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gurugirl · 7 months

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Just For Tonight | Ch. 1

Series Summary: Harry spots an angel in the crowd and he can't keep his eyes off of her. And, as if by some cosmic pull, he can't help but ask her backstage. But it's only going to be just for tonight. Or is it?

Chapter Summary: Y/n can't believe her luck when the famous Harry Styles invites her and her friend backstage after his concert is over.

Warning: 18+ only, smut

Word Count: 8646

Commissioned by anon (thank you!! xoxo)

Just For Tonight Masterlist

Almost 20,000 screaming fans, flashing and pulsing lights, percussion, string, vocals, bass, and ego with sex appeal dancing on the stage amongst it all. The entire floor of the venue, stage, walls, and all were vibrating and trembling along with the speakers that thundered with live music, and in the middle of it all the crowd danced and stomped along with the man of the hour. Harry Styles.

For Harry, tonight was a great night. When he performed it was usually pretty fucking great. But tonight, especially, everything was perfect. It was just one of those days that’s a good day for no real reason. The stars aligned, the moon’s gravitational pull balanced everything out, Mars was not in retrograde, and so on and so forth. Who knew what had made it such a lovely day? It just was and Harry was not one to question things like nature and science and destiny. He allowed it to bring him wherever it needed to take him. He was just a passenger on the ride of life.

And everyone in the building felt the same vibes. He just knew it. It had been a perfectly phenomenal day for everyone that he laid eyes on. How could it not? Every time he spotted someone in the crowd and smiled they screamed and jumped excitedly because they were also having a fucking fantastic day. So, okay, sure it might have had something to do with the fact that they were at a Harry Styles concert, and making eye contact with the one and only himself was bound to boost moods.

It was a thrill to wave or smile or call someone out and see their reaction. He loved the attention. Loved watching people swoon and cry out for him. He loved being loved and adored. And tonight, he was very much being adored.

When the song came to an end and the lights went down Harry picked up his Gibson guitar and stepped back up to the mic, signaling the song change. The light shined down over him as he stood gorgeously confident in his black custom Gucci suit sans shirt. His pecs and tattoos bared to the fans, a well-built body proudly on display. He had no reason to not show off. He knew he looked amazing. Not to mention it was also practical because his outfit and the hot lights were boiling.

He loved using old songs from his One Direction days and Stockholm Syndrome always got the crowd to go absolutely nuts. He stood bold and self-assured in front of the microphone as he strummed the guitar and started the song off. Looking at the fans in the center pit they went wild as his eyes roved the crowd, dimples carving into his cheeks at the reaction he got. He’d never get over it.

He began to sing and the sudden greatness of the situation was overwhelming. He knew the universe was giving him something very special at that instant as he strummed and leaned into the mic, belting the opening lines. He wanted to keep his awareness about him and not miss a moment. He was in his element.

And the reason he felt the atmosphere change, he was sure of it the second he laid eyes on her, was standing just right of center stage in the pit. An angel with long hair surrounded by a halo of glitter and the loveliest smile he’d seen in a long time. She wore a bodysuit with a flower pattern that hugged her curves with sparkles all over her skin and her shoulders, gleaming in her hair. Glossy pink and red sunglasses shaped like hearts on her face.

He couldn’t help but look at her as he sang and when he stepped away from the mic to let the fans scream the words he narrowed his eyes at the angel in front of the stage and gave her a quick wave, releasing one hand from his guitar to do so. Watching her pretty pink lips drop open wide when she understood he was waving at her she bounced a little and waved back. Harry’s eyes dragged down her frame again and he realized her tits were bouncing with her. He couldn’t help but notice it. They were supple and she was gorgeous. It was hard not to take her all in as she was.

She hadn’t realized it, until that instant, that he’d been looking at her. She figured that was impossible. There were so many other people next to her but the electricity that buzzed through her veins in that moment had her feeling like the only one in the audience. He continued looking at her through the song, his eyes finding hers as he sang and strummed. His smile deepened each time their gazes met and she felt like she was in a dream. Harry Styles was looking at her and grinning coyly each time his eyes landed on hers.

Y/n was an outspoken person. Someone who didn’t usually hold back with her thoughts and opinions. And even though having Harry looking at her and grinning was making the blood rush to her cheeks and her limbs tremble she knew she needed to call on her boldness to keep his attention. She had an idea before she’d even gotten to the concert that felt like something that would just stay an idea, would remain a little daydream fantasy. But now? She figured why not? She’d seen Harry prancing around at past concerts wearing sunglasses and hats the fans would toss up to him.

But she didn’t want to throw anything up on the stage at him for fear of hurting him or him not seeing it. She wanted to hand him the sunglasses. Maybe they’d even brush fingers. But with the way the stage was set up, she knew that was impossible. Security flanked the fronts and sides and she’d never be able to reach. Instead, she did the next best thing.

The next time Harry spotted her, which was only moments after she decided to enact her plan, she pulled her sunglasses off and pointed at him as she held them up. She was against the barricade near security and Harry’s eyes squinted as he looked at her hand and placed the mic onto the stand before kneeling down next to the man standing in front of the stage. He kept his eyes on the sparkly angel as he pointed at her and spoke to the man who nodded.

The transaction happened in a flash. The man smiled at her as she handed him the heart-shaped sunglasses and then suddenly Harry had them in hand and placed them on his face as he got right back to singing.

The crowd was raucous. Harry wearing cutesy, shiny heart sunglasses got everyone’s attention but Y/n was in awe that he was wearing her cheap dollar store find on his handsome face.

And when the song was over he pulled the sunglasses off and mouthed, “Can I keep these?”

Y/n nodded exaggeratedly and smiled as she bounced a little. It was the best night of her life; she was sure of it. The entire day had been amazing. From the moment she woke up to right then as she had Harry’s grin aimed at her it had been perfection. Even her outfit and hair were perfect. She knew it. It was just one of those days and she felt like it was all meant to be.

She danced and swayed to the songs, sang along with the crowd, and Harry kept giving her glances and cheeky smirks. He was definitely flirting with her.

“I can’t believe he’s keeping your sunglasses! What if he wears them after tonight and he’s photographed with them?” Y/n’s co-worker, Ady, was with her. She and Ady were loose friends. They got along well enough and both liked Harry Styles. So when Y/n scored two tickets and her best friend declined to go to the concert with her she asked Ady. She figured Ady would be willing given the colorful TPWK screensaver she had on her work computer.

Harry began to interact with the signs in the crowd. Reading them aloud as he casually paced and laughed and made the fans laugh with him.

But as he walked toward the part of the stage where Y/n and Ady were standing Harry pointed directly at Y/n, “What’s your name?”

Her breath caught in her throat as she tried to keep calm and Ady squealed next to her, “Her name is Y/n!”

Y/n turned to look at Ady and they laughed together but Harry continued, “Her name is what again?” He cupped his ear and leaned in to hear better.

This time Y/n was quick to react, “Y/n!!” She shouted as loudly and clearly as possible.

Harry stood up straight and laughed, “Y/n. Lovely. And your friend’s name?”

Ady shouted her name and Harry nodded, “Is it just the two of you?”

Y/n and Ady nodded with wide grins and Harry sauntered around in the spot as he motioned with his arms, “Y/n, here, gave me a pair of sunglasses and is allowing me to keep them,” he spoke to the fans and then looked back toward Y/n. “And I just wanted to say, thank you, Y/n. That was so thoughtful of you to give them to me.”

She placed her hand over her heart as she shouted, “You’re welcome!” And Harry placed his hand over his heart and winked.

An absolute dream. The whole night had been. The attention she was getting from Harry was something she’d never forget. She was positive that he found her attractive based on the way he kept looking toward her and grinning. It was one of those things that happen in life that make you spark and give you a giddiness that you’ll wake in the middle of the night thinking of or suddenly become overwhelmed with while you’re loading the dishwasher. Something that you take with you and sew into your bones and inwardly smile and gush over. Something that can’t ever be taken away. A small moment in time that’s yours to take with you forever.

Harry did his usual end-of-concert routine, including the whale before jogging off stage. The lights brightened slowly and the sounds of chatter and concertgoers laughing and singing filled the venue.

Y/n wasn’t ready to leave the magic of the concert but all good things must come to an end. As she and Ady were about to file out behind the other pit fans the security guard who handed her sunglasses off to Harry approached her, “You’re both invited backstage. Harry’s invitation.”

There was no way she’d ever get over that night.

The area was set up in two sections. A handful of fans and other people were all in one spot, a large room with foldout chairs and tables along the wall, and then there was another room opposite the large one, where Y/n and Ady were asked to stay. The room was small with a couch and coffee table, a few armchairs, a TV on the wall, and a buffet with pitchers of water and juices lined up with glasses and napkins at the end.

Y/n sat in one of the armchairs and Ady poured herself a glass of green juice, “Sure you don’t want anything?”

“I’ll get something in a minute. Just need a second to process everything. That was so amazing, wasn’t it?”

The pair talked about the concert as a man walked into the room and filled a glass with water for himself. He greeted Ady and then Y/n, “Hi. I’m Tommy.”

He sat down and made small talk for a bit, “So, this is the special guest room. Did you get a personal invite from Harry?” His grin was cheeky. Y/n didn’t know what any of that meant.

“Yeah, he invited us backstage after the concert was over. I gave him my sunglasses.”

Tommy nodded and raised his brows, “Ahh… I see. Well, he’ll be done out there soon.”

