#that’d be the highest praise

[autumnblooms]

would you ever write fics to accompany your art?

I don’t know if I’d ever write full fics, maybe some drabbles, but I’m not much of a writer. I get vague ideas or scenes in my head and that’s what I draw, but I haven’t had the brain power lately for long pieces of writing.

However, the wonderful @mac-and-thefox and I have been working on a Mountain/Dew angst fic called “Strong for Somebody Else” and if you go through the Midwest emo ghouls au tag on my blog there’s like one or two drabbles I added there along with some art I did. That amazing au belongs to @herbal-quintessence though, so check out what they’ve been writing!

[natalievoncatte]

Alex had been watching the man across the room for a while. If she’d been into men, he might have been her type- a little lanky and bearded, kind of a hipster air, one of those people who was born on the east coast and came west to fit in.

As she approached the bar she said, “You must be Alex.”

“Must I?”

He offered a genial hand to shake. “Jack Spheer. Lena invited me.”

Alex gave him a shake. “Oh, I know who you are. Lena and Kara both mentioned you a few times. Lena’s ex, right?”

He favored her with a dashing smile and saluted her with his drink. “Guilty.”

Alex turned and looked at Lena, seated across the bar at a table by herself, looking exhausted and overstimulated as she turned a drink between her hands and glanced furtively at Kara and Nia, who were animatedly playing Mortal Kombat on one of the barcade’s old game cabinets.

“Did she invite you?”

“Oh yes,” he said. “Can I swear you to secrecy?”

“Sure, why not.”

“She told me she feels a bit fifth-wheelish at these gatherings of yours.”

“That’s silly,” said Alex. “She’s sort of become the heart of our little band. She’s everybody’s little sister.”

“Nah, that’s Nia.”

Jack looked over at Lena and Kara. Nia lost the match and threw up her hands, and Brainy sauntered over. Nia put her arm about his waist and they fell into each other. Kara’s laugh looked a little strained, a little pained, as she turned to let the couple have their moment.

Kara was in fact staring at Lena now, leaning against a column and nursing a beer that lacked the potency to get her drunk unless she spiked it with the alien liquor in a flask in her purse, but Alex was sure she hadn’t touched it.

The only singles in the group tonight were Lena and Kara, and Alex remembered how Kara’s expression darkened when Lena mentioned he’d be joining them tonight to close out this new place they’d all be eager to visit.

“So are you two…” Alex said.

“No,” Jack laughed. Used to be, back in Metropolis. It ran its course.”

Alex turned and signaled the bartender to bring her and Jack another round.

“So you’re not thinking about making a move?”

Jack swirled his new drink and looked over at Lena, then down at the booze spinning in his hand.

“Thinking about it? Who wouldn’t. She’s gorgeous, you know. Obviously she has those model looks but it’s more than that, it’s deeper. She has the most soulful eyes of any woman I’ve ever met. You’d drown in them and never regret it. She’s a genius, she’s kind and driven. I’ve never met someone who’s so enthusiastic about kindness for the sake of kindness. She throws herself into goodness with such desperation.”

“Wow,” said Alex. “You have a way with words. You really must have deep feelings for her.”

“I do. I won’t say I love her as a sister, that’d be lie. I love her as someone who wants her highest happiness.”

“A girl would be lucky to have someone who sees her like that.”

“You would know,” said Jack. “Your Kelly introduced herself a while ago and had the same sort of high praise for you. By talking to your partner, you’d think you were Supergirl.”

Alex snorted. She glanced over at Lena and saw her still moping prettily, sighing into her drink with her cheek resting against her palm.

“She looks down,” said Alex.

“Unrequited love. Or so she thinks.”

Alex blinked. “What?”

“Don’t you see it?”

“I can’t say I do.”

“She’s in love. I know because she never really looked at me like that.”

“Like wha-“ Alex began.

Lena was looking at Kara, and suddenly Alex saw it. Lena practically radiated yearning, those big soulful eyes of hers so sad that Alex thought sappy music might start playing from nowhere. There was a deep need in that look. Every time Lena looked at Kara, she seemed afraid it was her last chance and she might never see her again.

“I dare say she’s quite in love with your sister.”

Now that Alex saw it she couldn’t unsee it. More than that, pieces began snapping together in her brain- how Lena had gone to absurd lengths to capture the attention of this klutzy, ditzy reporter that had come tumbling into her organized, minimalist, breakfast in California and dinner in Tokyo lifestyle, bringing friendship and a found family and all her bizarre quirks.

The billion dollar CatCo acquisition. The flowers. The look of pure relief in Lena’s eyes when Kara let her back into her life, let her come home.

“Jesus, you’re right.”

Alex took a long drink, then went completely still.

“Or so she thinks,” he’d said.

“Shit, they look like they’re in middle school. Every time Kara looks, Lena looks away.”

“And vice-versa,” said Jack.

Alex sighed. “Great. Just great.”

She suddenly realized that Kara was looking at them, now, and her eyes were wide, a look of unbridled shock on her face.

Goddamn Kara and her goddam bullshit super hearing.

Kara had locked eyes with Jack, and he looked back just as intently.

Then it happened.

Alex knew a bro nod when she saw one. Kara nodded back, pulled the flask from her pocket and took a nip for courage, grimacing as it went down, then turned, head down, and headed straight for Lena.

“Go get her, Supergirl,” Jack said softly.

“I’ll drink to that,” Alex said, offering Jack a toast.

[mondaymelon]

— 𝘀𝗮𝗴𝗮𝘂: 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝘆 𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗳𝗮𝗻𝗳𝗶𝗰𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝘄𝗿𝗼𝘁𝗲 𝗮𝗯𝗼𝘂𝘁 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗺 ♥

:feat~ xiao, kazuha, heizou, scaramouche x gn!reader:

⤷ cw: obsessiveness, self aware ⤷ speed-wrote this so sorry for any mistakes spps

ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ (open!) : @manager-of-the-pudding-bank, @iamdedinside, @ilyuu, @achlysis

XIAO is perplexed, if anything.

Why would you write such things about him, of all people? In a way, he’s honored that you’d think highly enough of him, but what’s with this strangely flowery language? The adeptus has read his fair share of local tales, but this is nothing in comparison. Not by far.

In a way, he feels like he’s intruding upon your personal information, but then again, you don’t even know he’s alive, do you? So as long as you stay unaware, it’d be fine, right? At least, that’s what he tells himself as he reads over the text you’ve accidentally left open on your screen, face flushed as sudden heat rises to his cheeks.

Is this… normal? Do all humans do things like… this? Writing their fantasies down in text to satisfy themselves? 

Xiao really won’t ever understand the things that mortals do. The male isn’t sure how to feel at all.

Do you… Do you want him to do these things to you?

Maybe that’s why he keeps reading the words you granted him to read, over and over again, breath shallow. 

Do you want him to whisper his praises into your ear, to confess his love to you while the two of you watch the sunset beneath the mountainous skyline? To smile at you, light glimmering within his amber eyes? To hold you in his arms, to kiss you so tenderly, just like how you wanted him to? Just like how you wrote?

Because if that’s the case, he’s willing to. More than willing.

 A thousand, no, a million times over, he’ll do it all, however many times you want. ♥

KAZUHA is impressed at your work, and more than a little interested.

After all, the wandering poet he is, Kazuha has written quite the number of literature pieces himself, all of them about you… so he’s quite enthralled when he finds out that you write about him too! He might be overthinking some things, but he’s really, really excited about it… likely more than you’ll ever realize.

Because to him, writing is the highest form of endearment - a way to express oneself in the truest way possible, and to discover that you’ve been doing that for him, well… he can’t stop his heart from beating as fast as it is!

This means you feel the same way about him that he does you, right? After all, if you’re writing about how much you love him, that’s basically a confession, isn’t it?

And If… If you asked, he would be more than willing to show you the countless poems he’s written about you… some written in red ink, some in black, several smudged while others lay half-torn. Either way, all of them are for you, of you, all of them singing praises of your name and affectionate adorations of your being.

Because simply a hundred of them isn’t enough, not by far, to profess his profound love for you. His love for you is an imperfect feeling that sends his heart racing and his face burning.

He’ll just have to keep writing and writing until he can capture the obsessive feeling that seems to swallow him up, however long it’ll take. ♥

HEIZOU is only slightly surprised, but more so intrigued.

Who knew the creator had such a… shameful side to them? No, that’d be a disrespectful way to describe it… how about bashful? He finds it innocent, almost, which is strange.

In the first place, many wouldn’t expect you to be so susceptible to such fantasies, let alone write such ideas down. And while he is somewhat shocked, it’s also predictable. Heizou has analyzed your personality and character over and over, countless times over, and he knows your tendencies, all of them. This is merely a different foresight in thousands upon thousands of possibilities.

But expectation aside, Heizou can’t help but keep reading what you’ve written about him… do you really think of the detective like this? Someone so… charming and romantic? It’s flattering, almost too much so. The very thought of it, the very sight of your carefully crafted words and sentences, he can hear the way his heart thumps in his ears and the way his face is twisted into a lovesick smile. 

After all, if this is what you’ve dreamed up of, then that’s what you want him to do to you, right? Haha, ask nicely, and Heizou will be more than willing to play along with whatever you have in mind.

Ah, but you should keep in mind.

Once Heizou has a taste of what he wants, he might never stop.♥

SCARAMOUCHE judges you, of course.

He finds it puzzling and somewhat unsettling at the same time… why is it that you write down such stories about what he would do to you? He hasn’t done a single action described in the fantasies you’ve written, so why do you still persist so earnestly?

…It almost disgusts him.

Of course, he’d never say it to your face… or then again, maybe he would. Scaramouche is a brash man, and that’s common knowledge. After all, the strong can say whatever they want, can’t they?

Still… it’s oddly comforting to see you do this. And the male doesn't really know why. Maybe it’s because you care for him enough to dream about these kinds of things? Or maybe it’s evidence to him that you won’t be another to leave him?

He’s strangely conflicted, and to him, that’s weakness. Both appalled and enthralled… how is he supposed to feel?

And it doesn’t help that even through his whines, he keeps reading. Reading with the slightest dust of red across his cheeks and the way his breath hitches every time you’ve written his name. Heart skipping a beat every time his eyes scan over the sentences one more time, once more, just once more.

Is that the way you feel about him?

And why was it that he felt the same? ♥

(a/n) oh dear my mental state is declining again wooOoOo

[itostea]

dead serious (reo x reader)

warnings: they’re academic rivals!! (i’m reading if you could see the sun right now and oh god i forgot how much i love this troupe), reo is cocky in this but it’s cute

“Good job on the essay, (Name). That was a complex analysis and I had a fun time reading it. Keep up the hard work.”

A 97%. You think that’s a score worthy enough to beam and nod enthusiastically at your teacher’s praises. Nothing feels better to score well on an assessment that was regarded as difficult–not to mention, in a class that’s considered difficult. Naturally, you don’t let the score get to you but how could you not grin as you sat down, proud and relieved that your hard work paid off. 

Your eyes flit to a head of purple hair, watching as he taps his fingers on the wooden table, deep in thought but not particularly concerned about his score–as if he knew he was going to do well. His eyes glance over your paper, mumbling a congratulations at the red 97 plastered on your paper. 

“You look calm. You’re not worried about your grade? You might lose our bet.” You ask, considering him with a short glance. For a moment, you feel your heart pick up as your eyes meet, irritated at yourself for feeling so fidgety around your rival. There was no way you were going to lose another bet with him, especially one that you devoted so much time to. If you lost, then in his words, you’d have to grant him a wish. Needless to say, that commitment applied to him as well. 

His lips curve into a self-assured smile that’d surely make anybody swoon. “Worried? I thought that was more of your job.”

“What’s that supposed–”

“Mikage?” Your teacher’s voice suddenly interrupts and you see how she beckons him to come grab his paper. He flashes another boyish smile at you, his eyes lingering on you before he gets up to receive his score.  You tilt your head in curiosity as they spare a few minutes engaging in a conversation. Not the kind of talk where the student typically cries or angrily yells at the teacher for failing them. As a matter of fact, Reo was smiling, making small talk and nodding as if he were accepting a detailed compliment. 

“Thank you for your words Miss. I’ll be sure to take your insight into account,” he says in that business-man type of voice.

“What a dedicated student you are, Mikage. So humble despite making the highest mark.”

You blink until your lips part in astonishment. “No way,” you whisper, gazing at him in astonishment as he approaches his table. As if he did it on purpose, he slides the paper on the wooden surface for your eyes to see the large 98% scribbled on the top. The class bursts into discussion, with some students already going to their friends for comfort after they got their failing grades; others just satisfied that they passed; and of course the few outliers who managed to do well on such a difficult essay. 

“That’s a shame,” he grinned, leaning closer to you until you could smell his cologne and minty breath. “You almost had it. You know I’m a bit disappointed as well? I didn’t get 100% as I anticipated.”

You feel your eyes twitch at his last comment, realizing that he was just rubbing salt into your wound. “Let me read it,” you pause, noticing his awaiting smile before you sighed. “Fine. Please let me read it.”

He snickers, fingers reaching over to slip the papers into your hands. You scan the perfect handwriting and the neatly crossed out words. To add fuel to the fire, you realize that he chose to argue against the easier side and it made perfect sense. You grip his papers and bite the inside of your cheek, reaching over to your own essay. As you compared them, you suddenly understood why he managed to surpass you with a single percentage: the structure was only slightly better than yours. 

You perk up and frown. “We still have the math test–”

“Beat you in that already love. Did my score make you forgetful now?” He teases and you try to ignore how he called you “love.” Or howw it made your heart dance in your chest.

“Now about the bet…” he smiles, the kind of grin that makes you lean away in suspense. You’re expecting a strange one–like buy me a drink everyday or do a stupid dance. Lately, you’ve noticed he’s been hanging around that boy named Nagi and they’ve been playing soccer in the fields more often. You feel yourself growing increasingly worried as you consider one of his requests might be to become a ball girl for their practice. 

“Let’s see… What should I make you do for me? Hm,” he teases, pretending to think hard. 

“Just hurry up with–”

“Go on a date with me.”

You stare at him with a wide-eyed look, wonder swirling in your eyes as you grapple with his unexpected request. “What?” 

It’s almost a habit for you to scrutinize his expression to see what kind of mood or emotion played at his heart. He was serious. Dead serious. You could tell with the way his eyes were lit by the flame of determination, as if an ego took over him. “Go on a–”

“I heard you the first time!” You whisper yelled, covering part of your face in both embarrassment and bewilderment. “Why me? I thought you only thought of me as a rival?”

“A rival? Oh I guess we are like that,” he says and if this were any other time, you would’ve been offended by the fact that he just confirmed your one-sided rivalry. “So? What time works for you? 7 or 8? I’m thinking of–”

“Reo!” You stare at him, flustered, the kind of expression that grounds him to reality for a second. Just a minute ago, you looked like a kicked puppy and he had to resist the urge to just ask you on a date right then and there. He grinned again, this time wider. It was hard not to smile so wide when he was around you. 

“That’s the second time you interrupted me, love,” he teases light-heartedly. “So I’m guessing 8?” 

“Oh my god,” you groaned, your head in your hands. “You’re crazy.”

“You’re right. I am crazy. Crazy for you–”

“Reo!”

“That’s the third time you did it sweetheart,” he smiled and you can’t help but feel another wave of red hit you at the sound of “sweetheart.”

“Don’t joke around with me right now…” you mumble, averting your eyes from his purple gaze. 

As if a switch was flipped, you see how his face turned serious and hear his voice grow firmer. “I’m not joking. I want to take you out on a date. Truth is, I studied really hard just to win the bet with you so I could ask you…”

You gape as you see how pink dusted his cheeks. Yeah. He was serious. You don’t know how long you spent staring at him but it’s enough to make him sigh. “Look, it’s fine if you want to… Just–”

“I’ll go,” you muttered quietly against your palm. That’s makes it the fourth time you interrupted him now.

“Just–Sorry what? You’ll go?”

You can only give him a nod and this time, he’s the one who goggles at you. “For real?”

“Yes for real!”

It’s almost comical how quickly his mood shifted. With a blink of an eye, he’s already leaning closer to you, laughing in astonishment. “You’ll go?”

“I said yes–”

“You’ll go!” This time he says it as a statement and you have to shush him as a few eyes wander to the both of you. Luckily, the bell is enough to keep everyone’s attention off the two of you. He stands up, gathering his things and inching towards you again. “I’ll pick you up at 8 okay? Promise me you’ll go?”

It’s rare to see Reo like this and that makes it way harder for you to disagree. “I promise.”

He leaves with a grin, excited to tell Nagi all about how the two of you were going on a date with him. And midway through the hallways it dawns on him: he didn’t doesn’t know where you live. 

That night, you roll your eyes at how he spams you for your address. Yet, there’s no denying that your fingers shake as you respond, giddy at seeing him all over again.

