#Seventh division you’re my everything | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

noteguk · 4 years ago

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house rules | jhs | m

— summary; in which Hoseok didn’t expect that killing a spider would lead to one of the best fucks of his life.

— content and warnings; this is just filth… rough sex, hair pulling, fingering, dom!hoseok and sub!reader, established relationship, a lot of begging, overstimulation, creampie, cum eating, use of the words like “slut” and “cockslut”... all of this because a dumb ass arachinid

— words; 4.8k

Ever since you had moved in with Hoseok, taking your relationship to the next level, there had been some established house rules — or, rather, a task division that both sides could agree on. You washed the dishes, and Hoseok dried them. He washed and passed the clothes, and you cleaned (most) of the apartment, leaving him to the bathroom every time. Cooking was his choir for three days of the week, yours for the other three, and the seventh one would be takeout day. Saturdays and Sundays were for lazy afternoons and mid-day naps, and neither of you would work too hard to get things moving around the place. And, most importantly, if there was a bug, no matter what it was, Hoseok would have to drop everything that he was doing and go get rid of it.

You didn’t care how: kill it, place it gently on a nearby tree, whatever. You just wanted it gone, out of sight and out of mind. There was no way that you could sleep in the same room that you had seen a bug in, sometimes not even in the same apartment. After all, they can always move under the doors.

So, when you saw a spider dangerously close to your face, it wasn’t exactly a surprise that you lost your shit.

That night was particularly hot and you were already sweating like crazy by the time you finished doing your exercises for the day. With sore muscles, you dragged yourself all the way to your shower, only to groan in delight once the warm water hit your skin like the massage from an angel. Within ten minutes, you felt like a new person, and stepped out of the shower to dry yourself.

You had gotten the towel all the way up to your face, pressing the fuzzy fabric lightly against your skin, when you saw it: hanging from the ceiling with a frail trace of web, moving like a demonic stripper in thin air. A big, chunky, hairy spider, just a few inches from your nose.

With you, it was always a combo of seeing and reacting, no room to think anything through. The second you glimpsed at those eight devilish eyes, it’s little arms clenching around nothing, it was game over: you were already screaming bloody murder for Hoseok, throwing yourself over to the door and maniacally bolting out of the bathroom, towel forgotten somewhere on the cold floor.

“Hobi!!” You yelled, sounding like there was a serial killer sitting on your sink. “Spider! In the bathroom!”

You heard him before you saw him, his heavy steps drumming against the floor as he ran towards your shared bedroom.

“I got it, I got it!” Hoseok zoomed past you, the crumbs of something sticking at the bottom of his lip, and threw himself into the bathroom.

The door banged shut and the battle sounds resumed, with Hoseok stumbling to remove his shoe before the dangerous arachnid got the best of him.

Relieved, you sighed and ran one hand through your makeshift bun, allowing for your hair to fall over your shoulders (part of you thought that there were thousands of small spiders crawling all over your body, but you decided to ignore that). You were happy enough that the universe had at least allowed you to dry yourself before you had been so mercilessly attacked, otherwise you wouldn’t have been able to throw yourself on your bed.

And there you laid, sprayed out on the mattress and trying to calm yourself down, looking up at the light on the ceiling as Hoseok comically screamed inside your bathroom. You giggled at the sound, sure that he was only doing that to make you relax, and the fear inside your chest gave way to a new sense of appreciation. Hoseok really was great.

The door opened with a dramatic movement, and there stood your savior, with a large smile on his face. “The dragon has been slayed, princess,” he said, turning off the bathroom light. “It’s dead and in the trash, if you want to look for yourself.”

“Lovely, offer, but I’ll pass.” You giggled, and sat up on the bed. “My knight in shining armor.”

Only, Hoseok wasn’t laughing back anymore.

One fun fact about your boyfriend was that he was kind of a pervert when it came to you (as all boyfriends should be, you thought). You, however, had found out one of his special interests about two months back, when you decided it would’ve been a good idea to try a Tik Tok trend on him, and walked in while he was watching TV with nothing but the clothes you were born with. That day, you learned that Hoseok didn’t respond “well” when it came to seeing you butt-naked on random occasions. “Well” as in, he went apeshit. It was like his mind short-circuited and his reptile brain took over, and all that he could think about was when and how hard he was going to fuck you.

That night, it wasn’t any different.

That night, as Hoseok looked down at your naked body like he could drill the soul out of you, watching the curvature of your breasts as you breathed, and the mounds of your thighs on the immaculate white sheets, you thought that maybe not all insects are worthless.

“Fuck,” he mumbled to himself, frowning. You could see his brain trying to process everything that you were showing him, and the clear lust on his face was enough to have excitement running through your veins, shooting straight at your core. “If that isn’t a sight to behold.”

You smiled, leaning back on your hands, breasts fully exposed to him. “You flatter me.”

“I’m being honest.” He took a step towards the bed, and you felt your heart leaping out of your chest.

“I know you are.” You looked up at him as he stopped in front of the bed, in between your open legs. Hoseok stared at you like he was in a daze, but it was always like that: the calm before the storm. He would snap any second now, and you’d like to rush the process, if possible. “Thank you for saving me.”

He hummed, taking one of his hands to your cheek, thumb caressing the spot. “Can I get my reward now?”

You tilted your head to the side, leaning against his warm palm. “Who said anything about a reward?”

“I did,” he spoke without hesitation. His hand trailed down your face, his thumb now slightly separating your lips. “Besides, it’s a good deal. I’ll do all the work.”

You raised your eyebrows, interested. “Yeah?”

When you felt him pressing against your lip, you allowed for two of his fingers to slip inside your mouth, and you were quick to coat them with your saliva, sucking like you would his cock. Hoseok licked his own lips at the sight, sighing deeply. Anytime now.

“Yeah,” he answered, eyes hooded and glued to your mouth. Inside his pants, his cock twitched, aching to have you around it. “You have to forgive me, baby. You just took a shower.”

You blinked, humming as he removed his fingers from your mouth. “What about it?”

“Well, you see…” Hoseok lowered his body to your level, making you lean back so he could touch his lips against yours. He didn’t kiss you hard, though, in fact, it was all too controlled (too ephemeral) for your liking. “You just took a shower,” he repeated, “and I’m about to make you all dirty again.”

And there it was.

It was all too sudden for you to react, as it often was once he let his primitive side take hold. Within a second, Hoseok was curling his arm around your waist, manhandling you and throwing you up on the bed, towards the pillows. You barely had time to gasp in surprise before his mouth was attacking yours, harshly this time, his grunts coming out like a muffled melody against the sloppy, sensual kiss.

You whined against him as his hands grabbed your breasts and his tongue slipped inside your mouth, his knee coming between your legs to spread them out. When Hoseok leaned in, with his chest impossibly close to yours, he deepened the kiss and you could feel his hard cock pressed against your pussy, barely brushing your clit.

“Fuck, you’re too hot,” he cursed, breathing hard against your mouth. His hands hungrily grabbed your breasts one more time, making a whimper fall from your lips. Hoseok grunted at how your body reacted to him, always so ready. “Back to me, baby,” he commanded, leaning back so you could have more space.

You never needed any convincing in those times. Hastily, you did as he said and turned your body around, pressing your breasts against the bed, hands firmly placed against the pillows.

“That’s it, baby, perk that ass up.” His hands met the flesh of your butt, squeezing it tightly, and you once more did as he requested, curving up your spine so he could have a better view of your dripping heat. Hoseok groaned at the sight and it didn’t take long before you felt his middle finger trailing up your slit, barely brushing your entrance. “That’s my girl. Is this all for me?”

“Yes,” you told him, biting back a sob when his digit came back between your folds, slowly entering you. “Yeah, Hobi, it’s all for you.”

Hypnotized by the movement of his finger inside you, your boyfriend could only moan in satisfaction as he felt your walls embracing him, just as tight and warm as he remembered it. Hoseok couldn’t wait to see you crying around his cock, being filled to the brim by his cum just the way he liked it.

“God, such a good little slut,” he commented, adding a second finger. Your back arched at the contact, eyes closing in bliss as a loud moan left you. “You’re this wet, uh? Soaking my fingers just thinking about my cock.”

“Y-Yes,” you stuttered, looking back at him. Hoseok was licking his lips, staring at your pussy as it took his fingers in with ease, spreading wide for them. He looked like the embodiment of sin, and you wished he could just fuck you for once and get that waiting done with. “I want it so bad. I want to feel you inside me.”

He hummed, especially liking the neediness in your tone. “I need to get you nice and ready first, baby,” he said, parting his digits slightly. He could put in a third one if he tried, but he wanted to feel you clenching around him, begging for more. “Your pussy looks so pretty like this. I can’t wait to fuck it.”

“God, yes,” you cried, closing your eyes at the thought. Hoseok was fingering you so well that you thought you could cum just like that if he continued on with it, even if you knew he wouldn’t allow you to. When he was in one of those moods, he would only let you cum if it was around his cock.

“You’re fucking dripping down my fingers, baby,” Hoseok said and you could tell by his deep tone that he just as excited as you, his cock angerly pressing against the fabric of his pants, begging for his attention. The sounds of you gushing around his hand was lewd, mingling with your whimpers as he continued to pound inside you, and he thought he could cum just by hearing that sweet symphony. “Such a mess.”

“Hobi, I won’t last long,” you warned in a high-pitched sob, thighs beginning to shake. Hoseok had started to notice that already from the way you were tightening around him, but he wanted to know if you would be a good girl and tell him yourself. “I’m so close.”

His movements did not stop. “Did I make you that horny?” He chuckled, loving every second of that. It was no news how much Hoseok liked seeing you like that: a submissive and blubbering mess, silently begging for your release as he tilted you over the edge once, twice, without ever letting it go. Some days were worse than others and, that night, he was too overwhelmed by his own need to tease you too much. “But we can’t have that, can we, baby?”

The air you sucked in seemed like it didn’t even reach your lungs — you were in a trance, breaths heavy and shallow, trying to keep your voice steady so you could speak to him. “N-no,” you managed to answer.

Hoseok raised his eyebrows, fingers still pumping in and out of you, curving just at the right spot to make you gasp out his name. The pleasure in your stomach was building too fast, and you knew you wouldn’t last another minute if he kept that up. “And why is that?” He teased.

“Because-“ You whimpered. “Fuck, because I need to cum on your cock.”

He smiled, proud. “That’s right, baby. Good girl.”

Just as you were about to snap, Hoseok pulled his hand away from your pussy, leaving you to clench around nothing as the pleasure slowly started to die out. With hazed eyes, you watched as he took his fingers to his mouth, groaning in delight at the taste.

“Hmmm… So sweet,” he complimented, licking himself clean. Hoseok locked eyes with you. “Do you want my cock, baby?”

You wiggled your ass in the air, trying to make him move. “Yes, so much.”

Hoseok looked down at your dripping core, one of his hands flying to the back of his shirt and pulling it out with a swift tug. He threw it on the floor without care and your gaze snapped to his muscular figure, watching as his body tensed up at the sight of your wetness. You knew that he was holding himself back (he was always one to play with his food, after all), but you also knew that it wouldn’t last much longer.

Hoseok smirked. “Such a good little slut for me.” He undid his belt with ease, and pulled his pants down to his thighs, along with his underwear. Your mouth watered at the view of his cock: heavy and hard, already so red with need. The tip of it glistened under the cool bedroom lights, dripping with precum, which Hobi quickly used his thumb to spread across his slit as he started pumping himself.

He hissed at the contact. “You love my cock, don’t you?” He asked, moving closer to you.

You nodded weakly, pressing your head down against the pillow and bracing yourself for him. Every part of you ached for that feeling of his fat dick inside you, filling you up with every strong pump. Part of you though that he would make you say it out loud, but he had other thoughts in mind.

You gasped when you felt his tip pressing against your entrance, but not going in. Your pussy clenched around nothing, body trembling with anticipation as Hoseok leaned forward and kissed the skin of your shoulder.

“I really wanna fuck you hard tonight, baby,” he almost whispered, his voice so hoarse that your stomach did a somersault. “Is that okay?”

“Yeah, please,” you said, trying to press yourself back against his cock. Hoseok hummed, his strong hands avoiding your hips from going any further. “Fuck me as hard as you want.”

“Ah, that’s such a dangerous thing to say.” Hoseok kissed your shoulder one more time. His warmth was sticking to you like perfume, making your breath come out heavy, eager. “Are you sure you can handle it?”

A moan left you as you felt him pressing against you, just enough for his tip to slither in halfway, giving you a tease of that burn you loved so much, only so he could stop again. “Yes, Hobi, please,” you begged for what should’ve been the hundredth time that night, holding tightly to the sheets. You couldn’t even perk your ass up, with his weight on top of you, so you were left at his mercy, waiting for him to fuck you at last. “I always take it so well, you know that.”

He sighed, sliding in just a bit more. His crown passed through your opening, making your muscles throb around him, and he paused once more, with a moan perishing in his throat. “All of it?” He asked.

“Yes, fuck, everything,” you pleaded, voice mellow. You couldn’t take any more of his torture, your mind was a frenzy and the need you felt for him was like a chokehold, stopping you from breathing properly. “Just put it in, please.”

Hoseok chuckled, feeling particularly merciful that night. “Such a hungry little cockslut, baby.”

With one thrust, he filled you to the brim, making you take everything he had to give you. Hoseok watched, amazed, as you cried out at the feeling, your beautiful lips opening and closing as you grew used to his size, then he moved his gaze to your pussy, dripping down on his cock, fighting to accommodate him. He could look at that all day.

He hissed, biting on his lip. “So perfect,” he mumbled to himself and rocked his hips forward. You whined at the motion, toes curling as you closed your eyes, diving into the pace he was starting to set, getting faster and rougher with each thrust until your headboard was banging against the wall in a way that you knew your neighbors were going to complain about.

But, at that time, it didn’t matter. All that it mattered was his cock pounding into you in a way that made your legs shake and your cunt flutter around him, tears accumulating at the corners of your eyes at the overwhelming gush of pleasure that your boyfriend was giving you. Intoxicated by him, you started to throw your body back against his hard member, helplessly trying to make him sink further inside you.

“That’s it, baby, take it.” Hoseok grunted, picking up his pace as he drilled inside you. The entire bed was shaking, and your thoughts had turned into nothing. “You’re making such a mess on my cock,” he breathed out, “It’s so fucking pretty.”

A sob left you as you felt his thick member moving impossibly deep, his thrusts hard and merciless, and you pressed yourself down against the bed one more time, holding tightly to the sheets as if they could save you from his advances. In fact, the entirety of you was a wreck at that point, and you couldn’t speak coherently even if you tried, instead babbling on about how good his cock felt inside you, how full you were — and how much you wanted more.

“Hobi, please,” you cried out, unsure of what your next words would be.

And, as if he knew that, he said, “Please what, baby?”

You didn’t know where it had come from, but you couldn’t hold yourself back from saying, “I want it harder.”

Instead of responding you, you felt a tug on your hair, Hoseok’s hand yanking your head back as he kept fucking your pussy with every ounce of strength he had inside him. The sensation quickly morphed from pain to pleasure, and you cried out his name. “What was that? I didn’t hear you.”

You swallowed hard. “Harder, please,” you sobbed.

Another pull of your hair had you perking your ass up against him, making you lean on your elbows. “Can you take it?” He asked, voice hoarse. His chest was pressed against your back, and every syllable he spoke reverberated against your skin. “Can this pretty pussy take all that, uh?”

“Yes, fuck, Hoseok, please,” you moaned, eyes closing with the feeling of pleasure only growing inside you. Another powerless movement of your hips, changing the angle just slightly, and you got him hitting your sweet spot over and over. “Fuck, yeah, right there, fuck-“

Hoseok groaned and let go of your hair, allowing for you to collapse back against the mattress. He, instead, placed his hand on your upper back and pressed your body down against the bed, fingers curling around your shoulder to support him, pulling your body down against his cock as he thrusted up into your dripping cunt with even more force.

“Oh, yes, yes, yes,” you moaned out, tears pooling at the corners of your eyes. Everything was shaking: you, the bed, the world around you two. Every slap of his hips against yours was both hell and heaven, his cock hitting so hard and deep inside you that got you seeing stars. You loved the way he filled you up, like he was meant to be there.

“That’s so fucking good,” he groaned, leaning back and placing his hands back on your hips, using it to push you back against his throbbing dick. “That’s my girl, fuck. Taking it like a good slut.”

Trembling, you looked back just to see Hoseok with his head thrown back, moaning out as he continued to fuck you senseless. His eyes were shut and his mouth hung open, sweaty strands of hair falling over his furrowed brows and glistening under the bedroom light. He looked so fucking hot that you felt yourself clenching around his cock, whimpering at the lustful sight, and a new wave of euphoria hit you all at once, making you throw yourself forward.

“You’re so fucking tight,” he said, hands digging to the flesh of your hips. He was everything you could feel and think about, the sound of your wetness was like music to your ears. The world was too hot. “You’re gonna cum?”

“Yeah,” you whimpered, too drunk on his cock to even think straight. Hoseok could recognize that mewl in your voice anywhere, and he knew that you were really hanging by a thread. “God, it feels so good, Hobi.”

Hoseok leaned back in, and his hand was fast to grab another chunk of your hair and pull on it, making you crash up against his chest. You cried out both because of the tingle in your scalp, and because of the new angle of his thrusts, which helped him hit that special place all over again, making you see stars.

He placed his head on the crook of your neck, his voice hot and heavy with hunger as he spoke, “Cum on this fat cock, baby,” he groaned, his hips snapping hard against your pussy. “Make a mess on it, come on. I wanna see it.”

That was all that you needed to tilt you over the edge and you came around his cock with high-pitched yelps and the glorious call of his name. Hoseok cursed at the feeling of your cunt throbbing around his cock, your thighs shaking as he continued to fuck you through your orgasm.

You tightened so much around him that his body jolted backwards, a gasp leaving him as he let go of your hair, that hand instead coming down to grope your ass. “That’s it, baby,” he said, watching as your wetness dripped down his cock, coating him so well. He could look at that all day, just following as you gushed around him so deliciously. “Oh, this is so fucking good.”

You could tell by the grogginess of his tone (and the increase in force of his hands around your hips) that he wasn’t far from his own high at that point. A weak, sensible whimper left you as you felt his dick throb inside you, the pleasure already shifting to a vague pain.

“Hobi, it’s too much,” you said, but you didn’t want him to stop.

“Almost there,” he groaned, licking his lips. “Take it just a bit more for me, baby.”

And you would, just like you had done countless times before, because when Hoseok asked all that you could do was to accept it. Even with your cunt already sensitive and your body trembling, you didn’t want him to stop, you wanted him to use you so he could fuck himself through an orgasm, spilling himself inside you until you were completely full of him.

That, you noticed, wouldn’t be long. With a loud, drawn-our moan and a throb of his cock inside you, his thrusts started to get more sloppy, impossibly faster, as he tried to reach his own climax.

“Can I cum inside you, baby?” Hoseok asked through clenched teeth, his voice breathless and drowning in lust. The ringing in your ears — courtesy of your orgasm — almost didn’t let you hear him. “Uh? Can I make a mess in this pretty little cunt?”

“Fuck, yes, please,” you whimpered. The sensitivity was too much, but you loved it, and the idea of having his cum spilling inside you made a new wave of pleasure rock through your belly. “I want you to fill me up, Hobi.”

His breath hitched when you pulsated around him. “Good girl,” he praised. You loved when he called you that, it made you all warm and fuzzy. “Still so tight and wet for this cock, fuck.”

You bit down on your lip, eyes fluttering shut at his words, and the increasing force of his thrusts. “It’s all yours, Hobi.” You sighed, inebriated on the feeling of him. “Just cum inside me, please, I can’t take it anymore.”

And that (such a delicate, needy request from you) was all that he needed. Hoseok moaned and cursed as his hot cum overflowed inside you, the feeling being filled up making your walls clench around his cock, milking away the last drops of his seed as he continued to rock himself in and out of you. The obscene sounds of his cock fucking you through his orgasm, making his cum spill out was all that filled your thoughts for a moment, eyes fluttering shut at the sensation of it dripping down your legs.

Hoseok winced after the last drop had fallen from his slit, his body thrusting forward one last time. “Fuck,” he said shakily, stopping his movements and closing his eyes in endless bliss. “I love your pussy so fucking much.”

There were no words in your head and you didn’t even know how to respond anymore. Instead, you whined as you felt him slip out, another wave of wetness pooling between your folds as his cum spilled out of you. Hoseok’s hands, however, were quick to curl around your thighs, keeping you in place as he dove back in. You were taken off guard, and a muffled sob came from your throat before you could control yourself.

“Hobi, wait!” You said, unsure of where you were going with that request. A loud, frustrated cry dripped from your mouth as Hoseok traced his tongue up your slit, cleaning his own cum out of you, swallowing everything as he groaned in delight. The sensation of his mouth was a lot to take in and you could feel your whole body start to shake. “God, stop, it’s too much.”

He hummed and, with a last lick against your entrance, he moved away from your cunt. “Sorry, baby,” Hoseok said, sounding everything but regretful. “You know I fucking love when you take my cum.”

You nodded, watching as Hoseok collapsed dramatically next to you, making the bed bounce with his weight. You took your chance to lower your body, hugging the pillows against your cheek when your legs finally gave out beneath you.