Soon was thirty minutes later. Tommy turned the TV on and handed the remote to Ady before he left the room. They got to meet Sarah and Pauli before they noticed some of the fans leaving and the other room slowly growing empty.

And when Harry finally walked into the room it was as if time stood still. That cliché was happening in real time. He wore a pair of jeans, a white t-shirt with tennis shoes, and a big smile as he looked at Y/n before greeting Ady with a handshake and a hug.

Y/n stood abruptly as Harry greeted her in the same way.

He sat on the couch and urged Y/n to sit next to him as Ady took the armchair closest and they all talked briefly about the concert. He asked more questions about how they knew one another and if they were from the area, what they did for a living…

He was perfectly polite and attentive. The man was gorgeous up close and Y/n tried not to let her imagination get away from her as he spoke and she watched his features and looked down over his tattooed arm and muscular thighs under his jeans.

Harry laughed at something Ady said and then ran his fingers through his hair and looked at Y/n, “I’m really glad you came. You have good taste in sunglasses. And music,” he chuckled at his joke and Y/n laughed with him.

“But um… would you be willing to stay back with me a bit? If you want?” He looked directly at Y/n as he asked but she didn't assume the question was only aimed at herself and of course, she was willing to stay back with him so she nodded and looked at Ady to make sure she was good with it too.

Just as Ady was about to say something Harry interrupted, “I’m really sorry. I can only have one person stay back per the rules, and since you,” he looked over at Y/n, “were so kind to allow me to keep your sunglasses, thought it would only be fair.”

The sudden realization changed the atmosphere in the room. He was asking Y/n to stay back. Only her. Not Ady.

“Oh, sure. Yeah of course. That’s fine,” Ady smiled and looked at her friend. “Y/n you stay. I’ll go back to the hotel and see you later then?”

It was awkward for sure. Y/n felt a little guilty for being so excited at the idea of being able to hang out with Harry one-on-one but at the same time, it was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Even if Ady had said she would rather Y/n go with her she would have stayed with Harry. She was not going to miss whatever it was he had planned.

She was led into another room. One with a door that Harry closed behind himself. He watched as she looked around. It was what looked like a dressing room.

“Would you like a drink? Or something to eat?” Harry asked as he walked up behind Y/n and honed in on what she was looking at. The rack of outfits. He always had five to choose from for each show. Usually, there was one that was suggested but Harry liked making the final decision. Which also meant each outfit would be tailored the same day as a show regardless if he wore them or not. Now, the tailoring wasn’t much. It wasn’t as if Harry’s weight and size fluctuated all that much from show to show. But lately, he was bulking up a bit. His trainer had him working out for hours each day. Harry’s body was in the best shape it’d ever been in. So some seams were let out and there were a few little tucks and folds and bits that needed to be sewn last minute typically.

“What do you have to drink?”

Harry turned and opened up the mini fridge as he squatted down, “Let’s see. Beer, wine, tequila, whisky. I can get you anything you want, though.”

Of course he could.

“Tequila on the rocks? Is that okay?” She was feeling a bit uncertain. She didn’t know what to expect or what was allowed. She wasn’t sure what was going on in general. Her nerves were starting to erupt a bit at the idea that he might have her in his dressing room alone for something more than just a chat.

“Sure. I’ll have one with you.”

They sat next to one another on the couch and made more small talk. She was surprised that he stayed a couple of feet from her the whole time as he sipped his glass and asked her about her job, her family, a dog she mentioned.

When she’d finished her tequila she tapped at the glass with her fingernails and looked at Harry curiously, “So, um… should I be going now? What’s the plan?”

Harry laughed and gulped down the last of his tequila before clearing his throat nervously, “If you want to go you can but um…” he licked his lips and sat the glass down on the table next to his side and planted his green gaze on her pretty eyes, “I’m going to head to my suite in a bit. It’s really nice and big. Would you want to go back there with me?”

Y/n grinned and squinted her eyes at him, “What for? Are you planning on making a move on me or something?”

Harry sputtered out a laugh and his adorable dimples dug into his face. He hadn’t expected her to say it right then but he could tell she was a bold person. Knew from the start, when she got his attention with her sunglasses that she wasn’t shy and wouldn’t need lots of guidance. Which he preferred. Timid women were nice and all but Harry didn’t like to be the one to make the first move in most cases. He felt that wasn’t fair. He was famous and handsome and it was unlikely a girl would turn him down so he liked it when he was pursued a little. He liked it when the other person made the suggestions and led the way a bit. Felt more authentic that way.

“Do you want me to make a move?”

Y/n sighed and grinned back at him, “You’re not answering my question,” she turned to face him, the glitter on her arms rubbing off onto the couch. “Is that what this is? Because so far you’ve just made a bunch of small talk and you’ve listened to me ramble on about my boring job.”

Harry nodded. Fair enough.

“Okay. Yes. I wanted to make a move. But I feel like doing that in my suite gives us more privacy rather than here. It’s up to you, though.”

“There it is. So this was just a way for you to get me to come back to your room with you.” She smiled as she teased.

Harry laughed a breath out of his nose and nodded, “Yes, Y/n. I hoped you’d come back to my room with me. Will you?”

“Can I kiss you first and then make that decision? I need to know what I’m getting myself into before you get me all alone in your suite.”

Harry gulped and felt his chest get warm. Yes, she was perfectly bold. Exactly what he hoped.

He nodded, “Okay.” He scooted himself toward her body and she moved her hands up to his shoulders and laughed quietly at the absurdity.

Harry smiled and just before he could laugh with her he felt her soft, glossy lips on his and he melted. Her lips were warm and tasted like strawberries from the lip gloss she was wearing and her body was suddenly pressed into his.

When she licked over his lips Harry groaned as he opened his mouth to let his tongue slide out against hers. It all happened so fast and his head was spinning.

She determined she liked, no loved, the way he kissed. A little messy and wet. Plenty of tongue and small moans fell from his lungs. His lips were puffy and soft and she’d never imagined in her life that she’d get to feel his lips on hers but here they were licking and sucking and making out on a couch in his dressing room after his concert.

When she parted they both gasped and their expressions mirrored each other. Blown-out pupils, drooped lids, pink, wet lips, and harsh breaths inhaled into their chests.

“Yes. I’ll go with you to your room.”

They couldn’t go together. Out of necessity. She was taken in a separate car to his hotel and then ushered to the penthouse suite he was staying in.

And she understood the hullabaloo. She knew it was necessary. Not only had she been a fan of his since his One Direction days, and had seen how his fans were crazy, but she also got to see it with her own eyes all the young girls outside of the hotel waiting for him to appear.

His suite was just as posh as she thought it would be. Tall windows overlooked the city lights. The room she entered had tall ceilings, a piano along the wall, flowers on an elegant table, wainscoting wrapped the walls from edge to edge, large wooden doors with intricate carvings, a huge leather couch, and two wool woven armchairs on either side with a low-profile wooden coffee table in the center that looked antique. A huge flatscreen TV across from the couch, a chandelier above, expensive artwork adorned the walls, and a fireplace on the other side with another sitting area and plush pillows piled over the chairs.

Not wanting to wait another second to feel her lips on his, Harry pulled her into his arms and they continued right where they’d left off.

Wet lips and tongues gliding together slowly until Y/n pulled his elbow, “Let’s sit down.”

Harry followed her to the loveseat that faced the fireplace and gestured for him to sit as if it were her room. He nodded and sat, keeping his legs spread apart as he watched the pretty girl climb over him and straddle his lap.

The moment she sat down she felt him under her. He was rock-hard.

“You poor thing. Do you need help, Harry?” She looked at him innocently as he parted his pink lips and nodded.

“Yeah? What do you need then?” She dipped in to kiss him again as she rocked herself over him and he groaned at her moxy. She was quite confident. Harry was already in love.

“Anything. Whatever you want.”

She kissed down over his jaw slowly and heard his chest vibrate as she got lower. What did she want? Well, she wanted to look at him. Wanted to perceive his body up close without any clothes. Wanted to touch his skin and see his tattoos and kiss his pecs and his abs. She wanted to see him.

“Let’s get your clothes off. I want to see you, Harry.”

He was not shy about his body. He’d never been. He had absolutely no problem whatsoever hanging out naked in front of friends or wearing only briefs in front of his family. Though some would urge him to put clothes on, Harry didn’t care if anyone saw his schlong or his balls (well maybe he didn’t want his mom and his sister to see all that).

So when he began to take his clothes off and kept his eyes on hers she watched as he exposed skin little by little. His chest came into view. The laurels, the butterfly, the swallows… He was a god.

But then, when he stood to remove his pants she got to her knees and stuck her fingers into the band of his Calvin Klein underwear, and looked up at him, “Can I take these off of you?”

“Please.”

She smiled at the please. She was tempted to run her palm over the large bulge under the fabric of his briefs first but she decided she couldn’t wait any longer to see him. The moment she pulled the stretchy material down and his cock plopped outward toward her face she moaned as she looked at it closely. Continuing to pull his briefs down his legs, she kept her eyes on his hardened organ. It looked heavy.

“Harry…” she breathed out a moan and looked up at him in all his naked glory. It was even better than she imagined. “Fuck.”

Running her hands up his thighs she focused on the tiger tattoo and delicately kissed over the ink. The solid tissue under his skin was taut. He was strong. His thighs were thick with muscles. Good for a nice hard fuck with lots of stamina, she imagined.

“Can I touch your pretty cock, Harry?” She asked him as she looked up from her spot on her knees. Y/n was still fully dressed but she needed to worship his body for a bit first. It was very important. His build was perfection and he deserved the praise and attention for it.