[backpocketkazoo]

Awsome last post but going off of that I can imagine Fred being all bashful thinking about y/n or trying to confess to them but Napoleon keeps poking fun at him and/or getting in the way. That’d be something cute to write about (wink wink nudge nudge)

Hello Fred nation 😼 o7

I was debating on bringing this up in my last post but I ended up not getting into it so I’m glad you said something!!

// swear content warning 😭

♟️First things first, NOTHING gets past Napoleon. He’ll know.

♟️He walks this fine line of being patronizing and being supportive regarding Fred’s feelings towards you. One foot in and one foot out the door yknow?

-> Like, Hooray my loser grandson is finally interested in someone.

-> However, He’s a fucking loser, meaning he’s not likely to make a move.💀

-> “You can’t even win a measly board game. What makes you think you can win their affections?” Type beat.

-> Listen. At the end of the day Napoleon wants Fred to succeed, he doesn’t want his bloodline to boil down to this utter loser. That’s why he’s so hard on him. He wants to toughen Fred up.

-> Of course, Napoleon will still tease and make fun of Fred, that’s how he is. He’ll never admit it, but it can be assumed that he wants the best for Fred, if not for Fred himself, then for the Bonaparte name.

♟️That being said, Napoleon will NOT leave Fred alone. He’s really insistent on Fred making some sort of advance.

-> Napoleon hitting him with the “BACK IN MY DAY—” then telling some story about how he had to fight the ladies off with a stick or smth. And Fred’s like “thats great grandpa🧍”

♟️Fred could be talking to you and Napoleon will say the most embarrassing things to Fred and he’s just trying to have a normal conversation.

-> You notice Fred is breaking out into a sweat, turning bright red, and stammering. Oh and if you ask if he’s alright? It makes it 10x worse.

♟️If Napoleon gets too antsy he might push (or shove) Fred in the direction he wants him to be in. Yknow perhaps make a few moves for him.

-> You’ll likely won’t realize what’s happening whenever this happens. It’s unlike both Fred and your impression of Napoleon. So you’ll just wear a confused and flustered smile and look at him. It just makes Fred more embarrassed. But before he can explain himself, you’re in on it, making subtle moves yourself, and bro fucking short circuits.

♟️The highest honor is Napoleon approving of you. There’s the “Yeah sure whatever” at least this bozo is interested in someone. Then there’s legitimate approval from him. Like? If you hit Fred with a French pet name? Ough Napoleon will be singing your praises, telling Fred that you’re a keeper and so forth.

Does a lil jig

[whumpinggrounds]

Something That I Tell Myself I Need

Picrew

CW: BBU general warning

Their owner doesn’t want to touch.

So much is new – the sun-soaked apartment, the pictures and posters and color on the walls, the lack of structure to each day. Newest of all is the owner himself, more kind-eyed and smiling than Madigan had dared hope. Still, out of all that novelty, the most surprising thing of all is how the owner draws back delicately from every point of potential contact.

Madigan tries hard not to mind. They have new clothes, softer than the ones they wore at WRU, and more colorful. The collar that buckles around their neck is soft too and has no shock attachment on it anywhere. Their owner takes them for walks, to farmer’s markets and parks, libraries and cafes. They have a name now, and orders to call their owner Michael, just Michael.

It would be wrong to say that Madigan isn’t grateful. They go to sleep on their pullout couch bed and wake up smiling, really smiling. How can that be anything but gratitude, anything but the highest kind of happiness available to their kind?

But they still want Michael to touch them.

Everything else is so perfect that Madigan glows with it. Michael praises their cooking, and smiles at them without prompting, and brings them out in the world with a kind of evangelical eagerness that transfers his wonder right into Madigan’s wide brown eyes. Through it, Madigan smiles, and looks at Michael like a savior, and wears only long-sleeve shirts. They cocoon themselves in their sheets at night, wrap themselves up so tight that sometimes a laughing Michael has to help them out of the tangle the next morning. Sometimes, his fingers brush their skin, and the feeling lingers in their mind. All day, Madigan rubs at their skin where Michael inadvertently lay his hands.

That’s all they get. They tell themselves that they don’t mind, but Michael, being who he is, notices anyway.

He brings it up while they’re watching a movie together. Slouched against one side of the couch, Michael has taken care to ensure that no part of him touches Madigan where they kneel on the floor. The sting of rejection needles Madigan anew as they watch an action movie roar across the screen. Most of the pets in the movie are dull background Domestics, but the tortured main character has a boxgirl he comes home to, a woman he cradles against his chest like she’s more precious than any stolen treasure. She could be Romantic, but Madigan decides she’s Platonic instead, feels a longing kinship for her happy sigh as her owner folds her in his arms.

“Are we supposed to think they’re sleeping together?”

Michael’s voice is skeptical. Onscreen, captions ensure that neither of them misses a beat of dialogue. Michael loves to talk through movies, and so Madigan needs to respond. “I…I’m not sure,” they hedge, though they have a pretty good idea.

“See, I think she’s supposed to be a stand-in for the little sister from the flashback. So, like, that’d be super wrong. If they were sleeping together, I mean.”

Of course, Michael is right. It’s not exactly a difficult film to analyze. Still, Madigan makes their voice wondering when they reply. “Oh, that’s, I bet that’s it.”

It’s hard to find the right mix of eager and tentative, but Madigan knows they hit it, because when they glance up carefully, eyes still round and adoring, they see Michael’s fond, familiar smile. A surge of pure pleasure shoots through them, the satisfaction of a job done well.

Then, as he always does, Michael throws them off-balance again. “Do you, uh…” he frowns, scratches the back of his head. “Mad, do you wish that we were like that?”

He jerks his chin at the pair on TV. The pet is pressed against her owner’s side. In the movie, they’re being threatened. Some lackey of the main villain has found their safe place, and now he has the woman, the pet, the only thing in the world the hero cares for, centered squarely in the sights of his .45. Obviously, Madigan doesn’t wish themselves in her place.

They know that’s not really what Michael is asking. But they’re supposed to be stupid, aren’t they? “I-I’m not sure what you mean?”

Now, when Madigan looks up, Michael is frowning. It’s a pensive frown, not an angry one, but Madigan still tenses in their place on the floor. “I just…I don’t know. Maybe I’m wrong.”

An endless pause, the quiet between them stretching like taffy. Madigan longs for it to end, a sharp, hard want that surprises them with its intensity.

“Look, Madigan, do you want me to be more affectionate with you?”

The question, put so baldly, dries out Madigan’s mouth, raises goosebumps on their skin. “I…I…sir, whatever you-”

“Hey.” Michael’s voice is warm as a hug. “Hey, Mad, you don’t have to call me sir, okay? Just be honest. I won’t get upset with you, swear.”

A hard swallow. The words won’t come out, so Madigan just nods, squeezing their eyes shut as they do. They can’t face the possibility, the writhing fear that maybe, they’ve gotten it all wrong.

“You want me to be more affectionate?”

Another nod, eyes still closed.

“Aww. Bud.” Michael slaps the couch next to them, a summons so obvious Madigan doesn’t dare disobey it. “Come here.”

Hardly breathing, Madigan scoots up on the couch. Almost before they’re really seated, Michael is throwing an arm around them and pulling them close. His body heat is shock enough to make Madigan shiver.

“This okay?”

The word, choked and raspy, that emerges from Madigan’s lips is not one they planned. “Please.”

“Aw.” Michael cuddles them closer, and Madigan feels that same heady rush of accomplishment. They try to bask in it, lose themselves in it, so that they can forget that when they said please, they didn’t know what they really wanted, or who.

[sepublic]

Okay but like... You guys do realize that future rep being better than that of current or previous shows is kind of the point, right? Like when one says that this current show has better rep, that can be both true AND not necessarily be an insult to what came before.

Queer creators, as well as creators of other marginalized identities, want to be made redundant by future representation, obsolescence is their goal. They hope that their rep will end up feeling outdated by the future, a product of its time that hasn’t aged well and will no longer be seen as the gold standard; Because that means the bar is set higher, that means people have more expectations now and for a good reason! Because a lot of queer rep IS pretty minimal in depiction to straight relationships.

Creators place what they can, and while rightfully proud of and praised for it, are always thinking of how it could and frankly should be better, and they’re right! It delights them then to see that future rep is better then, they do this to pave the road for more; They don’t want their example to remain the peak of representation (unless they’re motivated by bragging rights instead of actual improvement) because that’d be limiting and depressing, they desire to be outclassed and outdone. That’s the reason why rep is there, that’s the mission; To lay the groundwork for others so they can build higher than us.

We should definitely celebrate and recognize progress, but NOT use this as a disingenuous gottem against creators who came before and actually earnestly tried and cared, and hoped to be outdone. Future rep being better is the highest compliment a creator can receive, especially knowing theirs encouraged and inspired someone to make something better; Because it proves their effort did make a difference! Representation is meant to enable and free people, and allow them to do more and the most; With the latter constantly redefining itself so that an attainable limit may never be reached.

[tobesolonely]

kindergarten teachers

summary: teacher!harry and coworker y/n have a hard time coming to terms with their feelings for each other

a/n: ahhh she’s finally done! i’ve been working on this fic for sooo long and i hope u all like it! big thanks to @queencharry​ for helping me when i got stuck and beta reading, and @behindthatbabyface​ for beta reading as well and giving me feedback!! i appreciate u both <3 enjoy ~11.3k words of some mutual pining and teacher!h interacting with lil kindergarteners 🥺also i am sorry if theres any major grammar mistakes (as always) or crazy typos, i always miss some things when i go back and proofread that im sure i’ll catch later! thank u

warnings: smut, mentions of alcohol 

talk to me about harry and y/n! let me know your thoughts!!

my ko-fi! thank you :)

From the time you were very young, you knew you wanted to be a teacher. One of your earliest childhood memories was going to school dressed up as one for career day. Your usually untamed hair was pulled back into a sleek bun (courtesy of your mother), and you donned a funky baby-pink sweater. For bottoms, you wore the closest thing to a pencil skirt you had in your five-year-old wardrobe. When you look back on the photographs your mother took of you that day, you did not resemble a teacher in any way. You were sure if you had not done your Career Day presentation in front of the whole class, no one would have even known who you were dressed up as.

Once you moved onto college and declared Education as a major, that was when people really started to let you hear their opinions on the career path you wanted to pursue. It seemed like whenever you went home for a holiday, relatives were always in your ear saying, “You know teachers don’t make a lot of money, right? Have you ever considered something in the sciences?”. You always responded, “I know, but what would the world do without teachers?”.

Eventually, you finished your undergraduate career, successfully completed student teaching with the highest praise from your superiors and colleagues, obtained your teaching credentials, and even went back to school to get your Master’s degree. So, it was much to everyone’s surprise when you settled on being a Kindergarten teacher. People assumed that because you completed so much schooling, you wanted to be a university professor. However, the thought never even crossed your mind. You always thought Kindergarten teachers were the most impressionable people out there and knew you wanted to be one.

To you, there was no greater responsibility than that of a Kindergarten teacher. It was your responsibility to teach your students reading, writing, art, and music at the most basic level. You showed them how to play with others, how to be kind, and give them the tools necessary to succeed once they leave your classroom. You were the first teacher your students ever had, so you needed to make them fall in love with school instead of hate it, considering they’d have to stick to it until they were at least eighteen. 

You’ve been a credentialed Kindergarten teacher for the last three years, and you’ve loved every moment of it. You were one of the younger teachers at school, but you never felt left out. Your colleagues were amazing people who often shared tips and tricks they wish they knew when they first started teaching.

Now, you were groggily unlocking the door to your classroom, feeling those first-day-of-school jitters you always felt. You knew kindergarteners weren’t there to harshly critique you. Still, you wanted them to go home and tell their parents about how excited they were to have you as a teacher, not run home in tears. That never happened, of course, but you didn’t want to take any chances. You drop your keys and mutter a quiet, “Shit!” setting your travel mug filled with coffee on the ground and readjust the box of donuts you had for your kids on your hip. As you reach for your keys, you hear a deep voice ask if you need help. You quickly turn around, eyes wide from being startled.

“Oh! You scared me,” you place your free hand over your chest. “But yeah, actually, that’d be great. I’m struggling to get my door open.” The man nods, his own keys he wore around his neck jangling as he retrieves first your keys, then your coffee mug.

“I’m Harry– Mr. Styles, if you want,” he holds your keys out for you to take, your coffee mug still in his large hands. “Uh, I’m the new Kindergarten teacher.” You give him a confused look and trade the box of donuts in your arms for your keys, opening the door. “The last one, Mrs. Brown, I think it was, I guess she decided a few weeks back that she wanted to retire.” You get your door open and walk inside your classroom, turning on the lights. It was a little stuffy, considering you hadn’t been there to open any windows in about a month.

“Oh, that’s right! Welcome,” you give him a warm smile. “I’m Y/N– Miss Y/L/N if you want.” A slight blush appears on his cheeks. “We’re gonna be working together then, it seems. Don’t get me wrong, I loved Mrs. Brown, but it’ll be nice to collaborate with someone closer to my age, you know?” Harry nods, and you realize he still had your coffee mug and box of donuts in his hands. “You can just set that on my desk, thanks for helping out. Would you like a donut?”

“Um, I- it’s okay,” he stammers, setting the items down. “Sorry, it’s just that I’ll probably crash if I have a donut first thing in the mornin’.” You smile at him and move to open all your windows and the back door, wanting the stuffy classroom to air out a bit before the children got here. 

“I totally get that,” you giggle, walking back over to your desk. “Are you excited about the first day? I always get a little nervous. I also talk a lot when I’m nervous, I’m sure you caught onto that.” 

For the first time that morning, Harry laughs. “Yeah, I’m nervous, too. ’ve never taught in the States before, so this is a bit new to me.” He’s playing with the keys hanging from his lanyard. 

“I noticed you had an accent, but I didn’t know if it was weird to ask about it. What brings you to California?” You open the box of donuts and take one out, wanting to eat it before it gets cold, and the glaze hardens.

“Uh, I went to University here, but when I graduated, I decided to go back home and teach for a couple of years. I really missed being here though and wanted to come back, so I got my credentials, and uh, here I am,” he tells you with a grin, and you notice he has deep dimples. 

“Well, we’re glad you’re here,” you tell him earnestly. “The kids are just gonna love your accent, too!” you joke and Harry laughs for the second time that day. 

“If all else fails, ’m hopin’ to charm everyone over with my accent,” he stares at you for a moment before speaking again. “Well, I better finish getting situated. It’s fifteen til, and I reckon the children will be arriving soon, yeah?” He asks. You nod. 

“Best to be waiting at parent drop-off too, there are always a few parents that are just as nervous as their babies, if not more, and could use a quick pep talk.”

“Thanks for lettin’ me know. I was thinking about standing out there anyway, just to make a good first impression.” You take another bite of your donut, giving him a thumbs up. 

“You’ve got this, Harry. I know you’re not completely clueless since you’ve taught before, but I know the first day can be a little intimidating. You know where I am if you need anything.” He gives you a grateful smile, quietly thanking you before turning to walk out the door. You’re left thinking about your new coworker, only being pulled from your thoughts of him when the first bell rings.

“Good morning everyone, my name is Miss Y/L/N. Are you all excited to get this school year started?” A chorus of high-pitched yeses fills the room, and you smile warmly at your class. “I’m so excited that you’re all here! I have a little surprise for each of you!” You grab the box of donuts and walk back to the rug in the center of the room that the children usually sat on for storytime. Little gasps fill your ears, and they all say, “Donuts!” and “Yummy!”. You smile at the kids again, already feeling overwhelmed with how adorable they were. 

“We all get a donut?” one little girl asks, her eyes wide. You nod at her.

“Of course! Everyone will get a donut, sweetie.” You move to get the plastic food gloves you kept so you can safely hand out a donut to everyone. “Okay guys, I’m going to pass a stack of napkins around the room. Take one and pass the stack to the person sitting next to you. Does that make sense?” All the students nod their heads in confirmation, so you grab a stack and hand them to the child sitting closest to you. “Once the last person has their napkin, let me know, and then it’ll be donut time!” You say this over-enthusiastically, and the children squirm in their seats in excitement.

As you go around handing out donuts to each of your students, you learn their names and ask them to tell you one fun fact about them. Most children say things like, “I have a brother/sister!” or “I can run really fast!”, and you find it absolutely adorable. One thing you loved the most about teaching five-year-olds was their ability to think everything was cool. It was comforting to know that no matter what you did, they’d find you cool, and your first-day jitters quickly dissipated. As the children eat their donuts, you read them a story, putting on different voices for all the various characters. You show them how to raise their hand when they have something they’d like to share and remind them to use their “listening ears” when you or one of their classmates are speaking.

When it’s time for recess, you show them how to line up quietly at the door, and assign a line leader and a hall monitor. You remind the children that they will all get a turn at these tasks eventually because it’ll switch every week, and not to worry. As you’re walking down the hall backward (one of your teachers walks that you’d finally perfected), you hear Harry’s voice.