“Holy shit.” He breathed out. “We should do this more often.”

You giggled, turning on your side to see him better. There was a delicious ache between your thighs, and the afterglow of your orgasm had made you all weak. “All of this because of a fucking spider,” you joked, a bit drownsy.

Hoseok sprawled one hand against his forehead, closing his eyes for a moment. His breath was still heavy and shallow as he spoke, “Don’t hate me for this, but I kinda want more spiders around the house now.”

You giggled. “Right after my shower too,” you complained, wiggling your tired body over the sheets so you could move a bit closer to him. “I’m all sweaty now.”

He opened his eyes and found yours. Hoseok knew you very well, so he caught your drift instantly. “You know… if you’re going to take another shower, there could be more spiders in there.” He pointed towards the bathroom. “It could be very dangerous.”

You hummed, the ghost of a smirk already crawling up your lips. “Maybe you could join me? Just to protect me, of course.”

Hoseok smiled. “Of course,” he said. “Those are the house rules.”

#bts fic #bts smut #jung hoseok #hoseok smut #x reader #x you #smut #bts #bangtan boys #hoseok #bts x you #bts x reader #hoseok x you #hoseok x reader #hoseok pwp #bts pwp #reader insert #smut drabble #drabble

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immxrtalbi · 3 years ago

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Tomarry Fic Rec: Politics Related

I saw @infinite-verse3 asking for some stories about politics fics so I checked in my bookmarks. Sadly you’re right about not enough about it... But yeah I found these!! I also put how much of politics it involves and etc., below as feedback <3 Also please read the tags carefully in the site. And don’t forget to comment and give love to these stories!!

Aconitum by VivyPotter (18k, Not Rated)

Merope Gaunt lived ten years longer, and everything changed. In which Harry Potter is a successful young Auror, trying to keep a crumbling relationship with his wife afloat. He and Ginny argue almost constantly, as they discover that their values do not entirely match up. Enter Tom Riddle: handsome owner of a flower shop on Knockturn Alley, who lends a willing ear to Harry’s woes. This is not as light and fluffy as it sounds. The Ministry is rife with corruption, the Muggleborn Registration is at peak popularity, and Lucius Malfoy is Minister for Magic. Harry is determined to get to the bottom of it- something has gone wrong here. Otherwise known as the flowershop AU that spiralled.

8/10 in politics. This story is chilling and downright good. I’m sure everyone at least heard or read about this story once. Tom in his finest *chefs kiss*

Everything's Fine in the Beast Division by Merrinpippy (15k, T)

Harry's lifelong ambition is to become an auror, but as his knowledge of Dangerous Beasts is somewhat lacking, Newt Scamander agrees to take him on as an apprentice. Contrary to the Weasley twins' predictions that Harry would die of boredom, Harry finds his time at the Ministry very interesting, and befriending the very attractive Tom Riddle doesn't hurt at all- in fact, quite the opposite.

7/10 in politics. This was a super cute story! And I love that Newt and other characters are there. Falling in love, protective Tom. Great bits!

Wizengamot Administration Services by under_that_sun (10k, T)

Tom became a politician rather than a Dark Lord, but still has small Dark, more underground following. Harry is a new intern in the Ministry who captures Tom's eye.

10/10 in politics. Really good story. AU where Tom isn’t darklord but stills rules the Ministry like an iron fist. Perfect. And hard worker intern Harry bonus.

What We May Be by darklordtomarry (alarminghella) (20k, T)

The pureblood nobility are known as the Sacred 27 and they have ruled magical Britain without a monarch for centuries. Lord Thomas Slytherin has appeared out of nowhere with a strong claim to the throne; he has aroused the interest of the nation, and of Harry Potter; A seventh year Slytherin who occasionally works as an information broker. Like everyone else Harry wants to know more about Lord Slytherin, but will he like what he discovers?

9/10 in politics. This is a series but I only read part one so far. Harry is smart and troublesome and Tom is intrigued. The I-want-you-by-my-side sold it to me, also Harry acts like a detective!

Growing Old With You by Batsutousai (28k, T)

A chance meeting between a Hogwarts student and the Minister for Magic spirals into a love story that the tabloids adore, while those involved are just trying to figure out how they actually fit together.

4/10 in politics. Soulmates and age difference and a bunch of family drama because of that. Poor Tom dealing with everything. I found myself laughing in some scenes.

Don't Fuck With Florists (They'll Fuck You Up) by MayMarlow (14k, T)

Unsatisfied with his post-war life, Harry decides to get to the root of all of his problems when that root was still working at Borgin and Burkes shop in the late 40s. He’s the Master of Death, damn it, he can do what he wants for once in his life.

Tom Riddle isn’t particularly happy about working at a small, dingy shop for magical artifacts, no matter how interesting those artifacts are. He’s even less happy when an insufferable stranger sets up the most obnoxious flower shop right across the street.

What follows would be a romantic comedy, if it weren’t for politics.

10/10 in politics. Tom and Harry are store rivals basically and try to ruin each other somehow. They bicker a lot about politics and Harry is great in this fic!

Custodarium by Tina48 (73k, E)

Have you been missing a time travel Tomarry where Harry and Tom are on somewhat equal footing? Where Tom is a plausible budding political leader? Where Harry can stand up to him and their relationship doesn’t seem toxic? Where the surrounding events and characters don’t go unnoticed? I have, so I gave writing one a try.

“The war is over and the Wizarding Britain has been slowly rising from the ashes. Harry just wishes none of it ever happened – what will he do when he’s given a chance to change the past? Was Dumbledore right about “the power he knows not” after all?“

5/10 in politics. One of the first stories I read! And this was an emotional rollercoaster. The storyline goes in different directions from time to time but overall it’s a good fic to start with!

Backwards Thinking by this_bright_eyed_soul (32k, E)

Harry Potter has an empty feeling after he wins the war, and turns to the memories of one Tom Marvolo Riddle Jr for something to do. He soon finds an interest - he doesn't belong in this timeline now he's fulfilled the prophecy, and is out to seek a new friend, who will soon become a little more than that...

4/10 in politics. I like that Harry was on Tom’s side and both fall in love. Tom is hurting in the inside and only Harry can it. Some emotional moments.

Sweetbrier by SofiaBane (15k, Not Rated)

Tom Riddle is a Wizengamot member sent to audit Hogwarts in the transition after Dumbledore's death. Harry is an Auror assigned to provide his security. Also, nobody knows they're exes.

10/10 in politics. Great details about Wizengamot and Ministry. Also Tom cares more about his career which Harry hates. Exes to friends to back together. Love it!

Office Romance by thebrighteststar10 (17k, Not Rated)

The CEO of Morsmordre, Tom Riddle, is one of the richest men in the world. Oh, and he's a workaholic. Despite such fact, the new head of IT manages to seize the man's attention.

2/10 in politics. Nothing with politics but it’s an office fic. And a funny cute one! Tom becomes obsessed and possessive with Harry because of his attitude. Tom tries to get his attention but it backfires on him. Harry is oblivious and Tom is shitty at showing love and it’s hilarious

#tomarry #fic rec #my stuff #tom riddle #harry potter #this took a while #also need to reread three of them since i can barely remember what happened

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shih-coulda-had-it · 3 years ago

Note

Headcanon gran was mute in his younger days like the only people who hear him talk was people close to him nana etc. But still a man of few words like hearing him talk was if hell froze over (after nana died he had to start teaching so communication was a must) defiantly know sign language.

I like this headcanon! It fits well with what's been given to us, which is Sorahiko being relatively silent until Nana's dead. Extra notes: From multiple Google searches, JSL is mainly taught to the deaf, and even in the community, there are divisions amongst vocabulary. Japanese Sign Language (JSL) has three forms, and uses fingerspelling and mouthing as supplemental context tools.

This ficlet is in Toshinori's POV because I couldn't quite lock down on when I wanted this version of Nana and Sorahiko to have met.

It’s Toshinori’s first time meeting Shimura’s partner, and he is not ready.

He had thought he’d been ready for anything, that first afternoon he chased Seventh Wonder down the path along the canal: a gentle pat on the shoulder before discouragement, derisive laughter, or worse. But against all the odds, Toshinori’s earnest (and frantic) pitch found a willing listener.

Seventh Wonder introduced herself as Shimura Nana three months ago. She advised him on workout routines, and on weekends, she went through grappling maneuvers and recounted stories about life as a pro-hero.

Toshinori hadn’t dared to let himself think Shimura was treating him as anything but a charity case. But last month, Shimura’s stories had acquired a different, almost conspiratorial tone. She also began instilling in Toshinori a rudimentary knowledge of Japanese Sign Language.

(This latter development is blithely reasoned away as dexterity training. As for the former...)

Last Sunday, Shimura revealed herself to be in possession of a transferable stockpile Quirk.

It remains a miracle to Toshinori that Shimura trusts him not only with the knowledge, but also the actual future of holding One for All. Of potentially fulfilling his dreams to lift Japan out of its paranoid, panic-ridden state. Sure, the drawbacks are scary (All for One? Blowing off his limbs?) but Shimura assures him that she has plans.

One of these plans is her partner, Gran Torino.

Toshinori knows practically nothing about the man. Shimura doesn’t gossip, and no matter how Toshinori scoured the Internet, he couldn’t even find a picture. The most he has is what’s on the Nippon Hero Association’s online registry.

Gran Torino. Quirk: Jet. Active for three years as opposed to Seventh Wonder’s nine.

He reflexively slows his pace to the meadow where Shimura trains him, eyes widening at the stranger standing beside Shimura. Tall, imposing, clad in a brown leather jacket and denim jeans and Western cowboy boots. His hair is silver. He is gesturing at Shimura and mouthing in time with his decisive hand movements, but try as Toshinori might, he cannot hear a sound.

Shimura signs back, smoother, until Torino (it’s got to be Gran Torino) disgruntledly brushes his sternum and sets his fists waist-high for a second. A concession. For what problem?

She glances around Torino and spies Toshinori, who is stock-still because he might have been the cause of an argument between Shimura and her partner. She smiles; Torino grimaces with a tight-lipped frown. “Yagi-shonen! Come over here, don’t be shy!”

“Shimura-san,” Toshinori greets, rushing to close the distance. “Sorry if I’m late!”

“Ah, no,” says Shimura. “It’s more like we’re early.”

To Gran Torino, Toshinori executes a quick bow and comes up with his hands fumbling through an introduction. “Good morning,” he says, clumsily spinning and crooking his fingers. He’s learned this. He’s learned this. “My name is Yagi Toshinori. It’s nice to meet you.”

Torino blinks down at him. His expression is unreadable.

Toshinori gulps. “Did I do it wrong…?”

As Shimura hums a noncommittal sound (which is universal for, ‘Well, it could’ve been better,’ which Toshinori is certainly not about to disagree with), Torino critiques Toshinori’s attempt in a single soul-evaporating word.

“Hasty.”

“Sorahiko,” Shimura chides in a fond tone, and she knocks her shoulder into his, friendly and affectionate. Torino exhales through his nose; he shoves back before straightening his spine. The difference between Torino and Toshinori’s height extends.

“Gran Torino,” the man introduces himself in a low, clipped voice. He fingerspells this, and his actual name, until Toshinori crabs onto the impromptu lesson and commits the signs to memory. Once he’s met Torino’s standards, Torino says, “Hn,” before falling silent.

Shimura seamlessly picks up the thread of conversation. “Have you had breakfast yet, Yagi-shonen?”

“Ahahaha,” says Toshinori. “I had a slice of toast?”

“Hm. Well, it’s your lucky day. We haven’t had breakfast yet either! Here, here, take this,” and Shimura hoists a picnic basket into Toshinori’s arms, “and Sorahiko, you’ve got the duffel.”

Unimpressed, Torino signs, “And you?”

“I,” says Shimura, offloading a meter-long duffel bag into his arms and unzipping it briefly, just to pull out a rolled-up blanket, “am picking out a breakfast spot.”

Torino snorts.

The breakfast spot ends up being under a tree; the blanket absorbs the dew leftover on the grass immediately, but Toshinori would be willing to suffer the dampness every day if it meant being gifted a bento for breakfast. The ovular box is filled to the brim. Rice, egg, pickled vegetables, grilled salmon…!

“Shimura-san,” says Toshinori, awed, “did you make all this?”

“Nope! I wasn’t even allowed to touch the pan.” Shimura passes over an additional thermos. Uncapping it allows miso-scented steam to waft away.

“Torino-san, thank you for the meal!”

“Hn,” Torino grunts.

The first few bites are pure, uninterrupted bliss. A good breakfast, however, comes at a price. Toshinori is only halfway through the pickled vegetables when Shimura announces, “Sorahiko is here to help you prep for the entrance exam into U.A., Yagi-shonen.”

“What?”

“They’re increasing the difficulty of the exams,” she informs him. “The physical component in particular.”

“I thought it was just an obstacle course,” says Toshinori, a tad bewildered.

“Ha! That information is outdated by, uh, Sorahiko, when did Recovery Girl complain…”

Torino flashes three fingers, and doesn’t seem to need to add any other signifier, because Shimura gets the answer right on the first try.

“Right, right, three days. So three days ago, Recovery Girl called us up to complain about how her colleagues are reacting to the escalating pro-hero turnover rate. Lots of, ‘we need to demonstrate the reality early if we’re going to winnow out the spineless applicants,’ y’know?”

“Oh,” says Toshinori faintly.

“So,” Shimura continues,”you should expect to walk away from the entrance exam with some bruises. Lots of bandages too. Unless!”

“Unless?”

“I’m right, and having the Gran Torino here providing, ah, supplementary combat training will put you ahead of the legacy students!”

“That’s not… illegal?” It’s one thing to mask grappling maneuvers as play-wrestling in an abandoned meadow, and even then, Shimura was quick to tug them both back onto their feet. It’s a whole other thing to train Toshinori, whose records will show him distinctly unconnected, to beat out his peers.

“It’s a little bit illegal,” she confesses. “But so is giving you One for All, and we can’t exactly do anything about that.”

“I don’t have to go through the heroics program,” Toshinori says, even though he really, really wants to. “You could save One for All until I graduate high school, and then I won’t be a minor.”

Shimura smiles at him like a promise. “If I say you’re getting One for All before U.A., then you’re getting this Quirk and getting into your dream school, Yagi-shonen. You will, of course, be earning it. And then everything is unquestionable!”

Gran Torino clears his throat. Shimura looks over, and her brow furrows in concentration. Toshinori catches a few words by lipreading.

“Questionable relationship,” he signs.

“Ah. Yeah, that’s still true. Can I get away with ‘Shimura-sensei’ without a credential?”

“Flimsy.”

Toshinori has a sudden idea. “Ah, Shimura-san… what if I called you Shimura-shishou?” Hm. That sounds wrong. This is the pro-hero who’s practically giving Toshinori a second chance at life; she is deliberately fixing fate, intending to give a Quirkless kid a Quirk of unimaginable potential. Seventh Wonder, Shimura Nana - she deserves the greatest respect. “Oshishou?”

Her eyes widen. So do Gran Torino’s.

“Ah,” says Shimura, stunned.

“The Nippon Hero Association was talking about apprenticeships,” he reminds her.

Torino signs to Shimura, “How old is he?”

“Fourteen.”

“Less than a year to fifteen,” Toshinori adds. He may or may not have looked up apprenticeship laws. So long as the administration doesn’t pry, then he could just be a scrappy student with civilian origins. And then once U.A. would get into the swing of things, Toshinori would be old enough to potentially be apprenticed.

Not that they would ever sign paperwork. Shimura has been adamant about keeping Toshinori safe, and being safe means his civilian life needs to be squeaky-clean.

“I’m definitely not certified to be a master of this profession,” says Shimura. “Are you comfortable with this, Yagi-shonen?”

“Yes,” says Toshinori. He says it firmly, implacably, trying to invoke the same tone that once persuaded Seventh Wonder to stay on the ground and hear out a Quirkless kid’s dream. “Without a doubt, oshishou.”

She huffs and looks down at her half-eaten breakfast; her ears are turning pink. Silently, Torino reaches over and touches her wrist. Toshinori hurriedly returns to his own meal, feeling like he’s intruding on some moment.

And softly:

“Alright, Yagi-shonen. Alright.”

#bnha #yagi toshinori #all might #torino sorahiko #gran torino #shimura nana #nanahiko but like pre slowburn #shih.txt #asks #thealphabearart #toshinori is too polite to ask why and when jsl became a thing for them #therefore it's up to the reader :)

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isamijoo · 3 years ago

Text

Can You See Me

Written for @amortentiaboys (again! lol). Betaed by @fw00shy! Also many thanks to @orange-peony & @vukovich.

Features Unspeakable!Draco in a Soulmate AU.

WC: ~2.6k.

Rating: Teen and Up

A/N: The fic takes place in another realm where they are 'souls' while their physical bodies remain in the 'real world'. Some lines are inspired by Doctor Who.

READ ON AO3

~~~

If Auror Harry Potter had to describe his relationship with Unspeakable Draco Malfoy, seven years after the war, he would use the phrase "in limbo": neither here nor there. Frustratingly stuck somewhere between nothing and everything. Friends? Yes, but not really. Boyfriends? Maybe, but not quite. Perplexing? Absolutely.

Hermione, an Unspeakable herself, had a theory that the problem lied in their inability to communicate effectively. Harry was notoriously bad with words while Draco became quiet and subdued after the trials and induction into the Department of Mysteries.

Except when Draco was drunk.

The first time Harry and Draco kissed, they had just solved their first case together. Harry dragged Draco to a pub, and after several rounds of drinks in a booth, the alcohol loosened Draco's tongue and reduced his inhibitions. Before they knew it, they were making out right in the booth, unhidden, out in the open for anyone to see.

One week later, Harry chanced upon Draco at the Auror Office when the blond came to submit a report. Harry caught his eye and shortly afterwards, found himself slammed against the wall in a broom cupboard by a charming Unspeakable, who was crafty with a Silencing Charm.

They fell into a pattern. They kissed, bit, and groped each other. Although inappropriate, Harry loved these private moments with Draco. He often glimpsed Draco smiling dreamily between their kisses, grey eyes gazing at him with an adoration that never failed to make Harry's heart beat faster.

They never brought each other home. They never went on dates. They never addressed what they did, but not due to any lack of effort from Harry. Whenever he tried to talk about it, Draco would stare at him in trepidation and despair, as though Harry was going to curse him or strike him with a sword. Then he would use whatever Unspeakable skills he had to escape and disappear.

Did Harry find Draco infuriating as hell? Yes, very much so.

Did he also love the git to death? Utterly and completely.

So when Hermione barged into the Auror Office and hurried to his desk as though chased by lightning, screaming "Malfoy is in trouble!", what would you expect Harry to do?

~~~

Harry landed on two feet in a shallow puddle of mud.

He quickly surveyed his surroundings. He was standing in a clearing in the middle of a vast field of yellow wheat. Earthy brown mountains lined the horizon, and a strong breeze chilled him down to his bones, despite his thick Auror uniform and robes. As he looked down to inspect his boots, he realised that his glasses had vanished, but his vision was perfectly clear.

Harry brought his hands to his face, just to make sure. A finger graced his forehead and — his breath hitched — touched the smooth skin over the spot where his lightning bolt scar should have been.

The scars at the back of his left hand were gone too.

He hastily patted his chest, stomach, arms, and thighs. Aside from his eyesight and scars, his physique was unchanged. He still wore the same uniform he had on at St Mungo’s before he blacked out.

As he got his bearing, he felt the air chill and the wind blow stronger. He heard footsteps approaching and immediately grabbed his wand by his hip.

About five metres from where Harry stood, a tall wall of wheat parted and out walked Draco Malfoy, decked in his elegant navy blue Unspeakable uniform. His skin was pale and there were dark circles below his eyes, but he appeared unharmed. His usually immaculate blonde hair was slightly tousled, thanks to the breeze.

“Potter?” Draco yelled, a hand shielding his squinted eyes from the harsh wind. His dark robes billowed out around his knees “What are you doing here?”

With a grunt, Harry tucked away his wand and trudged across the muddy soil until he reached more solid ground, taking note that Draco was also moving in his direction. “Saving your arse, obviously. What the fuck were you thinking? Sending your soul to another dimension?” Harry shrieked. “Where the hell are we, anyway?”

“A place where souls transit between life and death,” Draco replied, not having to shout now that they were within arm's length. “Some people call this place Bardo.”

Anger burned in the pit of Harry’s stomach, yearning to burst. Didn’t Draco have any idea how worried he made Harry?

But his desire to scold vanished when Draco asked, “Why did the Department of Mysteries send you, an Auror? Why not another Unspeakable?”

Harry breathed heavily. The wind was picking up and he figured they should get moving, but he couldn’t move, not when Draco was gazing at him curiously. “They couldn’t locate your soul. They needed me to find you.”

Pale eyebrows rose quizzically. “Why you?”

Harry gazed into his cool grey eyes. “You know why,” he muttered. “Apparently I’m your soulmate.”

Draco’s jaw went slack; no words came out as he stared unblinkingly at Harry’s face.

“Were you planning on telling me at some point?” Harry asked softly.

“Do you have a way to get us back?” Draco enquired instead.

Harry reached inside his shirt and pulled out a silver medallion that fit nicely in his palm. At the centre of the medallion rested a small piece of jade stone, which now glowed red. Hermione had told him to wait until the stone turned green before attempting any more dimension-hopping.