“Yes, please.” He nodded.

She grinned and tilted her head, “I love it when you say please.”

She turned her focus to the thickened cock before her. He was so hard the foreskin was effectively pulled back revealing his engorged, pink tip. Smooth and pretty. She flattened her palms along either side of his dick over his trimmed pubes and let her fingertips reach up to the laurels at his hips before she grazed her thumb along his shaft.

Harry gasped as he watched her touch him and inspect him. He loved her attention.

“You’re so warm,” she cupped her palm under his shaft and lifted upward. “It’s heavy.”

She leaned in and pressed her lips over the laurels on his hips and sighed as his cock nudged against her chest. The man was incredible. A work of art. She smoothed her palms upward to his stomach and over his abs, tight and well-muscled. Masculine. Pretty.

Y/n had always appreciated how attractive and fit Harry was from afar. Making up scenarios in her head that allowed her to touch him and lick him and do ungodly things to him. Imagining he’d pluck her from the crowd and invite her backstage and then bring her back to his room and fuck her brains out. And she felt like her fantasy was now becoming a reality.

“I’ve always wanted to touch you and see you up close. You’re so sexy, Harry,” she purred as she brushed her hands down to his sides and around his low back as she looked up at him standing over her, “Can I put it in my mouth?” She directed her eyes to his cock and then back up to him.

“If you want. Is it easier if-“

“Just like this. Just need you in my mouth,” she wrapped her fingers around his shaft and lifted him upward, and licked the underside of his cock all the way to the tip. He tasted clean. She could tell he’d showered after the show. He smelled good and he looked even better.

Harry wasn’t sure what to do with his hands but he settled on putting his fingers at the back of her head gently. Not to push her or force her down but just to feel her in his hands and to touch what he could reach.

Kissing the ridge of his frenulum she kept her eyes upward on his as she widened her mouth and put her tongue out before gently wrapping her lips around his smooth tip. Harry’s mouth dropped open as he watched her take him.

She licked and sucked the tip as she slowly stroked him at his base. Pulling back she smiled up at him, “You’re so long. I don’t think I can take you all the way. I’m gonna do my best to make it feel so good for you.” With that, she put his tip back into her mouth and got to work.

Harry groaned and let out the smallest whine, “S’okay. You’re perfect. Just like that, angel.”

She smiled around him and moaned softly at the little nickname. Angel. She figured that was cute.

With her free hand, she brushed her fingers over his thigh and the fine hairs over his skin. There wasn’t any single part of him that wasn’t gorgeous.

Bobbing her head and getting into a good rhythm she found that she could take him a little more. He was still quite thick, though, and it proved difficult.

“You don’t have to… fuck, fuck!” Harry moaned. She felt so good around him doing it just like she was. If she couldn’t deep-throat him he’d still be the happiest man on the planet at that moment. “Don’t have to go so deep. I wanna taste too…” he panted his words.

She pulled back when she tasted his precome and kissed her lips down his shaft to his pubes, seeing flecks of her glitter in the thatch of hair that surrounded his thick base, and then looked up at him before shifting to stand up. She dipped in to kiss his butterfly tattoo, gently poking her tongue out as she went and then upward to his pecs. Using her tongue she lapped at the muscle and wet his nipple before kissing all around, feeling his hair tickle her lips as she let her mouth drag over his skin. She traveled to the other side, her hands on his ribs, kissing and licking at his pectoral.

She sucked his nipple into her mouth and moaned when he gasped in response. Up she ventured to his swallows just under his clavicle, kissing the ink over his bone and skin and then his neck again.

“You’re gonna make me come just like this. Holy shit.” Harry was so hard it hurt and her lips on his skin felt like magic. “Please. Let me lick you too. Take this off.” He pleaded as he plucked at the fabric of her bodysuit.

Y/n stood back and began to unzip the back as she watched Harry. The girl was gorgeous already. Her hair with glitter and soft lips, round doe eyes… but when her tits softly bounced from the fabric she had them trapped under he nearly fell to his knees.

Her nipples were already tight and hard and the flesh that surrounded them was indulgent. Plump. He watched as she pulled the material down her body until she was nude. She’d had nothing on under her bodysuit.

Harry reached to cup her breasts and the moment his palms found her delicate skin and felt her nipples pressing into his hand he leaned down and wrapped his lips around her nipple.

Harry Styles pink lips were sucking on her nipple. The Harry Styles (she repeated in her mind). She didn’t know what sort of good thing she’d done in life to deserve having this happen but she would not question it. She stuffed her fingers into his soft curls and cooed at him, “Feels so good, Harry. I love having your mouth on my skin like this.”

Harry squeezed and kneaded and licked and sucked. He peppered kisses over every inch of her breasts until Y/n was keening and her fingers were tight in his hair.

He pressed his lips to hers and pulled her toward the big bed, her back hitting the mattress solidly before he climbed between her legs and moaned at the state she was in, “Just need a taste. Is that okay?” He looked up at her, his hands smoothing from the inner bend of her knee up toward the top of her inner thigh, inches from her pussy.

“Yes. Of course, it is.” She was going to say more but the words caught in her throat as she watched him go in tongue first. Her cushiony crease was damp and tasty.

Pushing her deeper into the bed, he kept himself between her thighs before putting his arms under her hip and pushing his shoulders against the back of her thighs to keep her spread and open for him.

He began to lick and lap as he watched her eyes. The scruff on his face brushed at her soft skin and her pussy lips felt it too. But she was not going to stop him. She hoped she had scruff burn, or whatever the equivalent of a carpet burn from being eaten out by a man with an overgrown trim on his face was called.

Soft and wet and cushy. Harry was gentle with his licks and kisses. He was wetting his lips and tasting her arousal, swallowing it down, and digging in a little deeper when she started to pant and swivel her hips.

Suddenly the quick flicking of his tongue on her clit caught her off guard from the subdued licking and kissing he’d issued her at first. She moaned as she watched his pink tongue ravage her button. He was pushing into it, flicking it, pressing it down, lifting it up, and then… then he looked into her eyes as he wrapped his lips around her clit and pulled it into his mouth. Slurping noises took over the easy slushy sound of his tongue licking through her folds.

“Harry!” She craned her neck to see what sorcery he was performing, “You’re so good. Right there… yes!”

He had a few go-to cunnilingus moves. This one always seemed to get the biggest reaction the fastest. It also brought women to orgasm in record time. It took some practice but he’d suck the clit and continue flicking his tongue while applying pressure with his mouth over the pelvis.

And the way she was squirming indicated she was enjoying it very much.

He released her clit and then went back to slow licks and kisses up her crease. He stopped at her entrance and lapped at the slick spot for a moment before sticking his tongue inside as far as it would reach. Nuzzling in as close as he could get, he poked his tongue in and out and nudged his nose to her clit, rubbing back and forth.

“Fuck! Yes… Oh my god!”

Harry gently rocked his hips down into the mattress. His cock was throbbing. But he wanted her to come.

Y/n saw his motion and could tell he must be aching. And as much as she’d have loved to let him take his time and eat her out it could take awhile to get her to come from that alone. But she knew one thing that would satisfy her like nothing else.

“H…Harry?” She panted her words as he continued working at her pussy with his mouth.

He lifted his face, “What is it?”

“Would you… Do you want to have sex?” She wasn’t sure if that was where this was headed. Oral sex was great of course. But she’d seen his cock and his body was strong and lithe and she knew he’d be good at fucking. It was all she could think of. Having him inside of her, splitting her open, moving into her repeatedly…

Harry sat up, his chest red and his cock even redder, “Sure. I mean… I’d love that. But this,” he gestured toward her and then himself before putting his palm back on her inner thigh, “is only just for tonight. I just want to make that clear. I’m still on tour and… well you know.” His breaths were deep and ragged.

He hated to give the spiel right then, but it hadn’t come up and if there was one thing he learned in all of his years of having casual sex, it was to be upfront even if it put a slight damper on the mood. It was better than waiting until afterward.

She nodded and grinned, “Well yeah. I didn’t think you’d propose to me or anything. I know what this is. Just for tonight.”

Harry and Y/n positioned themselves on the bed into the pillows and Harry reached over to grab a condom but Y/n took it from him before he could open the wrapper, “Let me put it on you, big guy.”

Harry clenched his jaw and watched the pretty girl tear the wrapper and then straddle his thighs as she held his thick shaft in her palm so she could position the condom over his head before slowly rolling it down over his shaft, “Mmm… It’s tight on you. You’re so big, Harry.”

His eyes rolled to the back of his head. Harry was a big fan of having his ego stroked. Loved being complimented. Praised. Loved when his cock was fawned over.

When the condom was on, Harry grabbed her hips as she climbed over him, lowering her pussy against his condom-covered cock and slipping up and down his shaft to wet the condom.

Glitter was everywhere. On his torso, on her tits, his shoulders, her thighs. She was too far gone to worry about what that could mean for later. She just wanted to feel him inside of her. She ached to have him inside of her.

Their mouths met again as they moved slowly together. Y/n could feel Harry’s tight grip on her thigh and then as he moved one hand to cup her ass, he squeezed and bucked up gently.

She couldn’t wait to get him inside of her so she lifted herself to her knees and placed her hands on his shoulders, “Can I fuck myself on your pretty cock now? You ready to feel me?”

Harry moaned, “God yes.”

Harry was in awe of how she was speaking to him. Not shy and not over the top with how she was taking the lead either. She still allowed him to do things he wanted, but she took initiative and it was one of the hottest things he’d ever experienced.