“Okay Room Ten, we’re gonna go out to the playground now, where you all will get to play every recess and lunch. That sounds like fun, doesn’t it?” He asks them, and you hear little voices chattering out to him in excitement. You can’t help but peek into his classroom as you walked by, as his door was open. He didn’t see you because he was busy organizing his class into a straight line, so you keep going. Your class, who, much to your surprise, was walking very quietly, got loud once they saw the Kindergarten play area had a slide and monkey bars.

“We get to play on this?” one of your students, Destiny, questions. 

“Yup! This is a pretty cool play area, isn’t it?” They nod and stare at you, waiting for direction. “Oh, you can all go play and run around, get some of that energy out. When the bell rings, though, I want you to listen to the yard teachers because they’re gonna help get you all lined back up so we can go back inside. Deal?” The children give you nods and thumbs up, and you grin at them, telling them to have fun and be nice to one another. As you’re turning to go to the teacher’s lounge to refill your mug of coffee, you see Harry walking down the hallway with his class, and decide to wait for him. He gives his class the same spiel you gave yours and tells them to “Treat each other with kindness” before noticing you waiting for him.

“Hey,” he gives you a grin, looking far more relaxed than he did when you saw him earlier that morning. “How’s it going so far?”

“It’s great,” you reply, leading him in the direction of the teacher’s lounge. “They’re all adorable.”

“Yeah, don’t know what I was so nervous fo’. They’re great. Also, you’re right,” Harry has an amused look on his face. “The first thirty minutes of ’em bein’ there was just them askin’ me to say things because they think I sound funny.” 

“I told you!” you exclaim, laughing at him. “A British accent is definitely not something we hear every day, not here at least.”

“I figured,” he replies, and silence falls between you. “Where are we going, by the way?”

You stop in front of a blue door and sift through the keys on your lanyard, finally finding the one you were looking for. “Teacher’s lounge. Have you had the chance to check it out yet?” He shakes his head, and you pull open the door after having unlocked it. “After you.” He shakes his head and steps back, signaling you go ahead of him. You quirk an eyebrow at him, and he gives you a defensive look.

“What? ‘M a gentleman. Ladies first,” he insists, holding the door open. You walk inside the room, trying to refrain from rolling your eyes. There aren’t many teachers in the lounge. You figure they all must be in their classrooms, trying to do some last-minute organization and lesson planning amidst the first day of school chaos. However, a few colleagues that you’re rather fond of are in the room, so you take it upon yourself to introduce them to Harry.

“Hello everyone, I hope you’re all having a relaxing morning!” They chuckle lightly at your sarcasm. “I’d like you all to meet Mr. Harry Styles. He’s the new Kindergarten teacher that took Mrs. Brown’s place.” A look of realization washes over all three teachers’ faces, and they warmly greet him. Harry goes around, shaking each of their hands, voice dripping with charm.

“Lovely to meet you all. Looking forward to collaborating,” he tells them quietly. They begin engaging in polite conversation, so you leave Harry’s side, walking over to the coffee station to get what you came for before recess was over. He joins you shortly after, grabbing a disposable cup. “They were a nice bunch.” He mutters, pouring the steaming coffee into his cup. You hum in agreement.

“Everyone here is nice. The lounge is usually much more crowded than this. Everyone else must be in their rooms,” you flick your wrist up to check the time. “We got some time to sit down and breathe for a bit if you’d like? Unless you wanted to get back to your room.”

“‘M in no rush, trust me,” he tells you, flashing you a small smile. “Let’s take a seat.” Harry walks over to an unoccupied couch and sits down slowly, taking care not to spill his coffee. 

“You didn’t want a lid?” you question when you see him struggling. He shrugs.

“Not necessary. Jus’ some extra plastic,” you hum and look down at your lap. You were quickly learning that Harry was not a big talker, and he liked to get his point across in as few words as possible. Him being a Kindergarten teacher contradicted heavily with his rather bashful demeanor, but that just made him all the more endearing to you.

“Do you live nearby, or is your commute long?” you ask him after a few moments of silence. As soon as you ask the question, you internally cringe, feeling like it was too invasive. If Harry thought the question was weird, he doesn’t show it.

“I live in town. I actually walked here today, believe it or not,” he tells you with a chuckle. “Was such a beautiful morning that I figured I should.” Every time you think Harry can’t possibly get any more captivating, he does, and you find yourself biting back a smile.

“How long is your walk?” You cross your legs and then uncross them, a nervous habit that you had. Harry takes a sip of coffee, mulling your question over.

“I’d say it took me about twenty minutes. I was walkin’ at a pretty leisurely pace, though,” Harry shrugs. “How about you? Do you live nearby?”

“I also live in town, but I’m way too lazy to walk, so props to you,” you smile. “The best thing about living around here is seeing your kids out in public. It’s the cutest thing.” Harry smiles, not saying anything else. A silence falls over the two of you again but instead of feeling the need to fill it, you just sit beside him, drinking your coffee. Your mind wanders off to what you were going to do for the rest of the school day, if you had enough groceries in your apartment for dinner or if you should go grocery shopping after work, and if you remembered to pay your bills on time. The bell rings to signify the end of recess, and you jump slightly.

“Ready to go back?” Harry asks, standing up and walking back over to the coffee station. “Think’m gonna get a bit more.” You go to stand by the door, waiting for him to pour another cup of coffee. He quickly rejoins you, and the coffee sloshes a bit, some getting on his hand, but he doesn’t seem to notice. “Hope those lil’ buggers got some of their energy out.”

“Right! Mine was even more hyper than they probably would’ve been ’cause I gave them those donuts this morning,” you laugh. “So, for my sake, I hope so too.” When you and Harry arrive back at the Kindergarten play area, your classes are already lined up quietly awaiting instruction, thanks to the yard teachers. You and Harry both thank them and move to stand in front of your kids. 

“Miss Y/L/N,” one of your children calls out from the back of the line. “Can we get more donuts when we go back inside?” You see Harry smile out of the corner of your eye as he’s giving instruction to his class.

“There are no more donuts, you guys ate them all! I have something even cooler than donuts planned for us, though, okay? Now, remember what I told you all about walking quietly, right? Mr. Line Leader, how does your line look? Do you think we’re all set to go back inside?” The child you appointed line leader turns around to look at everyone, occasionally shushing some people. After a few moments, he turns back to you, giving you a thumbs up. 

Harry moves to stand beside you, leaning down to whisper in your ear. “Wanna eat lunch together and do some planning? I feel like it would be a good idea for us to be teachin’ the same things, more or less.” Your body feels warm all over, and you just look at him and nod, not trusting yourself to speak. Harry smiles and places a hand on your shoulder. At a normal volume, he says, “See you then, Miss Y/L/N.” 

Upon entering Harry’s room, you’re immediately met with the scent of vanilla and the loud hum of the air conditioning. It was bright, adorably decorated, and surprisingly decluttered. It was the polar opposite of your room, and you found it very welcoming and comforting. “Nice set-up you’ve got going on in here,” you tell him. He jumps in his seat at his desk, not having heard you come in.

“Fucks sake,” he mumbles, face going red. “You scared me. Thanks, though. My sister helped me decorate, I don’t really have an eye for this type of stuff.” He rubs the back of his neck, sheepishly. 

“Well, if you ever need any help decorating for back to school and your sister isn’t around, I’d be more than happy to help.” Harry smiles and suddenly gets up from his chair, offering it to you.

“Please, take my seat. I’ll just sit in one of the kids’ chairs,” he rolls it towards you, and you shake your head, about to object, but he interrupts you. “It’s okay, Y/N. Their chairs aren’t that bad.” You take the seat Harry was just in, mumbling a quiet thank you. He hums and pulls a tiny chair up beside you, legs scraping loudly across the floor. When he sits down in it, you can’t but burst out laughing.

“Harry, that chair is so tiny! Are you sure you don’t want me to sit there instead? You look so uncomfortable,” you tell him in between laughs. “This is your classroom, after all, I’m just a guest.” Harry shakes his head, cheeks flushed.

“It’s okay, Y/N, really. ‘M perfectly comfortable in this lil’ miniature chair,” he looks at the lunch bag you sat on his desk. “What’s for lunch?” You reach for your sack and unzip it, pulling out a pre-packaged salad from Trader Joe’s.

“I’m very lazy when it comes to packing my lunches,” you admit sheepishly, pulling out a fork. “How about you? Did you eat already?”

“Oh yeah, I had a green smoothie. Not a big lunch guy,” he replies calmly. “Wanna get started with planning? I think we only have about thirty minutes left.” He looks down at his watch to confirm the time. Harry opens his planner, and you see pages filled with his neat, blocky scrawl. He jumps right into talking about the ideas he had in mind, excitement filling his voice that you haven’t yet heard. 

The passion and enthusiasm he has for teaching are evident through the way he tells you about the activities he has planned, new materials and teaching methods he wants to try implementing, and things he’s tried before that didn’t work out the way he wanted them to. He asks you for your advice and listens intently when you speak, jotting down notes.

You find yourself having to mentally remind yourself not to stare at him. He was a handsome man– there was no denying that. He had curly brown hair, soft and wild-looking, the most beautiful green eyes you’d ever seen, and arms covered in tattoos. You also noticed he had the tiniest cross on his left hand. You wanted to ask him about it, but you figured that was a conversation for another time. 

“Y/N? Did you hear what I just said,” Harry asks, giving you a concerned look. “Are you alright? I think you just zoned out for a couple minutes or somethin’.” You nod quickly, feeling your palms growing sweaty.

“Oh yeah, sorry, I was just thinking about something I have to do later. What did you just say?” You play off how you were just wholly drooling over your new coworker, feeling scrutinized under his piercing gaze.

“Jus’ got an email from the principal. Said we have a faculty meetin’ after school at three. Wanna go together?” He asks. You know Harry’s asking you to accompany him primarily because you’re the only person he really knows so far. However, it still makes you feel warm and special. “He said we’re gonna go over some planning for the Fall Festival. What’s that?”

“Oh, it’s just the back-to-school festival. It’s adorable,” you explain. “It’s like a mini carnival that we have right here on the playground. Every year they have teachers host booths. It’s a great way to get to meet your kids’ parents and bond with the other faculty.” Harry nods, standing up from the tiny chair right as the bell signifying the end of lunch rings.

“That sounds lovely,” he chirps, smiling down at you. “We’re gonna have the best booth out of everyone Y/N, trust me.” He jokes, the corner of his eyes crinkling. This was the most Harry had talked since you met him that morning and you were enjoying witnessing him open up to you more and more with each conversation shared.

“It is,” you stand up as well, gathering your trash and empty lunch pail. “Thanks for having me, Harry. Next time we can meet in my room. I wouldn’t mind making this a daily thing.” As soon as the words came out of your mouth, you physically wince, figuring Harry had to think you were obsessed with him at this point. He looks down, the corners of his mouth upturned when he makes eye contact with you again.

“I’d like that, Y/N. I’ll actually start bringin’ a proper lunch, so you’re not the only one eating,” you smile. “I’ll meet you in your room after school?” You nod in confirmation, walking out the door in front of him. 

“See ya later.”

“Did everyone have a good day today?” You ask your class, walking backward to the dismissal gate. You’re met with a chorus of cheerful sounding ‘yeses,’ and you place your hand over your heart in a dramatic fashion. “That makes me so happy, everyone! You’re all incredible little people, and I think we’re gonna have a fantastic year. What do you guys think?” The children chatter excitedly, glad to have made it through their first day of school and see their parents on the other side of the gate eagerly awaiting them, cell phones snapping pictures. 

Harry’s already at the gate, waiting for the bell to ring so he can dismiss his class. He’s walking down the line asking each of the children if they see who they’re supposed to go home with, crouching down to their height so they can point them out to him. Some children in his class look a little upset because they don’t see their parents yet. Harry quickly consoles them, telling them they can all play a fun game together while they wait for their ‘Mummies and Daddies.’

You do the same with your kids, and by the time the bell rings and you finish dismissing the ones who saw someone there to pick them up, there was one child from your class who was still waiting and two from Harry’s. He walks over to you, one of their tiny hands in each of his. The boy looks unbothered, but the girl was beginning to cry.

“Hey, Ava, should we ask Miss Y/L/N and her friend if they want to play iSpy with us? The more, the merrier, isn’t that right?” He looks down at her, and she nods, looking down. You figure she’s one of his more shy students he was telling you about earlier.

“Hi, sweetie! I’m Miss Y/L/N, are you waiting for your mom or dad?” She nods, biting her lip. You turn and gesture to your one student who was waiting as well. “Well, so is she! Don’t worry, they’ll be here.”

“I’m Matthew,” the little boy holding Harry’s other hand informs you, shifting from foot to foot. You give him a big smile.

“Hello, Matthew! I love your Spiderman shirt; he’s just the coolest. Jade, do you want to introduce yourself to Mr. Styles, Ava, and Matthew? Remember when we learned about introductions today in class? When you got to introduce yourself to all your classmates?”

Jade nods, a big, toothy grin on her face. “Hi! My name is Jade, and I am five-years-old but my birthday is September 19th, so I’m actually almost six-years-old,” she tells them matter-of-factly. “It’s very nice to meet you!” She adds, remembering the script you gave them earlier. Harry looks down at her, an impressed look on his face.

“Well, it is very lovely to meet you too, Jade! Do we all know how to play iSpy?” Jade and Matthew shout in excitement, but Ava just grips tighter onto Harry’s hand. He looks down at her again. “Do y’ want Miss Y/L/N and I to show you how to play, Ava?” His voice is very quiet, slow, and soothing. She nods, letting go of his hand.

“Well Ava,” you say, looking around for something to start the game out with. “I would say, “I spy with my little eye something green. Then you, Mr. Styles, Matthew, and Jade, would have to look around and name out everything that’s green. If you name something and it’s not it, then I will tell you nope, and you can try again, but if you figure it out, then you’re the winner! Does that make sense?”

She nods, and you see a gleam of excitement in her eyes. “Can I go first?” She asks quietly. You tell her, yes, and she looks around quickly, trying to find something to say. “I spy with my little eye something blue!” She has a triumphant smile on her face, and even though you immediately know she’s talking about the sky and you’re sure Harry does too, you both decide to take a step back and let the children take the game into their own hands.

“Y’know, that lil’ introduction Jade gave was really somethin’. I didn’t even think about teachin’ my kids that. Think I’ll try that out tomorrow,” Harry whispers, craning his neck slightly to be at your ear. You shiver at the feeling of his warm breath against your skin. 

“Yeah, I feel like that’s always a good first day of school activity for them to do. A lot of them have never really been exposed to people outside of their immediate family, so they’re not too sure how to talk to others.” Harry hums, standing back up straight.

“Mr. Styles,” Matthew calls, running over to Harry. “My mommy is here. Can I go now?” Harry nods, telling Matthew to wait for him so he can say hi to his mother. You watch as he walks away, overhearing as he tells the boy’s mother what a great job he did today and how he’s so excited to go through this school year with him in his class. Ten minutes later, Jade and Ava are gone as well, and Harry locks the dismissal gate. 

“I forgot how exhausting the first day could be,” he tells you, letting out a quiet sigh. “Ready to go to that meeting, though? It’s just about three.” You check your watch and see the time read at 2:57 PM.

“Yeah, just let me grab my bag, and we can head over there. I’m really hoping this won’t take too long; I was planning on going grocery shopping after this,” you walk down the hall towards your classroom and feel Harry’s gaze on you.

“Where do you like to go grocery shopping?” he asks after a few moments of silence. “I need to pick up some groceries this week, too. ’ve been eatin’ takeout for the past week, and I’m starting to feel like shit.” You laugh, unlocking your door. Harry stands outside, holding it open while you grab your purse and lunch bag.

“Honestly, I don’t have a preference. I switch it up a lot,” you shrug, making sure all the windows are closed before walking out. “Was there something, in particular, you were looking for?”

“Uh,” Harry scratches the back of his head. “No? Maybe you could text me a list of all your favorite stores, though. Jus’ so I won’t forget.”

You quirk an eyebrow at him, ignoring how fast your heart was beating. “Are you asking for my number, Mr. Styles?”

“I guess I am,” he replies nonchalantly. “We’re gonna be workin’ together a lot. Might as well have your number– if that’s okay, I mean.” He looks down at you.

“Yeah, remind me after the meeting,” you tell him, trying your hardest to play it cool. “Don’t let me forget.”

“Trust me, I won’t.”

“So Y/N and Harry, you two will be in charge of the pumpkin decorating booth? Is that right?” The principal looks down at his notes and then shifts his gaze between the both of you. You both nod.

“Yeah, I’m excited! I think it’ll be a lot of fun,” you reply excitedly. “We can go to the craft store and get a bunch of paints, but where do you think the best place to get the pumpkins would be?” You pull out your planner, ready to jot down any suggestions.

“You two could try going to a pumpkin patch? They’re starting to pop-up around town,” one teacher suggests. “I’m sure if you purchased a bunch and told them it was for a school event, we could get some kind of deal.” The rest of the faculty buzzes in agreement.

“Y/N and Harry, could you get to a pumpkin patch sometimes this week and see if they can give us an estimate of how much it would cost? Then I could let the PTA know.” You and Harry confirm that it will be possible to do sometime this week, and the meeting continues on.