With a small squeak of excitement and relief, Draco grabbed the medallion with both hands. It was still connected to a chain around Harry’s neck, so Draco stood close to the Auror as he ran his fingers over the jade stone.

“A Dimension Transporter, perfected by Granger herself. This is powered by your magic,” Draco said almost reverently. “I can feel it.”

Unable to help himself, Harry took the other wizard’s hand and held it to his chest. “I'm glad you're alright. Don't scare me like this.”

“I’m not here by choice, Potter,” Draco clarified, rolling his eyes as he slowly pulled his hand out of Harry’s grasp. “I suppose now that you’re involved, I can explain how I got here, while we wait for the Transporter to recharge.”

Suddenly a strong gust of wind blasted around them. Draco grabbed Harry’s wrist and pulled him towards the direction he came from. Harry followed Draco into the wheat field, but as soon as he stepped between the tall stalks, his surroundings changed. Gone were the yellow scenery, replaced by a vast landscape of a snowy mountain valley.

Draco appeared unperturbed by the sudden change in climate. The wind was still strong here, though, so Harry obediently followed Draco as the latter trekked up a small hill.

At the top of the hill was a small hut, in which they took shelter from the harsh elements. Inside, Draco had arranged several flat stones to masquerade as a stool and a table. On the table sat an emerald green sphere the size of a Remembrall. A small key-shaped trinket suspended inside the misty orb. Numerous narrow cracks ran around the surface of the sphere.

Harry had seen the sphere before, minus the cracks. He was the one who found the sphere a few months ago during a raid. The sphere was unimportant to the case at hand, but Harry had a suspicious feeling about it, and after blasting it with every curse-detection spell he knew, he wanted to destroy it. But Robards stopped him and sent it to the Mysterious Artifacts Division, more colloquially known as MAD.

The idea of the sphere falling into Draco’s hands and potentially harming him made Harry angry again.

“Why do you have that?” Harry’s voice trembled with barely disguised fury as he kept his eyes on the orb.

With a sigh, Draco went to a corner of the hut and kicked a large rock the size of Quaffle to Harry’s feet. “Do you have a wand?”

Nodding, Harry transfigured the rock into a proper stool, complete with a cushion. He then did the same to Draco’s stone-stool. Draco muttered his gratitude as they both settled down around the table, the sphere glowing ominously.

“The people at MAD sent this to my department last month,” Draco explained. “My senior colleagues knew right away that this sphere was previously used by Dark Wizards in the seventh century to extract a person’s soul from their body, basically leaving behind an empty shell.”

Any talk about souls — extracting, separating, severing — always reminded Harry of Horcruxes. Even when Hermione was explaining to him the plan to save Draco by sending Harry’s soul after him, Harry had been uneasy. Their real bodies — both his and Draco’s — were lying in a ward in St Mungo’s, lifeless and dependent on magic to keep them alive. “Sounds like something you should stay away from.”

Draco’s eyes flickered over Harry’s face for a second before he dropped his gaze. “It’s my job to figure out how it works. I managed to dismantle it. See these cracks?” He pointed at the lines over the sphere, careful not to touch it. “I was able to decode the spell inside it, layer by layer, until I reached the key inside. When I touched it with my magic, I blacked out and woke up here.”

“And that thing followed you here?” Harry raised an unbelieving eyebrow, but it explained why nobody mentioned finding any cursed objects around Draco’s unconscious body.

“I suppose,” Draco replied, uncertain. “Maybe it’s pissed at me for taking it apart, and wants to make sure no one in the physical world can use it to rescue me.”

Harry leaped to his feet and pointed his wand at the sphere. “Reducto! Evanesco!”

The sphere exploded into a hundred pieces before vanishing into thin air.

“There," Harry said contently, dropping back onto the stool. "I should have done that as soon as I found it.”

“Good job, Potter,” Draco said sarcastically, grimacing. “Please remember next time you destroy my projects, that I’m the one who has to write the paperwork.”

“It could have killed you!” Harry protested.

Draco shrugged flippantly and rested his elbows on the now-empty table, purposely avoiding looking at Harry.

A few minutes passed where no one spoke. The wind outside grew more violent, transforming into a full-on blizzard.

Harry glanced at the red glow of the medallion around his neck and pulled his stool closer to the other man. "Draco, we need to talk."

Draco's nimble fingers tapped the surface of the stone absentmindedly. "If you say so. It's not like I can go anywhere."

Now being given the chance to address their relationship, Harry didn't know where to start. So he started with the most recent development. "Did you know we're soulmates?"

"Yes. I'm a member of the Soul Squad. We study anything related to the human soul. The Soulmate Detection spell is a simple spell, created by the Unspeakables themselves.” Draco paused before adding. “Of course, I've tried it on myself."

"When did you find out?" was the next question, loaded.

Draco studied Harry's face silently for a few seconds before answering, "After our kiss at the pub." He tucked strands of blond hair behind his ears and cleared his throat. "I was just curious. There is no benefit in knowing your soulmate, after all. It's old magic; interesting to study, but practically, it isn't useful."

"Now, hang on." Harry's own throat constricted. "Not useful? Your colleagues spent 48 hours going round in circles, no idea how to find you, until one of them suggested the soulmate route. They taught me a spell to make me aware of the soulmate connection, and then I could locate you easily." He gestured at the medallion around his neck, pointedly ignoring the green glow of the jade. "I only needed one jump."

Draco gazed forlornly at the device resting against Harry's chest. "Well, it's not typical to find oneself in a limbo world and needing to be rescued, is it?”

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"What would that change, Potter?" Draco snapped as his hands started gesturing wildly. "I know how your childhood and teenage years were influenced by a madman's response to a prophecy that was out of your control. Isn't this similar? An ancient, poorly understood magical force dictates who is compatible with your magic and soul. It's not even comprehensive! It doesn't take into account your emotions, your minds, or your physical compatibility. Why do you think the Department of Mysteries never shared this knowledge with the public? It's useless and even harmful in some instances. It gives false hope and robs people of their agency. Not all soulmates end up getting along. They can even be enemies."

Harry tasted bitterness in his mouth. "We're not enemies."

Draco rubbed his forehead exasperatedly. "Then what are we?"

"That's exactly what we should talk about."

Draco's lips twisted in displeasure as he glared at the table, arms firmly crossed over his chest. "I know what you want, but it's not going to work. You'll get sick of me very quickly. You hate when people keep secrets from you. My whole career is a secret."

"Sure, you can't talk about your job. But you're more than that."

"If I'm not an Unspeakable, what am I?" Draco demanded, the unspoken implication hung in the air.

"Draco, you're not defined by your job. You're brilliant and intelligent. I like you for you." There, Harry had said it. He could not backtrack now. “Hermione and Ron can make it work. They even have a baby together.”

"Weasley and Granger survived a war together."

"Didn't we survive a war too?" Harry quipped, earning a frustrated growl from the other wizard. "Draco, please look at me."

After an excruciating wait, Draco turned on his stool until his body faced Harry, though his arms remained crossed. He lifted his chin and locked eyes with Harry, flinching when the Auror tenderly touched his jaw but neither broke eye contact.

"You can't see me, can you?" Harry murmured bleakly. "No, you refuse to. You always work hard for people to acknowledge your work and that's fine but I'm also right here. I'm right in front of you and I'm in love with you. But you don't want to see that. You don't see me. Have you any idea what that's like?"

Draco’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. "I see you, but... Potter, if I do this with you but we don't work out," he whispered, "I won't be able to handle it. I'm not… strong enough."

Harry felt an invisible weight lift off his shoulders while another, newer and more hopeful, sensation settled in his stomach. "Then let's make sure we make this work," he said resolutely. "It takes effort from both of us. We have to try."

Draco closed his eyes, another protest ready on the tip of his tongue, but he pressed his lips shut together, visibly holding himself back. He was already making an effort.

When he opened his eyes again, he reached out and cupped Harry's cheeks. Draco turned Harry's head from side to side, studying the latter's face. "You're pretty handsome without those ugly glasses."

Harry chuckled. Draco smiled before they both leaned forward and their mouths met in a chaste kiss.

"Thank you," Draco said after they separated, "for coming for me."