She grasped the base of his cock and looked down to where they were pressed together as she placed him at her entrance. Harry’s rigid cock was thick and she felt how tight the fit was the moment she slid down over his crown.

Harry groaned and moved both of his hands to her tits and squeezed as she took her time sitting over him.

“You’re so hard, Harry. So thick. Do you feel that?”

Harry’s head was spinning. Y/n was exactly what he needed for the night. The perfect combination of sexy and bold. An angel who knew what she wanted and took it. “Yes, angel… god… gonna dream of this forever,” he looked into her eyes once she was finally seated over him, his dick pressed into her so deep she was sure there had never been anyone that had reached that far into her before.

She knew this was just for the night. Understood Harry’s reasoning and figured that’s what this was going into it. But this was something she’d never forget. She’d always look back on this fondly. And even though he was looking at her in such a way that felt far more intimate than it should, she wouldn’t allow herself to wonder what it would be like to see him again. Because that was definitely not going to happen.

When she began to glide up and down shallowly they both panted in shaky breaths. Harry was glad the condom was giving him the slightest barrier so he didn’t come immediately. Because her tits and her skin, the soft specs of glitter, her lips, and tight pussy were begging for his orgasm. Begging for his come. Everything about her was sex. A gift in the form of a glittery angel that was coaxing and urging an orgasm from him.

“You’re gonna make me come so hard. Fucking perfect,” Harry whispered as she slowly ground over him and pressed her clit into his pelvis.

She nodded and smoothed her hands up, one at the side of his neck, the other on his jaw, “Yeah? My pussy feels so good, doesn’t it? Nice and tight around you. I just know I’m gripping the fuck out of your big cock.”

She moved slowly over him. Gently riding herself on his dick and keeping her clit stimulated as they kept their eyes on one another.

Finally, she leaned in and pressed her lips on his neck and squeezed at the opposite side of his throat as she nipped his skin and drew her mouth upward to his jaw, “God it feels so good, Harry.”

It did feel good. The best maybe. She loved that she got to be in control a little. Loved how he was letting her take the reigns. But she did want him to fuck the life out of her. Put his strong muscles to work. To make a loud chorus of sex sounds and moans bouncing off the walls of the suite.

Stopping her gentle rocking and grinding she licked into his mouth slowly before pulling away, “I need you to fuck me so hard that I feel it for days. Okay? Since this is all we get, want to take you with me through the week.”

Harry let out a whimpered laugh as she removed herself from his lap. Harry followed her and climbed over her as she laid herself down on her back.

He would give her exactly what she wanted. Harry could fuck. That was for certain. He didn’t work out as hard as he did for no reason. And he was attentive so he knew he could at least make it fun. He hoped to give her an orgasm and that was the goal. But if she wanted it hard, wanted to feel him for days, he’d make sure of that.

He pushed himself between her thighs and pulled her hips toward him, elevating her bum off the mattress the slightest as he placed his fingers on her clit, “I’ll fuck you hard, angel. But you tell me if you need anything or you need me to stop. Okay?”

Y/n nodded and grinned at him, “Give it to me, Harry,” she moaned and rolled her hips upward, pressing her clit into his hand. Her thighs were angled upward with her feet flat on the mattress, her bottom resting between Harry’s thighs as he sat back on his haunches. This position would give him plenty of leverage to fuck into her hard and deep using his strong thighs.

Harry’s whole shaft was already coated in her as he lined himself up with her pussy. Removing his fingers from her clit he leaned forward and gave her tits an obligatory squeeze before he pushed his tip in, feeling the tight snap of her muscle expanding and receiving him.

They moaned in unison at the feel of him entering her slowly. He pressed in and slicked himself back out to the tip, watching the way she stretched around him, perfectly wet and aroused for him. And the next plunge he took wasn’t slow at all. She gasped as he slammed himself in to the hilt and held onto her hips, knocking her upward and making her tits bounce.

His pace was relentless and she knew it would be. He was strong and full of stamina. Each thrust and prod into her guts felt deeper and deeper and sharper and achier. She loved it.

She could barely get a single moan out with the way he was punching himself into her.

And just like she wanted, the sounds of sex surrounded them. Skin thudding together wetly, the smallest squeak of the bed rocked in time with his harsh thrust as he hammered into her, and their deep breaths and moans.

The view of her pussylips gripping him on each stroke was phenomenal. The smells, the sounds… The way her tits bounced and her mouth was dropped open. He knew at the very least she was enjoying it.

She moved her hand down her torso and to her clit while the other hand grasped onto one of Harry’s forearms where he kept a tight grasp on her hip.

Soaked. She was absolutely drenched. Her fingers slid over her throbbing button back and forth as Harry thrusted himself in and out deeper and deeper.

“This what you wanted, angel?” Harry asked the pretty girl who was quite clearly fucked out and flopping upward every time he plunged in balls deep.

Her tongue slid over her wet lips, “Oh! Fuck, Harry!” She gasped loudly.

Coming to a halt, he buried himself in until his balls were pressed into her bottom and he undulated his hips to punctuate just how deliciously deep he was inside of her.

She sucked in a sharp breath at the feel of his cock grinding into her, [TK1] “You’re fucking me so good right now,” her chest was rising and falling and Harry couldn’t help when he brought a hand up to her breasts to fondle and press over her nipples, thumbs gliding over the supple skin. She sucked in a sharp breath and stretched her neck, keeping her eyes on his, “But you can always go harder.”

Harry blinked and coughed out a laugh, “Really? You want harder? Can I spank you?”

Y/n nodded quickly, “Fuck yes.”

And that was that. Harry loved a good spanking (whether giving or receiving if he were honest). He pulled out from her sweet pussy and lowered himself over her to kiss her mouth quickly.

But the moment he pulled away she was sitting up and turning herself around to give him access to her ass. On her hands and knees, she looked at him from over her shoulder and noted the way he was taking her all in.

He whined and grabbed onto the globes of her bum and smushed the flesh in his hands. Smoothing his palms over the expanse of her backside he brought them down to the backs of her thighs and then back up, letting his thumbs drag inward and through her wet pussy crease before finally issuing the first harsh strike.

She jumped at the sudden impact but when his palm came down on the other side she melted into the way his big hands felt on her. The sting and the leftover burn. Repeated smacks on either side were interrupted when he slammed his cock into her.

“Fuck I need to be inside of this pretty pussy.” He continued smacking her bum as he drove into her with long and hard strokes, bucking into her with meaningful thumps.

Y/n grasped the blankets under her and kept herself steady but by the time he was finished bruising her backside, his hips began to rock into her at a jarring pace once again. She slowly began to slip forward from his force.

With the front of Harry’s thighs pressed into the back of hers he put an arm under her middle to keep her from slipping too far down. His other hand moved from her hip down to her bum and pulled at the cheek as he rutted into her, a steady clatter of bodies knocking together.

Y/n reached down to rub her clit again, pushing Harry’s arm out of her way. He breathed out a laugh but moved his arm, bringing his other hand to the other side of her bottom, pulling both cheeks apart so he could watch himself sink into her over and over again. Small bits of her white cream were smearing over his condom and he imagined what it might look like to fill her up with his come and fuck himself into her, pushing his own orgasm deep into her insides.

“Harry!” She managed to cry out. It was difficult to speak at all but she was so close and the way he was rocking his hips into her in heavy plunges was perfection.

“I know, angel! You gonna come?” Harry’s words were strained. He was holding out for her to come first. Wanted to feel the squeeze and the throb of her pussy around him.

“Yes! Keep going!”

Harry could feel her fingers brushing against his balls as she rubbed her clit rapidly.

“M’gonna come… please, Y/n! Come for me angel!” He was trying his very best to stave off his orgasm but the view of her taking him and the sounds of him wetly plunging into her were sending him over the edge.

Suddenly Y/n removed her fingers from her clit and brought her hand behind her to grab Harry’s and pulled it forward, placing his palm over the front of her neck, “Choke me.”

Harry groaned as he put one palm flat onto the mattress next to her and used his other hand to squeeze at the sides of her neck. His strokes became slower, his hips pasted to her, pushing inward deep and heavy and sticky.

She sucked in one desperate gasp before his grip tightened just enough that she began to feel that sparkly, wooly stupor she loved with being gently choked. She reached for her clit and all she could focus on were the sounds of Harry grunting and moaning softly into her ear and the feel of his cock lodged deep into her guts. He wasn’t pulling back, only fucking himself forward, deeper and deeper as she submitted to her orgasm.

Harry could hear her wet gurgle and feel the way she vibrated under his body as he rocked into her and then the pulse of her soft walls, wrapped around his cock, gripping him tight as she fell into the realm of stupor and ecstasy.

He let go of her neck and straightened himself out, putting his hands onto her bottom and spreading her as he began to pound into her, long, smooth strokes of his cock nudging into her insides, stretching and splitting her as she came with shaky thighs.

“Fffucckk!” He threw his head back, the image of her swollen, wet, fucked out pussy seared in his brain as he began to come into his condom, filling it up with warm liquid. He groaned loudly into the suite as his balls were being properly drained, wishing, imagining he was giving her his come, coating her insides with him where her body would receive, swallow it, and use it accordingly.

“Oh my god, Harry!” Y/n gasped. He had nudged himself in as deep as he possibly could and the throb of his heavy cock in her felt like decadence. She couldn’t wait to check out the marks his fingers left behind the following day. The little secret only she’d know.

