terrifying how he holds so much power over her. 

“You can fall asleep.” He murmurs against her earlobe as if reading her mind. “I’ll carry you to bed if you do.” 

When she was a little girl, she’d fall asleep on her living room sofa and wake up snug and comfortable in her own bed. For a while, she had convinced herself that she was teleporting .But now, when she looks back, a nostalgic kind of sadness washes over in high tides because having someone to carry you to bed when you fall asleep in random places is a luxury. 

She’d fallen asleep with her books sprawled on the rug of his room while he was away at a faculty meeting yesterday. When she’d woken up, she found herself on the bed. As snug as a bug. 

 She knows she can trust Draco to put her to bed but sleep is not what she wants. 

What she wants is no sleep. 

What she wants is for him to cast the silencing spell on the walls of this room and take her on his desk again. She wants him to fuck her brains out all night long, 

“Don’t fight the sleep, sweetheart.” He whispers into her ears, his voice softer than lullaby. “You’ve had a long day.” 

“You would know.” She grumbles, her eyes still closed. “You gave us an enormous report to write and submit by the end of this week. Who does that?” 

“So you haven’t started on the report, I assume.” 

“Nope.” 

“May I ask why?” He asks. This whole time, his other hand hasn’t stopped grading papers. 

“Oh, I was hoping to further my academic career by sucking off my professor.” She sighs against his neck, shifting her hips a little to get more comfortable. 

They both know she’s only joking but still, he drops his quill and cups her arse in his palm. “Is that so?” He asks, giving it a squeeze. 

“But then I changed my mind.” She peppers kisses along his throat. “I’m going to get up early tomorrow to go to the library. I have some books in mind that might help with the report.” 

“Good girl.” He chuckles and kisses the top of her head before resuming his grading. She can tell he’s not impressed with any of the tests that were turned in because he keeps clicking his tongue and cursing at Salazar Slytherin. 

“That’s it.” He sighs, exasperated. “Another one of these stupid answers that miss the fucking point and I’m done with my teaching career.” 

She giggles and cups his frowning face in her hands. Her thumbs gently smooth out his creased brows and she leans in to place a kiss on his lips before removing his glasses. 

His blue-gray eyes are so vivid up close that it robs her off her breath. His pupils dilate when they focus on her and just knowing that she is the center of his attention makes her incredibly giddy. 