After a few more kisses, Harry decided he had held Draco hostage long enough. Harry lengthened the chain around his neck so that it could loop around Draco's neck as well as his own. With Draco's help, he rotated the jade stone a few times before pressing it firmly.

~~~

If Harry had to describe his relationship with Draco Malfoy, five years after they exited the realm of limbo, he would fiddle with the silver wedding band on his left ring finger and grin happily, no words necessary.

~fin~

LINK TO AO3

#wheel of drarry mini exchange #drarry #drarry fic #isamijoo

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just-dreaming-marvel · 4 years ago

Text

Out Of Time ~ 4

MAIN MASTERLIST

Out Of Time MASTERLIST

< previous chapter

Word Count: 2,325ish

Summary: Steve comes back bigger and with permission to take Y/N with him.

Warnings: none

Steve was gone before Y/N woke up in the morning. She understood that he probably thought that was best for both of them, but she couldn’t help but be a little angry at him. She went to work that day, and the weeks following, with a plastered smile on her face. She struggled to do what she had promised Steve she would do. All she wanted to do was curl up in her bed and cry until she couldn’t feel anything anymore. It was her day off, and she was planning on doing just that, when a knock sounded at her door.

“Coming!” She shouted as she slowly got off her bed. The knock impatiently sounded again. “I said I’m coming!” The knock sounded for a third time just as Y/N had reached the door. She pulled it open. “I said I was coming! Couldn’t you just—“

She stopped speaking at the sight before her. A large, blonde man in military uniform stood at her doorstep. Y/N studied him. He was all too familiar, yet not at the same time. When she meet his eyes, that’s when she realized who was standing at her doorstep.

“Stevie?” She gasped.

“Hey, Y/N,” he smiled.

“What— How— You— You’re taller. An-and you—“

“I got chosen, Y/N/N. They actually chose me. And it worked.”

Y/N was speechless. She turned around and began pacing around the living room, leaving the door wide open for Steve to come in. He came in and carefully shut the door. Y/N silently paced as tears formed. She wanted him to come back, she had literally prayed that they wouldn’t choose him. And look what had happened? God laughed at her and made sure he became the chosen one.

“Are you going to say anything, Y/N/N?” Steve timidly asked after a few minutes of pain staking silence.

“What do you want me to say, Steve?!” Y/N stopped pacing, turned to her brother, and yelled. “Congratulations? Well, congratulations! You successfully became a science experiment and got to join the army! You get to go to Europe and be shot at! Hurray!”

“Y/N—“

“Don’t, Steve. Don’t try to make excuses.”

“I wasn’t going to make excuses. I was going to tell you that I’m actually not going to be heading into battle anytime soon.”

“What?”

“They— um… they think that I should go around the country selling bonds.”

“Selling bonds? Why?”

“You didn’t see the paper?”

Y/N shook her head. “Haven’t wanted to… I’ve been afraid of what it might say.”

“I went after a Nazi. Saved a child. The story went Nation wide. They think that because of it, I’ll be able to sell bonds.”

“So… you’re not going to be shot at?”

“I still want to go and fight, and if this is how I get there, I’m okay with it.”

“How long will you be gone?”

“I don’t know. But I got permission to take you with me. If you’re willing.”

Y/N sighed, running her hand over her face as she looked at the ground. “What I am suppose to do?”

“We’ll find you something.” Steve took a step forward. “You won’t be useless. I just…” He set his now large hands on her arms, running them up and down in comfort. “I just need you there with me. I need my sister’s support and I need to be able to take care of you.”

“Is this because you’re bigger than me now? Now that five minute difference is going to matter?” Y/N chuckled. “Yes. I’ll go with you.”

Steve pulled her into his arms. It was definitely going to take some time for Y/N to get used to how large Steve had become. She wrapped her arms around his large frame.

“I guess I finally have a big brother,” she teased.

“Hey! It’s not funny,” he laughed.

A week later, Steve and Y/N were in a large theater. It was filled with people. Steve was dressed in a red, white, and blue costume. Y/N was watching him as he stood at the center of the stage, just behind the curtain, trying to prepare himself to go out and face the crowd. She could tell he was nervous. Senator Brandt’s aide was there to make sure that Steve didn’t bail.

“I don’t know if I can do this,” Steve second guessed, letting out a deep breath.

“Nothing to it,” Brandt’s aide said. “Sell off a few bonds, bonds buy bullets, bullets kill Nazi’s. Bing bang boom. You’re an American hero.”

“It’ just not how I pictured getting there.”

“The senator’s got a lot of pull up on the hill. You play ball with us, you’ll be leading your own platoon in no time. Take the shield.” Steve put on his mask and grabbed his shield.

“You got this, Steve,” Y/N walked up, smiling encouragingly at him. “Go get ‘em.”

Steve gave a nervous smile before taking another deep breath. Senator Brandt’s aide was clearly done with how long it was taking him, and pushed Steve onto the stage. The singers began singing and dancing as soon as he was out there.

Y/N moved to the side of the stage to see better. Steve was nervous, clearly, and hadn’t memorized his lines. But he stayed up there, through it all. Afterwards, he signed autographs, with you right behind him. Life went on this way for weeks. Traveling to different cities around the country. Steve was embracing the name of Captain America and finally memorized his lines. The ladies were obsessed with him. Men wanted to be him. Children idolized him. You watched from a far, opting to just be Steve’s moral support, which was definitely needed.

By the time November rolled around, Steve, Y/N, and the rest of the Captain America crew started touring Europe. They were touring the Allied military camps there. Y/N was confused how a man playing dress up would help cheer up the soldiers, but Senator Brandt insisted that Steve was needed there. And if Steve was told that he was needed, he was going to be there. Y/N was currently standing backstage, watching Steve get made fun of by the soldiers.

She cringed as they yelled at him to bring the girls back out. Brandt’s Aide quickly ordered the girls back out and Steve came backstage.

“Don’t worry, pal,” Brandt’s Aide put a hand on Steve’s back. “They’ll warm up to you. Don’t worry.”

Y/N rolled her eyes as Brandt’s Aide walked away and she made her way towards her brother. “I knew we shouldn’t have come,” she stated. “Why would soldiers need a man dressed in tights to come and speak to them?” Steve glared at her. “Sorry, it’s just the truth.”

“I know…” Steve sighed as he took off his helmet. “I just believed that coming here would do some good…”

“No. You believed that by coming here, you would see some action. And don’t try to lie to me, Steve. We’re twins. I know you better than anyone else, sometimes even yourself. You just agreed to this tour to try to have an opportunity to fight.”

“Can we drop this right now?” Steve questioned as he pulled on his trench coat and grabbed his sketch book. “All I want is some quiet.”

He turned around and headed to the back stairs. Y/N sighed as she watched him sit down and begin sketching. Rain started pouring, almost in perfect timing. Y/N eventually moved a chair to sit behind Steve and began reading a book.

“Hello, Steve,” a British female voice broke the twins out of their thoughts. The woman came up from behind them, taking off her rain coat.

“Hi,” Steve looked up at the woman and greeted.

“You must be Y/N, Steve’s sister,” the woman smiled. “I’m Peggy.”

“Hi,” Y/N greeted. Steve had mentioned Peggy a few times in the past few months, aways blushing and stuttering. She could now understand why.

“What are you doin’ here?” Steve asked the woman.

“Officially, I’m not here at all.” Peggy just above Steve. “That was quite a performance.”

“Yeah. Uh… I had to improvise a little bit. Crowds I’m used to are usually more uh… twelve.”

“I understand you’re ‘America’s New Hope’?”

“Bond sales take a ten percent bump in every state I visit.”

“Is that Senator Brandt I hear?”

“At least he’s got me doin’ this. Phillips would have had me stuck in a lab.”

“And these are your only two options? A lab rat or a dancing monkey? You were meant for more than this, you know?”

“Oh, he knows,” Y/N muttered. “He just wishes he was out there fighting instead of dancing.” Steve hesitates. Obviously waiting to say something, either to Peggy or something about his sister’s comments, but stops.

“What? Peggy pressed.

“You know for the longest time I dreamed about coming overseas and being on the front lines,” Steve said almost wishfully. “Serving my country. I finally get everything I wanted, and I’m wearing tights.”

They’re interrupted by an ambulance honking. The trio turned around to watch the wounded soldiers be taken out of the ambulance. Tears form in Y/N’s eyes as the possibility of Bucky ending up that way. At the possibility of him returning to her in a coffin.

“They look like they’ve been through hell,” Steve stated as they still watched.

“These men more than most,” Peggy said.

“What happened?” Y/N asked, unable to look away from the wounded men.

“Schmidt sent out a force to Azzano. Two hundred men went up against him and less than fifty returned. Your audience contained what was left of the one-o-seventh. The rest were killed or captured.”

“The one-o-seventh?” Y/N and Steve questioned at the same time, suddenly standing up. They looked at each other. The one-o-seventh was Bucky’s division.

“What?” Peggy wondered, standing up as well.

“Come on!” Steve insisted, grabbing Y/N’s hand as they ran through the rain to the command tent. Peggy followed behind, holding her coat over her head. “Colonel Phillips,” Steve addressed as they entered the tent.

“Well, if it isn’t the Star-Spangled Man with a plan,” the Colonel sarcastically said as he sat at a desk. “And what is your plan today?”

“I need the casualty list from Azzano.”

“You don’t get to give me orders, son.”

“I just need one name. Sergeant James Barnes from the hundred and seventh.”

Colonel Phillips ignored Steve and pointed to Peggy. “You and I are gonna have a conversation later that you won’t enjoy.”

“Please tell us if he’s alive, sir,” Y/N begged. “B, A, R—“

“I can spell,” the Colonel cut her off. He looked at the trio before looking back down at the stack of papers in his hands. He stood up, carrying the papers with him. “I have signed more of these condolence letters today than I would care to count. But the name does sound familiar. I’m sorry.”

Y/N gasped, hand coming up to cover her mouth as she held in a sob. Steve stood there, tall, not letting that be the end of the conversation. He also didn’t want to show his hurt or weakness, though he held onto Y/N’s hand tighter.

“What about the others?” Steve questioned. “Are you planning a rescue mission?”

“Yeah! It’s called winning the war,” Colonel Phillips stated.

“But if you know where they are, why not at least—“

“They’re thirty miles behind the lines. Through the most fortified territory in Europe. We’d lose more men than we’d save. But I don’t expect you to understand that, because you’re a chorus girl.”

Steve’s jaw clenched. “I think I understand just fine.”

“Well then understand it somewhere else. If I read the posters correctly, you got some place to be in thirty minutes.” Colonel Phillips walked away as Steve looked at the military map, clearly showing where the men were lost.

“Yes, sir. I do.” Steve quickly led himself and Y/N out of the tent and into the show tent.

“Steve,” Y/N whimpered once they were alone inside.

He quickly let go of her hand and pulled her into his chest. That’s when she let loose, let all the tears out. Y/N had never told Steve what had happened between her and his best friend, but it didn’t surprise Steve to see her acting like this. Bucky was her friend too.

“I have to do something, Y/N,” Steve whispered.

“Please, no.” She gripped onto his shirt. “I can’t lose you too.”

“I’m sorry.” He pulled away and began changing and packing somethings. “I have to try and save the guys that are left.”

“What do you plan to do?” Peggy asked as she entered the tent, shaking off her coat. “Walk to Austria?”

“If that’s what it takes.”

“You heard the Colonel, your friend is most likely dead.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Yes, we don’t,” Y/N cried. “But if you go in there, you’ll most likely die too. And then where does that leave me?”

“Colonel Phillips is devising a strategy,” Peggy stated. “If he detects—“

“By the time he’s done that, it could be too late!” Steve walked out to a jeep, the women following behind. “You told me you thought I was meant for more than this. Did you mean that?”

“Every word.”

“Then you gotta let me go.” Steve jumped into the jeep.

“Steve! Please!” Y/N pleaded, grabbing onto his arm. “Please don’t leave me.”

“I’m sorry, Y/N.” He leaned down and placed a kiss on her forehead. “I have to do what’s right.”

“You can’t drive there, Steve,” Peggy stated. “I have a better way.”

next chapter >

Notes: Tags are struggling right now, for many writers. So I truly appreciate all the likes, comments, and reblogs. It means the world.

#tony stark x reader #the avengers x reader #avengers x reader #iron man x reader #captain america x reader #winter soldier x reader #tony stark imagine #Steve Rogers imagine #Bucky Barnes imagine #avengers imagine #marvel imagine #marvel fanfiction #nick fury x reader #steve rogers x reader #bucky barnes x reader #Phil Coulson x reader #howard stark x reader

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inevitably-johnlocked · 4 years ago

Note

Do you have any fanficions that are very science-y, if that makes any sense? Like, focused on scientific things, in the writing style or actual experiments incorporated into the story itself? I hope I'm making sense

Hi Nonny!

Ahhh yeah, though a lot of the fics I read have it deep in the fic, lol. BUT!!!! Guess what?? Your ask is the lucky one that spawns a new list I’ve been waiting forever to post the next part for a tonne of new fics, LOL!

As always, gang, if you have a fic more tuned to what Nonny is ACTUALLY looking for, please add them here, LOL. Pt. 1 will have a lot more of what you’re looking for Nonny, since there’s a lot of my FFNet recs on that one, but both lists have great recs!! <3

IT’S AN EXPERIMENT! Pt. 3

See also:

It’s An Experiment!

It’s An Experiment! (Pt. 2)

The Perfect Place by SilverSmile (K+, 1,955 w., 1 Ch. || Humour, Romance, 5 and Ones, Fluff, Experiments, Bed Sharing) – Sherlock attempts to find the perfect place to sleep, but his little experiment proves to be far more difficult than expected.

A Study in Lace by KarlyAnne (E, 2,320 w., 1 Ch. || Est. Rel., Crafty Sherlock, Tiny Lace Panties / Lingerie, Domestics, Experiments, Oral, Masturbation) – “Why do you suppose he was doing that?” “Why do I suppose who was doing what?” “The room. The lace. The secrecy. He was playing with fire in everything he did, and didn’t care one bit. But he had a secret chamber, carefully concealed, solely for the purpose of making lace lingerie. Obviously for personal use. Why?" Part 1 of The Unintentional Crafts of Sherlock Holmes

Insomnia by TheSingingGirl (K+, 2,635 w., 1 Ch. || Friendship, Humour, Bed Sharing, Sleepy Sherlock) – Sleep is merely the next frontier in what has become the battle to keep Sherlock alive. It's because of this that John ends up in bed with a sociopath.

Undercurrents by entanglednow (E, 2,996 w., 1 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Disturbing Things, Crime Scene Fetish, Pseudo-Necrophilia, PWP, Masturbation) – “There, that's it, perfect, shut your eyes and don't move - and don't speak."

John's Missing Wednesday by PipMer (K+, 2,999 w., 1 Ch. || Pre-Slash, Pre-TSo3, Non-Con Drugged John, Friendship, Experiment) – "Now John I'd poison. ... Sloppy eater – dead easy. I've given him chemicals and compounds that way, he's never even noticed. He missed a whole Wednesday once, didn't have a clue." – The Sign of Three. This is the story of that missing Wednesday.

Museums and Laboratories by RhododendronPonticum (T, 3,004 w., 1 Ch. || Romance, Angst, Obsessive Sherlock, Anxious Sherlock, Anxiety/Panic Attack, Separation Anxiety, Doctor John, Co-Dependent Sherlock) – If Sherlock's kitchen was his laboratory, then his bedroom was his museum.

Bathroom Accessories by Evenlodes_Friend (E, 3,324 w., 1 Ch. || Sex Toys, Butt Plug, First Kiss / Time, Romance, Horny Sherlock, John’s Patience Wears Thin, Humour, Bottomlock) – John discovers that Sherlock has been playing with some very adult toys in the bath.

After the Bombs by VampirePam (T, 3,337 w., 2 Ch. || THoB AU, Drugs, John’s PTSD, Panic Attack, Nightmares, Caring Sherlock, Cuddles, Bed Sharing, Angst, Hurt/Comfort) – In which the drugs Sherlock used to dose John trigger a severe episode of PTSD. When terrors old and new cause John to fall apart, Sherlock must rectify his mistake and pick up the pieces.

Experiment by Gwen's Blue Box (K+, 4,222 w., 3 Ch. || Non-Con Drugging, Hurt Comfort, Friendship) – Of course John has always known about his flatmate’s irregular sleeping habits, especially when they’re on a case. This time, however, the case is taking longer and longer, and soon John starts to worry. But there’s not much he can do, is there? Because drugging Sherlock isn’t an option. Not yet, maybe, but will it be soon? {{CW: John drugs Sherlock without his consent}}

Survival Strategies for the Domesticated British Butthole by Atiki (E, 6,183 w., 1 Ch. || Crack, Rimming, Anal Sex, Iced Lolly, Hair Removal, Depilation) – In which there’s a rimming disaster, Sherlock depilates his butt, everything goes very, very wrong and groceries are mistreated. This fic contains hair removal creme in a butthole, ice lollies in a butthole and John Watson's penis in a butthole. You have been warned.

My First, My Only, and My Forever by vintagelilacs (E, 6,220 w., 1 Ch. || Post-ASiB, Virgin Sherlock, Pining Sherlock, Sherlock’s Bum, John’s Scar, Sherlock POV, Body Worship, Fingering, Bottomlock, Promise of Forever / Proposals, Misunderstanding, First Kiss/Time, Loss of Virginity, Virginity Kink, Seduction) – Sherlock narrowed his eyes. He was missing a vital piece of data, he was sure. John had been looking at him oddly ever since they left Buckingham Palace, and the ensuing incident with Irene Adler had only exacerbated his erratic behaviour. What was it? Why would he care that Sherlock was a virgin? There was nothing reminiscent of mockery or pity in his gaze. And then it hit him. John Watson was aroused.

Time on my hands by Mildredandbobbin (M, 7,179 w., 1 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Post-S3, One Night Stands, Mutual Pining, Virgin Sherlock, First Time, Sexual Exploration / Discovery, Desperation, Body Worship) – Virginity’s a construct, a concept—what does losing one’s virginity entail for a gay man anyway? Sherlock wants to fill that particular gap in his knowledge but John won’t, can’t, never will assist and there’s only so much desperately unspoken pining even Sherlock can take.

Speak My Language by Itsallfine (T, 7,479 w., 4 Ch. || Thanksgiving, Love Languages, Love Confessions, First Kiss, John Experiments in Sherlock) – When Mrs. Hudson introduces John and Sherlock to the concept of the five love languages, Sherlock descends into a dark mood and John’s curiosity gets the better of him. What is Sherlock’s love language, and why does the whole concept set him so on edge? Part 1 of A Holiday Triptych

Made for You by Raxicoricofallapatorious (K, 8,440 w., 1 Ch. || Friendship, Sci-Fi, Androids) – When John was shot in the shoulder he was decommissioned and his memory and personality was wiped. Sherlock was given the blank droid and he quickly learns that this droid is more than it seems. John just so happened to come back and no one can fathom how or why. Johnlock if you squint.

Ravish Me by amalnahurriyeh (E, 10,025 w., 1 Ch. || UST / RST, Makeup / Lipstick, Sympathetic Sally, Experiments, Pining John, First Kiss, Face Fucking / BJ’s, Cuddling) – Sherlock is experimenting with patterns of wear on lipstick in daily encounters. John is going to go insane.

You fit me, Sherlock Holmes by orphan_account (G, 10,077 w., 1 Ch. || It’s An Experiment, Bed Sharing, Slow Burn, Fluff and Angst, Idiots in Love, Mutual Pining, Questionable Science) – An unfortunate series of events leads to John accepting being a part of Sherlock's study in physical intimacy. As the days pass by, John realizes he might be in for more than he bargained for. He doesn't entirely mind.

Fucking Cake by Random_Nexus (E, 12,965 w., 1 Ch. || Pre-Slash, Humour/Crack, Inanimate Object Smut, Frottage, “For a Case” / “Experiment”, PWP / Kinky, Mutual Pining, Fluff) – Sherlock brings home a chocolate cake, John finds him about to have sex with said cake, then exceedingly weird hijinx ensue. Part 1 of "Fucking Baked Goods" - Sherlock BBC

Division by MrsNoggin (E, 19,542 w., 11 Ch. || Coffee Shop AU || First Kiss/Time, Fluff, Barista Sherlock, Clingy Sherlock, POV John, John’s Limp, Bed Sharing, Fluff, Sleepy Cuddles, Sensuality, Touching, Virgin Sherlock, Insecure John) – John likes mysteries. And every morning he dips into the local independent coffee bar with his newspaper and ponders another... one Sherlock Holmes.

Hellfire by testosterone_tea (E, 28,596 w., 9 Ch. || Fantasy / Magic / Mages / Elementals AU || Mage Sherlock, Elemental John, Developing Relationship, Torture, Powerful / BAMF John, POV Alternating, Dark / Blood Magic, UST, First Kiss) – Sherlock is a Mage that gets involved with a case involving Dark Summoning rituals, leading him to John Watson, a man with Berserker blood. The only thing is, Berserkers have been extinct for centuries. And of course, nothing involving Mycroft and his interfering ways is ever simple. This time, even Sherlock may have bitten off more than he can chew.

Never Change a Running System by Lorelei_Lee (E, 54,246 w., 18 Ch. || Pre-TRF, Romance, Humour, Drama, Sex Toys, Anal, Rimming, Masturbation, Frottage, Blow Jobs, Public Sex, First Kiss / Time, Virgin Sherlock / Loss of Virginity, Accidental Voyeurism, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Experiments, Naive Sherlock, Pining Sherlock, Jealous Sherlock, Possessive Sherlock, Straight With an Exception John, Hand Jobs) – Sherlock discovers his sexuality – with far-reaching consequences for John.

Being John Watson-ish by elwinglyre (E, 69,902 w., 17 Ch. || Bodysnatcher AU || Author John, Cranky Sherlock, Angst, Sexual Tension, First Kiss / Time, Falling in Love, BAMF John, Past Soldier John, Feelings, Inside Someone’s Brain, Shy Sherlock, Sherlock Loves John, POV Sherlock, Switchlock, Slow Burn, Internal Dialogue, Mental Turmoil) – When consulting detective Sherlock Holmes steps on one toe too many at a crime scene, he's consigned to a desk job in an archaic office on the seventh-and-a-half floor of the New Scotland Yard. It’s in this bleak office that Sherlock discovers a portal into the mind of renowned author John Watson. Grander than his mind palace, this new wonderland affords Sherlock new vistas of experimentation. To learn more about the mystery behind the portal, Sherlock seeks out and befriends Watson. But then it all goes wrong when others find the secret portal door—including the man whose brain he visits.

Northwest Passage by Kryptaria (E, 95,157 w., 27 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Canadian AU || BAMF!John, Canadian John, PTSD, Anal / Oral Sex, Rimming, Emotional Hurt / Comfort, Drug Rehab, Falling in Love, Pining Sherlock, Love Confessions, Sherlock’s Violin, Panic Attacks, Switching, Anxious / Protective Sherlock, Hugs for Comfort, Suicide Mentions, Healing Each Other) – Seven years ago, Captain John Watson of the Canadian Forces Medical Service withdrew from society, seeking a simple, isolated life in the distant northern wilderness of Canada. Though he survives from one day to the next, he doesn't truly live until someone from his dark past calls in a favor and turns his world upside-down with the introduction of Sherlock Holmes." Part 1 of Tales from the Northwest

The Adventure of the Silver Scars by tangledblue (NR [M], 142,458 w., 41 Ch. || S3 Fix-It, Post-HLV/ Post-TAB / Canon Compliant, Case Fic, No Baby, Angst, Humour, UST, Slow Burn, Angry John, Reconciliation, Not Nice Mary / Leaving Mary, Dependent Sherlock, Pining Sherlock, Caretaker John, Fist Fights, It’s An Experiment, Virgin Sherlock, Dancing, Drugging, John Whump, Pet Names, Sherlock’s Mind Palace, Scars) – It’s been thirteen months since Mary shot Sherlock and John finds he’s still pissed off about it. Sherlock had thought everything was settled: John and Mary, domestic bliss. But when John turns up at Baker Street with suitcases, the world’s only consulting detective might not be prepared for the consequences. A new case. Some old scores to settle. Certain danger. Concertos, waltzes, and whisky.

#steph replies #johnlock fic recs #my fic recs #it's an experiment #Anonymous #fic rec sunday

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statticscribbles · 4 years ago

Text

Feel

Summary: Seamus Finnigan/reader ”She would remind him how the sun felt on his skin, and what the air felt like to breathe, or how snow felt on his tongue”

-Seventh year was torture; the war was torture; rebuilding the school was torture and having to stand and move debris, to move the bodies wasn’t something you or anyone else had really been able to deal with. Seamus seemed to be handling it fairly well; something you were surprised at; he had always been supportive of everyone and keeping everyone you knew safe so you were a little shocked to see him so calm and collected.

He hovered by you any chance he got and you assumed it was because you’d been taken for questioning and punishment by the Carrows. You try to avoid thinking about it; to avoid the way their smiles had glinted the curses that had left you screaming you didn’t know anything. Seamus had tried to get you to avoid punishment but the minute any of the younger students caught the Carrows or any of the other death eater’s eyes you were one of the first to shove yourself in front of them.

You let the professors deal with the division of work; the first few days after the final battle it had felt like everyone was frozen. It had taken a full week to gather everyone’s nerves and to get their heads in the right place to begin the work of fixing the school. No one was forced too, but over half the school showed up to volunteer; none of them had been turned away but most everyone was delegated to a small task or working under one of the professors.