They collapsed together into the bed, Harry pulling out and carefully taking his condom off, discarding it on the floor without much care.

“You’re gonna stay here with me tonight?”

She let her fingers slowly work their way up his abs and over the butterfly, “If you want me to. I don’t mind leaving.”

She didn’t want to leave and Harry didn’t want her to either.

“I want you to stay. I’ve got a wake up at 9 am for a training session so, we can get you a taxi to your hotel or wherever you need then,” he sighed and dug an arm under her shoulder, dragging her toward himself.

Closing her eyes and smiling into his shoulder she nodded, “That sounds great.”

It was a shame this was all only for the night. He’d been an excellent lover, but it was fair of course. He was a busy, famous, pop star. She couldn’t blame him for setting that boundary. She was glad she even had the chance with him at all. This would definitely be something she’d never forget.

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frostbitebakery · 6 months

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There’s a room where the Light won’t find you

Surrender AU

There are certain misconceptions when it comes to the… the them of them, Cody has to admit.

“I would like to have proof of life of my General,” he says instead of answering the same question the Commander has asked him twice now. The statement sits uncomfortable under his breastbone. He lost count how often he’s had to say it in his life.

“Are you that codependent,” the replica of his mouth snarks back. Curious, usually he and his counterparts have more patience than this.

The answer to that is a definite yes. Obi-Wan and he, they’re woven together. Only Obi-Wan’s lightsaber could cut them apart. He wonders where it is after they’ve taken it from its resting place above his heart.

“You’ll protect it,” Obi-Wan had asked, voice cracking and begging, closing Cody’s palms around the weapon’s hilt. It had been after Ghost had rescued them from that hellhole, after Obi-Wan’s hands had become too weak to wield his lightsaber despite the trials of reconstructive surgeries and physical therapy.

“Like your life,” Cody had sworn, lips finally not sore anymore from the ripped out stitches, the punishments from their captors that were so much more effective when delivered on Cody than Obi-Wan himself.

“I would like to have proof of life of my General,” he says again.

The Commander pushes out a sigh. “He’s… okay.”

Debatable. Cody isn’t there and no one knows - can know - how Obi-Wan’s hands spasm after a while, how his knee is acting up. How his grip on himself has been slipping, recently. The tight control even in the chaos had held steady for so long. Because even changed like this, Obi-Wan has been a master of his own self. Until they found these counterparts at least.

They’re so Light, hammers into Cody’s head.

“General Kenobi is asking him some questions himself,” the Commander states like he’s dangling bait.

Cody sincerely wishes him good luck with that. Getting an answer to “What do you want for breakfast” is a discovery of heretofore unknown wells of patience and the higher ground most days. Honey toast, by the way. “I would like to have proof of life of my General.”

Cody, they’re so Light. Obi-Wan is alone with a beacon to the Light he’s been desperately searching for in dozens of universes. He will do something well-thought-through and stupidly risky.

The Commander watches him for a few long moments, and Cody watches right back. He doesn’t smirk in triumph when the Commander activates the comm on his vambrace.

“General, could you put—,” Cody’s mouth twitches at the Commander’s faltering, the steeling for the reality of them, “the Sith on the comm?”

A moment later Obi-Wan is in the holo. Bound but whole, because the good guys don’t believe in torture. “Are you alright?” he asks, sickly golden eyes roving over what the holo displays of Cody.

Cody smiles, softening further once Obi-Wan echoes him with his own. “Yes. You?”

There’s misconceptions about them. Other people’s delusions of knowing them seem to think Obi-Wan and he can only be brutal, be cruel and harsh. Towards everyone else, and towards each other. Trapped in a bloody dance or something rivaling that kind of stupid. Those people don’t, thankfully, know the gentleness flowing through their touches. They kiss the other in reverence, soft and precious monster. What is between them, a connection forged in blood and pain, is anything but. It’s the one thing where they’re truly selfish. Holding each other close, burrowed into each other.

When Obi-Wan had asked him what he wants, the answer had been simple and sprouting thorns.

“You,” Cody had answered, sure and steadfast.

Obi-Wan had almost flinched, cane scraping over the floor. “Even as I am now?”

Always. At every second their lives had existed in orbit to each other. Every possible face Obi-Wan had worn, Cody had wanted him. But— “I think,” he had replied, stroking the paper-thin grey skin under a yellow eye, “this is the only version I’m allowed to have.”

“I miss you,” Obi-Wan says on the holo, and Cody goes cold.

“Obi-Wan, don’t—“

The connection winks out and he knows that it was Obi-Wan, that the Force suppression cuffs must have some fault he detected and exploited.

He whips his head up, urgency clocking in inside his chest and ticking. “Stun him,” he grits out, just to not yell, and startles the Commander. “Make him unconscious any way necessary.” He swallows. “But please don’t kill him.” I need him.

#surrender au #codywan #commander cody #dark!cody #obi wan kenobi #sith!obi wan #my art #frostbitebakery art #sw fanart #star wars au

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cha-melodius · 2 months

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First off, NO I'm not writing another Nova, Baby sequel. But I am dredging up this banner because I am writing firstprince spies again. I blame this one on @dumbpeachjuice and also @everwitch-magiks for suggesting... well, just read it, I think you'll figure it out.

“There has to be some mistake, something else it could be—” “Touch him.” Alex actually takes the phone away from his ear and stares at it, like Nora will be able to see the incredulous expression on his face. “I can’t— I’m not going to fucking touch him, Nora, he’s barely conscious.” “I’m not telling you to grab his dick, idiot,” she snaps. “Put your hand on his face or something. If I’m right, just the skin-on-skin contact should help revive him.” This is insane. Certifiably, actually insane. And yet Alex’s feet carry him over to the couch, where Henry’s supine form lays nearly unmoving, the only sign of life the slow rise and fall of his chest as his labored breaths wheeze through his lips. His cheeks are vividly flushed, which is made even starker by how fucking pale the rest of his skin is. So sickly, deathly pale that it ties a knot in Alex’s stomach, no matter how much he doesn’t care for the guy. Henry doesn’t stir as he kneels next to the couch, nor when Alex puts a hand on his shoulder to try to revive him. Gritting his teeth, Alex takes a deep breath and reaches out to lay a palm on Henry’s cheek. Henry gasps, his pale eyelashes fluttering before his eyes shoot open and start roving wildly over Alex. It’s so sudden and startling that Alex tries to pull away, only for Henry to grab his wrist in an iron grip and press Alex’s hand harder against his face. They stare at each other for a beat, then another, then Alex experimentally swipes his thumb over Henry’s skin, brushing against the corner of his mouth, and Henry moans. “He’s awake,” Alex croaks in disbelief. “Nora, what…” He can’t bring himself to ask the question. Doesn’t want to hear the answer. “Oh, you’re gonna have to fuck him, little buddy,” Nora says matter-of-factly. “Good luck.” Alex hangs up the phone.

Thanks to @kiwiana-writes, @three-drink-amy, @hgejfmw-hgejhsf, @bigassbowlingballhead, and @heybuddy-drabbles for the WIP Weds tags, and to everyone who's been tagging me in the wip tag games for the last couple of weeks that I have not been responding to, including @porcelainmortal, @adreamareads, @suseagull04, @lfg1986-2, @itsmaybitheway, @magicandarchery, @getmehighonmagic, @leaves-of-laurelin, @indestructibleheart, @iboatedhere, @affectionatelyrs, @lizzie-bennetdarcy, @firenati0n, @sparklepocalypse, @orchidscript, @14carrotghoul, @nocoastposts, @sherryvalli, @violetbaudelaire-quagmire, @maxbegone, @rmd-writes, @welcometololaland, and probably others I'm forgetting bc I could only go back so far. Please consider this your tag back if you have not already done WIP Weds!!

Also tagging some other folks because why not, idc if Wednesday is almost over, share if you want! Time is fake! @clottedcreamfudge, @anchoredarchangel, @ninzied, @myheartalivewrites, @tintagel-or-cockleshells, @historicallysam, @indomitable-love, @loki-is-my-kink-awakening, @mirilyawrites, @nicijones, @justabigoldnerd and anyone else! Tag me!

#rwrb #wip wednesday #my wips #jesus it's been so long since i did one of these i forgot how i usually tag them #uhhh #firstprince spies #why not

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chosoniisan · 5 months

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A risk worth messy reward ↠ kamo choso

↠alternative title: swapping spit with choso, literally

↠pairing: kamo choso | sorceress!reader

↠setting: post canon, not at all compliant

↠genre: nasty, nasty fluff

↠caution: suggestive; height/size difference ("my" choso is over 6ft); unhealthy-ish/complicated relationship; kinda owner/pet dynamics; coercion (?); lots of tongue

↠summary: after yet another rural-steeped mission, your first priority is finding the nearest bed to fall into; conversely, choso has other things on his mind

↠authoress' notes: my initial plan had been to write a hc about the oddities of choso, how he has some bizarre and inexplicable habits, but writing hcs (without plot) isn't my strength, so I opted for what could be considered "snapshots" instead :')

also, the context, setting-wise, for this is that once the dusts settles post canon, the high-ups (the smattering of them still kicking), let choso live conditioned on you acting as his controller at all times, lest you risk ending up on the execution chopping block, too. . .

A ripely full moon, and the air’s refreshed with a slight chill:

by all means the sort of mid-autumn night you’d want to bottle up and take with you.

You might just have to overlook the chunks of entrails sticking to your soles, though. And maybe you can pretend that it’s the crickets droning in the grass and not the crisping of bone dissolving into nothingness. As if on cue, you resist the urge to sigh to keep the tang of death, thoroughly worn over, from invading your lungs any more than it already has.