By the time you’re finally free to leave the meeting, it’s already growing dark outside. Harry’s hands are shoved in his pockets, and he’s looking down at his feet. “So–”

“Do you want–”

You both stop, laughing awkwardly. “You go first.” you tighten the grip on your purse.

“Uh, I was jus’ gonna ask if I could get your number now. Yanno, so we can plan when we’re gonna go get all the stuff for our booth? And you still gotta tell me what your favorite grocery stores are,” he has a playful look in his eyes. For the thousandth time that day, your hands become clammy. There was just something about every interaction you had with him that made you so nervous. 

“Oh yeah,” you answer coolly, digging in your purse for your phone. “Just text your number, so I have it.” You hand him his phone, and he stops dead in his tracks, a look of concentration on his face. 

“I can’t walk and be on the phone at the same time,” he mutters when he looks back up and realizes you were watching him the whole time. “I don’t know how people do it.” He hands you back your phone. “What were y’ gonna ask me?”

“I was just um, I was gonna ask if you wanted me to give you a ride home? I mean, since you walked to work today and it’ll be dark soon,” talking to Harry made you feel like a nervous school girl interacting with her first crush, and you hated that feeling.

“I couldn’t ask you to do that–”

“It’s no bother, really,” you cut him off, and you realize you sound a little eager, but at that point, you didn’t even care. “I’m sure we don’t live too far from each other.” Harry looks slightly unsure but nods, and you let out a breath you didn’t even know you were holding.

“If you’re sure, Y/N. I appreciate it, I owe you one,” he’s following behind you to the teacher parking lot. You silently pray your car isn’t messy inside like it usually is as you approach it. You decide to pick up your pace and walk ahead of him, telling yourself if the passenger side was messy, you’d just quickly throw everything in the back. “Heyyyy, why’re you walkin’ so fast? Are you sure you’ve got the time to take me home?” He takes a few big strides and quickly catches up with your hurried, tiny ones.

“Yeah, of course, I have time,” you respond, unlocking your car as you approach it. “If it’s messy, then just ignore it.” you preface, honestly not remembering the state in which you left your car this morning when you walked into work.

“Don’t worry about it. You should see mine,” Harry jokes, and it immediately puts you at ease. As you’re about to open your door, Harry quickly rushes to your side, opening it himself. “Let me.” 

His hand rests over yours, and you quickly pull it away, your body heating up. “Harry, I’m already right here. I can open my own car door.” 

“I know you can. But I’m a gentle—“ 

“You’re a gentleman, I know,” you playfully roll your eyes and take a step back, allowing Harry to open your car door all the way. You couldn’t lie and say you weren’t flattered and honestly a little bit turned on. He flashes you a smile as you situate yourself behind the wheel of the car and makes sure you’re all the way in before slamming it shut. You see him lightly jog around to the passenger side, and soon enough, he’s beside you, your car immediately starting to smell like his cologne. 

“What music do you like to listen to?” Harry asks, pulling his phone out of his pocket. 

“You ask me a lot of random questions, Harry,” you reply, looking behind you as you slowly back out. 

“Is it a crime to wanna get to know my new coworker?” you can hear a smile in his voice. “C’mon. What’s your favorite music to listen to?” 

You shrug, looking both ways before exiting the parking lot. “Where do you live?” 

“I don’t know my address yet. Just take a left at this light coming up. Favorite music?” Out of the corner of his eye, you see him scrolling through his music library. 

“You don’t know your address yet?” 

“No. I’ll play something random,” he says, tapping his hand on his knee. “You can take a right at that stop sign up there.” You put on your blinker and glance over your shoulder before switching lanes. Harry quickly pairs his phone with your Bluetooth, and a song you’re unfamiliar with blares through your speakers. Neither one of you says anything else, only speaking to each other when he’s giving you directions to his house, and you’re confirming what he said.

After two more songs, Harry says, “S’right up here.” He’s led you to a beautiful apartment complex— one you were looking at when you were moving out of your parent’s home but just couldn’t afford as a new graduate. You expertly parallel park and then turn the car off, a silence falling between the two of you.

“This is a nice complex,” you tell him after a moment. “Really close to school. I see why you opted to walk to work today.” 

“Mhm,” he hums. His seatbelt is still fastened. “I understand if you’re busy, but did you wanna come in?” You raise an eyebrow at him, and he quickly backtracks. “I mean— it’s just— remember the activity you taught your kids today? About introductions? Jus’ wanted to know if you could walk me through it, that’s all.” 

“Oh. Well yeah, I can hang out for a bit.” You unbuckle your seatbelt and reach in the backseat for your purse that you threw haphazardly over your shoulder earlier. 

“Will your boyfriend be okay with you coming in, though?” He’s chewing on the inside of his cheek.

“What makes you think I have a boyfriend?” You’re slightly taken aback and oddly flattered that he thought you were in a relationship.

“I dunno,” his face grows red. “You got all weird when I opened doors for ya. Figured you had a boyfriend.”

“I don’t.”

“Cool.” More silence falls, this time an awkward one.

“Should we go inside now?” you unlock the doors, quickly getting out of the car. Harry follows behind you and waits for you to walk onto the sidewalk before going up the walkway.

“How close do you live to me?” Harry asks, punching in his gate code. He pulls the gate open and gestures for you to go ahead of him. You decide not to comment on it this time.

“A couple blocks away. I could probably walk over here if I was in the mood to,” Harry shuts the gate behind you and walks over to the first set of stairs, taking them two at a time. “I was interested in this complex when I was moving out of my parents’ but I settled on something else.” He hums, stopping in front of the first door at the top of the stairs. There’s a brown ‘Welcome!’ mat outside his door, along with a few potted plants.

“Here we are,” he looks over his shoulder as if he’s checking if you’re still there. “Excuse the boxes. ‘M not done unpacking yet.” He pushes open the door and steps in, quickly turning on the light. You’re met with the same sweet scent of vanilla that’s in his classroom. Considering he was in the process of unpacking, his apartment was reasonably tidy.

“It looks good in here,” your heart felt like it was going to beat out of your chest. You were in your coworker’s house that you just met that day, and you could already feel yourself developing a crush on him. There was obviously no way you’d let this relationship progress past anything strictly professional, but that didn’t mean you weren’t allowed to admire his beauty.

“Thanks,” he gives you a smile, relief washing over his face. “You can set your bag down if you want. Take a seat, make yourself at home.” He leaves the room, and you hear him rattling around in the kitchen. “Can I get you anything to drink? Wine? Coffee? Tea?”

“Coffee sounds great,” you reply. You set your purse down on his coffee table and sit on the edge of his couch, inspecting his living room closer. There were two books on the table, both flipped upside down as a way to mark his page. There were a few more plants inside, similar to the ones in front of his door. There was a framed picture of him with two beautiful women you assumed to be his mother and sister. Harry comes back into the room a few minutes later, two steaming cups of black coffee in hand.

“Here you are, Miss Y/L/N,” he puts on an exaggerated posh accent, and you giggle.

“Why thank you, Mr. Styles,” you respond in the same voice. “Do you have cream and sugar?”

He wrinkles his nose. “I think I might have sugar. Is oat milk, okay? I don’t have cream.” He goes back to his kitchen to retrieve the items before you can tell him it’s okay, and you’ll just drink it black. You thank him, pouring the tiniest splash of oat milk into your coffee. You can feel his eyes on you as you add a bit of sugar, stir, taste, and then add some more.

“So,” you begin after your coffee is made to your liking. “What did you think about your first day? You can be honest since we’re not on campus anymore.” Harry laughs, looking down at his fingernails.

“Uh,” he starts. You notice he says, ‘uh’ a lot. “It was terrific. Not so sure I would’ve felt the same way if I didn’t have you to help me through it.” 

“We’re partners in crime now, Harry. We’re the two Kindergarten teachers, and you’re the only other person there my age? We’ve definitely gotta stick together,” you give him a big smile. He doesn’t smile back but looks a bit troubled instead. You wait for him to speak, coming to accept that long pauses were just a thing when having a conversation with Harry.

“Y’know how I assumed you had a boyfriend earlier? I thought after I’d said that–– rather I hoped after I said that you’d be like,” he clears his throat. “‘Why, no! I don’t have a boyfriend. Do you have a girlfriend?’” He put on the worst American accent you’d ever heard to imitate your voice, causing you to laugh. “To which I would’ve replied with a simple ‘no.’” 

Now it’s your turn to leave Harry wondering what you’re thinking for the first time all day. You can feel his eyes on you as you look at his couch cushions, noticing a bit of crumbs that you hadn’t seen before. “Are you flirting with me?”

“I think you’re beautiful.”

“You don’t even know me. We just met today.”

“Does that mean I can’t think you’re beautiful?”

You bite your lip, feeling yourself starting to grow a bit turned on by his forwardness. There was a part of you that would risk it all for just one night in bed with Harry because you just found him that attractive. The rational, adult side of you was screaming, ‘Don’t mix business with pleasure!’. By now, you had both moved closer on the couch to one another, knees nearly touching. “I think you’re beautiful, too.” He grins, setting his coffee cup down. You do the same.

“Would it be crazy of me to tell you that I really wanna kiss you right now?” His face is mere inches from yours, so close that you could smell the coffee on his breath. You shake your head.

“No. I really wanna kiss you too.”

“C’ mere, then.” 

Harry leans forward a bit more until his lips are ghosting over yours. You pull at the collar of his shirt, bringing his already close body even closer to yours. His lips are softer than they look, and he’s a better kisser than you thought he’d be, too. He brings his hands up to tangle them in your hair, and that’s when you abruptly pull away, not wanting things to go too far. “We shouldn’t…” He looks at you with sad eyes, but he nods, understanding what you mean.

“Probably not the best idea?” his response comes out as more of a question than a statement, but you nod in agreement anyway.

“Definitely not. I’m um–– I’m actually gonna go,” you stand up, slinging your purse over your shoulder. “Thanks for the coffee, Harry. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Yeah, see––”

You’re out the door, rushing down the stairs before he can even finish his sentence.

The rest of the school week goes on without either one of you mentioning it. It’s a little awkward for a couple of days, but by the time Friday rolls around, both of you decide the best course of action to take regarding the kiss would be to act like it never happened. 

You’re in your room at lunch hanging up your kids’ artwork they made during their ‘Free Time’ this morning, having declined Harry’s lunch invitation for the fourth time that week. You decided to pretend to be busy with work so you wouldn’t be too tempted to go into his room. To most people, you’re sure it looked like you were avoiding him–– and maybe you were. However, you were trying to get over this crush on him in the best way that you knew how.

“Need some help?”

You jump, nearly falling backward off the stepstool you were on. “Holy shit, Harry! You scared the hell out of me!” You feel your body getting warm, and you quickly look away, not wanting him to see how flustered you were.

“Sorry, you weren’t answering my texts, so I decided to come see what you were up to,” he walks over to where you were standing and hands you a piece of art, smiling at it before handing it to you. “You’ve got some artists in your class.”

“Mhm,” you hum, not looking him in the eyes. You hear him let out a quiet sigh.

“Still able to go see about getting those pumpkins ordered after work?”

You had completely forgotten that you and Harry decided today would be the day you’d go get the pumpkin situated figured out for your booth. For a second, you consider making an excuse to get out of it, but you decide against it. This was something that both of you were asked to do, not just him, and you didn’t want the fact that you let your attraction to him cloud your judgment getting in the way of your professional responsibilities.

“Yeah, that works.”

He doesn’t say anything, and even though you’re not looking at him, you can see the gears in his head turning. “Should we talk––” 

You’re quite literally saved by the bell, the end of lunch interrupting where you knew he was about to lead the conversation. “I’ll see you after school? Did you walk here again? I can drive.” Harry nods slowly.

“Uh, yeah. he replies. “I walked. Uh, ’m gonna go get my kids. See you after school then?”

“Yup!” you respond, fake enthusiasm in your voice. Harry gives you one more look before walking out of your room. You wait until he’s all the way down the hall before following behind him to bring your class back inside. You knew you were the one making things awkward between you and Harry. However, the realistic part of you knew getting involved with your coworker was one of the worst ideas you’d ever had in your life. For now, you’d just tell yourself that you were probably more into Harry than he was into you and pray that would be enough to make you get over your crush.

“I haven’t been to a pumpkin patch since I was a kid.” Harry stuffs his hands farther into his pockets while yours are tightly hugging your chest. You hum, not saying anything. The car ride there was a little awkward, and you were glad it was so short. You could tell there was a lot Harry wanted to say, but you were glad he wasn’t saying it. You keep seeing him glance at you, but you pretend not to notice.

“What size pumpkins should we ask for? Small ones, huh?” Harry nods, looking around in childlike awe. There was a small petting zoo, booths selling warm drinks and kettle corn, and an obscene amount of children.

You walk around together for a moment before encountering a friendly-looking employee who looked like he could help you out. Harry takes over, explaining the situation, and why you need to order one hundred tiny pumpkins. While you’re waiting for the employee to ask the owner if that would even be possible, Harry turns to face you.

“Y/N? Can we talk about what happened on Monday?” you’re about to tell him that you’d rather not, but he continues. “I felt something during that kiss, Y/N. I’m not sure if you felt it too, but I don’t want things to be awkward between us. We have to get through an entire school year working side-by-side, and if you’re not interested, then I respect that one hundred percent, but I just want––”

“So the owner said that is possible!” The employee that was helping you out comes back with a form and clipboard in their hand. “Can you just fill out some information and let us know what time you need it tomorrow? The owner said he could get it delivered and give you guys a discount since you’re ordering so much.”

“That’s great!” you exclaim, taking the form from him. You were glad to have been saved from your conversation with Harry. You quickly go through and fill out everything you can, telling them they can bill your school’s PTA. 

The walk back to your car is silent. You’re replaying what Harry was saying to you over in your head, thinking about what he was going to say before he was interrupted. He opens your car door like he’s been doing, but he doesn’t make eye contact with you or say a word as he slides into the passenger seat.

“Y’can just drop me off,” Harry says quietly. He leans your seat back and closes his eyes. You wait to see if he’ll connect his phone, but he doesn’t, so you turn on the radio at a volume so low it almost can’t be heard. It takes everything in you not to speed back to his place. You just wanted him out of your car. You had such strong feelings for him that it physically hurt, and restraining yourself from telling him how you really felt was growing harder and harder.

“We’re here.” your voice is a little hoarse from not saying anything. Harry slowly opens his eyes and unbuckles his seatbelt, opening the door.

“Right. Thanks for the ride. What time do we need to be at school to set up our booth by?”

“Four. I can pick you up if you want?”

“Yeah. See you tomorrow, Y/N.” He closes the door and walks up to his gate without looking back at you once.

“Hi Miss Y/L/N! Hi Mr. Styles!”

Groups of your students had been coming up to you excitedly all evening. It made you happy to see that the Kindergarten classes were no longer divided. They were starting to hang out with one another. Their parents tell you how their children thought it was just the coolest thing to be on school grounds on a Saturday, and how even though it was only a week into the school year, they were having the best time. It was comments like this that made you fall in love with your job all over again.

Things between you and Harry were going well. It wasn’t awkward, but you think it was because you were both too busy helping children paint their pumpkins. You were glad that Harry didn’t take the bit of downtime the two of you had when no one was at your booth trying to talk about the kiss and instead talked about other random things instead. You find out he loves baking (specifically, bread), he has an obsession with old music, and has about fifty tattoos. He talks to his mom on the phone every day, and he is extremely close to his sister. You tell him about your parents’, your undergraduate experience, your hobbies, and you finally tell him what music you like to listen to.

The festival quickly comes to an end, and you find yourself sad once you and Harry are done cleaning up your booth, knowing that you were just going to drop him off at his apartment and go back to yours to spend another Saturday night alone. You get to his complex almost too quickly, and you almost want to keep going and pretend you accidentally missed it just to be with him a bit longer. Instead, you park.

“D’ya wanna come inside?” He blurts out. Even in the darkness of your car, you can tell his face is flushed. “I mean if you haven’t got plans. I know it’s a Saturday night, so I understand if––”

“Nope, I don’t have plans. I’d love to.” Your hands are shaky as you unbuckle your seatbelt. He quickly gets out of your car and runs around to your side, opening the door for you before you can do it yourself. You almost don’t even notice since it was becoming such a habit.

“I picked up this new bottle of wine a couple days ago that’ve been wanting to pop open. Think we deserve a glass or two after such a long week, hmm?” You wordlessly nod, wholly mesmerized with just how good Harry looked after such a long day of work. His curls fell perfectly across his forehead, his eyes were sparkling and full of excitement. 

“A glass of wine sounds great,” you reply with a chuckle. “I’m ready to drink a whole bottle by the end of the week if I’m being honest.” Harry laughs, quickly punching in his gate code. You could see his hands shaking a little bit, but you decide not to comment on it. He takes the stairs up to his apartment two at a time like he did last time you were there, but this time there’s an urgency and clumsiness to his actions that you haven’t seen before. He jams the key in his lock, quickly shoving the door open.