You’re both put on quidditch pitch clean-up; most of the adults were trying to limit anyone’s involvement in the actual war issues despite all of you fighting. You knew that Seamus had seen people die; you had too but it was easier to push aside to focus on the clean up. You’d been moving debris; clearing the quidditch pitch is the main priority so that the school can return to as normal as possible as fast as possible. It takes two weeks for everything to be repaired. No one comments on the excessive reinforcement of the castle and protection spells. Most of the students aren’t made aware right away; it’s a slow process is what you’ve learned from your occasional visits.

As the weeks went on you accepted your position at the ministry; refusing to get close to any of your co-workers. None of them said anything about how you’d flinch back when the department heads would snap; still trying to move in front of the co-workers you avoided. “Y/N.” You jerk your head making eye contact with your boss who rolls his. “Come on kid; relax. Your boyfriend is here to see you.” “Boyfriend?” You quirk your head wondering who decided to claim something so absurd; but your face softens when Seamus peeks around the corner. “Wow. Mr. Finnegan in the flesh; you sure you’re not too busy commenting on the Harpies to pay a visit to your old schoolmate; sorry girlfriend apparently?” You laugh at him and he doesn’t smile, just pulls his head back.

“Come on then.” You mumble nodding to the floo network and retreat to your flat despite it not being lunch break. “So?” You mumble and he shrugs again and you can feel his casual face is starting to break. “Seamus; it’s okay; we’re safe now.” He nods along with your words and as you pull him into a hug he starts shaking and trying to curl both into and around you. “They were there when I went to sleep; I didn’t mean too but the game ran late the day before and-” You let him struggle through how the Harpies game had run late; causing him to have to wrap everything up three hours past when he normally did and then the day after they were travelling so he had no time to nap and then when he had gotten to the next pitch and someone had let him sleep he’d woken up and screamed so much that he’d made the other commentators nervous enough to talk to his manager. Which is how he ended up visiting you as he had the week off.

“It’s hard to remember isn’t it.” You mumble and he looks confused. “I can’t stop remembering it!” “The fact we’re alive.” “Oh.” He nods and you wave your wand; you keep it low and he relaxes as the book floats over, you pull it close and he doesn’t need to ask the kettle boiling and both of you end up pulling the tea closer and wrapping a blanket around the two of you. You open to a random page; you don’t need to actually focus on the story; it’s just what seems to ground the both of you; if your voice starts to dip, Seamus will start up where you leave off. You make it a full hour before your voice is crackling from overuse and Seamus’ voice smooths over the wavering yours is starting. “There once was a ghost of a boy who liked to live in the shadows, so he wouldn’t frighten people. His job was to wait for his sister, who was still alive.” His voice cuts out and you’re about to say something but you’re frozen too wondering how those passage and the ache it causes in both your chests had escaped you the first five times you had read through this.

“She wasn’t afraid of the dark, because she knew that’s where her brother was. At night, when darkness came to her room, she would tell her brother about the day.” You start speaking as well; you and Seamus’ voices mingle as you continue; you’re not sure if you need to voice what you’re seeing behind your eyes; cold dead lifeless ones stare back when you blink; trying to keep the trembling out of your voice “She would remind him how the sun felt on his skin, and what the air felt like to breathe, or how snow felt on his tongue. And that reminded her that she was still alive. They both were.” You know he added the last line but you don’t say anything about it; nor when you stay cuddled next to each other and wake the next morning nightmare free.

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#Seamus Finnigan #Seamus Finnigan imagine #Seamus Finnigan reader insert #Seamus Finnigan x reader #Seamus Finnigan x you #Seamus Finnigan x y/n #harry potter imagine #harry potter reader insert #harry potter #stattic

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toilet-bound-dates · 4 years ago

Text

First meeting

Key: L/N = Last name F/N = first name

"so... the class room should be here..." you mumble to yourself as you look up from the slip of paper to the sign hanging above the door. "ah class 1-A!" you said as you slid the door open you took in the sight of the class room, it was different from the other class rooms you have been in so far with this one looking like it was from a high school. well that is because it was, you're now in the old high school division of Kamome Gakuen, years ago it used to be a junior and high school students but it was converted into a collage a few years ago.

"Oh hello!!" you jumped when a voice at the front of the class caught your attention. "hey! my name is Minamoto Kou!" the man said, he was tall with spiky ginger hair and when he smiled you can see two sharp canine teeth, around his neck was a safety amulet that looked like it has seen some hell. "you're L/N F/N right?" he asked as he looked at his clip board. "Yes sir!" you said after shaking your head and walked over to him as he stood at the podium.

"so because you're the first one here you get to pick your seat, i don't go by last names or anything so pick where you wanna sit" he said as he turned to the chalk board and started to write some things down.

'strange' you thought as you picked your seat near the window and sat down at it, you looked at the beautiful plants that lined the shelf you couldn't tell what they were but you can tell they were all well taken cared for.

as you started to wander off into space the door suddenly slammed open making you and Kou jump and look at the door, a tall curvy woman stood there panting as if she ran all the way there. "Kou!" she gasped out as he ran over to her.

'What happened Nene?!" he asked as he helped her stand up straight as she waved her hand at him. "Have you seen Hanako??" she asked as she gripped his arms. "N-no i havent!" he said as he put his hand on his head. "i haven't seen him all day" he said honestly as he rubbed the back of his head. "this isn't good! his class starts in a few minutes!" the woman called Nene said as she started to panic.

till a teasing sing song voice came from the back of your class. "Oh Yashiro my little Daikon" all three of you looked to the back of the class to see a handsome man in a science lab coat sitting at the back of the class, he smirked at the other two as he closed the book in his hand. "Hanako! you know not to call me that while we're working!" Nene said as she walked up to his and slugged him in the shoulder making him laugh. "Aww! but you are my little Daikon!" he said as he hugged her close. sighing Nene just hugged him back. "i know and you will always be Hanako to me Yugi" she said making the man laugh.

"Sorry about that L/n-san, but that is Yugi amane, our science teacher here" he said as he crossed his arms. "are they married?" you asked as you watched the two making Kou laugh. "no they are just good friends, we all are" he said as he walked to yugi and patted his back.

to you it was strange seeing teachers being this casual coming from boarding schools all your life, it was a nice change for once. when the bell rang Nene and Hanako both ran to their classes as Kou started to teach the now full class room. the day went on uneventful till you stared to hear stories about the school's seven wonders.

curious you went to the girls bathroom in the old school house. 'this is so stupid' you thought as you stood at the third stall, there are no such things as ghost's, demon's or anything paranormal but you found yourself taking a deep breath you knocked on the door three times.

"Hanako, Hanako, Hanako are you in there?" you asked and waited a few moments. "well i was right there is n-" you stopped mid sentence when the stall door unlocked from the inside and slowly opened, only to scream when a hand came out and gripped the door. a sing song voice rang out as it did. "Hellllooooo" it said as you turned on your heel and ran from the bathroom. 't-this has to be a prank!'. you thought as you ran from the old building

"b-but if it was why would someone wait in that bathroom just for some one to knock on the door!?" you said to yourself as you ran to your dorm room and slammed the door behind you. you put your hand on your chest in order to catch your breath from all the running and soon shook yourself. "who ever did that has too much time on their hands" you mumbled to yourself as you tossed your bag onto the counter and started to look for something to eat.

but as you you can't shake the feeling of being watched and it was making your skin crawl, if someone is in your room you'll have to have a talk with the dean, you specifically said you wanted a room to yourself.

grabbing a kitchen knife you started to look around the little apartment for any intruders but found none. "guess it was my imagination..." you said to yourself as you pressed your back to the wall and just listened to the ticking of the clock in the hallway. "maybe a warm bath will help me calm down" you mumbled as you moved from your spot on the wall to return the kitchen knife to the chopping block.

when you had everything ready for your bath you tried to open the door but it wouldn't budge, with a groan you hit your head on the door lightly on it three times. "damn it..." you mumbled again only this time to hear the door unlock from the inside and was pulled open. "ok... guess it was just stuck.." you said as you went to walk in till a hand gripped your shoulder. "hey! that was rude running away the way you did!"

that was what finally broke you, you screamed loudly and spun to look at the intruder in your room. it was the science teacher! "h-how did you get in here!" you yelled as he just rolled his eyes. "Well you did summon me" he said casually as if it was a normal thing. "N-no i didn't!" you snapped at him till you noticed he was floating.

"h-how are y-you doing that?" you asked as you dropped to the ground fear now taking over your body, Hanako just smirked and grinned at you. "i am the seventh wonder of this place, Hanako the bathroom ghost, it is a pleasure to meet you" he said as he bowed to you his clothes changed to an old school uniform that was worn back in 1969. "Now what is it that you wish for?" he asked as he looked at you with a smile on his face.

#toilet bound hanako kun #jibaku shonen hanako kun x reader #toilet bound hanako-kun x reader #yugi amane #nene yashiro #kou minamoto #hanako x reader #tbhk #tbhk nene #tbhk kou #jshk

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chrysalispen · 4 years ago

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i: absolution

i hope none of you thought i was starting with the cart scene ;;

AO3 link HERE, fic chapter below the cut.

====

The anguish of the earth absolves our eyes

Till beauty shines in all that we can see.

War is our scourge; yet war has made us wise,

And, fighting for our freedom, we are free.

---Siegfried Sassoon, 1886-1967

-----o-----

Old Gridania, 14th Sun, Fourth Astral Moon, Year 5 of the Seventh Umbral Era

It was a hot midsummer morning and the forest belonged to the cicadas. The dry and hollow whickering buzzed between the leaves, cutting through the oppressive wet weight of the air as if to assert the insects’ supremacy. From her perch upon the rough-hewn bench near the entrance to the Archers’ Guild, Aurelia Laskaris found that even remaining perfectly still was no respite. Not from the heat nor the weather, and certainly not the clouds of midges that seemed to swarm over everything and everyone. More than once, she had watched an Adder or a Wailer stroll past their cramped bench in the hastily repurposed waiting area while muttering curses and swatting at the clouds of insects so thick the air looked gray in places.

With a heavy and somewhat disconsolate sigh, she turned her attention back to the threadbare rug that lay upon the wooden planks a scant few ilms below her sandaled feet. Across the room, near the lectern by the door, she espied a strangely shaped brownish stain of unknowable origin- something that had at some point sunk deep into the fibers. The longer she sat with naught else to occupy her, the more it usurped her attention, until all she could do was stare at it and nibble on the end of the forelock she had twisted around her index finger.

“Are you really that nervous?” her minder’s voice murmured at her shoulder.

Keveh’to looked as bored and miserable as she felt. Dressed in his bright yellow Grand Company overcoat and matching uniform, the man who had been her minder and friend for nigh on five summers now watched her with a knowing light in his grey eyes. Like her, his face was dewy with a thin sheen of sweat, and his ears flickered every time one of the insects attempted to make a landing upon them.

“I’m only about to discover whether or not the Hearers deem me sufficiently reformed.” Aurelia’s gaze lingered upon the outline of that stain. Her brow itched with collected sweat, most maddeningly so about her third eye, but she didn’t dare lift the kerchief she wore. Not even to scratch. “My former enemies hold my very life in their hands. Naught about that could be nerve-wracking, surely.”

Was it blood? Wine? The Garlean couldn’t take her eyes off it. It was inexplicably vexing.

“You aren’t too nervous to be cheeky,” he said dryly, blocking the elbow she sent his way with a nimble swat of his palm. “Watch it! This coat is new.”

“What? One little jab to the ribs isn’t going to muss your uniform, Sergeant-”

“Lieutenant.”

“Right, Lieutenant Epocan now. My mistake.” He scoffed, but her attention was already back upon the stained rug. “...What if they change their minds?”

“About what?”

“You’ve got a perfectly good set of working ears, Keveh’to. Sentiment is turning strongly against-” The soft fall of golden waves upon her shoulders shifted side to side with the swivel of her chin as she tilted it towards one of the nearby guardsmen. “...against people like me.”

“I don’t take your meaning.”

“The hells you don’t.” Her voice dropped to a murmur, though her words were no less vehement for her discretion. “I’m sorry to sound so cross, but you know very well why I worry. What should become of me should they decide to send me packing back to the gaol?”

“They won’t,” he said, but she thought she detected enough uncertainty in the man’s voice that the butterflies in the pit of her belly began to flutter once more. “...Well, they’d be fools if they did.”

“That isn’t a comfort, you know.”

“And if you're that worried about appearances," he reached for the hand that hovered at her chin and tapped the back of her wrist, "walking into an arbitration chamber with a mouthful of your own hair isn't exactly what I would call a solid first impression.”

Scowling at the rebuke, she let out a soft and petulant huff but tugged the end of her forelock out from between her lips and settled her fidgeting hands back into her lap.

She wasn’t convinced, of course. Judges were as fallible as any other soul upon the star in her experience, and no less swayed by popular sentiment or personal grudge- although, she conceded in silence, it wasn’t as if she could control the outcome.

Logic wasn’t enough to assuage her concerns. Four years ago, when she had helped to save a small outlying settlement and dismantle an imperial cohort that had threatened it- that should have been the end of them. In truth, she and Keveh’to had both been lauded as heroes at the time. But four summers was more than enough time to forget, reports or not, and from the rumors Keveh’to had heard, the XIVth Imperial Legion looked to be steadily applying pressure against the still-fragile and rebuilding city-state.

It wasn’t just that. She’d overheard anxious whispers of her own in Hyrstmill. An ominous gloom settling back into Larkscall, the eastern edge of the Shroud that bordered Ala Mhigo. Machina and steel-clad imperial patrols spotted in an ailing and slow to recover Twelveswood. Wailers and adventurers alike, gone missing.

She cast another sidewise glance at the man by the door, but other than a vaguely disinterested nod in her direction he made no comment or gesture.

Hells, this interminable waiting. I’m going to go mad if I have to sit here for another-

“Conjurer Aurelia Laskaris and Lieutenant Keveh’to Epocan,” the bland voice from the desk startled her enough that she felt an unpleasant twist in her stomach. She sat suddenly ramrod straight, eyes wide. “The adjudicators will see you now.”

“It’s about bleeding time,” the Miqo’te muttered, tail smacking against the flat of the bench. He gave his charge a curious glance. “Are you alright?”

“Just a touch of nerves.” Posture ramrod straight, expression displaying a calm she most certainly did not feel, she set her pattened feet upon the rug and stood. “Do I look presentable?”

“...You look soaked in sweat and uncomfortable.”

“Reassuring,” Aurelia said testily, “thank you.”

Keveh’to shrugged. “Just like everyone else here.” He swept one arm towards the closed door, a grandiose gesture that fell somewhat flat. “Ladies first.”

For a moment she felt as unsteady on her feet as she had been that fateful day five years past, bedraggled and dirty and ill, limping alone into a rain-dampened keep for a tribunal to decide what should become of her. She exhaled, quickly wiping her sweaty palms against the hempen weave, and righted her posture once more. Keveh’to was correct, of course; surely this was naught save a formality. They’d either extend her sentence on the work program or they would shorten the leash, and she had only to find out which they had chosen.

And at least this time she wouldn’t be alone.

Squaring her shoulders, she made her way through the door and past the open training area, up a brief staircase, and into the short hallway. The two masked men bracing the door stared at the approaching duo, their lips set in a bland and unreadable line. Other than a curt nod in the Keeper’s direction, the guards seemed to pay neither of them any particular mind. Keveh’to paused, shrugged, then lifted a fist to rap on the oak panels.

“Enter,” called a mild baritone voice.

The heavy doors swung open with a ponderous creak upon brass hinges, and the Keeper and his imperial charge crossed the threshold into a room that to Aurelia’s critical eye was clearly a repurposed private office. Three people sat at a long desk: one Hyuran woman in the ash half-mask of a Wood Wailer, two men, one of whom she recognized. His gaze caught hers, and he acknowledged her with a polite inclination of his angular chin.

“Mistress Laskaris,” Vorsaile Heuloix said, and if the man’s voice was not precisely warm, it lacked the painstaking effort at civility she remembered from her first journey to Gridania five years ago.

Aurelia allowed herself a small smile. “Commander Heuloix.”

“It has been some time. I trust you are well.”

Somewhere behind her she heard the door click shut. “As well as one might expect.”

“Excellent.” His lips quirked, and with that twitch of his mouth his sharp features softened somewhat. “Let it be known that the Grand Company appreciates your timely response to this summons. I surmise we also have the Lieutenant to thank for that.”

“She was in Hyrstmill on behalf of the Conjurers’ Guild,” Keveh’to spoke up at her side, smiling wryly, “so it took a fair bit of time, but yes.”

“Well, we’re all present now.” Vorsaile gestured to the two masked strangers. "Swethyna Brookstone and Lewin Hunte. The commanders of the Wood Wailers and the Gods’ Quiver, two divisions of Gridania’s defense force, whom I have asked to be present today.”

Aurelia nodded to each in their turn, but her brow remained furrowed. “If I might beg your pardon, Commander, I admit to some curiosity as to why there is not a representative of the Council of Hearers present. Will they not also be needed to preside over this hearing? I was given to understand that theirs is the final say.”

Behind the table, the three exchanged meaningful glances. Vorsaile shook his head.

“I’m afraid that either you or Lieutenant Epocan have misunderstood,” he said. “This is not a hearing. The Council and the Elder Seedseer have already made a decision regarding your case- or rather, the Elder Seedseer has exercised her authority to do so.”

Her heart took a sudden and sickening drop into her stomach. Keveh’to seemed to sense her distress; his hand pressed into the center of her spine, whether to keep her upright or keep her from bolting out of the room it was unclear. She found herself feeling suddenly quite appreciative of his presence in either case.

“Well,” she swallowed with difficulty past the tight sensation in her throat, “one hopes that you would not keep a lady in suspense. Go on.”

The commander of the Yellow Serpents did not frown or glare or smile, only inclined his chin gravely. “I quite agree,” he said. “Swethyna, may I have the papers, please?”

Papers?

Lips still set in that neutral line, the masked woman flipped through a sheaf of documents on the table’s varnished surface until she found what she sought, plucked them from the stack, and passed them to the Elezen. He reached for the inkpot at his left elbow with one hand, collected the papers with the other, and placed them on the far side facing Aurelia and her minder.

“Mistress Laskaris,” Vorsaile Heuloix said, “after careful review of the particulars - including your actions while a novice of the Conjurers’ Guild assigned to the village of Willowsbend - it is the consensus that you have proven yourself a friend and ally to the people of the Twelveswood. Furthermore, you have comported yourself in a manner befitting the realm’s most stalwart defenders. It is remarkable enough to witness such conduct from any one individual, let alone a woman who once served under the White Raven's banner. You have the thanks of the Grand Company and the Council of Hearers alike, and of course Kan-E-Senna herself.”

“I… thank you.” It felt utterly inadequate but it was all the response she could manage, unsure as she was what this speech presaged. “I did only what anyone else would have done.”

“I beg to differ- but that is beside the point.” Vorsaile cleared his throat and reached for a small box that sat on the lip of the table. “The Elder Seedseer wished to offer you a place in the ranks of her honor guard, but the Council of Hearers made it clear they would not countenance your appointment to such a sensitive position.”

That did not surprise her. Gridanians were a hidebound people, more so even than her own countrymen, and she had seen over the years how people like Keveh’to were shoved to the fringes of their society. If they wouldn’t trust a Keeper of the Moon even when he wore the colors of their Grand Company, she knew there was precious little chance they would extend that trust to her.

“However,” he continued, “there are conditions to which they have agreed- which brings us to the reason for your summons today. In light of your valorous and compassionate actions in defense of the realm and its people, the Eorzean Alliance and its Grand Companies have decided to grant you a full pardon, and consider your time served.”

Aurelia faltered, staring at the assembled commanders in open astonishment. She was… she wasn’t going to a gaol? Or being reassigned?

“As such,” the small wooden box opened with a click; within it lay a small, plain brass signet ring engraved with a pair of serpents twined about a staff, “it is hereby decreed that you are to be created a citizen of the city-state of Gridania, with all rights and privileges included therein.”

She couldn’t speak. Her eyes stung. It’s sweat, she told herself. Bloody stifling in here.

“Aurelia,” Keveh’to had drawn alongside her while she stood frozen in place. The Keeper’s tail wrapped carefully around her leg, twitching with a slow and soothing rhythm against her knee. “You’re looking unwell. Are you all right?”

“I’m… no. No, I’m- I’m fine. Better than fine, in fact.” Her lips twitched in a semblance of a smile. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to seem ungrateful; it’s simply that this wasn’t what I had expected to hear today. It’s a bit of a shock, I suppose.”

“A good shock, one would hope.”

The commander of the Grand Company interrupted their hushed conversation with a soft hum to clear his throat, then gestured to the inkpot with polite emphasis. “For our city’s records,” Vorsaile said, “we must ask that you append your signature to your citizenship papers. If you would, please…”

“Oh,” she said. “Yes, of course.”

She took the quill in hand, musing as she skimmed the text, the tip hovering at the edge of the inkpot. Five years ago she had been in just such a position- only then it was to formally cast aside her title, defecting from the Garlean Empire under terms of unconditional surrender as a prisoner of the Eorzean Alliance. She would never again be Aurelia jen Laskaris, VIIth Imperial Legion medicus. The vagaries of time and circumstance had forever placed her past beyond any tangible reach.

She was Aurelia Laskaris now, initiate of the Conjurers' Guild and - as of today - a citizen of Gridania. An Eorzean.

Forcing herself back to some semblance of composure, she bent over the documents. The quill scratch and the crispness of turning pages were the only sounds in the room other than the ticking of the wall chronometer. Her vision was so blurred she could barely see the writing on the paper, the loops and arcane curves of her own Eorzean script, but in moments it was done and she was setting the quill neatly back in its pot.

Vorsaile scattered salt across the wet ink, tapped them onto a small groove in his desk, then folded the paper and pressed a nub of half-melted wax against the seam. All of this, followed with the press of a heavy-looking brass seal, and the deed was done.

Aurelia was free.

“Thank you, Mistress Laskaris. That will be all.” Vorsaile held out the ring box. Aurelia took it and stared at its contents for a long moment, feeling strangely numb. “If you have any questions…”

“I have one,” Keveh’to said wryly. “What’s with the ring?”