It’s not quite how you’d envision your evening—but beggars can’t be choosers. And on the bright side, at least you’re fully intact, all your limbs present and accounted for despite enough close calls to last you a lifetime. Sure, you might have said the very same thing last time (i.e. a handful of days ago), and you’ll no doubt mirror that sentiment next time too (i.e. in another day or so), though you take your blessings when you can get them.

Granted, your good luck quickly runs its course since there’s hardly anything fortunate about the strain of curses the far-flung reaches of the countryside seem to breed to no end. Who would have thought that the higher you climbed the rankings the more acquainted you’d become with woodland critters the size of your hand (excluding cursed spirits, mind you). Then there’s the persistent feeling of otherness crawling over you like a second skin the longer those prying eyes rake and rove over you. (If only they knew that a city girl and her dutiful charge were the last bit out of place in these parts.)

“I mean it when I say that you’re a lifesaver, Choso.” Your poignant ring is all the encouragement he needs to scrap making sure that dead is actually dead this time around and squeeze himself back into your sphere again. Crunch, crunch, crunch goes the tall grass giving way to your missing piece because obviously solace by another name is your side. Leave it to him to be over 190 centimeters of delicately endearing. “I wasn’t expecting that other special-grade, but, of course, you’re always covering for me in a pinch—I honestly don’t know what I’d do without you.”

In that moment, you’re the stargazer of him; a face lighting up the pearly night beyond measure. “I’m always following your lead, though. You’re a lot more experienced than me, too, so the best I can do is try to keep up. Because I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to you.” A dash of sheepishness colors the downward wisp of lashes brushing against his cheeks, but that isn’t enough to distract him from the sway of you in his shadow (even if he has to really drop his head to horde that eyeful for himself). “I’m glad we make a good team,” his brief lull is beseeching, the tilted head even more so, “at least I think so.”

For the sake of his tenderly bleeding heart, your nodding doesn’t miss a beat. “Yep, we sure do. . .! And every good team needs some rest, so I should go ahead and text our supervisor and let him know we’re finished up here.” Another thwarted attempt at a sigh, so you settle for a mild quirk of your lips amidst reaching into your pocket for your phone spared from the fray. “We’ll have to stay the night in town, which isn’t ideal, but we can take the first train back home in the morning.”

The faster you can confirm the rendezvous spot, the faster you can sink into a warm bath and then beneath a cozy comforter, so you’re already a few rapid-fire texts deep when Choso pulls on your sleeve.

“Wait. Before that. . .” he begins, slow, measured as if he’s taking the time to taste every word before it leaves his lips. Like that’s not enough to prod at your attention, you’re especially perceptive to rose stain swashed across the expanse of his face, and if you didn’t know any better, you’d think him too innocent to sell his soul to the devil for a life of strife alongside you. Though perhaps innocence in its purest state is wetting his hands in blood, bearing your burden of nocturnal calamity with the occasional slip of diffidence. “Can I. . .” Gulping down that lump in his throat. “Can I have my reward now?”

It's your turn to sound things out for good measure.

“Your. . .reward?” (Emphasis on the furrowed brows there.)

He bobs his head once, meanwhile you’re rifling through the pages of your mental archives in search of this reward, whatever it is. A contemplative hum sifts through you at the recollection of saying something in the realm of treating him once this mission wrapped up; admittedly, it was the sort of remark made in passing, but if it’s Choso, you don’t mind staying true to your word. Besides, you have an inkling of what he might have in mind (or you hope you know him well enough to make that guess. . .there’s only one way to find out).

“You’re talking about the souvenirs near the station; I think you were looking at the sweet dumplings, yeah? I don’t know if that shop is open this late, but we can go over and check—”

“No, not that.” Vehemence strums in his tone, so much so that you start a bit, setting off the ripple effect of him offering you a repentant look in return, one that’s still very clearly brimming with fervor. “I did a good job, right? And you promised I could have a reward if I was really good.” As a matter of fact, he’s not wrong, but his moonstruck gaze, expanding, plants an unnamed sensation between the open spaces in your chest. (You’re not daunted by him, it’s just that unpredictability has never been your forte.) “. . .So I was thinking that I wanted you.”

Doesn’t have a chance to click together in your brain until the warmed heart of his palm envelops your entire cheek, and even then you’re still too many steps behind by the time he’s level with you: face-to-face, eye-to-eye, lips. . .dangerously close. Inhaling a mingling of dried copper and powdery musk doesn’t help you figure out what he means by wanting you, having you; rather, with each fanning of his breath over you in crests, you’re gradually unraveling into something entirely unlike you. Something a lot more nerve-ridden.

If you had intended to chime in after scrambling to make sense of the situation (or not), the reality is that you’re simply opening the door for him to carve a place inside you. Literally. Considering it’s not the sound of a mildly articulated concern that echoes in the air, but a muffled squeak when he catches his lips on yours, inviting himself into the niche of your mouth before you can try to recoil. Even when you do think to reel away, his arm is already circled around your waist, seizing you into the bulk of him to the point that you can’t tell where one of you begins and the other ends.

You’ve long given consideration to the fact that Choso’s spent more time sealed than unsealed, that to this very day he’s still working out the kinks of what it means to be mostly human—but this. This goes beyond his idiosyncrasies of not knowing the particulars of kissing. No, this is nothing of a kiss and everything of devouring you whole.

As susceptible as you are, he has no trouble crowding his tongue against yours, which is the difference between tasting him and choking on him. Testing the waters is the last thing on his mind (you suspect it had never been there in the first place) when he’s using the anchor of his hand to steer you right where he wants you, because how else could he map the ridges of your palate without you shrinking like the violet you’re steadily flowering into. Intrusive is him eating away at your lips like a man starved, but it’s also the blooming of heat curled through your insides with a particular penchant for the midst of your tummy.

The compulsion to stagger back is second nature to you, except he’s unnaturally folded into you, so there’s really nowhere for you to skitter off to, especially not with the fixation given to a mesh of sticky pink. And it feels foreign, sinfully so, as he overwhelms you with broad, saliva-rife sweeps of his tongue, undeterred by your stagnate self, too paralyzed by the knotting in your core, the blistering up of sweat at your temples, and the uncut wildness—or is that obsession?—of him before your very eyes. Either way, it’s just the push needed to send you over the edge of quiet bleating. . .that finds its premature end swallowed into him for safekeeping at the bottom of his stomach, just like every other morsel of you.

Heady appreciation is quick to follow on your heels by way of a long-winded moan from him, to you by virtue of his snare. The stammering in your chest is the clear mark of being caught off guard, and Choso in all his fevered glory capitalizes on your lapse of self to plunge his tongue as deeply as it’ll reach. Nevermind the fact that there’s no stifling the stuttered heave around him or the full-bodied quaking against him, either, he’s still singularly focused on partaking in the mess of you. Willingly or not, you can’t help but indulge him when you’re varying shades of fluster, and it’s the gilt reflection of your disarray that has you clamping your eyes shut. Too bad for you, darkness doesn’t temper the dizzying sensation clambering through your veins that’s becoming more, and more, and more intertwined with him.

(You don’t know how much longer you can weather the storm of him, or if you’ll even be able to mend what he’s already bitten through, and maybe it would have been preferrable if he had taken your skin & tissue with him. He took something far more softly perverse.)

Though in the end, it’s of his accord, only, that he spares you of the kind of smothering that’ll have you icesheet cold against him in no time flat. And you use spare loosely because he simply moves to sucking and nibbling on your bottom lip as if parting from you means imminent death. If he’d give you a chance, you could assure him that his fears of relenting are unwarranted, but in the thick of hungry fascination, he’d rather stripe his tongue along the corner of your mouth to gather up a stray bead of slick. Whether yours or his, you don’t know—you do know that when he’s done, it’s every bit of his tacky memento etched on your skin.

His gift to you for letting him have one of your deepest intimacies.

As expected, he doesn’t keen over from unlacing himself from you—truthfully, his hand is still palming at your cheek, so it’s not a full untethering—though you’re certainly not boasting a modicum of stability yourself. If that unyielding hold around your middle is anything to go on, you suspect that he doesn’t seem to mind in the slightest; you might even say that he’s savoring in the ruby-rich reliance of his handler.

“Uhm,” Reticence returns with a vengeance despite having just rooted through you mere moments ago; the moonlight glancing off traces smeared across his lips a testament to that. “. . .Do you we could see about those dumplings now?”

And of course you’ll oblige him—even knowing you’re complicit in preserving his devotion.

#choso x reader #choso x you #jjk x reader #jjk x y/n #jjk x you #choso #choso kamo #jjk #jujutsu kaisen

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sommerregenjuniluft · 11 days

Note

omg maybe prompt 11? For transfem reg? Like reg watching james playing football and what not idk 😭 anything would be good, really i just love your writing sm

@jegulus-microfic april 11 - football - 832 words

“Hiya, Reg,” James grins breathlessly from where he’s just pulled himself up the railing on the bleachers. There’s no pair of glasses perched on his nose right now, forgone in favor of contacts he wears during Football practice, giving him the opportunity to blink his baby cow brown eyes up at Regulus, long lashes and everything. Looking all handsome and cute, no regards to the way it’s affecting other people. Not that he’s affecting Regulus, no. Her heart is beating at a perfectly normal rate, thank you very much.

Regulus purses her lips to reign in her smile as she takes the two strides over, “Hi James.”