His apartment is a little messier than it was when you were in it at the beginning of the week, but it’s nothing disgusting. He runs his fingers through his curls, moving aside papers that were scattered along the length of the couch. “Sorry, I was doin’ some planning. Make yourself comfortable.” He disappears to the kitchen, and moments later, you hear the pop of a wine cork and the smooth sound of him pouring the alcohol into glasses.

He emerges from his kitchen, handing you a generously poured glass of wine. “Thanks, Harry,” you tell him before taking a big sip. It was sweet, and while you usually preferred a more dry wine, it was still delicious. 

“Cheers to the end of a successful first week,” he holds up his glass, and you smile, clinking yours with his. “Thanks for helpin’ me get through it, Y/N. Couldn’t have done it without you.” You give him a timid smile.

“Stop, Harry. You’re a great teacher. I can see your kids love you already,” you take another sip of wine. “I kinda do too. I mean–– that came out wrong. I don’t love you, but I do think I like you.” You didn’t know what came over you at that moment, but something told you now was the time to lay it all out on the table with Harry. He sets his glass of wine down, the biggest smile on his face.

“Really? I thought you weren’t interested. Was kinda startin’ to feel like you hate me,” he sounds a little sad. You shake your head.

“Quite the opposite, actually. I’m really into you,” you didn’t even realize how you’d inched your way towards Harry. “I’ve been trying not to think about how we kissed because we shouldn’t, you know? We’re coworkers. I’ve been trying not to think about it all week, though, and I just can’t get you out of my mind.” He stares intensely into your eyes, chewing on the inside of his cheek like he usually does when he’s thinking.

“Can I kiss you, Y/N?” he finally asks. You’re in the same position as you were last time, being mere inches away from the other’s lips. Only this time, you smell the wine on his breath, not coffee. You nod quickly, and Harry cups your face in his hands, hungrily pressing his lips against yours.

“You can do more than kiss me, actually,” you tell him breathlessly. “You can do whatever you want with me.”

Harry raises an eyebrow, a shocked look on his face. “When you say anything…” he trails off.

“I want you to fuck me, Harry,” you tell him bluntly. “Please. Been wanting that all week.” He licks his lips, looking at you in a way he hasn’t yet before. 

“I can definitely do that,” he replies, resting his hand on your thigh. His large hand is dangerously close to your pussy, and you can already feel yourself growing wet. “Let’s get all these clothes off you then, huh?” 

You stand up and quickly start removing your clothes. First, your blouse comes off, and that’s quickly followed by your bra. Harry’s leaning back on the couch, arms resting behind his head. “Enjoying the show?” you ask, quickly pulling down your jeans and underwear. You’re completely naked in front of him in thirty seconds flat, and you reckon that’s the fastest you’ve ever undressed for anything. 

“Very much so,” he mumbles, palming himself over his khakis. “C’ mere, Y/N.” he pats his lap, and you move to sit in it, now straddling him. He softly presses his lips against yours, the hunger that was there just a moment ago completely dissipated. This was a much more hesitant kiss, more gentle and tender. “You’re really beautiful, Y/N.”

You giggle. “I know. You’ve told me that before.”

“I want you to know how much I mean it.”

“I know you do.”

Harry nods. “Can I have a taste of ya now?” you notice that his accent sounds a bit thicker than usual, voice a tad gruffer. You nod, swallowing thickly. Climbing off Harry, you lay back on the couch, situating yourself, so it’s a little more comfortable. He looks into your eyes, placing his hands on your knees. “Is this okay, Y/N?” You nod again, and he removes his hands.

“What’s wrong?” your voice has a hint of desperation in it, but after a week of extreme sexual tension, you wanted nothing more than to cum by the hands of this man.

“Wanna hear you tell me it’s okay. I don’t wanna do anything you don’t want,” he’s looking down at his hands.

“Harry, I wouldn’t have given you a striptease and laid back on this couch for you if I didn’t want it. I wholeheartedly give you permission to do whatever you want with me––”

That’s enough for him. He roughly pries your legs open, immediately licking a long stripe up your heat. You cry out, not expecting him to get right into it. You look down at him and groan when you see he’s making eye contact with you, a smug look on his face. “How’s tha’, love?” You nod, tangling your hands in his curls.

“Yeah Harry, please,” you moan. Harry sucks harshly at your clit, pulling off loudly, the sound echoing throughout his minimally furnished apartment.

“Please what, pet?” He’s looking you dead in the eyes, a devilish grin on his face while his index finger rubs small circles on your clit. Your chest is heaving up and down quickly as you try to calm your breathing down.

“Please make me cum on your tongue, Harry,” you try pushing his head back down to your cunt, but he doesn’t budge.

“Think I rather like hearin’ you beg like this fo’ me. Enjoyin’ watching you squirm like tha’, love.” Just as your about to beg for him some more to feed his inflated ego, he attaches his lips to your clit once more, this time adding his ring finger into your tight pussy. “You’re tight. Sure you’ll be able to take my cock?” His voice is muffled, and you just barely make out what he says.

You clench around his finger, and he laughs, the vibrations sending a new sensation across your clit. “Y’like thinkin’ about my cock, hmm?”

“Yeah, want you in me,” you beg, lifting your hips up. He grips onto your hips tightly, keeping you in place.

“Can feel yeh gettin’ ready for me, darlin’. Think you can take another one?” You nod, and Harry gently places kitten licks on your swollen clit while he slowly pushes his middle finger into you. You feel full in a way you haven’t felt in such a long time, and he only had two fingers in you. Once he pumps his fingers in and out of you a few times, he goes back to harshly sucking on his clit, moaning every so often so you can feel the vibrations against your cunt.

“Fuck,” you’re moaning loudly, and you pray Harry’s neighbors don’t hear you, knowing how thin apartment walls were.

“So fuckin’ wet for me, doll,” he mutters, adding another finger inside you. The burn feels amazing, and you place your hand on his wrist, urging him to go faster. “Gonna cum in my mouth, hmm? Gonna let me feel ya around m’ fingers?”

“Yes, please, Harry,” you feel yourself nearly there, your orgasm threatening to overtake you at any moment. 

“Give it to me then, Y/N. Cum for me,” he demands. As soon as he says those three words, you’re done for, your body going tense as waves of pleasure roll throughout your body. He doesn’t remove his digits from the your cunt until you’re coming down from your high, placing a kiss to your clit. He laughs as you shudder at the overstimulation. Harry places his three fingers that were just inside of you and his mouth and sucks on them, not once breaking eye contact with you. 

“That was really good,” you tell him, crawling on your knees towards him to place a kiss on the underside of his jaw—Harry’s beaming, a triumphant look on his face.

“Not yet. Gotta make y’ cum one more time. I’m a gentleman, after all.” You know he’s messing with you but also serious, so you lean back on the couch, opening your legs once again.

“Are you gonna take off your clothes too? Why am I the only one that’s naked?” Harry laughs, and you hear the clanking of his belt as he undoes it. 

“You’re impatient, aren’t ya?” you nod, and he pulls down his tenting khakis and tight boxers. His cock springs up, slightly touching his stomach, and he hisses at the feeling. “Hold on a sec.” He gets up quickly, and you hear him hurry to what you assume in the bathroom, rummaging around. He comes back a minute later with a box of condoms, making you laugh.

“Is that a new box of condoms? Have you been holding onto those all week, Mr. Styles?” Harry rolls his eyes and opens the box, ripping open a condom expertly with his teeth.

“Weren’t you just the one beggin’ for me, pet? I’d watch it if I were you,” he jokes, rolling the condom onto his hard length. He leans down to place wet, opened mouth kisses to your breasts. “So beautiful.”

“Are you gonna take off your shirt?” you ask quietly. “I kinda wanna see all your tattoos.” Harry raises an eyebrow at you but unbuttons his shirt nevertheless, throwing it into the mess of clothes scattered around the living room. You reach your hand up, shakily tracing the swallows on his chest, moving down to the butterfly across his stomach and finally to the ferns on his abdomen. Harry’s staring down at you, watching as you delicately touch his skin. “You have so many.” you finally say. He nods.

“Yeah. Some of them I just got for the hell of it. Felt like after I got that first tattoo, it was hard to stop.” He caresses the skin on your thighs, and you shudder again. “Gonna let me get inside that pretty lil’ cunt now?”

“Please.”

Harry aligns himself with your entrance and slowly pushes into you, sharply inhaling as you clench around his length. “Relax, Y/N.’ve got ya,” he tells you reassuringly. “Can’t get inside ya if you’re all tense like tha’.” You can tell Harry’s trying his hardest not to absolutely wreck you, the vein in his forehead very prominent from clenching his jaw so tightly. You grip tightly onto his bicep, biting your lip as you adjust to his size. You were so wet and indescribably turned on that you felt every vein his thick cock had to offer, and you knew you wouldn’t last long once he started moving. By the looks of it, Harry wouldn’t either.

“You can move,” you tell him, squeezing your eyes shut. Harry slowly pulls out of you and then ever so gently sinks back inside you, bottoming out. He lets out a breathy moan, moving one of his hands up to tweak your nipples. “Harder, Harry, fuck.” 

He immediately pulls out of you and slams back inside, the sounds of his balls slapping against your ass echoing in the room. You scream in pleasure, no longer caring if his neighbors hear what you two were doing. 

“Like tha’?” He asks cheekily, working up a steady rhythm. You nod, gripping your boobs to keep them from bouncing. Harry shakes his head, forcefully removing your hands. “Nope, none of that. Wanna see ’em.” He takes both of your hands in one of his, pinning them up over your head. His other hand reaches in between your bodies to rub at your clit, and before you have time to warn him, you’re cumming again, squirting all over his cock. 

Harry throws his head back in pleasure, his thrusts getting sloppy and frantic, and you know he’s seconds away from his own orgasm. You spur him on, telling him how badly you wanted him to come inside of you (even though he was wearing a condom). He stills moments later, shaking above you as he holds himself up with an arm, not wanting to collapse on top of you.

“Fuckin’ hell, Y/N. Why did we wait a whole week to do this again?”

[aenaxes]

omg!! congrats on 200!!!! 🥰🥰 ur my fav crosshair writer so: crosshair + trust, with a gender neutral reader? nsfw or not, it's up to u!! congrats again 🎉🎆🎉

kinesthesia

[crosshair x gn!reader] with precision, there is control, and with control, there is tension, not easily soothed. you take it into your own hands to prove that wrong.

warnings: nsfw, fellatio, (kind of) sub!cross

w/c: 3.0k

a/n: prince my he a r t 🥺💕 ily bb ! this was also a super fun prompt to write hehe, and look i openly accept that i’m a pillow princess bottom, but i think i would enjoy making crosshair squirm. uno reverse card on his oral fixation—mine now.

“I’m still not entirely sold on this,” Crosshair admits as he takes a seat at the edge of your bunk. His toothpick bobs anxiously between his lips, chewed down flat where his lips brush up against the bleached wood. It’s not often that this breed of restlessness finds hold: stiff shoulders and hands folded tight over his lap.

Nerves.

“That’s why we have the safeword,” you quip from across your quarters, voice rising as you struggle to twist out of your heavy uniform jacket.

(Un)surprisingly, Crosshair makes for a quick study. Beneath the stony, oftentimes sullen disposition, he’s a simple man. Of course, that simplicity didn’t necessarily limit himself from branching out into an actual person, but you could boil him down to one thing and one thing alone: control. Whether it was his genetic acuity that shaped him into the sniper persona or vice versa, control centered him, grounded him, tied him so close to his sense of duty and personhood that sometimes it was hard to tell the two apart.

So when you had offered two rotations prior to take the reins—offered both as something new and the hypothetical of release from, well, everything that kept him in a perpetually alert state of coiled tension—you honestly hadn’t expected for Crosshair to pause, rolling his toothpick thoughtfully between his teeth, and accept.

There’s certainly a part of you that hopes the manufactured brevity to your tone is enough to soothe the anxiety radiating from where Crosshair makes himself prim and small on your bed, smaller still without the bulk of his dark armor weighed over his shoulders. But, against your better judgement, a low-lying anticipation simmers at the base of your lungs when you finally shuck the day’s sweat and blaster smoke to the side.

He’s seen you undone under him time and time again, beads of sweat following the smug lines of his expression as he bent you to his—and, to be entirely fair, your own—pleasure. And as satisfying as that arrangement has proven itself to be, curiosity has always been that single, nagging vice at the back of your head.

Who can blame you for wanting a taste?

“You remember it, right?”

“Yeah,” he says, and you catch the heavy dregs of uncertainty (perhaps even bashfulness, ha) dragging at his voice.

“Then say it,” you prod. You gently nudge the point of your knee up against Crosshair’s calf and offer him a mirthful glance. And when that doesn’t seem to banish his withering hesitance, you drop down onto the bunk beside him, grasping his hand in yours and squeezing snug.

“I—” he clears his throat with a soft wince: embarrassment. “I don’t think I’ll need it.”

“Cross,” you warn. Because if you were going to do this, you were going to do this right.

“Fucking hell,” he mutters under his breath, scrubbing his palm over the highest points of his cheeks. You wonder if the warmth over his cheeks is the same as your own, desirous and shy as you venture into those dark, uncertain places hand in hand. “Tooka, happy?”

“Very happy,” you grin, and you lean close to press a quick peck to the corner of his mouth.

Crosshair leans towards you, lips parted to chase your touch, more, more. But he’ll have his fill, and you’re quick to dart away, leaving him even more disoriented than he already is, all wide eyes that seek you like fading light.

You’re tempted to indulge him because it’s not often that he looks like a kicked loth cat (and he does a damn good impression when he does). But you manage to stuff down the creeping sympathy, opting instead to reach into the pocket of your trousers and produce a well-worn headband.

“Please tell me that’s not Hunter’s.” The rosy edge of desire vanishes from Crosshair’s voice as he catches sight of the broad black swatch of fabric in your palm. In its place, the testing edge of judgement so often home in Crosshair’s snide play.

“Ew, no—what? That’d be weird. And gross. Who do you think I am?”

That seems to do what your previous efforts could not, and your heart jumps when Crosshair responds with a soft snort and shrugs. He’s not resentful, not in the slightest. It’s just trepidation, jumping into uncharted waters with nothing but the trust that your hand, snug over his, would hold fast.

But the laughter settles, drawing back to reveal something that hums quiet between the small eternity between you. Even with your thigh pressed close against Crosshair’s own, you feel him drawing away, hesitant and wanting all at once. You gently pull his hand between you, squeezing once.

“Trust me?” you murmur.

Crosshair offers you a tremulous look, more nervous than apprehensive. You suppose it’s only fitting of him that relinquishing his steady grip over control might be more appealing in concept than on the eve of practice. Nonetheless, when you meet his gaze, you find the kind of uncertainty that heralds excitement, careful but enamored all the same. He nods.

“Then let me take care of you.”

Finally, as you raise your hands to his temples, pressing the dark fabric over his eyes, the tension pulls away from his coiled muscles, dropping his shoulders and bowing his head as you reach around him and tie a knot over the back of his silvery hair. He exhales long and slow as the knot settles snug over his scalp, warmed by the creases left behind by your fingertips and the sudden comfort yet complete unpredictability that shrouds his senses.

Testing the waters, you bring one hand to his cheek, just barely ghosting your fingertips over the lean lines of his jaw, and you are rewarded with a full-bodied shudder that shocks through Crosshair’s form as his lips gently part around his toothpick. Without that precious ability to see, he sits in your palm at your every whim.

You lean forward, gently biting your teeth around the tapered free end of his toothpick, and you feel him swallow hard when you free it from his mouth and drop it to the floor.

“Trust me.”

Chest heaving, he nods again.

“Safeword?”

This time, there is no snark to accompany a begrudging response. “Tooka.” Instead, his voice dips breathy and low between the long breadths between his soft exhales, his beating heart.

“Good boy.”

You surprise yourself at how natural the praise feels, rolling from your tongue and rising over the ambient hum of the ship around you. It fills your chest with something like affection, bordered pride that only swells as you watch him shudder, his lips parting just a little wider to pass that barely-there whimper riding on his exhale.

The hard planes of his body, that star map you’ve committed to the deepest parts of your heart, are familiar terrain under your skin as you flatten your palms over the sharp jut of his collar and travel lower. You pause the heels of your palms over the base of his ribs, pressing softly against the quickening rise and fall of his chest. Satisfaction curls sweet and rich over the tip of your tongue as his stuttering inhale shifts the air around you.

With slow, firm force, you push him backwards onto the bunk, Crosshair’s elbows catching his slow descent over the dark grey sheets until finally drops his head back onto the firm mattress. His chest heaves.

Your fingertips pass over the sinew and soft scar of his abdomen, chasing how his breathing expands from his chest and leaches tension over the length of his torso. You’re certain this isn’t new, not when your intimacy has you stealing the other’s breaths between stuttering gasps. But to feel it under your palms, thrumming and deep—it sets your nerves on fire.