“Hm? Ah… well. That signet ring is one normally granted to Serpentbearers upon their initiation into the guard - a small act of defiance on the Elder Seedseer's part, one suspects. In any case, it is a tangible reminder that your service has been recognized.”

She traced the engraving on the ring’s surface with one fingertip. Its brass curve gleamed in the late morning sunlight slanting through the nearby window.

“She asked me to inform you that this bauble is not entirely ceremonial. There is a small enchantment upon it which enhances the wearer’s focus in combat- should such a boon be needful.” Vorsaile paused for a beat; at that moment, his polite smile became something closer to a sly grin. “...That said, this is not to be considered tacit permission for you to go about picking fights with imperial soldiers. Even if you do catch them starting forest fires.”

“I shall endeavor to be on my very best behavior, Commander Heuloix. You have my word,” a small laugh escaped her lips. The sound of it brought back a semblance of equilibrium; she felt her nerves begin to calm. “Please give the Elder Seedseer my regards. I owe her a great deal.”

“She would no doubt return the sentiment.” Vorsaile reached forth a hand. “Allow me to offer my congratulations, Mistress Laskaris.”

She took it in bemused silence, unaware of Keveh’to’s eyes upon her.

~*~

“You don’t seem well pleased,” he said. It was the first either of them had spoken on the short walk back to the Canopy. Aurelia kept fidgeting with the writ she had signed, opening the broken wax seal on the parchment and reading its contents with a deep frown knitting her brow, as if she still couldn’t quite believe what had transpired.

“I am,” she insisted, somewhat weakly. “Very much so.”

“Most people in your position would be overjoyed. A full pardon- and citizenship? There are people who have been here twice as long that haven’t enjoyed such favor.”

“Some would think it ill-deserved.”

“Does it matter what other people think?”

“It might, if they feel preferential treatment is being shown to an imperial-”

“Former imperial.”

“It all seems rather too simple.”

“Mayhap. But sometimes matters really are that simple.” The Miqo’te shrugged. A small throng of giggling children sprinted past them on their way to the amphitheater, shouting at each other. Engrossed in some manner of diversion they had spun between themselves, no doubt. Perhaps it was also a sign of the changing times that they paid the Keeper of the Moon and his companion no notice whatsoever. “Seems to me you’re overthinking things. As usual.”

Aurelia dabbed her sleeve against her damp face and said nothing. Keveh’to didn’t understand what she was getting at, and she didn’t feel the wherewithal for another argument-- but his gaze upon her was equal parts sympathetic and concerned.

“All right, spit it out,” he said. “What’s really bothering you? It isn’t actually what happened in there, is it?”

“What? No, it’s-”

“Well, what then?”

“I don’t… I don’t know if this is really where I want to stay,” she said. “And citizenship makes me feel… I don’t know. Bound to the land, somehow.”

“What? Why? People come and go from Gridania all the time.”

She offered no reply save a helpless shrug.

They were passing the rebuilt aetheryte plaza. In the space of those five short years after the disaster which Eorzeans now called the Calamity, it had become a bustling and lively place. The throng milling about the glowing crystal included townspeople and merchants as well as the much rougher-looking adventurers in their motley collection of gear. Just as with the children, few even glanced at Aurelia as she and Keveh’to crossed the shallow bridge in the direction of the Carline Canopy. It had been a long time since she had felt like a local curiosity, for which she was silently grateful.

She paused upon the slope and its moss and stone path leading to the inn’s entrance, looking out over the placid and glassy surface of the river. The great waterwheel creaked in its slow and unhurried way upon each turn, and on the far bank, the warm wind rustled the leaves of young saplings.

“I don’t understand why you think leaving the Empire means all your plans have to change.” Keveh’to shrugged. “You can still be a chirurgeon in Eorzea, you know.”

“I know.”

“If anything, there’s more of a need for people with healing skills now than before. ‘Sides, you’ve got that kit of yours, don’t you? The big one with all the tools and such?”

“Many of the medicines in it cannot be replenished. I would need tools and reagents that simply don’t exist outside the Empire.” At his grimace, she added, “I think given time and closer study I could duplicate certain of them, but Eorzean methods of alchemy are quite different from ours. I suspect that in order to do what needs must, I would need to become quite proficient indeed, and I’ve not the first inkling where to start.”

“It can’t be that different.”

“You’d be surprised. I would explain it but we’d be here the rest of the day.”

“And I’d not understand the first bleeding thing about it even if you did.” His lips split into a wide grin. “Nor care, I’m afraid.”

Aurelia scoffed. “At least you’re honest.”

“Just saving you the trouble. Anyroad, you don’t have to make a decision now, do you?” He began to descend the gentle slope of the hill towards the Canopy, ears forward and tail twitching. “Sleep on it. Take some of Miounne's jobs while you give it some thought.”

The conversation ended as they reached the stone-laden path and passed through the ornately carved doors to the Carline Canopy’s main entrance. Aurelia paused mid-step to linger upon the threshold, her gaze sweeping across the restored common room. The stairwell entrance to the recently rebuilt airship dock was now open, and nearly every table in the establishment seated bustling throngs of adventurers, merchants, and other assorted travelers. The buzz of their conversation filled the room with a low hum, broken with the occasional shout or guffaw from one party or another.

"Assuming Miounne has any work available," she chuckled. Some few of the hopeful newcomers had formed a queue that appeared to be growing by the moment. Even from this short distance, she could see the bright flash of leve cards clasped in gloved and gauntleted hands. “I haven’t seen the Adventurers’ Guild this busy in ages.”

“Aye, not since the Twin Adder opened recruitment five years ago. Mostly new faces too; look at that. She must have her hands full.”

He was right, she realized, upon closer inspection. Most of the would-be adventurers were clearly new to the business, fresh-faced and quite young. There were a few hard-bitten veterans among the lot, but not as many as one might expect. “I wager that trend shall only continue. What with all the displacement from-- oh, she’s seen us,” Aurelia pointed at the hand waving from the desk. “Come with me and say hello?”

“Might as well,” he sighed with mock resignation. “She’s already seen me. There’s no escaping her.”

“Don’t be cheeky. Come on.”

She began to weave her way through the crowd with Keveh’to close behind. A handful of the adventurers watching from the queue glowered at the pair, clearly assuming they intended to jump the line, but Aurelia ignored the hostile stares and kept pushing her way past until the pair had reached the desk. Miounne’s smile was radiant at the sight of them, if rather fatigued.

“Aurelia! And Sergeant Epocan-”

“Lieutenant.”

“Yes, yes, of course! I remember now, Lieutenant. So sorry. My mind is in half a dozen places at the minute.” The Canopy’s proprietress made a vague motion with one hand. “I hate to be so abrupt, Aurelia, but I’ve been looking for you. E-Sumi-Yan asked me to send you on to the Fane - your ‘earliest convenience,’ he said.”

“Why? Is aught amiss?”

Miounne shook her head. “He didn’t elaborate. Shall I ring him and let him know you’ll be along?”

“Oh, no, please don’t trouble yourself,” she glanced at the growing line of visibly impatient adventurers, “Lieutenant Epocan can call him.”

The Miqo’te protested, “Wait, why am I - hey!”

She all but dragged him away from the counter and towards the concierge, out of earshot of most of the crowd. The man at the desk offered a polite and noncommittal smile as they passed and made for the staircase leading up to her room. Keveh’to was still bristling, his tail lashing the air.

“I’ll not be a moment,” she said. “We can go our separate ways at the plaza.”

“I’m not even your minder anymore, let alone your personal secretary,” he grumbled, even though he was already reaching for the small device clipped to his ear. “...Right, well. Just remember you owe me one.”

Aurelia flashed him a quick grin before she opened the door and slipped inside.

The small room was as austere as it had been when Miounne had first let it to her five years ago. She had not acquired much in the way of personal possessions since; there had hardly seemed a point while serving a sentence, after all. There was the field kit she had been allowed to keep along with its contents - what little remained now - and her own small traveling pack with its botany log and change of clothes and her mother’s locket. Next to this sat the small wand she had been gifted by the guild before setting off to Willowsbend. All that she truly owned in the world sat in this one small corner.

She reached into the pouch on her plain leather belt and drew forth the ring box and the neatly folded parchment: both symbols of the changes to come, for weal or woe. In the meantime, she thought, official proof of her new legal status was not something she felt it would be wise to risk losing. The papers she tucked securely into her botany book before replacing it, pulling the drawstring of her bag taut, and buckling the clasp again.

Once that was finished she opened the ring box and after a moment’s hesitation removed its contents. The brass winked at her from the center of her half-open palm. It was not the sort of thing she would have normally worn, and it was a touch too wide for her ring finger. She removed it to slip onto her index finger instead, and there it remained secure.

Satisfied with the fit, she set the box on the side table, grabbed her wand to hook onto her belt, and made for the door. The ring was warm and weighted on its perch. A reminder of the new start she had been granted.

A rap on the door: “Aurelia?”

“One moment!”

Her feelings were no less mixed than they had been before she had quit the Archer’s Guild an hour past, but they were also not something she had time to consider right now. After she had returned from the Fane, perhaps.

She made her way to the door. E-Sumi-Yan would be waiting.

#upon pale dawns #aurelia laskaris #keveh'to epocan #garlean warrior of light #a realm reborn #chapter 1: absolution

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klaineanummel · 5 years ago

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enemies with benefits

Kurt Hummel is the captain of the NYU Violets soccer team. Blaine Anderson is the captain of the Columbia Lions soccer team. They're bitter rivals on and off the field, but that doesn't mean that they can't also be attracted to each other. Right?

Hello everyone!! Welcome to my fic for the @gleepotluckbigbang Glee Potluck Exchange! :) I have been paired with the wonderful @notarelationship, and while I did not receive any official prompt, I did get a bunch of tropes that she enjoys. So, here you go darling! I hope that you enjoy <3

Massive thanks to @mailroomorder for betaing this fic <3 you're the real MVP. Also, I'm fully aware these fics were supposed to be capped at 5K. lmao oops?

A small note, more so for those of you well versed in soccer: I am fully aware that the NYU Violets soccer team is not in the same NCAA division as the Columbia Lions (far from it actually). However, in order for the fic to work, I fudged the facts a little bit. I mean, hey, it's an AU, right? So, apologies to any potential die-hard soccer fans out there for this small inaccuracy.

the seventh time

It’s the first time they’ve done it at Kurt’s apartment. Not because Kurt doesn’t want Blaine here (though, in theory, he doesn’t), but because he lives with four other guys. All of whom are on the NYU Violets soccer team with Kurt. All of whom have a tendency of coming home earlier than expected, and of walking into Kurt’s room without knocking, no matter how many times Kurt begs them to stop.

He doesn’t feel the need to have his roommates and teammates see him having sex with the captain of the Columbia Lions soccer team.

They’re all out today, though, and Kurt knows this time that they will be out for a very long time. They’re celebrating, after all. 3-2 against the Lions, meaning they’re headed for the semi-finals of the NCAA Division I Tournament, whereas the Lions will have to fight for their spot in a few days.

Winning is one thing, but winning against the Lions? Oh, if Kurt could bottle the absolute joy it brings him, he’d never be sad again.

“Fuck,” he shouts, feeling Blaine’s fingers brush against his prostate. Adrenaline and ecstasy flow freely through his veins, and Kurt thinks he should always have sex after winning a big game, because this is possibly the best sex he’s ever had.

Not that Blaine will ever, ever know that.

Blaine pulls out of him, then comes back with three fingers, shoving them in roughly. Kurt presses his face into his pillow and biting down on the fabric to stop himself from shouting out again. Blaine’s fingers are hot inside him, stretching him much quicker than he usually prefers, especially considering how rare it is for him to bottom.

“Hope you’re ready,” Blaine says, leaning his entire body over Kurt’s to speak directly into his ear, “because I’m tired of waiting to fuck you.”

Kurt turns his head to the side, spitting the pillowcase fabric out of his mouth before he says, “Hope you’re better at topping than you are on the pitch.”

It’s a cheap shot, and not even an accurate one, but he’s still high off his victory and enjoying how rough Blaine is being far too much. He just wants a guarantee that that’s going to continue throughout the rest of their tryst.

As expected--he’s so predictable--Blaine lets out a sound that can only be described as a growl before pulling away from Kurt. Kurt keeps his cheek pressed against the pillow, swaying his ass gently, invitingly, as he listens to Blaine struggle to put on his condom.

Soon enough, there’s hands on his ass checks, spreading them a bit further than Kurt usually prefers, and a slick, latex-covered cockhead pressing against his hole.

“Fucking come on,” Kurt grumbles. “See, this is why we keep beating you, because you don’t know when to fucking – holy shit.”

He’s full in an instant, hips arching high, Blaine’s fingernails digging into them. He reaches up and grabs onto the rail at the head of his head just in time for Blaine to pull out and immediately push back in.

“Shit, Blaine,” the rail digs into Kurt’s palm, but he doesn’t care, because Blaine just keeps fucking in and out of him, and Kurt still hasn’t really adjusted to the size of him and fuck it’s good. “Yes, fuck me, come on.”

“Do you ever shut up?” Blaine mutters, so quiet that Kurt isn’t sure he’s actually supposed to hear. “Or does the sound of your own voice turn you on?” Okay, so he was definitely supposed to hear.

He isn’t sure how to respond to that because yes, he actually does like to talk while he’s having sex – not because he likes the sound of his own voice, but because he loves hearing his lovers during sex as well, and him talking is the best way of ensuring that happens. But he’s not sure he wants Blaine to know that. Really, Blaine already knows too much about what he likes in bed. He doesn’t need the man who’s been his biggest rival the entirety of his university career to know everything.

Finally, he settles on, “Fuck me harder and find out.”

Blaine lets out a low half-scoff half-chuckle at that, and Kurt smirks to himself.

“Or, what?” He continues, tilting his head to the side as though that will allow him to see Blaine any better. “Is this as good as you can give? Because if that’s the case, then no wonder we beat you today.”

“You are such,” his thrusts speed up, and Kurt keens happily, letting his face melt into his pillow and his headboard rail burn into his palm, “an asshole.”

The irony of the statement makes Kurt laugh, which just makes Blaine increase his speed even more, putting a definite pause on the laughter.

The adrenaline spiking through him is mixing with his pleasure, and Kurt can tell that he’s going to come soon. It’s the fastest he’s come in a long time, and he can’t stand the fact that it’s Blaine Anderson who brought him there.

He brings his own hand down to his cock, stroking himself quickly.

“You going to come?”

Kurt just nods against his pillow, biting down on his lip to stop himself from saying anything potentially embarrassing.

“Thank fuck,” Blaine says. “Been on the edge since I pushed into this tight ass.”

Kurt bites into the pillow again as his orgasm hits him. He pumps in and out of his own fist, ass muscles clenching tightly around Blaine’s cock.

“Holy shit,” Blaine says, and Kurt can feel his fingernails digging a little deeper into his hips. He’s definitely going to have some kind of mark there tomorrow.

Blaine’s rhythm becomes a little more erratic as he fucks Kurt through his own orgasm. Kurt lets him, sated and boneless after his own.

When Blaine is done, he immediately pulls out and falls onto the mattress next to Kurt, chest heaving, eyes glued to the ceiling.

Kurt watches him for a moment. Watches the way his eyelashes brush against his cheekbones every time he blinks. Watches the way his pink tongue slips out to wet his equally pink lips. Watches the way his amber eyes are never still, not even now, staring at the absolute nothingness of Kurt’s ceiling.

He watches him until his heart gives an uncomfortable tug and he has to stop watching because that’s not a road he wants to go down.

He moves his own gaze up to the ceiling as well, and then says, “You’re a sore loser, huh?”

Blaine immediately elbows him in the side, and it feels better. More normal. The way things have always been and need to stay.

the tenth time

He’s not at all surprised to see Blaine leaning against the wall opposite the door to the Violets locker room. He’s wearing possibly the tightest jeans Kurt has ever seen him in, and a light purple crewneck that’s doing absolutely illegal things to his arms.

“Sucks, doesn’t it?” Blaine asks, not moving from his spot.

Kurt shrugs his duffle bag higher onto his shoulder. “You here to rub it in?”

Blaine stays still, and Kurt really wishes he’d do something with his body, anything to give Kurt even the slightest indication of where he’s going with this.

When Blaine doesn’t respond for a few moments, Kurt says, “Because if you are, you can save it. I already feel fucking awful, and I don’t think I’m up for one of our snipe sessions.”

Blaine still doesn’t say anything, though Kurt notices his left eyebrow has raised the tiniest bit.

“You know how much this sucks for me?” Kurt can’t help it. He feels raw from the loss, and the almost half-hour shower he’d just taken to try and rid himself of the feeling had done absolutely nothing. All of his teammates have left already, quietly expressing their condolences to him, a few reminding him that they’re planning to get spectacularly drunk at their favorite bar a few blocks down.

Kurt doesn’t feel like getting drunk. He doesn’t feel like sitting around with the team he knows he let down while they all try to convince him that it wasn’t his fault. He doesn’t want to be faced with the reminder that it’s actually completely over.

“You have another shot at this,” Kurt continues, one hand gripping the strap of his duffle bag tightly. His other hand points accusingly at Blaine, not close enough to actually push him but wanting more than anything to do so. “You get another year to redeem yourself, to get the win for your team. I’m done. This was it for me. I’m graduating in a few months, and since we didn’t even make it into the semi-finals, I know that not a single scout is going to contact me, which means that my soccer career is over. I’ve fucking peaked. Now I have to finish my dumbass degree, and then get some bullshit office job that I’ll fucking dread going to every day of my damn life, and all because—”

He doesn’t get to finish the outpour of emotions. Blaine closes the distance between them and interrupts him mid-sentence with a deep, forceful kiss on the lips. His hands come up to cup Kurt’s face, bringing him close.

It takes Kurt a moment to catch up, but as soon as he does, he lets himself melt into the kiss. He wraps his free arm around Blaine’s waist, pulling his middle in closer to Kurt and feels his other hand relaxing around the strap of his bag.

Blaine breaks the kiss, separating with a soft smack of the lips. “I know,” he says, hands still on Kurt’s cheeks, forcing him to look directly into his eyes. “I know.”

Kurt nods as well as he can between Blaine’s hands. He licks his lips, then asks, “Is your roommate home?”

Blaine shakes his head.

Kurt nods again, and says, “Perfect.”

the eleventh time

Just an hour ago Kurt had been fucking into Blaine from behind, letting himself be more forceful than he usually was, his anger at the defeat seeping into every single thrust.

Blaine let him. There were no jabs, no snipes, no bitchy or petty comments. He just let out a few, “Keep going’s,” every now and then to let Kurt know that he was okay with what was happening.

Now, Kurt is lying on his back on Blaine’s bed, with Blaine’s head between his legs, gorgeous lips wrapped tightly around Kurt’s cock.

Kurt can’t stop staring at him, heart jackrabbiting in his chest. His curls are still drying from the shower he’d taken earlier and are so soft around Kurt’s fingers. He keeps shifting his fingers through them, wanting to memorize the feel of them in case he never gets this chance again.

They don’t do this. Or, at least they never have before. It’s always either been quick handjobs in shower stalls after games or fucking in one of their apartments. For some reason, to Kurt, going down on Blaine always felt like it was too much. Too vulnerable. Giving Blaine too much power.

Yet, here Blaine is, doing exactly that. He bobs up and down slowly on Kurt’s cock, swallowing around him every so often, tongue caressing the underside of his dick with every movement of his head.

It feels like he’s worshiping Kurt’s cock, and Kurt doesn’t really know how to feel about it.

Because what he’s realizing now is that he isn’t the one with the power here. Blaine may be the one doing all the work, but it’s Kurt who feels vulnerable. It’s Kurt who feels powerless. It’s Kurt whose heart is practically beating out of his chest, begging for him to just hand it to Blaine on a silver fucking platter.

“Blaine, I’m—”

He doesn’t have to finish the sentence. Blaine brings a hand up and wraps it around the base of Kurt’s cock, then increases his speed, bobbing up and down and Kurt’s cock faster, tongue finding the underside of his cock and focusing on the skin there.

“Blaine,” Kurt warns, tightening his hold on Blaine’s curls. “Blaine, pull off. I’m going to—”

Blaine doesn’t stop, doesn’t pull off, and before he can stop himself Kurt is coming down Blaine’s throat, head falling back against the pillow and eyes closing as he feels Blaine’s cheeks hollow around him, carrying him through the orgasm.

As though reading his mind, Blaine pulls off exactly when Kurt starts to feel sensitive, and Kurt flutters his eyes open just in time to see Blaine swallow heavily.

Blaine moves up until he’s directly next to Kurt, staring right into his eyes with an intensity that Kurt isn’t sure he’s ever seen off the field.

“It’s not over for you,” Blaine says. He reaches a hand out and finds Kurt’s, linking their fingers together. “You’re going to do amazing things in your life, Kurt. One loss isn’t the end. You’re right at the beginning.”

Kurt nods, the words warming his stomach and drying out his throat. He can feel tears pricking at the edge of his eyes, and god, as if this whole experience wasn’t embarrassing enough already now, he’s going to, what? Cry?

“That’s, um.” He has to pause to clear his throat, as his voice comes out scratchy and low. “That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

Blaine shrugs, a small, private smile on his lips. “Don’t get used to it, Hummel.”

Kurt’s heart stutters in his chest, and he finds himself smiling as well even as he already starts to sit up, letting Blaine’s hand go to pick up his clothes. “Wouldn’t dream of it, Anderson.”

the fifteenth time

It’s different between them since the Violets got eliminated from the tournament. Not just because they’ve now officially exchanged phone numbers and actually arrange to meet up instead of simply falling into bed together every time they have a match or after running into each other at some sports bar.

No, it’s different because they actually talk to each other now. It’s not just petty insults, sex, a few more petty insults, and see you later. Now Kurt finds himself sticking around for a bit after the sex at Blaine’s apartment to ask about his day, his classes, his life. And the one time they managed to do it at Kurt’s apartment he found himself looking for excuses to keep Blaine around longer than necessary, to the point where his roommate Mike almost caught Blaine leaving.

He can’t help it. He may hate Blaine’s team, and in theory Blaine for being the captain of said team, but as a person Blaine is…

Well, he’s quite possibly the kindest person Kurt has ever met.

“Slow down,” Blaine says, legs coming up so that he can hook his ankles together over Kurt’s lower back. “Sam’s going to be out all night, you don’t need to rush.”

Kurt nods and does as Blaine asks, slowing down until he’s just gently rolling his hips, not even really thrusting. Blaine’s eyes flutter shut and his lips part in a silent show of enjoyment.

And this is the other thing that’s changed – they never fucked face-to-face before. It was always either back-to-chest if they were in the shower, or with one of them on all fours in bed. Yet, this is the third time they’ve done it, and honestly, Kurt is starting to wonder if there’s a way he can request that they stop.

Because actually seeing Blaine’s face while they do this? Looking into his eyes as he talks while they fuck? Watching him as he falls apart under Kurt’s ministrations?

It’s getting to be a little too much.

“Fuck,” Blaine whispers, eyes still shut. He rolls his hips in time with Kurt’s, and a small smile appears on his face. “Don’t know if I’ve ever said this, but you’re fucking amazing at this.”

Kurt’s stomach constricts. “I bet you say that to all the boys.”