His grin widens at the reciprocated greeting and James leans around her for a second to yell a Hello at the others as well. There’s a less enthusiastic greeting in return and then James’ gaze is back on Regulus as she leans down. Her palms curl around the railing right next to James’—their skin touching just barely, Regulus immediately soaking up the warmth James emits— and her zip-up slips down exposing a naked, pale shoulder. And if the top she’s wearing is a little low cut for the position she’s pulling off, that’s nobody’s business but her own.

And James’ maybe, whose eyes dip lower for just a second, before he clears his throat. “Whatchu all doin’ here this afternoon?”

“Ah, y’know,” Regulus cocks her head, her long waves falling forward, “Enjoying the nice weather, doing a little homework.”

“Watching you play,” Dorcas murmurs from behind her, someone, Pandora presumably, trying to cover it with a cough. Not like Evan or Barty would ever come to her rescue, fucking good for nothings.

James’ grin widens impossibly.

Regulus sucks her teeth, itching to change the subject, “So who are y’all playing against?”

“The team two towns over,” James explains, “A practice match.”

She nods, “Kick some asses then.”

James’ dark hair is wildly standing up in all directions and Regulus has to repress the urge to reach out her fingers and fix it. The football player hums, cocking his head, “Gimme a good luck kiss then?”

“Are you saying you need it?”

“I’m a very superstitious person, Reg. Every player is entitled to their lucky charm.”

“I’m not a lucky charm.”

“You were if it were up to me, baby.”

Regulus rolls her eyes, cheeks heating in irritation.

“C’mon,” James needles, “Just a peck on the cheek.”

“No.”

“I kiss you on the cheek?”

Regulus hesitates, eyes roving over James’ sincere expression for a moment before ripping herself out of her trance, “No.”

It comes out wobbly though and James grins victoriously.

Right before hefting himself further up and smacking a warm kiss on Regulus’ chilly cheek.

“James,” she cries out in indignation, the older boy already making to leave, jumping down.

James throws another blinding grin over his shoulder as he jogs to where his team is huddling up around the coach, “I know you well enough to know when you’re lying, Reg!”

Regulus’ temple is throbbing at his fucking audacity. She crosses her arms, yelling after him, “I hope you lose!”

“No, you don’t!” James chuckles.

#lune actually writes something micro for once hello??#mtf regulus black #trans fem regulus #jegulus #jegulus microfic #starchaser #sunseeker #writers block has me by the balls guys i dunno if this is anything lol #james potter #regulus black #james potter x regulus black #lune’s tiny fic

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ddejavvu · 1 year

Note

dbf!hotch who you run into the mall and you ask him to shop with you since you need some opinions, then you shop for underwear/lingerie/swimsuits and he gets very hard 🥴 and maybe he asks you to help relieve it 😩

It's hard to miss the brooding, stony-faced man storming through the mall like it's personally offended him. You know those furrowed brows, and the dark eyes below them that get impossibly sharper every day.

He's carrying a sleek black bag, matte and stuffed with what you realize are dress shirts. Of course, you scoff, does he wear anything else?

Right now, though, he's in a quarter-zip. The zipper is crooked where it lays against his chest, bouncing as he steps forwards through the crowd. You only have to shift over a few people to reach him, and you call out a jovial, "Aaron!" before stopping in his path.

He stops short to avoid crashing into you, and it means that his designer bag knocks into your victoria's secret one. He's bewildered, eyes roving over you for a split second before he recognizes you.

"Y/N!" He exclaims, a warm smile sliding over his face. It makes him look even more handsome than he already does, and that's saying something.

The crowd in the mall moves fluidly around you two, and you narrowly avoid getting your foot stomped on by a passing stranger. Aaron tugs you sideways with a hand on your bicep, glaring sharply at the man as he hurries off.

"You doing some weekend shopping?" Aaron asks, glancing down at your bag. He clearly wasn't expecting the one you're holding, though, because his eyes go wide and you find his cheeks dusted with just the slightest hue of rose. He does a good job at hiding it, glancing away so that you can't see his eyes, but not a good enough job.

"Sort of," You huff, clutching the bag like your lifeline, "I'm exchanging this. I want something that fits me better. This one's a little too tight," You mourn, swinging the bag around, "Which, I mean, it looked fantastic, but it hurt."

You're doing it on purpose. You're monitoring Aaron's facial expressions, he'd probably congratulate you in any other scenario for profiling. But not now, now he clears his throat and checks his watch, bag shifted to hang in front of his torso.

"Well good luck finding your size," He moves to step around you and you side-step him.

"Wait!" You cry out, trying terribly hard not to glance down at his cheeks to see if they're still blushy, "I could use a second opinion."

"What?"

"A second opinion," You wave your hand around, accentuating your rambling, "A fresh pair of eyes, a critic. Would you come with me?"

"Come into-" He pauses short, blinking rapidly, "You want me to come.. bra shopping with you?"

His brows are furrowed, though not with anger. You're able to detect a hint of confusion in there somewhere, but it's mostly panic. And yes, you discover, his cheeks are still pink.

"Oh, come on," You urge him, the final push, "We're both adults here, right?"

He's trapped. If he says yes, he'll be watching you model lingerie. If he says no, he'll admit he has feelings for you. Both work in your favor.

"Right," He decides slowly, stiffly letting you grab his wrist and drag him across the mall. The pink store stands glaringly obvious between a home goods outlet and a toy shop, bralettes displayed in the window.

You march through the rows and rows of matching sets until you come to the lacy, sheer collection you're looking for. It's strictly for looks, there's no cups under the mesh. It's exactly what you want Aaron to see.

"I'll be back," You yank one of the bras from the stack, pushing lightly on Aaron's chest to lower him into a chair outside your dressing room. It's poofy and pink, and lets out a hiss of air as the leather molds to his body.

"This one fits much better," You call, nonchalant about anyone who could be overhearing you, "It doesn't pinch anymore."

Stepping out of the dressing room is your final challenge. Sure, it's easy flirting. But are you ready for the look on his face when he sees your practically-bare tits?

You are, you decide, as you push the door open, shorts hanging low on your hips and exposing the sides of your matching panties. Aaron's eyes start at your tits, work their way down, then snap back up again to the maroon lace. Then he realizes that he's probably been looking for too long, and locks eyes with you, keeping his bag of dress shirts firmly in place over his lap.

"Well?" You turn slightly, watching his eyes trace the curve of your back from over your shoulder. You swear they linger on the lace for longer than they need to, and the bob of his adam's apple in his throat doesn't go unnoticed by you, "What do you think?"

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clangenrising · 1 year

Text

Month 3 - Newleaf

Smokyrose stretched in her nest, once again smiling when she was greeted by the sight of Songdust sleeping nearby. Ever since the Red Gut plague had struck, the Elders den had been empty and lonesome and it was good to have company once more. Smokyrose slipped quietly out of the den, leaving Songdust to enjoy her much deserved rest.

The morning sun was beginning to peek over the distant mountains, bathing the waving planes of grass in a warm glow. The dawn patrol was just leaving, Goldenstar, Pantherhaze, and Russetfrond’s tails disappearing over the ridge, and surprising Smokyrose, Scorch was already awake. She was hunkered down in her usual spot at the entrance to the healer’s den, eating a mouse and looking as if someone might show up and fight her for it any moment. Smokyrose’s posture softened in sympathy.

She padded across the camp, making sure to approach at a gentle pace so as not to startle the eating rogue. Regardless, when Scorch noticed her, her body stiffened and she swallowed as she pulled her meal closer to her chest. Her bright blue eyes roved over Smokyrose who could tell she was making an attempt to hide her suspicion. What happened to her, Smokyrose wondered, to instill such tendencies in her? The mediator resolved to help, at least while she could.

“Hello, dear,” she said warmly, “How is this morning finding you?”

“Well,” Scorch said carefully.

Smokyrose smiled. “How’s your head? Doing better?”

“Yes,” she replied and licked her whiskers. “Your Sagetooth says I’m allowed light activity now. Should be on my way within the moon.” She swished her tail and frowned.

“You seem displeased,” Smokyrose observed with a tilt of her head. Scorch shifted, looking down at the half eaten mouse between her paws. Smokyrose continued, “Why don’t you walk with me. I need to move my old bones and I could use some company while I do.” Scorch glanced up at her, seeming to be calculating her options before she stood.

“Of course,” she purred with a gracious nod. “Who am I to decline such a request?”

“A cat who can do as she pleases,” Smokyrose chuckled. Scorch let out a small humorous breath, looking at her paws and then lifted her head to meet Smokyrose’s gaze.

“Yes, but my mothers would have my tail if they caught me being so rude to my elders,” said Scorch, pushing the mouse to the side for later. “I’d love to accompany you, ma’am.”

“Please, call me Smokyrose,” she said.

“Smokyrose,” repeated Scorch. “A pleasure. You can call me Scorch.”

“Good to know,” said Smokyrose, ignoring the fact that everyone in camp knew her name. After waiting for Scorch to fall in beside her, she led the way out of camp.

“So,” she said, “You mentioned your mothers? Tell me about them. They seem stern.” Scorch half smiled, half winced.

“Yes,” she said, “they were. They found me when I was just a kitten, took me in, brought me up. They raised half the neighborhood.”

“Neighborhood?” asked Smokyrose, invigorated by the conversation and exercise.

“Oh, um, a large group of twoleg dens,” said Scorch.

“I see. And your mothers raised lots of kits in that area?”