Control. It’s wholly and entirely yours.

You still as the pads of your fingers catch the faint ridge of his waistband. And a part of you is smug with the power of reversal, that it wasn’t Crosshair offering you a knowing smirk as he parted your thighs and pressed close, that it was you, privy to only the deepest intimacy Crosshair could offer.

But it’s exactly that which keeps the power from rushing to your head, stymying the teasing mischief for something warm in your stomach when you trail lower and gently cup over the straining bulge in his blacks. And it grows fonder when Crosshair’s legs jerk with a labored puff of breath, the same one he breathes into your ear when he finally pushes up deep inside you and presses his skin close against yours. He whines, a straining, soft noise through his bitten lips, and you’ve teased long enough.

Crosshair makes a soft noise, somewhere between a gasp and a whining moan, when you finally hook your fingers over the hem of the dark fabric and expose the curved strain of his cock. He’s so open, you think as you reach forwards (though, you suppose being deprived of the one sense that reigned king would do that to you).

You don’t need to be able to see the half of his face rising above the bridge of his nose to envision the soft knit of his dark brows, eyes squeezed shut and lashes fluttering with every soft noise that passes his lips. You don’t need to see the half of his face bound under that broad swath of fabric to envision how his expression breaks from restraint to unbridled euphoria when you trace the edge of your nail down the underside of his cock.

“Please,” you think you hear him whisper past a breathy moan.

Whatever he might have had prepared, the whole gamut of biting, bratty demand to wide-eyed pleas, tumbles back into his throat when you finally climb onto the bunk by his hips, lick the flat of your tongue over your palm, and wrap it snug around the middle of Crosshair’s cock. Instead, you watch with a satisfied awe as he jerks up into your touch, spit-slick lips parted in a silent cry.

“You want my hand or my mouth?” you croon, pumping slowly from the thick base of his erection to the ruddy tip. You want him to feel every quiver of your touch as you run your thumb over the pearly drop of precome beaded at the crown of his cock, reveling in his shudder beneath you. You want to be the only thing he feels.

“Mouth,” he chokes out. “Please.”

“You’re so polite today,” you muse, reaching up with your free hand to rub your thumb over the plush bitten skin of his bottom lip. Emboldened, you slip your finger past his lips, grazing over his teeth as you push the pad of your thumb over his tongue, all the while slowly working your hand over his cock. “The good boy gets what he wants, then. Right?”

For a brief moment, something like disbelief occupies the warm air between you—you, amazed at how easy it is to hold the reins tight; him, stunned that somehow, you in control was as good, if not better, than being the commandeering weight to push your face into the pillows.

Crosshair nods, trembling as you squeeze softly over the base of his cock.

“I need to hear it, mesh’la.”

The last line of his restraint crumbles at the sound: one only ever given from him to you, yet suddenly brought back to him with the full brunt of lust, affection, the secret words you’ve come to call your own. Crosshair bucks up into your hand with a low groan, gasping soft and breathy when you slip your thumb from his mouth and hold him down to the mattress.

“Yes, please.”

You smile and dip low.

Unlike the slow deliberation of your earlier touch, you seal your lips over his ruddy cockhead with one smooth motion, pressing your tongue flat against the underside and hollowing your cheeks. And the heady taste of salt, of trembling anticipation, of him, only sweetens when you flick your eyes up to catch Crosshair tip up his chin, dig his heels into the mattress, and sob.

You sink his cock deeper into your mouth, achingly slow while you continue to work your fist around the base of his cock, and close in a way that coaxes soft, whimpering noises from his lips as he turns his head and clenches his jaw.

Flicking your eyes upwards, a pang of regret shocks through your chest that you aren’t able to see Crosshair come undone from the slightest of touches, tame in comparison to some of your particularly energetic nights. But you do away with the thought as quickly as it comes as his blunt cockhead brushes over the back of your tongue.

His pleasure has always been yours, yours his, you think as you pull back, just until your lips part around the tip of his cock while he shifts and gasps beneath you. You’ll have your turn soon enough.

Before you can sink back down, swallow him as deep as you can, the air by your cheek shifts, and expecting the worst, you lift your chin. But where you expected some stifled yellow light, Crosshair’s fingers feel blindly around you until they find purchase over your cheek. His relief is palpable as his stuttering touch curls over your skin and holds you close.

You smile.

“Trust me?” you ask again, your lips mouthing softly over his cock, catching thick smears of precome over your skin.

“I trust you,” he whispers.

Crosshair cries out, hoarse and as loud as he’s been all night, as you drop your mouth near-midway down the straining length of his cock in one motion, lavishing your tongue under his pulse. His hand tenses over your jaw, blunt nails digging light into your skin as his fingers curl with that bone-deep shock of pleasure. And if the breathy, desperate noises he whimpers into the alcove of the bunk are of any indication, you have a good feeling he’ll want to do this again.

You moan around him in answer. It doesn’t matter to you that his brothers might hear, only a few panels of durasteel away and connected by the reverb of a narrow ship corridor. They probably do hear, but all that matters now is Crosshair, coming impossibly more undone under your tongue as he runs his trembling thumb over the skin of your cheek.

His hips buck up towards you, catching the back of your throat with a soft sting that reaches your nose. If you weren’t so desperate, you might have pinned him down harder or pulled away entirely to let him think about what he had done. But as much as you want to chase this power play, hearing him lose himself to you has you desperate for his touch.

You follow him with every uneven jerk and thrust up into the wet heat of your mouth, letting him take his fill. You simply stroke firmer as his skin warms over your tongue. It’s all so hot, the air heady and thick as you breathe in sharp through your nose and lean into his palm, and you wonder what it feels like, anchored to nothing but you, his sole light in a world gone dark.

His motions fall uneven, his hips twisting against your touch, his breaths becoming deeper, louder as they bounce over the steel ceiling overhead. He’s close.

You twist your fist over his cock, redoubling your efforts. You sink down so far over his cock that your eyes water as you crush the head up against the back of your throat. Heavy and thick, it muffles down a soft gag for you—it’s the deepest you’ve ever taken him. Crosshair notices, and he nearly wails.

He’s been good, you decide as you all but choke around him. He can take that coveted control back. You gently rub his hand, unspoken assent, and his hand slides up your jaw to finds purchase at the back of your head to fuck you down onto him in earnest.

And you take it, eyes blurring with tears and shallow inhales through your nose, holding still and letting him fuck over your tongue until he’s taken his fill. It doesn’t take long for him to spill down your throat, a low, hoarse groan passed between his lips as you struggle to breathe between every dutiful swallow of his thick come down your throat.

“Good boy,” you rasp as you pull the blindfold from over his head.

Crosshair meets you with unfocused eyes, full of wonder and a shaky haze that finds focus on you alone in the low light. Over the ache in your knees, you crawl up to meet him, collapsing down beside him with a soft sigh. He meets you with habit, practiced and true as he tips down his chin and presses his lips to yours, tasting himself on your skin when he swipes his tongue over your lip.

“How was that?” you whisper, breathing soft over his lips.

You tilt your head up enough to catch your nose over Crosshair’s. He still meets you with that same stupor, but you see it begin to mellow into something other than the shock of enjoyment in submission in a man who has only ever known control to be his. It’s quiet and raw, splitting open your chest with that rare kind of warmth that the broad expanse of space and war leave little space to grow.

Yours, whispered and cradled close between your beating hearts, yours alone.

“I’ll remember the safeword,” Crosshair says finally, his voice distant and soft as he still rises out of the aftershocks of his orgasm. But in that weary daze, you catch the rosy relaxation, vulnerable and yet increasingly less rare in your palms. Relief, pride, joy, honeyed goodness rises to the apples of your cheeks at the sound.

“I still think I won’t need it, though.” And you both laugh, curling close.

[jjmaybankxpogue]

ʀᴏᴤᴇ ᴘᴇᴛᴀʟᴤ || ᴊᴊ ᴍᴀʏʙᴀɴᴋ ᴥ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ||

Happy Valentines day ♡

Word Count: 1.6k+

Genre: Fluff and Smut

Warnings: SMUT, gun, unprotected sex, kinky reader & kinky JJ, not proofread

Inspo: “Taking a bath with JJ... can be both fluffy and smutty” -Anon (v-day req)

I walk into my room seeing a bouquet of Roses laying on my bed and JJ walking out of my bathroom...

Just as I'm leaving work I get a text from JJ “are you home soon princess” “yea im getting in my car right now” I replied. 

I walked through the walkway, jiggled my keys into the lock and made my way up to my room. A pretty bouquet of red roses laid on my bed and my blonde boyfriend walked out of my bathroom and came to hug me. His muscular arms wrapped around my lower back loosely, whispering sweet little nothings in my ear as I buried my head in his chest smiling and blushing non stop. He slowly peeled himself off of me and said “the bath is ready”. “Okayyy” I said, dragging the ‘y’ as I was intrigued. He showed me to the bathroom, I walked in and saw a couple candles on the counter and red rose petals floating in the bath. “You gonna come in with me?” i said whispering softly “of course” JJ smiled. JJ got in first and opened his legs, letting me sit between them and lay back on his chest. The warmth and comfort he gave me was incomparable. “Your hair is so soft” JJ said as he gently played with it. I smiled “I didn't think you’d do something romantic” I laughed “dont say im not romantic” JJ said attempting to hold in his laugh “pfft” i rolled my eyes. “Fuck, its valentines day i want you to handcuff me and overstimulate me and do anything you can imagine” i said biting my lip breathlessly after the sentence. JJ began to get hard beneath me, “wow” “yeah uh we can have a bath another night” JJ said rushing me out of the bathtub “Yes, that’d be better” I smirked, drying off and running to my bed.

 “Why your bed when we have this whole house to ourselves all weekend” JJ walked up to me “then follow me” I started towards the door with JJ following closely behind. I later opened the door to my fathers office, turned around and smirked at him. He looks deeply into my eyes “remember how innocent you used to be'' JJ smirks walking into the office “yeah I don't miss it” I say lifting myself up to sit on the desk. JJ places both of his hands on either side of my thighs. I grabbed his shark tooth necklace and pulled him in for a kiss. “My dad would kill me if he found out” I muttered “but he wont'' JJ then silenced me with a kiss. Coaxing me to open my mouth with his tongue teasingly slowly licking my lower lip. I finally gave in, deepening the kiss as I pulled and played with JJs hair. His right hand slithered onto my thigh then slowly traveled up to my neck, choking me in the most perfect way. I let out a soft moan in JJs mouth, he pulled away with a string of saliva connecting to our lips for a split second. “You dirty, dirty girl” he said in a low tone smirking.

“You want it rough you said” I gulped and nodded at him with my eyes silently begging for any form of touch. JJ grabbed my thigh and started massaging it, “Im going to fuck you so good you wont be able to see straight after” “fuck” i moaned in a whispering tone. Without warning the blonde went straight for my neck, kissing, biting, and leaving hickeys all over, I tilted my head back in pleasure as he slowly moved to my collarbone doing the same. “You sound so good,” he praised. He began peppering my bare chest with kisses. He took both my boobs into his rough hands, manipulating them as he sucked on one of my nipples. “oh JJ” I moaned.

Shortly after he dropped to his knees and licked a stripe through the folds of my dripping pussy. His thumb rubbed circles around my clit leaving me a moaning mess already, He never ran short of the ability to please me. JJ inserted two fingers into me and began pumping instantly. I gripped the desk harder prompted by the intense pleasure. “You enjoying it princess?” “Fuck, yes, mhm” I managed to get out, with every pump in and out he went faster, rougher, and harder. “Maybank!” I squealed, squirting onto his fingers as he finally started to penetrate my g-spot. “Ple-ase JJ i n-need you” I moaned “not yet” he said in the most teasing voice I've ever heard. The orgasm that had been crawling up to me finally attacked, becoming invasive over everything, leaving me with no control whatsoever. JJ slowed his movements until they came to a stop alongside my orgasm.

“Lets go to your bed so i can tie you up exactly how you wanted” JJ smirked giving me a hand to hop off the desk. We went straight up to my room, JJ got out the box of things he had hidden in my closet and pulled out the handcuffs. I laid flat on my bed and put my hands above me head for JJ to handcuff me there. “Comfortable?” JJ questioned “yea” “guess what else i brought?” JJ said getting excited “what?” I asked with a slight smirk. He pulled his gun out of his backpack that rested on the floor. I bit  my lip watching JJ walk closer and closer to me with the gun in hand. He got on top of me, hovering over me, caressing my body with the ice cold gun. I looked deeply into his eyes that were bouncing from place to place on my body, soon meeting with mine. “You're so pretty” He admired, I smiled. He aligned himself with my entrance and began to thrust, holding the gun against my temple. “Oh my god you feel so good!” I exclaimed. “You take my cock so well babygirl” JJ said seductively, thrusting faster and faster. Every minute the sex went on he got more verbal, easily pulling more throaty moans from me. My walls clenched around him in the process of my high. “Harder JJ please!” moaned “you gotta beg for it princess” JJ said followed with a groan “I need to feel you destroy m-my insides” I begged. JJ finally gave me what i asked for, i watched as his blonde hair swung back and forth during every thrust.

“JJ right there!” I moaned nearly screaming. JJ’s near orgasm brought him to thrust as fast as he could, pleasing both of us. The room filled with our moans and other noises “Daddy! Oh my god” I said releasing on his dick, a surge of pleasure left me shaking. Although JJ hadn't cum yet he forced himself not to, he loved to see me over stimulated and he couldn't deny it. “JJ f-fuck” I groaned with my eyes rolling back. JJ brought the gun to my mouth so I began to suck on the barrel, enough to send JJ over the edge “fuck Y/n, youre so fucking hot”. JJ’s warm cum shot into me while he was moaning like crazy, I loved the feeling of JJ’s cum coating all my walls and filling me up entirely. Once he finished he pulled out and got a vibrator from the box. He placed it over my swollen clit. With no mercy he turned it to the highest setting, needing to see me lose my mind.

I squirmed around a ton. “JJ p-please its t-too much” I said, tears forming in my eyes “C’mon i know you can take it, you kinky slut” Not long until the over stimulation turned into sheer lust. “JJ fucking Maybank” I let out a loud throaty moan “look at the noises you make from me” JJ teased. He decided to grab my throat, I could feel the cold rings move around until his hand found its perfect place. “JJ I’m gonna cum!” I moaned. I released myself, being overtaken by ecstasy and the shivers of pleasure. “Good girl” JJ praised me. “Now get on your knees”. I was still in my hand cuffs so I got down off the bed with my hands behind my back. JJ grasped my hair and used it to force my head on him. He started bucking his hips making me gag but not enough to be choked. “Fffuck” He moaned in a groggy voice. I pulled back for a breath of air then taking the tip of his cock and going from there but agonizingly slow. He got tired of me teasing him pretty quickly and forced my head on him again.

“Mhm babygirl” JJ groaned sinfully. I looked up at him seeing that he was close to the finish line so I sucked him off even harder. “Fuck you feel so good” He praised moaning once again. “Im gonna c-cum” JJ stuttered in a moan. His white ropes let loose in my mouth, he watched as I swallowed all of it. “You did so good baby” JJ praised. "daddy?” JJ asked recalling what i said earlier “yes uh” I stopped my sentence “you should say that more often” JJ winked. 

“Can we cuddle now?” I asked getting into my bed “of course, and we can watch a movie too” JJ smiled. “Netflix?” I asked “yup” he said. We turned on netflix and picked a random movie but i fell asleep on JJ’s chest 10 minutes through.

Taglist: @tovvaa @freddymaybank @rudypankowswife @jjpouggues @disagreeable_pink  @multisimpinghoe @heysimps

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[julek]

jaskier had been working on his newest song for months, as geralt had reluctantly been a witness to his creative process. and what a process it had been: humming for hours on end walking next to roach as they approached their next town; repeating the same line over and over, trying to think of the next rhyme; getting up in the middle of the night, scrambling for his quill and notebook because that’s the word i was looking for, geralt!

so when jaskier triumphantly announces that his ballad is done, and just needs to be written down, geralt feels some tension leave his shoulders. it’s funny, really; as much as he loves to deny even listening to the bard’s musings and constant chattering, he’d been subconsciously rooting for him. geralt’s come to understand how important jaskier’s singing is to him, how his lute is basically an extension of himself and his embellished speech is not hyperbolic, it’s natural. the bard’s good at what he does, too; he’s seen it firsthand. the way he can have a tavern full of people dancing around with just a flick of his wrist one moment, and have them quietly shed tears as he sings of longing, and heartache, and lust the next.

they get to a clearing in the woods, and geralt starts setting up camp. jaskier gets his notebook and quill from roach’s saddlebags, sitting on the ground next to the pile of firewood. he was eager to finally give his ballad the finishing touches, and get it on the very expensive and scarce pieces of paper he’d managed to acquire while geralt had been hunting the bruxa that’d been terrorizing the town they were passing through. the townsfolk were poor and there was no inn for them to sleep in, so they had to settle for another night of sleeping under the stars.