Blaine’s eyes open slowly, a slight frown on his face. He reaches a hand up to cup Kurt’s cheek, fingers spreading wide enough to completely cover the left side of Kurt’s face.

With far too much inflection in his voice, he says, “No. I don’t.”

Then, he tilts his head up and presses their lips together, flicking his tongue against Kurt’s in time with the slow movements of their hips.

Kurt lets himself be kissed, lets himself fall into the feeling of Blaine’s warm mouth and Blaine’s ass tight around his cock, loses himself in the emotions it sparks in him.

It’s definitely getting to be too much.

the twenty-first time

Kurt and his roommates decide to celebrate the fact that they’re all back in New York after the holidays by going out for drinks at the bar a few streets down. It’s usually a pretty quiet spot since it’s decently out of the way, which is what makes it all the more surprising when they walk in to find Blaine and a few of his fellow Lions sitting in the booth right next to the door.

“Oh jeez,” Kurt mutters, just as Mike says, “Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

Blaine instantly stands, eyes flying between the five Violets, only lingering on Kurt for a second longer than on all the rest. “Hey Violets.”

“What the hell are you guys doing here?” Matt is scowling down at them, Mike has his arms crossed over his chest, Jake has a massive scowl on his face, and Kurt is just now realizing how ridiculous this rivalry is. “This is NYU town.”

“We’re not trying to start anything,” Blaine assures, raising his hands with palms out. “Honest. Just heard some amazing things about the wings and nachos here, and we couldn’t figure out where else to go.”

“Bit far for chicken wings and nachos,” Kurt mutters, feeling his cheeks warm, fully aware that he’s the one who told Blaine about this place.

“They’re really good chicken wings and nachos,” Blaine says, eyes meeting Kurt’s, whose blush worsens under his gaze. He looks away, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Whatever,” Elliott, shakes his head. “Let’s go somewhere else. I can’t eat with these guys stinking up the bar.”

“Oh, come on,” Kurt rolls his eyes, putting a hand on Elliott’s chest to stop him from turning around to leave. “The season’s done, and we’re all seniors. We’re not rivals anymore, just… five guys who won’t eat at a bar that some other random guys are at? That’s insane,” he shakes his head and pushes Elliott back a little. “We’ll just go sit in the corner and ignore them. Who gives a shit?”

His teammates grumble about it, but they still follow him toward the back corner of the bar, throwing glares behind them every now and then.

“You’ve changed, Hummel,” Elliott says, sliding into the booth and sitting next to him. “A few months ago you would have forced those assholes out on their asses for even daring to come to our turf.”

“Yeah, well, a few months ago we still had a chance at being NCAA champions. Now we’re just college students eating at a bar. Doesn’t seem worth it anymore.”

“Is it too late to rescind your captainship?” Mike throws out, to which Kurt replies by flipping him off.

His phone buzzes and he pulls it out, eyes widening when he sees Blaine’s name on his screen. He glances over at Blaine and tries to shake his head as subtly as possible, because he cannot be reading texts from him in front of his freaking teammates.

Blaine just widens his eyes and gestures down to his phone with his head. Kurt looks away, but still sneaks a look at his phone, trying to do his best to hide it from Elliott’s gaze without making it too obvious that that’s what he’s doing.

You didn’t tell me you were back in New York already.

Kurt rolls his eyes and shoves his phone in his pocket. He looks over to Blaine, mouthing, really?

Blaine shrugs, and Kurt rolls his eyes again, then turns away to focus on his roommates.

It’s at least twenty minutes before his phone buzzes again. He ignores it, pretty sure that it’s from Blaine. But it buzzes again, and again, and again, until he finally grabs it, already shaking his head at what he knows is waiting for him.

Come over tonight.

Kurt.

Come over tonight.

Kurt.

Kurt exhales sharply, shaking his head to himself as he quickly types back.

Your use of periods at the end of every text is unnerving

He doesn’t bother putting his phone away, as sure enough, within moments he has a reply from Blaine.

Please come over tonight. Sam is going to his girlfriend’s. Please.

He bites down on his bottom lip, then sighs and texts back: Fine, but stop ending all your texts with periods you look like a grandpa

Blaine instantly responds: Scouts honour. Text me when you’re leaving here

Kurt rolls his eyes to himself, then puts his phone back in his pocket.

Elliott elbows him, and when Kurt looks up it’s to find him waggling his eyebrows. “Boy trouble?” he asks.

Kurt just shakes his head and mutters, “Yeah, something like that.”

Blaine rides him that night, gripping his shoulders tightly as he does so, bouncing up and down on Kurt’s cock in a way that makes Kurt absolutely crazy.

He isn’t really sure how he managed to go two whole weeks without this.

When they’re done, Blaine lays down next to Kurt. He doesn’t lean in to cuddle, they still never do that, but he does lie down in such a way that they’re completely pressed together, shoulder to shoulder and hip to hip. Their hands touch awkwardly, and Kurt wonders if he’s supposed to hold Blaine’s hand.

“Can I tell you a secret?”

“You ask like I can stop you from doing so.”

Blaine chuckles at Kurt’s response, and his index finger comes out to run down Kurt’s palm.

“I went to that bar on purpose,” he says, voice quiet. “I was hoping to run into you.”

Kurt licks his lips, forcing his eyes to remain on the ceiling, trying to ignore the way the pad of Blaine’s finger feels against the inside of his hand.

“Why?” his voice is a little hoarse, his throat dry, and his heart is beating far too fast in his chest.

He can feel Blaine shrugging his shoulders next to him. “Wanted to see you. We barely talked over the break.”

“I know,” Kurt says. He had purposefully refrained from texting Blaine, even though his fingers had itched to do so every single day. “You could have just texted to see if I was back.”

Blaine shrugs again. “I guess.” He’s quiet for a moment, but then says, “I didn’t want to text you, though. I wanted to see you.”

“But why?”

This time Blaine doesn’t shrug. He doesn’t really say anything.

Kurt sighs, then sits up. “I should probably leave.”

“No, don’t go,” Blaine sits up too, putting a hand over Kurt’s wrist. “Come on, we haven’t seen each other in forever. Just hang out. Tell me about your break.”

“Blaine…”

“Kurt, come on.”

Kurt rubs a hand over his face. “Blaine, what the hell are we doing here?”

Blaine stares at him, lips parted as though on the cusp of words, but nothing comes out.

Kurt shakes his head. “This is insane. You know I genuinely disliked you when we started this? I mean, I thought you were hot, but you were so obnoxious on the field, and the Violets and Lions hate each other, so I just…” His hand goes through his hair, pushing it back. “But now we’re here, and we keep ending up here, and I don’t even know what to think about all this because you’re so…”

“I didn’t like you either,” Blaine says. Kurt meets his eyes, deep amber that he’s always terrified of drowning in. “I really didn’t. You were cocky, and so quick on your feet both on and off the field. So damn gorgeous it infuriated me.” He moves a little closer. “I didn’t think sleeping together would change anything. Just another way to channel our aggression.”

“Right,” Kurt says. “But we’re not soccer rivals anymore.”

“Yeah.”

“But we’re not really friends either,” Kurt continues. “We’re just… two guys who sleep together sometimes.”

Blaine’s finger finds Kurt’s hand again, and he starts tracing a pattern on his palm. “I consider you a friend.”

Kurt closes his eyes, head falling back slightly. “Shit, this is a mess.”

“It doesn’t have to be. It doesn’t have to be complicated, or messy, or any of those things.”

“Blaine…”

“Look, why don’t we, I don’t know. Hang out sometime. No sex, just… coffee, or lunch. Just talking.”

Kurt opens his eyes, but just enough to glare ever so slightly at him. “You mean like a date or something?”

Blaine shrugs. “Whatever you want to call it.”

Kurt sucks on the inside of his cheek, eyes still narrowed at Blaine. He takes in a deep breath, heart pounding in his chest. “Fine.”

Blaine’s face immediately lights up. “Really?”

“Yeah. But it’s not a date,” Kurt holds a finger up. “Just two guys getting lunch. No funny business.”

“Cross my heart,” Blaine does so, grinning widely. He looks over Kurt’s chest, then says, “You’re not still going to leave, right?”

Kurt continues to glare at him despite the warmth spreading through him at the obvious interest Blaine is showing him. He rolls his eyes, then says, “Fuck it. I didn’t have any other plans tonight.”

Blaine goes to lay back down, shoulders doing an adorable little shimmy, and Kurt follows him back down, finally allowing a small smile onto his face.

the twenty-second time

Kurt chooses a hole in the wall pizza place that he knows is just that much more out of the way for Blaine. He asks to meet at one, knowing that Blaine has a class at three-thirty that he can’t skip. He wears a sweatshirt and a loose pair of sweatpants. He barely spends any time on his hair. He reminds himself five times that morning that he will not offer to pay for Blaine, nor will he let Blaine pay for him.

Basically, he does everything in his power to make this as obviously Not-A-Date as possible.

Blaine is already there when Kurt arrives, dressed casually in beige chinos and a warm, soft-looking peacoat. He has his messenger bag hanging over his shoulder, and his hair is gelled back impeccably. He looks nice, and it kind of makes Kurt feel bad for wearing his most casual clothes and for shoving a beanie on his head before walking out the door, telling himself it’s to protect his ears from the cold and not because he knows it’ll make his hair look suboptimal.

He greets Blaine with a smile, then heads into the restaurant before Blaine can try and hold the door open for him. Blaine follows, already happily chatting away about how his day has been thus far.

They place their order at the counter, only briefly arguing over the financial benefits of sharing a pizza (what Blaine wants to do) versus each just ordering a few slices for themselves (what Kurt wants to do). Blaine ends up winning, but Kurt still forces the cashier to split the bill between them as she rings them up.

Not-A-Date.

Blaine starts to lead them towards a table in the back of the restaurant, but Kurt sits down at a table between a large group of college kids and a bickering middle-aged couple. Blaine looks at him a little weird, but Kurt doesn’t let that phase him.

Not-A-Date.

They chit-chat as they wait for their pizza, and it’s way less awkward than Kurt thought it would be. Blaine seems to have an endless supply of conversation fodder, and he somehow makes even the most inane things sound interesting. Kurt doesn’t say much, only chiming in whenever Blaine asks him a purposeful question, but he doesn’t mind at all. He’s actually pretty sure that Blaine could monologue at him for hours and Kurt would be happy just to sit there and watch him do it.

Not-A-Date.

Their pizza arrives and they tuck in. Blaine is a surprisingly neat eater, taking small nibbles and wiping any grease from around his mouth after every few bites. Kurt, on the other hand, practically inhales his pizza. It isn’t even a ploy to prove that this isn’t a date – Kurt’s had to get used to racing through any shared food after growing up with a human garburator as a step-brother and spending the past two years living with four similarly inclined roommates.

Blaine watches him devour his half of the pizza in the time it takes Blaine to finish a slice and half, lips curled into a tiny half smile. Once Kurt has popped the last bit of crust into his mouth, Blaine wordlessly holds out a handful of napkins to him, one eyebrow quirked, and Kurt blushes as he wipes down his hands and a large amount of his face.

“You got a bit on your sweater, too,” Blaine says when Kurt sets down the tiny mountain of napkins on the table. Kurt looks down and groans at the rather spectacularly sized grease stain on his chest.

He dabs at it with a few more napkins, but gives up after a few moments, rolling his eyes and stating, “Whatever, Elliott’s magic with this kind of thing, I’ll just make him fix it later.”

Blaine chuckles at that and takes another small bite of his pizza, eyes dancing as they stay locked on Kurt’s as he chews.

Not-A-Date.

Kurt takes over the majority of the conversation as Blaine eats, and he keeps it as surface as possible. He mostly talks about school, going into as much detail as he can about all the classes he’s taking this semester, how he only has one class with a professor he’s never had before, and how he has at least one teammate in every class, something he didn’t coordinate but is more than thankful for.

Blaine doesn’t seem to react any differently to Kurt mentioning his teammates than he did to any of Kurt’s other stories, but Kurt still decides not to continue down that particular conversation stream. As much as he’s trying to keep this Not-A-Date, he’s also been having a great time, and he doesn’t want to ruin that by potentially bringing up anything that could lead to a discussion about their rivalry.

Barely an hour has passed since they arrived by the time Blaine finishes his pizza. He wipes his lips and fingers down one final time, smiling a bit too widely at Kurt as he does.

“This was really fun.”

Not-A-Date.

“We should do this more often. You know, just hang out.”

Not-A-Date.

“You’re a really cool guy, Kurt.”

Not-A-Date.

“I’m glad you agreed to this.”

Not-A-Date.

“I’m just sorry that I have to head out so soon. My class is at three-thirty, and the Columbus campus is—”

Not-A-Date.

“Skip it.”

Blaine’s eyebrows shoot up, and Kurt’s heart skips a beat. Take it back, take it back, tell him you didn’t mean it, tell him—

“What?”

Take it back. “Skip your class,” the words come out, his mouth seemingly ignoring all commands from his brain. “Come home with me.”

Blaine presses his lips together, but Kurt can still see the corner of his mouth twitching up.

“I thought you said no funny business.”

Kurt swallows thickly, cheeks heating up. He looks down at the empty pizza box on their table and the heaps of napkins tossed around it.

“Right. Well, you have class, so.”

He hears Blaine chuckle and brings his eyes up hesitantly at that. Blaine is no longer hiding his smile, and his eyes are so warm on Kurt’s that it makes his heart ache a little.

“The semester just started,” Blaine says. “I think I can afford to skip this once.”

Not-A-Date.

It’s faster than usual, Kurt feeling pent up from trying to keep things so casual before. They don’t even get fully undressed, basically just shrug out of their coats once they’re in Kurt’s room and fall into Kurt’s bed, pulling their dicks out and jacking each other off like goddamn teenagers until Kurt’s sweatshirt and Blaine’s vest have tiny stains of come dotting them.

“Crap,” Blaine says once they’ve cleaned themselves up and made themselves somewhat more presentable, looking down at his vest with a bit of a pout. “Sam is going to be so mad at me for doing another load of laundry so soon.”

“Sorry,” Kurt replies, purposefully stopping himself from looking down at the various marks now staining his own sweater.

Blaine looks up at him, smiles, leans over and presses a quick kiss to his lips.

“Worth it,” he says with a grin.

Kurt smiles back, then picks up his phone to check the time. “It’s only two forty-five,” he says, chewing on his bottom lip for a moment. “You could probably still make it to your class.”

Blaine scrunches up his nose and says, “Nah. I’d rather keep hanging out with you,” he presses another kiss to Kurt’s lips. “You want to go for a walk?”

Kurt narrows his eyes at that. “It’s freezing out, Blaine.”

“So, change into something warmer.”

His eyes are sparkling, lips spread into an infectious grin, and Kurt chuckles as he stands and heads to his closet.

“Fine. But if I freeze out there, I’m totally blaming you.”

Blaine laughs, shaking his head lightly and says, “Deal.”

Not-A-Date my ass.

the twenty-third time

Blaine keeps up the façade of hanging out as just friends, no funny business, when he asks Kurt to come over for a movie night a couple of days after their not-a-date at the pizza place. Except he’s very clear that Sam will be out all night with his girlfriend, and that maybe it wouldn’t be the worst idea for Kurt to bring an overnight bag just in case things run late and he wants to crash on Blaine’s couch.

Kurt wants to call him out on how Obviously-A-Date this is, but he also wants to go and doesn’t really feel like getting into it with Blaine.

So, he packs his bag, tells his roommates that he’ll be back the next morning (pointedly ignoring the catcalls they send his way) and hops on the subway to Blaine’s apartment.

In Blaine’s defense, he’s done a good job of playing up the excuse for getting Kurt to spend the night. There’s a folded up blanket and a pillow on the arm of the couch, and Blaine is just as dressed down as Kurt was the last time they met up.

It’s still very much Obviously-A-Date, though, because instead of ordering food in Blaine has cooked them dinner. It’s just pasta, but the effort gone into it doesn’t go over Kurt’s head. He’s also bought a fairly nice bottle of red wine to go with the pasta, and after they’ve eaten produces the most scrumptious looking homemade cinnamon buns that Kurt has ever seen out of the oven.

“I like to bake,” is what Blaine says when Kurt tells him that it’s too much for just a movie night. Which may be true, but Kurt also knows that cinnamon buns are tricky and time-consuming as he, too, likes to bake. He, for one, only makes them when he’s trying to impress someone.

Which, if Blaine is trying to do, is definitely working.

They settle into the couch after their dinner and start up on some shitty romantic comedy on Netflix.

At the start of the movie they’re each comfortably on separate sides of the couch, sharing knowing looks whenever something particularly cliché happens. Then, about fifteen minutes in, Blaine stands up to go get another cinnamon bun, and when he sits back down, he is significantly closer to Kurt.

It’s quite distracting having Blaine so close to him, especially when he starts to lick the excess icing off his fingers after every single bite. Kurt spends the next five minutes ignoring the movie in favor of watching Blaine lave his tongue over his own fingers, cock growing hard in his pants at the memory of that tongue on himself.

Blaine catches Kurt looking moments after popping the last piece of the bun into his mouth. He raises an eyebrow, still licking the icing off of his fingers, and then far too innocently asks, “What?”

Kurt practically pounces on him at that, covering Blaine’s lips with his own and licking out the taste of the icing from his mouth. Blaine moans into the kiss, pulling Kurt closer and almost immediately wrapping a leg around his hips to bring them down onto Blaine’s.

The movie is still running, ignored, in the background when they hop off the couch and hurry to Blaine’s room hand-in-hand.

At least they can say they tried, right?

the twenty-seventh time

“Fuck, Kurt,” Blaine is under him, Kurt’s hands splayed over his chest as Kurt bounces on his cock. His thighs burn, but Kurt ignores them, fucking himself faster on Blaine’s cock as he feels his orgasm building.

“I’m—”

“Me, too,” Kurt says, fingers digging into Blaine’s chest. Blaine wordlessly brings a hand up to Kurt’s cock, wrapping his fingers around it as Kurt continues to speed up his thrusts.

“Shit,” Kurt groans, head falling back as Blaine pumps his cock in time with his thrusts. It doesn’t take long before Kurt is coming all over his own stomach and Blaine’s hand, and within moments he feels Blaine convulsing beneath him as he comes as well.

He practically collapses on top of Blaine once he’s come down, causing Blaine’s dick to slip out of him. Blaine groans at the sensation, and Kurt grumbles into his chest.

“I can’t feel my legs,” he mutters.

Blaine laughs at that, gently pushing Kurt off of him until he is lying next to him instead of directly on top. “Soccer season ending has got you a little out of shape, huh?”

“Get fucked,” Kurt mutters, whacking Blaine on the chest with as much energy as he can summon. Which isn’t actually that much, as the action only makes Blaine laugh a little louder.

“Just did,” comes Blaine’s reply after a few moments.

Kurt can’t even sum up the energy to act annoyed about that, so instead he just mutters a string of words that don’t even make sense into Blaine’s chest, resting his face on its warmth.

“I didn’t quite get that,” Blaine teases, fingers coming up to card through Kurt’s hair.

“Me neither,” Kurt says, sighing at the feeling of Blaine’s fingers.

Blaine chuckles and continues to move his fingers softly. It feels like heaven, the gentle feeling against his scalp in contrast to the burning in his legs. He settles further into Blaine’s chest, pressing a soft kiss to the skin beneath his lips, then lets his cheek rest there.

“My mom got me tickets to West Side Story for Christmas,” Blaine whispers, continuing his ministrations on Kurt’s hair.

“Yeah?” Kurt responds, just to let Blaine know he heard him. His eyes flutter shut as he feels himself relaxing further and further into the bed.

“They’re for next week,” Blaine continues, and Kurt can hear his heart speeding up a little where his head is lying.

Kurt’s finger starts to make a circle on Blaine’s side, where it’s been resting.

“Blaine?”

“Yeah?”

“Are you asking me to go to West Side Story with you?”

Blaine’s heart is definitely beating faster now, and it makes Kurt smile to himself. It’s not every day that he can literally feel the nerves that asking him out is making someone feel.

“Just as friends,” Blaine says quietly, fingers stilling. “No… no funny business.”

Kurt’s smile grows against Blaine’s chest at the words.

Because it’s silly, isn’t it? They’ve hung out so many times over the past few weeks, just as friends, no funny business, and every single time has ended with them in bed and Kurt leaving with a mental countdown to the next time they’ll meet up.

He’s starting to wonder what the point of all this “just friends” stuff really is. Other than a nonsensical fear over people’s reaction to the fact that he may actually like Blaine.

After all, it’s been clear since the first time that Blaine asked him to hang out that Blaine didn’t want it to be just as friends. That something had changed for Blaine throughout their time together. And maybe the first time he’d asked him Kurt wasn’t completely certain if things had changed for him too, but ever since the day at the pizza place, their hang out after, and the subsequent Not-A-Date’s they’ve been on…

“No,” Kurt says, opening his eyes slowly.

He could swear that Blaine’s heart literally skipped a beat when he said it, and Kurt instantly regrets playing coy.

“No?” Blaine asks, removing his fingers from Kurt’s hair.

“No, I mean,” Kurt pushes himself up on his hands so that he can look at Blaine when he says it. “I don’t want it to be just as friends with no funny business.” Blaine’s lips part a bit, one eyebrow raising.

“Then what would it be?” Blaine asks, and Kurt would be annoyed at the impertinence, but he guesses he kind of deserves it.

“A date?” He asks, shrugging one shoulder up and sending Blaine a hesitant smile.

Blaine’s face cracks into a happy smile. “Yeah?”

Kurt nods. “Yeah.”

“Okay,” Blaine says, wrapping an arm firmly around Kurt’s back. Kurt takes the hint and leans back down onto Blaine’s chest, happy when Blaine’s free hand goes back to his hair. “A date.”

“A date,” Kurt repeats, pressing another kiss to Blaine’s chest.

the twenty-eighth time

“You’re looking spiffy Hummel,” Mike says when Kurt exits his room. He grins at his friend, doing a little spin for him and Elliott, who are both sitting on the couch in their living room dicking around the PS4.

“Hot date?” Elliott asks, waggling his eyebrows as Mike wolf-whistles when Kurt finishes the spin.

“I sure do,” Kurt says, rubbing his hands down his thighs and licking his lips. “With Blaine.”

Mike and Elliott instantly frown, turning to each other with narrowed eyes.

“Blaine?”

“As in…?”

Kurt nods. “Yes, as in Blaine Anderson, Captain of the Columbia Lions. That Blaine.”

“Kurt are you—”

“Serious? Yes, I am,” Kurt says, glaring at Elliott, who snaps his mouth shut at the interruption. “I wouldn’t be telling you if I wasn’t.”

“When… how…?” Mike glances between Kurt and Elliott as he stammers, then settles his eyes on Kurt. “I don’t understand.”

“A while, and the how is not important,” Kurt says, not feeling like getting into the hate-sex-becoming-feelings portion of this just yet. “What is important is that I like him, and we’re going to see West Side Story, and if any of you give me any shit over this, I will not hesitate to kick your ass to Tuesday.”

Both Elliott and Mike raise up defensive hands, but neither speaks.

Kurt nods, then says, “Great. I’ll see you guys after my date. Or,” he scrunches up his nose, then says, “Maybe not. We’ll see.”

They don’t say anything else as Kurt leaves, and Kurt shuts the door behind him feeling like he just let a huge weight off his shoulders.

Blaine is waiting for him at the subway station closest to the theater, and the first thing he asks is, “Did you tell them?”

Kurt nods, smiling. “Did you?”

Blaine nods as well. “Well, just Sam,” he says. “He said he always thought there was something more than just rivalry between us.”

Kurt chuckles. “I just told Mike and Elliott. They…” he presses his lips together, scrunching up his entire face, then settles on, “I wouldn’t say they took it well, but they also didn’t try and physically stop me from coming, so. I guess that’s something.”

Blaine reaches out and takes Kurt’s hand, interlacing their fingers immediately. “I guess that’s that, then. Our friends know.”

“Our friends know,” Kurt nods. He squeezes Blaine’s hand. “And now there’s nothing hanging over us to stop us from enjoying our first official date.”

Blaine smirks a little, then asks, “Official?”

“Well, yeah, unlike those unofficial Not-A-Date’s we were going on before.”

Blaine laughs, lifting Kurt’s hand up to press a kiss to it. “You’re great, you know that?”

Kurt grins and nods. “Duh.”

Kurt’s apartment is closer to the theatre, and even though Blaine is a little concerned about the idea of flaunting their new relationship in Kurt’s teammates' faces so soon after revealing it, Kurt doesn’t care.