“Take a break, Professor Malfoy.” 

~~~~~

Her voice is a soft silken caress on his heated skin. It feels like a crosswind, cooling him off and sedating him into a state of pure bliss. 

“Can’t.” He replies, grabbing her firmly by the hips to still him when she starts to rub up against him. 

He knows where this is going. 

She’s a siren and the rhythm in which she grinds her hips is a siren song he isn’t capable of resisting. 

“But I want you.” She says, her voice sounding like a near sob. “Look at how bad I want you, Draco.” 

She holds his large hand in her small one and guides up her skirt. Slipping the fabric of her panties aside, she presses his hand against her clit. 

“See?” She blinks her eyes so innocently at him that he loses it. She’s so wet her arousal is pooling down her inner thighs.

He allows his index finger to circle her clit and she arches her back in instant response. 

“I need to finish grading those papers.” He says through his teeth, unsure if he’s telling her or reminding himself. His cock is jerking up, aroused at the wet sounds of her pussy and he has to will himself not to bend her on his desk and pound her till she is deliriously moaning his name. 

“Please.” She is pleading now. The little brat is rolling her hips and chasing her orgasm by fucking herself on his fingers. 

“Please what?” He asks, using his free hand to grip her arse to still her. 

“Please, sir.” She chokes out, tears welling in the corners of her eyes. She is right on the edge of her orgasm and the thought of her at his mercy gets him off. 

There has always been this power dynamic at play since the very beginning. The imbalance of power is so prominent that he often wonders if he is corrupting her. Sometimes, he lies awake next to her after carrying her to bed and wonders if he is taking advantage of her. 

But then she rolls to her side and snuggles up against him. She kisses his cheek and tells him that she loves him. 

It’s always been about trust between them. He fucks her like a whore and runs her a hot bath afterwards. He massages her shoulders and gives her forehead kisses. 

He just wants to take care of her. He wants to take her to dinner and buy her every stupid thing her heart desires. 

“Are you going to come on my fingers, pretty girl?” 

“Yes.” She moans, struggling to keep the friction going. When he looks at the desperation in her eyes, he wants to let her come but not before he punishes her for being bratty. 

His hands strike her arse as she whimpers. “Yes what?”

“Yes, Sir.” She moans. “I want to come on your fingers.”  

“Then come.” He growls, pumping his fingers in and out of her pussy. He knows she needs that extra stimulation on her clit so he uses his thumb to rub steady circles on it. 

She is almost there. Her eyes are rolling back and she is clenching his fingers inside her tight little hole. He increases his pace and she makes that little whimper she always makes before she comes. 

“My girl is such a filthy fucking slut. Fucking herself on her Professor’s fingers.” His hands strike as arse again. “Imagine what everyone will say if they ever find out.” 

She’s panting. She’s falling apart. 

“That gets you off, doesn’t it?” He murmurs against her neck. “Everyone knowing what a filthy little whore you really are.” 

Her orgasm crashes through her in multiple waves. With each passing wave, she trembles and cries out his name. When she’s spent he pushes the strands of hair from her sweaty forehead away and places a loving kiss on top. 

She opens her eyes and looks at him expectantly. Her lips curl up into a pout and he has to stifle a laugh. 

“What?” Draco arches a brow at her. 

“You didn’t fuck me.” She huffs, post climax sleepiness already making her eyelids droopy. 

Draco contemplates his options for a bit. If he fucks her now, he’ll have to go to class with ungraded papers tomorrow. 

He reaches for his belt buckle and undoes his zipper. When his achingly hard cock springs free, she instantly looks more awake. 

Draco kisses her softly and begins pumping his cock in his fist. 

“Are you going to fuck me, now?” She asks. 

“No.” He smirks, lifting her so he can push his cock inside her. Slowly, he feels her velvet walls suck him in. She is clawing at his back, moaning. 

She frees her left hand and places it on the lowermost area of her stomach. “Here.” She sighs. “You’re all the way up here, Draco.”

“Fuck.” He groans. “I will never finish grading these fucking papers if you say things like that.” 

“But it’s true.” She whispers, grinding her hips.

“Sit still” He says, stilling her for the third time that day. “Sit still and let me finish grading these papers while my cock is inside of you. Then I’ll fuck you just the way you want it.” 

Her eyes dance, calculating the pros and cons of his proposal. “Fine.” She snaps and sinks back into his chest and closes her eyes. 

Draco kisses her one last time and goes back to grading his papers. Ever so often, he pauses to rub her clit. She grits her teeth but stays true to her word. She does not move one bit. 

By the time he grades his last paper, she is sniffling against the crook of his neck. His heart aches at the sight so he carries her to bed. 

“I’m going to make it up to you, sweet heart.” He brings her hands up to his mouth. He kisses her knuckles and her fingers. “I’m going to make you feel good.” 

She sniffles and nods in response.

 Draco spreads her legs apart and takes his time licking her pussy. When he gets another orgasm out of her, he lines himself up against her entrance and she sucks her breath in anticipation. 

“I love you, you know that?” He whispers into her ears when he sinks inside of her. When he rocks into her in slow steady strokes, she abandons all control and gives him the reins. 

“I love you too, Draco.” Her breathy whisper tickles the side of his face. 

The thing is, he’d do anything for her. His heart is at her mercy and he’s given her all the reins to his entire existence. 

And even when he wraps his hand around the base of her throat, he knows this for a fact. 

She’s in control. 

She’s in control. 

She’s in control.