“i can’t believe my masterpiece is complete! they’ll be singing my praises everywhere across the continent, you’ll see”, jaskier says, as he sticks his quill in the small bottle of ink he’s precariously balancing on his thigh. “of course, jaskier, they’ll adore you and queen calanthe of cintra herself will request your presence at every banquet. why, thank you geralt, for your precious and incredibly accurate comm—”

jaskier gasps and geralt turns around to face him and see what could have possibly diverted the bard’s attention from— well, himself; only to find him gaping and staring at his lap, where he’d spilled his ink. his doublet sports a big, black stain on the side, but jaskier is more preoccupied with the ink that’s covering the majority of his fine paper.

fuck, geralt’s never gonna hear the end of this.

he braces himself for an unending stream of cursing and fussing, but instead, he is met with silence. jaskier looks at the ruined paper for a moment, his expression blank, and tosses it into the fire. geralt breathes in the sour scent of disappointment, but there’s no anger attached to it.

they eat in silence, and jaskier lies on his back on his bedroll, but geralt knows he isn’t asleep. he can easily imagine why the bard is upset; he’d heard all about the man that had tried to charge him way more than the paper was actually worth, i may like the finer things in life, but do i look like a fool to you? wait— don’t answer that. he also knows how eager jaskier’d been to immortalize his song in paper, not only for aesthetic purposes, but also because this particular ballad was worthy, in jaskier’s opinion, of being sent to oxenfurt, for his professors to critique. 

suddenly, the peace and quiet geralt had been praying for since he met the bard falls flat. he’ll feel better in the morning, geralt thinks, this isn’t such a big deal. he’ll live.

and yet.

 geralt knows what a life devoid of comfort is like. for a long time, it’d been the only life he knew. walking the path, getting a contract, collecting his coin, and moving on; that had been his daily routine for a long time. if he had nothing to look forward to, little could disappoint him. the less people he let in his life, the better.

and then jaskier came along. 

jaskier, who’d sing every night, even for uninterested crowds who would only heckle at him, just to secure a bed for geralt. jaskier, who’d spend a ridiculous amount of coin on chamomile oil, because he knows it’s the only one geralt’s sensitive nose can tolerate. jaskier, who’d go out of his way to get a new brush for roach, who’d lash out at people for talking shit about witchers, and detangle geralt’s hair after a contract gone sideways. jaskier, who gives, and gives, and gives, and never asks for anything in return.

and the truth is, he deserves more. so much more than geralt could ever give him. and even if he could never afford to give jaskier the highest luxuries in life, he has to try. 

 geralt keeps some pieces of parchment in his pack, for the rare occasions he has to write to vesemir. they’re rolled up and tied with a small leather band, but geralt figures it’ll do. he grabs jaskier’s notebook from where he left it, abandoned, next to their fire. geralt knows jaskier keeps early drafts of his songs in it, but never the full piece — what if someone steals it, geralt? what if some half-assed, poor excuse of a bard comes across my precious lyrics, and steals my songs? so he tries to remember the little details jaskier had left out, while attempting to decipher jaskier’s calligraphy. in the end, he gets the entire song out on the parchment, and he feels it’s decent enough. 

at last, he falls asleep.

 -

geralt wakes up to the sound of anxious pacing. he rubs a hand over his tired eyes, and opens them to see a very flustered bard at his side. 

“you— last night— you did this for me!”. jaskier gestures to the parchment splayed out on his bedroll, his expression unreadable. geralt can’t tell if he’s pleased or not, but at least he doesn’t smell upset anymore.

“i know it doesn’t look very good, and it’s not real paper”, geralt says, looking away. “i guess… i— you were upset.”

“i was”, jaskier says, and his is voice soft. geralt feels a hand cup his chin, and he looks up at jaskier. his blue eyes are as clear as the morning sky, and geralt finds himself staring a little too hard. “thank you, geralt. it means a lot to me. really. and i mean, your handwriting is far more legible than mine, they’ll love this at oxenfurt!”

at that, geralt smiles, and receives a goofy grin in turn. 

“well, i’m famished. breakfast?”. jaskier holds his hand out for geralt, and he’s about to turn him down, about to grunt something about how he’s a witcher, strong enough to get up on his own, thank you very much, but he takes it, instead. 

he feels jaskier squeeze his ink-stained hand as he stands up, and he should let go. he should let jaskier enjoy the life that’s so clearly laid out for him; the finest of wines and the fairest of ladies, the softest of silks and the most adoring of crowds. but jaskier looks at him, and he smells like honey and something else he can’t quite place. home, geralt decides, and nods. 

“breakfast.”

[shinsouskitten]

Todoroki nsfw alphabet

I don’t know how many times I said Shōto is a giver who focuses on your pleasure above his own in this but it is what it is

Also I only just noticed my Dabi nsfw alphabet has been called nsfw headcanons for ages and I wanna cry

Warnings: you know the drill, if you’re not over the age, please leave my page (or read my non 18+ work)

---

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

KING of aftercare. Seriously, this man will do anything for you. He’s been training as a hero his whole life, so his stamina is pretty high, and after sex he’s ready to do anything you ask of him (the post-orgasm bliss also helps)

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and their partner’s)

Now Shōto has a lot to be proud of with his body, but he’s never really thought about a part of him he likes the most. If he had to choose, he’d probably say his hands, simply because of the pleasure they give you (plus that’s the source of his quirk). On his s/o he’s also unlikely to choose, because every single part of you means so much to him

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Todoroki prefers to cum inside you as it feels the most intimate. It also means there’s less to clean up, but there is a small part of him that wants to see you painted in his cum just to know what it’s like

He takes care of his body and eats well, so his cum is on the sweeter side I really wanna know if he can control the temperature of it cause that’d be amazing

D = Dirty secret (pretty clear, a dirty secret of theirs)

I don’t know if this would class as a dirty secret, but Shōto really wants to see you masturbate in front of him. He’s the kind of person to get off on knowing his s/o is getting off, so to see you pleasing yourself is the ultimate case of that

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Before you, Todoroki didn’t have much experience, likely nothing if he hasn’t been in a serious relationship, but he’s a very attentive lover, so he’ll catch on to your body’s likes and dislikes pretty quickly. The first few sessions will be a bit of hit or miss I guess they never miss huh, but after that he knows exactly where to touch you to have a whimpering mess in his hands

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Seeing your face is a must for Todoroki, so any positions where he can see you are his favorites. He loves when you ride him, cause it gives you the chance to control the speed and tempo and make sure you’re having the best time

G = Goofy (how serious are they in the moment?)

He’s pretty serious. He believes sex is an intimate thing, and he’s completely invested on making sure you have the best time possible

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

He keeps himself pretty neat, usually shaved as it just makes everything easier and cleaner okay but is it also bi-coloured? Cause that’d be really cool 

I = Intimacy (how romantic are they in the moment?)

I don’t know how many times I can say that Todoroki is a killer for intimacy during sex, but he’s a killer for intimacy during sex. You know that kinda cliched idea of having rose petals covering the bed and candles around you? Well don’t be surprised when he brings out the rose petals for your first time

J = Jack off (what are their views on masturbation?)

Shōto doesn’t have the highest sex drive, so he’s unlikely to really need to jack off, and when he does, you’re usually around him to help out. If he feels horny enough and he’s not near you, he’ll probably choose the shower as the best place to deal with himself. The water is a crappy lubricant, but being in the shower means he won't be disturbed, and it’s easy to clean up afterwards

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Temperature play is something you’ll have to convince Shōto to try, but once he sees how much you enjoy it, it becomes just a regular part of sex. Not knowing whether his hands will be cold, hot, or both keeps you constantly on the edge, and the more pleasure you have, the better Shōto feels

L = Location (favorite places to do the dance with no pants)

Traditional guy wants a traditional location, so the bedroom is his favorite. Todoroki wants you to enjoy yourself as much as possible, which means foreplay is going to last for a long time, and he doesn’t want you to get uncomfortable from lying somewhere that’s not a nice warm (or cold) bed

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going, etc)

Like I said before, Shōto lives for your pleasure, sometimes more than his own. He could think about anything remotely sexual with the straightest face, but the moment he thinks about you having fun, he’s got a not-so-little problem to deal with

N = No (turn offs, something they wouldn’t do)

He’s not willing to hurt you, and he’s certainly not willing to let anyone else touch you, so threesomes and pain play are out of the question

O = Oral (do they prefer giving or receiving? how skilled are they?)

100% prefers giving. He wants you to feel good, and the moment he learns the intimate points of you body he’s happy spending days between your legs just prolonging the pleasure

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

If you ask him to go faster, he will, but Shōto usually takes his time with you, so slow and sensual is the way to go

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies)

Quickies are a pretty easy no for Todoroki, simply because he doesn’t get to spend as much time with you as he can. If it’s absolutely necessary, he’s going to make sure you can enjoy it, and it’s not uncommon for him to give you the best damn oral you’ve ever had then leave the room without even letting you touch him

R = Risk (how risky are they willing to be?)

Shōto’s not willing to be risky with you. Not only does his status as a pro hero mean he himself can’t be caught doing some less than family friendly things, he knows the kind of blow that would be to you. Whether you’re a hero or not, his fans are a little ott, so seeing him with you might lead to some issues

S = Stamina (how long do they last? how many rounds?)

I don’t know if he ever runs out of stamina. I mean, he’s been training to be a hero since he could walk, and when he’s older, his vigorous training doesn’t stop. And given the amount of rounds he puts you through before he even thinks about himself mean you’re unlikely to find the end of his stamina

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them on a partner or themselves?)

Shōto does a lot of research into toys that will increase your pleasure, he’s just initially worried about bringing those ideas up to you in case you don’t like them

U = Unfair (how much do they tease?)

He’s unlikely to tease you to begin with, unless you ask him. If he’s teasing you, it’ll be when one of you brings up the idea of edging you, although it’s not really teasing. It’s a little frustrating being brought right to the edge and then denied that glorious release, but the build up makes it so worth it in the end

V = Volume (how they sound, how loud they are, etc)

I feel like Todoroki is a moaner. Not so loud that everyone in the world would hear him though, but quiet moans reserved for your ears and your ears alone. He also talks to you. Not like asking how the weather is, but praising you and complimenting you all the while. As for you, Shōto adores hearing your voice, and the little sounds you make when he has his way with you

W = Wild card (a random headcanon)

Ngl Shōto has had many thoughts about letting you tie him up and have your way with him, but he’s just scared to voice those ideas to you. He’s just curious to see what you’d do, and it might give him more clues as to what else you like, things he’s always looking for

X = X-ray (let’s have a looksee in those pants)

I’d say Shōto has a good 7-7.5 when fully erect. Not too thick, not too thin, and a good length - the perfect balance 

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

He’s used to keeping his urges suppressed, as they tend to just get in the way of things. When he’s in a relationship his sex drive is likely to increase, simply because he has a real reason to get worked up: you

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

As I mentioned, Shōto has incredible stamina, so he’s not going to fall asleep quickly. He’ll clean you up, perhaps even run you a hot bath being the aftercare god he is, and after that, he’s happy to just cuddle with you until the both of you fall asleep

[luxekook]

chapter two.

⇥ pairing: namjoon x reader; eventual bts/ot7 x reader

⇥ genre: college au with fluff, smut & angst

⇥ summary: a series in which the reader meets (and falls for) seven members of the Beta Tau Sigma (BTS) fraternity

⇥ word count: 2.3k

⇥ warnings: 18+, cursing, chaotic namjoon, power tools, hints of poly relationships, overall pretty smut free (who AM i???)

© luxekook. please do not repost, modify, edit or translate.

characters | prologue | one | two | three | four | five | six | seven | eight | nine

Chapter Two

Habitat for Humanity Worksite – 9:26am

When I signed up to volunteer Saturday morning of syllabus week, I should have known I would end up regretting it. I almost punted my alarm clock out of the apartment window this morning, but instead settled a slightly more civil action – punching the shit out of the ‘off’ button.

Don’t get me wrong: I love volunteering. It’s been part of my routine since sophomore year when I was recruited for the all-women’s service society on campus – the Alphites. As a society, us Alphites volunteer around campus and in our local community each week. There’s something about doing service together that really creates bonds, and the girls in the society have quickly become some of my closest friends.

We sign up to volunteer for a variety of different service projects each week, and Habitat is my current favorite project to sign up for. As a nonprofit organization, Habitat for Humanity helps families build and improve places to call home. Currently, our regional Habitat is working on building a house from the ground up for a local family in need.

Disclaimer: I am in no way, shape, or form a very ‘handy’ person. Luckily for me, there are always a couple volunteers with construction or engineering backgrounds who are willing to teach other volunteers with less experience – or none, like me.

Since beginning to volunteer at the site last year, I have learned how to use a power saw, how to fasten siding, and how to mix, pour and level cement. It’s definitely empowering to learn new skills and also to see how my handiwork contributes to someone’s future home. I also feel lowkey badass when I get to use the power drill for anything.

Pulling up to the worksite, I clutch my cherished 24oz. Wawa coffee. I finally feel somewhat human as I park my beat-up Jeep Wrangler and hop out to meet the other volunteers for our task assignments.

The site leader Eddie – a burly retiree with a background in construction management – greets me with a huge grin, “(y/n)-doll, we missed you this summer! I can’t believe you abandoned us during the hottest months of the year.”

I roll my eyes, smiling at his teasing. Eddie’s like a teddy bear disguised as a grizzly – all rough edges and a heart of gold. “Missed you, too, Eddie.”

“Look at our progress now,” he continues, “Pretty impressive, yeah?” Nodding, I greet some regular volunteers I recognize as Eddie leads me around the house. He proceeds to show me what they had done over the summer in my absence – and they had done a lot. The house now had its full foundation and wooden framing with most of the doors and windows installed.

As we walk back to the front of the house to the main area, I sip my coffee and turn to Eddie, “So, what can I work on today, fearless leader?”

Letting out a patented ‘Eddie belly-laugh’, he replies, “I know you worked on the siding at our last site so I'm gonna have you work on where we started the siding on the right side of the house.”

Sweet, I could work with that. “Aye, aye, captain,” I respond with a lazy salute of my coffee cup. Before I can turn to start towards the scaffolding to begin, Eddie stops me.

“Oh, one more thing. I’m gonna need you to orient our new volunteer and let him shadow you today. Kid’s from the same school as you, I think… Mandatory service. Anyway, he should be here any minute.”

Shit, I know what ‘mandatory service’ means. It’s the first form of disciplinary action that the college issues and is usually the only form of disciplinary action for our athletes or for Greek life – a fact I actively resent. During my time in the Alphites, I have had to deal with some of these ‘mandatory service’ characters and they’ve never been much fun to be around.

“Ah, that’s probably him now,” Eddie startles me out of my thoughts of dread and doom as a black gleaming Tesla practically purrs down the block, swinging into the spot next to my Wrangler. Scowling, I cross my arms as I survey the stark contrast between this person’s shiny-ass luxury car and my dirty-ass well-loved Jeep.

The Tesla door opens. A Timberland booted foot emerges followed by a thick leg encased in light jeans, a tanned well-muscled arm…

No. Nope, it couldn’t be— Please, not today, Satan.

He stands with his back to us now, stretching out his large body. In only a cutoff t-shirt, his rippling back muscles might be enough to send me into an early grave.

I sigh in bitter defeat of the inevitable. Seriously, the fucking universe must have it out for me because I can’t seem to shake this stupid fucking fraternity.

As if the boy feels my eyes on him, he turns. His eyes immediately clash with mine as he slams his car door, clicking the lock over his shoulder. Those eyes – golden brown beneath dark brows and a wave of bleached blonde hair. Their focus is absolute – hard – as he strolls towards us. It’s almost as if he knows the maddening effect that he has on me.

I think Eddie is speaking, but my senses are on lockdown, his words muted. My thighs tighten as my pulse picks up. Get a fucking grip, (y/n). I can’t let him know that just one look from him has me thirsty and oxygen-deprived. I can’t look away – that would be succumbing to weakness.

Instead, I hold his heated gaze as best I can as his confident gait brings him closer. God, he’s got to be at least 6 foot...

The goddamn president of BTS Kim Namjoon is getting closer and I can’t help running my eyes over him.

His thighs flex and shift beneath his jeans with every calculated step. His abs are apparent under his tight cutoff shirt emblazoned with his fraternity letters.

Namjoon stops in front of us, hands stuffed into his back pockets, biceps flexing. “Nice to finally meet you, Eddie,” Namjoon takes his eyes off me long enough to greet Eddie and shake his hand, but then they’re right back on me, “Hi, (y/n).”

He drags out my name in a such a sinful way that even old Eddie does a slight doubletake. Clearing his throat unnecessarily loudly, Eddie booms, “You two know each other?”

“No.”

“Yes.”

Our differing replies sound at the same time.

“Yes,” Namjoon repeats, lips turning up in an infuriating smile, “We have several mutual friends that she’s met a couple times now. Want me to jog your memory? I’d be more than happy to do so.”