“They’re going to have to get used to seeing you around sooner or later,” Kurt reasons as they step onto the subway. “Might as well be sooner.”

Blaine grins, leaning into Kurt. “Planning on keeping me around for a while, huh?”

Kurt shrugs. “We’ll see.”

Blaine hides his face against Kurt’s shoulder, laughing a little. “We’ll see?”

Kurt shrugs again. “I mean, I kind of like you. A little. Which is weird, because I totally hated you a few months ago.”

“So weird,” Blaine agrees, kissing Kurt’s shoulder lightly. “I kind of like you too, you know?”

“Well that’s convenient,” Kurt says, and Blaine chuckles yet again.

Mike, Matt, and Jake are all sitting on the couch when Kurt and Blaine walk in.

“Oh, shit,” Matt says, eyes widening. “I thought you were joking,” this is directed at Mike, who rolls his eyes.

“I was not,” Mike says, glancing briefly at Kurt before looking back to the TV.

“I think it’s nice,” Jake says, smiling at the two of them. “Plus, it’s not like they were super subtle with the unresolved sexual tension on the field.”

“Unresolved?” Blaine asks quietly, and Kurt elbows him gently.

“Yeah, dude, good for you,” Matt says, giving Kurt a somewhat hesitant smile. “Anderson’s hot for a dude, even if he is a Lion.”

Both Jake and Matt turn to glare at Mike, who doesn’t respond until Jake kicks him swiftly in the shin.

“Ow, fuck,” Mike drops a hand down to rub at his shin, glaring at Jake before turning to Kurt and Blaine and saying, “Yeah, congratulations, I’m happy you’re happy.”

Kurt chuckles at that, shaking his head at how stubborn his teammates can be. “Mike, I think if you put aside our stupid rivalry – which doesn’t even really matter anymore because, if you didn’t notice, none of us play for the Violets anymore – you’ll find that you and Blaine actually have a lot in common. I bet you guys could even become friends.”

Mike waves a dismissive hand, eyes back on the TV. “Yeah, sure, I’ll get to work on that. Just don’t be too loud when you’re sexing it up in there, okay? It’s distracting.”

Kurt rolls his eyes, but figures that’s about as good as it’s going to get for now. He pulls Blaine towards his room, ignoring the way that Blaine is shaking with silent laughter.

“I guess that could have gone worse?” Blaine says once Kurt has closed the door behind them.

“Way worse,” Kurt agrees, then pushes Blaine back onto his bed, wordlessly telling him that he’s done talking about it.

the thirty-second time

Sam is out, and Kurt and Blaine are tangled together under Blaine’s sheets. Kurt is trying to suck a hickey into the hollow of Blaine’s neck as subtly as possible, while Blaine ruts up against Kurt’s thigh, whining at the not-nearly-enough pressure Kurt is providing.

“Kurt, come on,” Blaine says, running a hand down Kurt’s back, fingernails scratching over him lightly.

“Come on, what?” Kurt asks, sucking a little harder at the red spot beneath his lips.

“Just… something. Anything.” Kurt smirks against Blaine’s skin, then lifts his head slightly so Blaine can see him raise his eyebrows at him challengingly.

Blaine huffs, digs his nails into Kurt’s back, and says, “Fuck me.”

Kurt pushes himself up to kiss Blaine softly on the lips, whispering, “See how easy it is to use your words?”

Blaine groans, pushing Kurt away and towards the nightstand where he keeps his lube and condoms.

Kurt goes happily, grabbing what they need and immediately starting to coat his fingers in the lube. He warms it up briefly, probably not enough, then brings two fingers down to Blaine’s hole and presses them in.

“Cold,” Blaine hisses, just as Kurt expected him to. Kurt chuckles, gently pressing the fingers in and out of him.

“You wanted something.”

“You’re a dick,” Blaine mutters, then gasps when Kurt curls his fingers inside him. Serves him right.

“Maybe enough using your words for now, huh?” Kurt continues the slow movement of his fingers, taking his time in a way that he knows drives Blaine absolutely crazy.

It’s at least five minutes before he pulls out to re-apply lube to his fingers, including a third this time. He presses them in far too slowly, and Blaine groans, punching a fist against the mattress as he lifts his hips and wriggles them.

“Come on, Kurt,” he says. “It’s been forever since we did this.”

“Exactly,” Kurt whispers. “Which is why I want to be extra careful to make sure I don’t hurt you.”

“For fuck’s – Kurt. Please.”

Kurt smirks, stretching his fingers out inside Blaine, then bringing them together to gently stroke at Blaine’s muscles with the pads of his fingers. He can feel the way Blaine contracts around him at the motion, and so repeats the action, thrilling at the feeling of it and the thought of how soon, he’ll be able to feel that around his cock.

“Kurt, oh my god,” Blaine says, punching the mattress again. “Do not make me beg, I’m serious.”

As much as Kurt would love to go down that road, he does have to admit that he’s getting a little too worked up himself. With a quiet, “Alright, alright,” he pulls his fingers out. He makes quick work of the condom, rolling it on and then spreading a bit more lube over his cock.

Before long he’s lined himself up against Blaine’s hole and is pushing in slowly, no longer to tease Blaine but out of fear of this being over embarrassingly soon.

“Shit,” Blaine groans. “You’re so big. Don’t know how I always forget you’re so big.”

Kurt barely hears the praise, focusing on not coming instantly as Blaine’s tight, hot body welcomes him in.

Once he’s bottomed out, he pauses for a moment, eyes shut, and hands clenched around the sheets around Blaine’s head. He bites down on his bottom lip, breathing in and out through his nose.

“Kurt,” Blaine whispers, and Kurt’s eyes open to find Blaine’s directly below him, staring up at him with blown pupils and a softness that Kurt can’t really believe is directed at him. “Hey,” Blaine continues when Kurt’s eyes have opened. “You okay?”

Kurt nods, then lowers himself down to press a kiss to Blaine’s lips, his cock shifting inside of Blaine as he does so.

“Fuck,” he mutters at the same time as Blaine says, “Oh, shit,” against his lips. They both chuckle quietly, and then, not wanting to waste more time, Kurt begins to roll his hips in a slow, but steady, pace.

Blaine’s head falls back against the mattress, and he hooks a leg around Kurt’s hips, pulling him in just a little deeper with every thrust.

Neither speaks as they build a rhythm together, their bodies moving in sync. Despite how many times they’ve done this, Kurt still finds himself amazed at how well they fit together. How easy it is to be with Blaine like this. How, even when they hated each other, he couldn’t help but admit that nobody had ever been so perfectly matched for him, sexually, as Blaine is.

Now, of course, he knows that it’s more than just sex. The few weeks he’s been dating Blaine have felt like something out of his high school fantasies. The way their conversations ebb and flow come as easily as the movements of their bodies together. Their plans always line up perfectly, even if they aren’t exactly what either of them planned, and every time he leaves Blaine’s apartment, or wherever they’ve met up, or watches as Blaine leaves him, he starts to count down the minutes until they will see each other again.

It was only months ago that he hated the fact that he couldn’t stop falling into bed with Blaine. Now he can’t imagine why he would be doing anything else.

“I’m not going to last much longer,” Blaine says, bringing up his other leg to full wrap around Kurt. Kurt takes the hint and begins to speed up his thrusts, simultaneously bringing a hand down to jack Blaine off as he does.

He can feel his own orgasm building but does his best to hold it back. Blaine starts to whine as he gets closer, and soon enough he’s coming over Kurt’s fist, his muscles contracting around Kurt in what Kurt is pretty sure is the closest he will ever feel to heaven.

Kurt lets himself follow Blaine, the feeling of the muscles around him just enough to push him over the edge. He fucks Blaine through it, reveling in the sounds of Blaine’s moans as he starts to come down from his orgasm just moments before Kurt does.

He pulls out as soon as he’s finished, careful to go slow. He makes quick work of the clean up, throwing out the condom and grabbing a few tissues from Blaine’s nightstand to mop things up quickly.

“We’re going to have to shower,” Blaine mutters as Kurt tosses the tissues in the general direction of the trash.

“I have no problem with that,” Kurt says, lowering himself back onto the bed and curling into Blaine’s side.

They lay in silence for a few moments, Kurt enjoying the rise and fall of Blaine’s chest under his cheek. He notices that the spot he’d been sucking on early is indeed starting to darken further, and grins to himself at the knowledge that he put that there. That he’s the one who gets to kiss Blaine, fuck him, and give him hickeys to announce to the entire world that there is someone in Blaine’s life who wants to be known.

He smiles, running a finger in slow circles over Blaine’s chest.

“Hey,” he says, turning his head slightly to make sure that Blaine can hear him well.

“Yeah?”

Kurt feels his smile growing a little bit more as he asks, “Be my boyfriend?”

The sound of Blaine’s heart speeding up in his chest is enough answer for Kurt, but the soft, sweet, “Of course,” that Blaine whispers seconds after Kurt has asked is even better.

the first time

The tiled wall of the shower stall is cool against Kurt’s palm, but Blaine’s back is warm against his chest, his hip is hot under Kurt’s other hand, and his ass is scorching around his cock. Not to mention the spray of warm water falling over them as they groan in unison, Kurt pressing Blaine’s body into the cool tile with every thrust.

It happened fast. They were the last two in the Lions locker room, exchanging snide jabs over the tiny dividing wall between their showers. Blaine leaned over a little too far during a retort and his eye travelled down. The longer he stared, the more it affected Kurt, who found himself embarrassingly hardening under the eye of his rival.

Then, they were kissing. First over the shower divider, then together in Blaine’s shower stall, Kurt pressing Blaine up against the wall. Then Blaine was excusing himself and returning surprisingly quickly with a travel-sized pack of lube and a condom. He pushed the items into Kurt’s hand, then pressed himself back up against the wall, ass sticking out invitingly.

And now they’re here. Despite being able to follow the chain of events quite easily, Kurt is still having some trouble believing that it’s real, that he’s actually fucking Blaine Anderson in the goddamn Lions showers.

“Just so you know,” Blaine says, voice breathless, “this doesn’t change anything. I still hate you.”

“Ditto,” Kurt retorts, moving the hand on the wall down to Blaine’s other hip to be able to fuck him a little more forcefully.

“Shit,” Blaine mutters. Then, a little louder, “I’m still going to kick your ass during this tournament.”

“I’d like to see you try,” Kurt replies, thrusting deep into Blaine’s ass.

“And this isn’t going to become a thing,” Blaine continues as though Kurt hadn’t said anything. “We’re not going to become fuck buddies, or something like that.”

“Don’t you have to be buddies for that to work?” Kurt asks, punctuating the sarcasm with another forceful thrust.

“Exact- fuck,” Blaine’s forehead falls forward and rests against the tiled wall. “So, we’re agreed.”

“Yeah,” Kurt says, gripping Blaine’s hips a little tighter. “Just a one-time fuck. Relieve the tension.”

“Great,” Blaine says. “I’m glad we’re on the same page.”

Kurt continues to fuck Blaine as hard as he can in this position, digging his fingernails into Blaine’s hips, hoping to leave marks that will last at least a few days.

“Definitely,” Kurt manages, pressing his entire body right up against Blaine’s, taking in his warmth, how tight he feels, how perfect he fits against him. If this is going to be the only time, he gets to do this, after all, he’s going to do everything he can to take it all in. Wring every drop of this moment into his mind, where he knows he’ll replay it for at least the entire duration of this tournament every single time he jacks off.

Blaine shouts, “Fuck, Kurt,” and Kurt feels his orgasm growing from the pit of his stomach.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, voice so quiet he’s not sure Blaine can hear him even from this close. “Definitely same page.”

#klaine fic #klaine au #klaineanummel fic #glee potluck big bang #glee potluck exchange #klaine #over 2k under 10k #pov: kurt #one shot #enemies to lovers

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hajike · 4 years ago

Text

hitsuhina: Forecast

For: alexiethymia for the hitsuhina gift exchange! Feel free to check it out on AO3 too :)

Words: 2.3k

Notes: Set post-manga ending and based off your lovely headcanon -

-Renji, once when he was really drunk, consolingly put his hand on Hitsugaya’s shoulder as if to say he understood. Hitsugaya’s ensuing glare could freeze his soul and he then realized that it was only because he was Hinamori’s friend that he wasn’t cut down on the spot.

Whatever had happened on the trip to and back from the 6th Division’s Senkaimon had apparently completely rattled Renji’s brain. Somewhere along the way to return Ichigo and his friends to the Human world after the wedding reception, Renji had taken whatever speck of common sense he had and promptly tossed it out with the last pathetic remnants of his self preservation.

Or maybe, Toshiro reasoned, they had gotten attacked by some remaining Quincy. Or Arrancar. Or even bloody Captain Mayuri looking to test out his new toys on some unsuspecting idiots idiots. Hell, maybe this wasn’t even Renji, maybe this was some Reigi clone, because the real Renji would know better than to—

“—keep holding strong, Captain Hitsugaya! The bond between you two is strong, stronger after everything, just like ours! Happiness is still in reach!”

Toshiro eyed the arm firmly draped over his shoulder with no small measure of disgust. Renji appeared oblivious to it. The vice captain’s other hand was frantically wiping the horrid mix of tears and snot streaming from his face as he kept choking out, “I know, Captain Hitsugaya, that if you persevere! If you persevere, you too will be in my position one day, joined together with your childhood—“

The small bit of reiatsu that leaked out of him was enough to freeze the sake cups before them solid. As well as a good portion of the mess on Renji’s face, along with part of his hakama sleeve. “Ah! My nose! What—“

Renji lifted his slightly frostbitten head to meet Toshiro's stare and froze. What little of a drunken flush he had left quickly bled into a look of deep regret. Ah, the poor man had sobered up some. Enough, at least, to realize that it was only the smallest of margins that kept him still able to use his extremities, margins that included the fact he was a vice-captain of the Gotei 13, that he had imbibed enough sake to not be completely in control of his motor functions, as well as the most important—

“Oh, Renji! Congratulations again!” Momo’s voice echoed through the bar, even through the din of Rangiku appearing to be challenging Captain Kensei to another drinking game in an effort to keep him from dragging away his already unconscious lieutenants away. Pour souls.

Toshiro forced himself to pay some attention to the ensuing scuffle, even as his childhood friend smiled across the table, her face beaming with a drunken flush and pure joy. Joy currently directed at the man putting careful distance between him, rubbing at the icicles that still clung to his nose.

Renji’s face was lit up in relief at her arrival. “Momo! Just in time!”

Toshiro shot him a sharp look just as Momo blinked. “Eh?”

Renji darted looks between the both of them - Toshiro’s face blackened with impending doom and Momo’s slight confused smile, one of her hands brushing back a small strand of hair that had fallen from her intricate bun. The newlywed's mouth opened and closed, once, twice, and just as Toshiro was rather sure the man was about to stick his foot in it—

Rukia slid in neatly beside him at the head of the table, her arm linking with his. Her face was a mask of polite geniality of the Kuchiki variety. “Ah, my apologies Captain Hitsugaya and Vice Captain Hinamori! I’m sure what my husband meant to say was, how glad he was that the two of you could make it to our reception! And with everything seeming to wrap up, you’re both just in time to give last congratulations.”

It was a shoddy deception but effective, Toshiro had to admit. Momo’s face immediately brightened at seeing the now married pair. Renji was staring at his wife like she was Bodhisattva come again. Although, to be fair, it wasn’t a far cry from how he typically looked at her so there was every chance he had already forgotten the precarious position his loose lips had put him in.

“Rukia! Rukia, we’re married! In the marriage registry! Together!”

Definitely. He’d definitely forgotten. And gotten sidetracked enough that he was gushing about his wife again, same as when he’d first sat down next to Toshiro. Although now she had appropriately substituted in as his arm rest, thank the frozen heavens. Rukia’s answering smile as she leaned into his shoulder was full of amusement and a near overflowing affection. “Yea, Renji. I was there.”

Toshiro couldn’t help but roll his eyes at Renji’s answering cheer, knowing it was only the fact he’d frozen the sake in his cup that it didn’t spill all over the inebriated man and his now wife. Although Rukia probably wouldn’t have minded much, not with the lovestruck look on her face from her husband’s excitement.

The soft moment was interrupted by a sudden hiccup, following by the sound of high pitched sob. Ah, Toshiro noted with a wry smile, crybaby Momo strikes again.

“Rukia, Renji…I’m so happy you’re together!” She was looking at the linked pair of Vice Captains with tears streaming down her cheeks, frantically wiping at an eye with the corner of her kimono. “So..hic…happy!”

Toshiro frowned. Ah, she was gonna mess up the sleeve. Rangiku had gushed about the kimono to him earlier, calling her one of her best selections apart from her own peony patterned one, selections that had taken a good half a day longer than the time off she’d gotten approved for. He’d complained as much as expected, but it hadn’t been that much of a chore taking over the paperwork. Not when they’d both returned flush faced and grinning over the spoils of their fabric battle, sharing excited giggles and promises to visit that draper’s again. And besides, paperwork actually got done faster without Rangiku there to stuff the longer forms in the back of her cabinet.

Momo’s own kimono pattern was dotted with peach blossoms and was a soft blue that left the whiteish pink petals as a striking contrast. A far cry from the dull brown she’d used to favor in their youth. Then again, it had been some time since he’d even seen her with a new kimono. Or new anything.

Resolving to give Rangiku some leeway the next time she insisted on rushing off for another girl’s shopping spree in the human realm, Toshiro jumped in, “Stupid Momo. Aren’t you the one who told them they had to have a wedding ceremony? Now you’re going to spend the entire time crying?”

She sniffed in response. “I can’t help it! It’s so wonderful! After everything, it feels like my heart is boiling over in excitement!”

“Eh? You sure it ain’t just the entire bottle of fruit sake you finished on your own?”

“Shiro! I did not!

He shrugged, leaning on an elbow. “Right, right. Your zanpaktou must have just evaporated it, huh?”

Momo puffed out her cheeks, ready to snap back just like her sword’s release, only for a crash from the other end of the bar to take their attention. For heaven’s sake. Toshiro groaned. He took his eyes off Vice Captain for five seconds and this.

Apparently Captain Kensei was not at all as straight laced as he had been led to believe. Or maybe he still didn’t understand exactly why it was that no one ever accepted a drinking battle with the Vice Captain Matsumoto. Toshiro had seen members of the eleventh division clear a path for her the day after one particular competition, one where he’d heard on good sources that both Madarame and Yumichika had needed to be sent to the fourth after. Commander Kyōraku was one of the few that could keep up with her, although with his new duties he hadn’t had much time…which might explain why Rangiku was currently trying to induct Kensei into her drunken circle.

“Ha! You’re just on three? I’m on four, Captain of the Ninth, four! Four whole bottles of sake!”

Mashiro had woken up from her slumber, although not necessary her stupor, to cheer her captain on. “Waa, Kensei! You’re losing, you’re really losing! Your super lieutenant is so disappointed!”

Hisagi slurred next to her, “Your super-duper lieutenant is still here for you, Captain!”

Red faced and swaying a little, Rangiku still shot him a look, “Ah, Shuuhei, you’re really rooting against me? I’m hurt! Our drinking relationship means nothing to you, huh?”

“Oi, don’t try and turn my vice captain against me,” Kensei growled, eyes narrowed and barely supporting himself on the table with a hand. “Loyalty is everything in the ninth! Right, Hisagi!”

“Ah, no, I mean,” Hisagi waved his hands around, “As your vice captain I’m rooting for you, Captain! By as a friend I’m also rooting for Rangiku! Not that I don’t see Captain as a friend, I—“

“Wait, how many bottles?” Rukia leapt from her seat, yelling out, "Idiots, we’re covering this one, you’re gonna use up all our gift money!”

Renji, who had apparently been relying on his wife to sit up straight, cursed as he started to slip sideways. Toshiro watched with amusement as Momo struggled to catch him before he broke his head open on the table. He kicked away the leg of an already passed out Kira before she tripped on it, ignoring the way the man drunkenly groaned and rolled over, cuddling a sake bottle to his chest.

Rangiku was absolutely unashamed facing the new bride. “Ah, ah, already tight with the purse! Just ask your brother, I’m such Captain Kuchiki would love to assist his lovely little sister!”

“Like hell I’m asking my older brother to cover you drunkards! I’m taking this out of the seventh and tenth division budgets, don’t think I won’t!” Rukia shot back.

Rangiku puffed up, pumping a fist holding a sake cup in the air. “Too bad! Captain already cut my expenses off from the division! Besides, I have! No money! Hah!”

“Wow,” Mashiro said, eyes wide and nursing another sake bottle. “You say that so proudly, Rangiku! Amazing!”

Kensei looked at them with a stricken face. “Wait…am I on the hook for this? Dammit, you evil witch! You’re worse than Lisa!”

Beside him, Momo laughed, light and free. Toshiro couldn’t help but tear his eyes away from the developing scene again to watch her. She’d managed to balance Renji before he hit the table, which was good, although the man had already broken free to cheer his wife on in her berating of their drunkard friends. Quite loudly, if he might add. Momo seemed none too put off by it, her laugh only growing louder as Renji offered to back Rukia up in beating the sake out of them. Toshiro barely registered the noise, attention entirely fixed onto his childhood friend.

It’d been…a long time since he’d seen her laugh like that. Growing up her smile was a given, as regular as the sun rising in the morning or one of his spinning tops knocking everyone else’s out. She’d smile at everyone, everything, and always saved that brighter smile for when he was looking at her and returning it.

Granny smiled at him too, but it wasn’t the same. Didn’t feel the same, anyways. Momo had always smiled like she was welcoming the world home, taking everything around her in and finding such delight in it that it couldn’t help but spill over her face. Her smile was energy, condensed, and he’d coveted it like a man starved.

And maybe he had been. It had certainly felt like he was wasting away whenever she was upset, or hurt, or during those long months she’d been in the fourth and twelve divisions recovering from the betrayals of a world that dared not value her enough. Her. Of all people.

Other could tease him all they wanted on their childhood friendship, their suspicions of further feelings, but Toshiro never spared a thought for what they thought, only following what he knew. And what he knew was that Momo was the most important person in the world to him. That he would protect her, always, that smile of hers, the light of hers, that unending warmth she so freely gave, every bit of her light that graced this world and blessed him with the opportunity to bask in it.

It felt greedy to ask for more, when he’d already been given so much. And yet…

As Rukia made the ill formed decision to challenge Rangiku to a drinking battle for the money, Momo’s giggles turned to quick snorts of amusement. When Rukia began to argue about taking shots of alcohol per body mass instead of cups, and that Rangiku counted as three of her, her snorts turned into peels of laughter that left gasping, following by — a rather loud burp.

Toshiro raised his eyebrows in astonishment. The noise managed to wake up Kira for a second, who promptly hit his head on the underside of the table and passed out again.

Momo clapped her hands over her mouth in embarrassment. Toshiro slowly smiled at her and she flushed further red. “It—it was the sake!”

“Uh-huh,” he replied, unconvinced. She noticed and hunched her shoulders, kimono wrinkling at the action.

“It was!”

Toshiro leaned his chin against his hand. “Bed wetter, cry baby, and burp champion, Momo. You’re really wracking up the titles, huh?”

“Shiirroooo,” Momo groaned, burying her face in her hands completely. The sight of her, flushed and embarrassed because of him, sent a quick burst of contentment in his chest, a warmth that was at odds with the permanent chill of his reiatsu. He couldn’t help but let his smile soften as she continued to bluster in embarrassment, somehow also managing to press closer to his side as if trying to hide in his captain's haori. He absentmindedly tucked her closer, running a hand down her back.

A flicker of movement nearby caught his eye and Toshiro looked to see Renji giving him a smug look. It would be worthy of reprisal if not for the soft, understanding gleam in his eyes.

Toshiro humphed and turned his head away, making sure not to move so much that the inebriated woman latched onto his shoulder fell off.

Fine. Maybe Renji was onto something.

#hitsuhina #bleach #hitsuhina gift exchange #hinamori momo #toshiro hitsugaya #t

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