Eddie takes one look at my face and hustles off, mumbling something about support beams. I guess my inner thoughts of ‘kill, maim, slaughter’ could easily be read from my facial expression.

Namjoon opens his mouth to speak again, but I’m faster, “Listen, Kim, I don’t know who you think you are, and, quite frankly, I don’t care. What I do care about is this house and these people working on it. Don’t fuck this up for me, okay? Let’s just get through today and then you can go back to ordering around your brothers and causing general mayhem.”

I’m feeling pretty proud of my little soliloquy until I realize he’s still smiling with those blasted dimples out in full display. No, his smile has grown even wider now as he simply answers, “The semester.”

My nose crinkles in confusion, “What?”

“The semester,” he repeats, “I’m assigned here every Saturday for the rest of the semester.”

I stare at him.

He smirks back.

I stare.

His smirk begins to fade, “Uh, did you hear me?”

I stare.

“Okay, you’re creeping me out now, (y/n),” Namjoon waves his giant paw of a hand in front of my face, “How many fingers?”

I break out of my trance of denial and hiss, “What did you do? Double homicide? Serial arson? Oh my god, you were the one who blew up the science lab!”

His hand covers my mouth – it’s rough and warm and entirely disarming.

“You have quite the imagination, jagi. I’ll keep that in mind,” Namjoon chuckles, “To answer your question, I did none of the above. Now, answer a couple questions of mine: what did you do to get here and – more importantly – why did you distract Jungkook from doing his fucking job on Monday?”

I glare in response, waiting for him to remove his hand from my mouth. He takes too long, and I lick his palm. It works. He removes his hand, but from the look on his face it seems like he liked my tongue on his skin entirely too much.

Thankfully, Eddie chooses the perfect moment to yell across the site, “What are you doing just standing there, (y/n)-doll? I don’t pay you to just loiter around all day!”

“You don’t pay me at all!” I yell back, already moving towards the trailer with all the supplies to get started. Namjoon follows.

“(y/n)-doll?” his eyebrows are raised as I hand him a pair of the biggest gloves I could find, “What’s up with that?”

Taking a pair of smaller gloves for myself, I turn to look for some hammers and nails as I respond, “I’ve been here a while. He’s like my honorary grandfather at this point.”

I spot the hammers and nails tucked away on the highest corner shelf and I huff. Namjoon follows my gaze, “Need a strong, intelligent, tall young man to grab those for you?”

He’s impossible, but for some reason it draws a small smile to my face, “Yes, that’d be great.”

The smile I receive in response is so bright I wonder if it could make flowers grow, “Okay, but only if answer my questions, (y/n).”

I shrug, trying not to notice how his cutoff shirt rises as he stretches to reach the upper shelf. I catch a sudden glimpse of his abs, and I praise every god out there that hot weather can be blamed for my sudden onset of sweat. 

Clearing my throat, I laugh lightly, “Fine, first of all, I didn’t ‘distract’ Jeon. I just had a temporary lapse in judgement. Besides, he came to me all on his own.” His back muscles tense up at my words, but I continue, “And second of all, there’s no juicy story of how I got here. I just volunteer here every Saturday for the Alphites.”

The sound of a hammer hitting the floor startles me as he whirls around, “You’re an Alphite?”

Namjoon’s tone is one of disbelief and it’s a tone I do not appreciate, “Yes, why is that so hard to believe?” My arms cross defensively, “I’ve been a sister since my sophomore year...”

I trail off. He’s still gawking at me ridiculously. Narrowing my eyes, I stride across the trailer and grab his chin, closing his mouth for him, “Watch out, Kim, you’re gonna catch flies.”

Spinning on my heels, I sashay out of the trailer, nose held high in the air and satisfaction held even higher. He’ll catch up. After all, he’s basically supposed to be my bitch today.

I climb up the scaffolding next to the house’s right side and assess the siding work that has already been started. It looks pretty solid and level. I should have no issue with continuing without having to make any initial corrections.

The sound of a bucket of nails hitting the top platform I’m sitting on alerts me of Namjoon’s impending presence. Saving the bucket from teetering over the edge – a safety hazard for sure – I watch amusedly as Namjoon struggles stay upright and climb up to where I am on the scaffolding. Finally, he plops down next to me – entirely too close. I can feel his stare on my skin as I steadfastly ignore him.

“Hey, jagi,” he pokes my arm, “(y/n), listen, you just caught me off guard. I mean, you don’t seem like the type to be an Alphite – that’s all.”

Fury curls up inside me for the umpteenth time that morning, as I turn to face Namjoon with a sickly-sweet smile that has him flinching back, “Then do tell, Namjoon, what type I seem to be?”

I pick up the hammer closest to me and dip a hand into the nail bucket. The sooner this siding got done, the sooner I could haul ass out of here.

“I feel like that’s a trick question,” Namjoon sighs, rubbing a hand over his chin, “I didn’t mean anything bad by it, okay? I guess I just have always thought that your society was a bunch of mom-types—”

I cut him off with a swing of my hammer in the air, “What’s wrong with mom-types, you uncultured swine? And is serving your community really such a ‘mom’ thing to do? I’m sorry. I must have missed that memo. Here I was thinking that it was public service but go off I guess.”

He blinks, “Did you just call me an ‘uncultured swine’?”

I sniff in indignation, “Get with the times, Kim. I just roasted your ass. Now hand me that piece of siding and make yourself useful.”

“You’re so weird,” Namjoon mutters, sliding my request over to me.

“So what?” I shrug, “All the best people are weird. Now, do me a solid and explain to me why you and your ‘brothers’ keep suspiciously popping up everywhere I go.”

“Haven’t you figured it out yet?” he grins, “We’re interested.”

“What does that even mean? That you’re interested?” I wrack my brain, “As in all seven of you fuckers?”

“It means, jagi,” Namjoon pauses, leaning closer, “It means that we’re going to date the shit out of you.”

a/n: i love namjoon. that is all. 

taglist (message me to be added):

@catsandstrawberries @h5naaa @meowmeowyoongles @leftflowerprunedonut @rjsmochii @athletes-of-god @karissassirak @weallhavesecretsinthebestway @cvbachacbitch @bewitch3dforivar @honeyspillings @xxonyxpearlxx​  @valiantcollectorofsandwiches @fivesecondsofsarang 

[xxhatchetxx]

Jdtdtjxi - OK, I've been sitting here for a long while. Thinking of asking, yet never do. If someone else's asked one of you. My bad, haven't really been on, (crying face) Your guys Gladiator AU - I absolutely love it. All your OC's for it are to die for. Honestly, I didn't think anyone remembered that fact in IZ. So it's exciting to see others use that concept. I was wondering if writers may work with your version of it & Oc's. My irken Sivark/Kravis I created his past with as I called it, 'the Blood Sports' as pass a time between his invades. I'd love add on to it. I understand if not. And completely respect that. Also a question. Can you tell us more about the GG - rules, reason it was created, fighting to the death or not, disadvantages or pros of fighting in it, and such. Also that metal circle on Kryn's chest is that a simple medal brand for humiliating him or another inhibitor like his PAK has to weaken him?

Hi!! Thank you so much for your interest in the Irken Gladiator lore!  

Since @aperfecttimeforscreaming really helped with the actual world building, i’ll pass the mic to him for a moment.

 First of all, thank you for saying so! It's really cool people are still interested in this despite my hiatus. So Invaders proving themselves in the arena definitely isn't unheard of. I expect it's somewhat uncommon for one to keep making return trips to the arena, but it definitely makes for a really cool character idea! 

The Bowl of Bleached Bone is the nicest, highest  status combat bowl, but there are 9 bowls in total and 7 of those bowls are unspoken for. If you wanted to develop a bowl purely to run the bloodsports out of, that's an option! If you imagine blood sports as like a once a month event, then it could certainly be hosted by Skeeg! That'd be fun :D 

I'd love to talk with you in depth about the blood sport rules and how the games are run. Feel free to Dm me or enter my ask box to talk about some of your ideas. I'm pretty sure Gnoust can fill you in on the rest - aperfecttimeforscreaming

But the rules are pretty simple, it’s kill or be killed. You can be pitted up against fellow prisoners or feral creatures. You are there as pure and utter entertainment. At least thats what its like for Kryn since he is there as a punishment and not by choice. He doesnt have the best of times in the arena.

But pros and cons of fighting in the arena are definitely based on your reason for being there lol 

If you are there by choice, where the rules aren't life or death or you fight a creature, you can use your time in the arena to prove yourself as a worthy warrior and have the audience sing your praises. 

As for the metal on Kryn’s chest you are correct that its like a brand! In part its humiliation to show where his place is and it doubles as a device that could cause harm if he gets too rowdy. Could be a simple zap or straight up make you explode. 

Feel free to come back if you have any further questions! Thank you so much again and I’m excited to see what you manage to come up with!

[yukipri]

Before I get to my actual question, just wanted to let you know that I'm cool with all my asks being answered publicly unless I say otherwise in the ask. Just wanted to comment after your answer on the last one. ^.^ But anyway! So we've seen a little bit of Law and how Lu is still handled as a supernova in the mer au. And I'm ever curious as to whether anything changes from our favorite Lu fanboy's perspective! That's right, I'm talking about Bartolomeo. So, is he even more impressed? (1/?)

Hey again! In general, I prefer to answer asks publicly if the answer may be of interest to other people, especially if it’s a long answer, but I’ll always answer privately if there’s a note that specifies! <3

Alrighty, now about my boy Romeo (who I love very very much!!!!!!)

I honestly don’t know if it’s even possible for Bartolomeo to be more impressed by Luffy than he already is in canon, so it’s honestly hard to say if he’s more impressed, but he definitely still worships Luffy regardless of her different form in this AU! (and his ship looks absolutely BADASS, imagine a mermaid-themed SHIP...)

The fact that she’s a mermaid, especially since humans rarely get to meet mermaids, definitely leaves an impression though. Just as Bartolomeo has the highest respect for Lu’s crew and family through association, I feel like that’d probably extend to mer people to an extent as well in this AU. Let’s just say, pirates enthusiastically buying mermaid memorabilia when passing through Fishman Island is a common sight, but even the veteran shopkeepers are taken aback by Barto Club breaking down in tears every time they see anything with a red-tailed mermaid...

(Fishman island souvenir stores made a lot of money that day)

Regarding whether he reacts any differently to racism and such, I feel like to an extent? Like HOW DARE YOU SPEAK SUCH VILE WORDS TO THAT MERLADY, WHICH CAN BE TAKEN AS AN INSULT TO LUFFY SENPAI HERSELF, AND AN INSULT TO SENPAI IS AN INSULT TO ME. It’s definitely much more personal ^ ^;

BUT at the same time, I think he’d be disgusted and offended in canon too, regardless of connection to Luffy. Kind of a general non-AU headcanon here, but I think the moment that really told me what kind of character Bartolomeo is, is when he saves Bellamy from getting beaten up by Dellinger. I know it’s really easy to just say that he’s a Rabid Luffy Fanboy, but in this scene, we see him outside of his fixation on Luffy. Bartolomeo does not know Bellamy’s past or his connection to Luffy, but still steps in and defends Bellamy without being asked, simply because Romeo respects him as a comrade who fought in the Colosseum with him. I think that’s really telling of what kind of honor code Romeo has. He’s just a genuinely good dude, which is probably WHY he’s so drawn to Luffy.

Which now brings us to how Ace and Sabo feel about him. I feel like it’d be easy enough to headcanon that they’d think him a bit of a creep, but I actually don’t! I think that the older brothers can see that beneath the extreme fanboying, Romeo genuinely admires Luffy for all the right reasons. Sure, he’ll sing praises of her beauty forever, but he’s not a fanboy because he thinks she’s hot, or for any sexual/romantic reason at all. Bartolomeo could hardly care what Luffy looks like, for as long as Luffy is Luffy, Luffy is PERFECT.

Romeo admires Luffy because of her charisma, her bravery, her strength, everything about her character. And sure he’s a bit more heated about it than most, but those are all legit reasons to admire someone. Bartolomeo has zero ulterior motives, he wants nothing from Luffy whatsoever, and is instead groveling asking what he can do to be of any service.

I think Ace’d be friendly with him, and just be like dude, yeah I know my lil bro’s awesome, but you really don’t need to grovel--hey, hey stop sobbing, wow you’re a funny guy!

Sabo, I think would be like Good, this is a proper amount of respect for Luffy. He knows that Romeo would never think of doing anything inappropriate to Luffy, the mere thought blasphemy, and on top of that has just as much respect for himself and Ace. He can trust Romeo with Luffy (even if he can’t for the life of him remember his name, “Muscle-melon” was it...).

(This is why I love thinking about AUs where Ace and Sabo hire Bartolomeo as Luffy’s bodyguard. Bc not only is he genuinely strong and competent and an actual nice fellow, he’d also throw his life away for Luffy without a thought and call it an honor. He’d keep Luffy’s suitors at bay and never even allow himself to dream of making a move himself, and would be horrified at the mere suggestion)

(....which is, of course, why I ship them ^ ^;;;;;)

❀ ❀ Send YukiPri an Ask! ❀ ❀

~This ask has been added to the Mermaid AU Text Headcanons Compilation post~

[serialreblogger]

i need so much proof that shakespeare was bi as all hell please and thank you :) (its true duh, but um. i need to know more thank you) (๑•́ ヮ •̀๑)

THANK YOU FOR ASKING! May I submit the following evidence to the jury:

Sonnet 20 in its entirity. It’s one long love confession specifically addressed to a male beloved, grieving that they happened to be male. For those curious, the beloved is described as encompassing the highest virtues of man and woman together (in more modern terms, genderqueer/bigender/GNC/trans might apply. Of course, it’s doubly impossible to say anything of the sort for certain, given that a. those terms weren’t available to 17th-century Europeans and b. we have no way of knowing who Shakespeare was talking about, let alone if they were non-cis).

This entire poem is Shakespeare addressing someone as “man? technically. woman? probably also yes. do i care either way? no. are you the love of my life? absolutely.” Shakespeare essentially just goes:

[ID: a gif of Jonathan Van Ness saying “Gorgeous.” end ID]

and calls it a day.

Sonnet 63 uses he/him pronouns throughout. See especially: “[Time] shall never cut from memory / My sweet love's beauty, though my lover’s life: / His beauty shall in these black lines (this poem) be seen . . . he in them [will remain] still green.” (In other words, Time will never erase the memory of Shakespeare’s “sweet love’s beauty,” though it will take his life: his beauty shall be preserved in this poem forever, and so, in that sense, he will remain forever young and lovely.)

[ID: the “is this a pigeon?” meme, edited to show “shakespeare” gesturing at “a poem” to ask if it is “the key to immortality.” end ID]

He does the same in Sonnet 19, begging Time: “Him [my love] in thy course untainted do allow / For beauty's pattern to succeeding men” (“Leave him untouched, spare him / so that he can remain the model of absolute beauty for every man forevermore”) and declaring that though Time will do what it always does, still Shakespeare’s love will have his beauty preserved forever in this poem.

Sonnet 68 is similar, except instead of grieving the inevitable loss of youth, Shakespeare praises his beloved for aging gracefully: “In him those holy antique hours are seen, / Without all ornament, itself and true . . . Robbing no old to dress his beauty new.” He’s praising his beloved for proudly showing the wrinkles in his cheek and fading hair, instead of using the hair of the dead for wigs (as many did at the time), or trying to feign a youth he no longer has.

[ID: Shakespeare’s new and improved attitude to age. A grey-haired woman in brightly coloured clothes leans against a graffitied wall. The caption reads, “OLD is the new YOUNG.” end ID]

For the record, I maintain that Sonnet 42 is big polyam vibes, but that’s more debatable and would require a whole separate essay to argue for. Still. Gotta include it in the list.

also, as I said in a previous post:

all the genderbending in Shakespeare’s plays is, in my view, about 40% unapologetic projection and wish-fulfillment with a slapdash retcon at the end so he didn’t get executed, 20% quiet seething rage, and 40% him playing with the sort of humour that’d get him upvotes in early modern England. 

[ID: John Mulaney saying “I’m very gay. I’d like a few dollars.” Wouldn’t we all. end ID]

Of course, Shakespeare’s queer content isn’t explicit outside the sonnets, which had less wide of an audience. If you were too obvious, or ticked off the wrong person, or if some lunatic decided to use your words to promote their destabilizing social violence, you WOULD get executed. That wasn’t a hypothetical. Some people were more open than Shakespeare. They paid the price. Look at what happened to Marlowe and Kyd.

It was dangerous to be queer in early modern England, especially if you didn’t have the same protections that the aristocracy enjoyed. And Shakespeare wasn’t an aristocrat. In my mind, it is the opposite of odd that he would play off his queer content with humor and “happy endings.”

Shakespeare was living in a highly charged, highly controlling political climate, where anything subversive could spark another civil war. Censorship was high, and stakes were higher. Just because a lot of Shakespeare’s queer content (particularly in his plays) is left vague and only included when it could be treated comedically doesn’t mean it wasn’t also genuine.