“Yes, it was kind of their thing. They took in kits, raised them up with a firm paw and a sharp tongue.” Scorch mimed a firm paw as she said it, bringing her paw down on an invisible kit’s head. Smokyrose frowned sympathetically.

“A firm paw, eh?” she probed.

“Yes,” Scorch nodded and failed to elaborate. Smokyrose decided to try a different line of questioning.

“I’m sure you’ve been asked many times, but if you would indulge an old queen’s curiosity, what do you plan to do once you get the okay to leave?”

“I suppose I’ll head out. Probably travel north, see if there’s a place with good prey that I can settle down.”

“I wouldn’t suggest going north,” Smokyrose cautioned. “SkyClan holds the territory there. You’d have better luck going east.”

“Duly noted,” Scorch said, flicking one ear.

“I hope you’ve enjoyed your stay, Scorch,” said Smokyrose, smiling at her. “I really do.”

Scorch seemed thoughtful. “I don’t know if ‘enjoyed’ would be accurate but… I will say it hasn’t been as unpleasant as I assumed it would be.”

“Damnation with faint praise,” Smokyrose laughed and Scorch chuckled a bit.

��Sorry, I didn’t mean to offend,” she said.

“No, no, you didn’t,” assured the mediator. “I just wish I knew how to make you feel more welcome.”

Scorch seemed uncomfortable. “Ah, I… I’m sure.”

“Oh?” Smokyrose tilted her head, “Sure of what?” Scorch swallowed and cast her gaze away into the grass. There was a long pause before she eventually spoke.

“That…” she sighed. “Forgive me, but if I may speak candidly-”

Smokyrose purred, “Please. Do.”

“Your Clans, they… feel like they’re meant to draw cats in and keep them there. The names, the rules, the… magical star gods, it all just…” a wave rippled down Scorch’s tail as she chewed on the words. “It… It worries me. It feels like a trap.”

“I see,” Smokyrose said, processing the information. “Can you explain why?”

Scorch frowned in thought. “It’s very… familiar,” she decided. “I’ve seen cats use similar rules, similar… stories to take advantage of other cats. I don’t trust it.”

Smokyrose nodded, considering everything Scorch had said. As a mediator, she was well practiced in seeing things from different perspectives. After a moment, she spoke. “That makes sense. I don’t have the experiences you have, in fact, I haven’t experienced anything but living in RisingClan. But you’ve shared a lot, so why don’t I share a bit, hmm?” Scorch seemed interested, her head lifting slightly, ears forward, eyes open and intent on her, so she proceeded.

“My sister, Sunstar, was Goldenstar’s predecessor. She and I were close and she often confided in me.” She looked out over the grass and imagined her sister, her kind, brave, infuriating sister, waiting for her just ahead. Her heart ached but she pushed through the feeling.

“She was never close with StarClan.” Scorch let out an unintentional noise that sounded to Smokyrose like ‘here we go again.’ Smokyrose didn’t take it personally. Instead she continued, “She spoke with them not infrequently. There’s a place up in the mountains where you can visit them in dreams and when she first became leader she went to seek their guidance whenever she was presented with an important decision. And after a while, she started to get angry with them.”

“Really?” Scorch asked skeptically.

“Mhm,” said Smokyrose, remembering the way Sunstar had stalked back and forth below the little tree where they used to talk. “She thought they were… selfish. And short sighted. After a while, she stopped going to seek their guidance. She started doing things her way. They sent omens to change her mind but she didn’t listen. She knew what she thought was right for her Clan and she followed her heart.” She stopped and turned to face Scorch whose lips were pursed tightly.

“What I mean to say is that… I see your point,” Smokyrose said. “And I know that the way we do things might not be the best way. But I do know that Goldenstar takes after my sister. What she wants most is for her Clanmates to be happy. And I know that she sees a loneliness in you, one that she thinks would be helped by having some place to call home.” Scorch shifted her weight, unable to look Smokyrose directly in the eyes. The mediator smiled. “I’m inclined to agree with her. I think RisingClan could be your home. If you chose it.”

Scorch opened her mouth then closed it again. Smokyrose could see the conflict on her face, knew that she was trying to parse multiple warring desires. She let her tail brush against Scorch’s reassuringly and dipped her head to try and look the rogue in the eyes.

“You have plenty of time to think about what I’ve said. Don’t feel like you owe me an answer. For what it’s worth, I’d be happy to bring some of your concerns to Goldenstar and see if there was a way to change our Clan for the better. Would that be alright with you?”

Scorch hesitated, then replied, “I suppose it couldn’t hurt. She won’t be upset?”

“No,” Smokyrose laughed. “Not much can get under her fur. Come, why don’t we start looping back to camp and you can tell me in more detail what worries you about our way of life. Don’t hold back, I want to know everything.”

“Okay.” Scorch nodded. “Thank you.”

“It’s my pleasure, dear,” said Smokyrose. “Walk with me.” She pressed close to Scorch’s side and leaned a bit of her weight on the younger, heartier cat. Scorch didn’t pull away and after a moment they found a rhythm, their paws falling on the same beats. Scorch began to speak and Smokyrose listened, committing every worry to memory. She wanted to make sure she could relay it all perfectly when she spoke with Goldenstar.

#clan gen #clangen #clangen oc #clan gen oc #warrior cats oc #warriors oc #warrior cats #warriors #clangenrising #Smokyrose #Sunstar #Newleaf #Scorchplume

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15minlatewithbatbucks · 5 months

Text

untitled janet/talia, Bruce's bio kid Tim AU pt. 3

AO3 Link (a little behind, but better edited)

---

“Well, he’s not Jack’s and I only slept with him and you that one night,” she said, struggling to keep her voice level and not snap. Her pride was fighting with her sense, hating that she had to bare her soul and be looked at with so much distrust. “And a lovely woman named Carmen, but I thought I could probably rule her out for not having a penis.”

Bruce huffed, half sigh and half laugh.

“Okay,” he said slowly. “Assuming this is true… why now? What do you want?”

It was a valid question. She had no doubt that from the surface she looked like a gold-digger at best, a home wrecker at worst.

“Right now because… Jack and I have been fighting,” she said and almost got away with appeared unaffected until her chest hitched with a caught breath. She wasn’t going to cry here, she reminded herself. She’d put in all that work to seem normal. She was. Not. Going. To. Cry.

She cleared her throat and Bruce did her the kindness of ignoring her little slip.

“He wanted another kid, so I went off my birth control. We’ve- We had been trying with no luck, so Jack went to his doctor for tests. And then ordered a paternity test.”

Bruce grimaced.

“He didn’t take it very well,” Janet finished tactfully. “I think we both knew deep down that Tim wasn’t his, but all of this made him confront the fact that he likely won’t have a biological child of his own. It’s just – We were fighting again and when I had Tim things got better and I know you’re happy with Talia, but-”

Janet cut herself off, hand going to cover her eyes. She knew she was rambling and had no idea where she was even going with it. All the practice she’d put in and she still forgot her script when it mattered most.

She felt alone. She felt like the lowest kind of person despite knowing that she wasn’t out to exploit Bruce.

She wanted all of this to be over, one way or another.

Bruce surprised her by asking, “Are you safe?”

Janet laughed. “What?”

“I know that tensions can run high in these kinds of situations,” he explained awkwardly, eyes bright and watchful as they roved over her face. Looking for… what, bruises? Sweet man. Foolish man. But still sweet.

“I’m safe,” she confirmed. “Tim’s safe- Well, he’s been upset lately from hearing us fighting, but he’s physically safe. I’m doing this for him, Bruce.”

Janet’s eyes dropped from his to look at her phone, still sitting between them on the desk. Tim’s little face, sticky and smiling still lit the screen.

“He deserves a parent that actually wants him,” she said quietly. Loathing and self recrimination bubbled up in the back of her throat and she had to swallow it back like bile. “He’s a good boy, Bruce, but I wasn’t made to be a mother.”

Bruce seemed to soften at that, if only a little. He slid her phone back towards her.

“I want a test,” he said. “But even if it’s negative, I’ll help you figure out your next steps.”

“I’m not a Gotham orphan boy,” Janet laughed. “You don’t have to sweep in and try to fix my life. If it’s somehow negative, I’ll sort out my own feelings on human parthenogenesis on my own.”

Bruce crooked a smile at that. For all that they’d only had that one night together, it was nice to see that they still had a sort of rapport. It was a relief, Janet had to admit to herself. Even though she wouldn’t be taking Bruce’s offer of charity, it was nice to know it was offered at all.

“I have some samples,” she said and pulled out a baggie with Tim’s tooth and hair brushes. “Given that I’m sure you get half a dozen paternity claims a month, I’m sure you know a good lab.”

“The best lab, in fact,” Bruce said. He gestured broadly at the floor to indicate the whole of Wayne Enterprises. “I’m sure I can find a lab to do the test. We have so many of them, after all.”

Janet laughed, surprising herself. “Okay, that makes sense.”

“I’ll get the samples to them right after you leave and I’ll call when the results come back. We can set up another meeting then.”

“I’m free whenever,” she said with a rueful smile. “As you can imagine, I don’t have much going on right now except for watching Tim.”

“Right,” Bruce nodded. “But to be absolutely clear: If I am Tim’s father, are you looking to give me custody? As in, primary physical custody?”

“I still want to see him and be in his life,” she said immediately. “I do love him. I know I’m a terrible excuse for a mother, but-”

“Janet, I can tell that you love him,” he interrupted. “I know you’re a proud person and you wouldn’t be doing this if you didn’t want the best for your son. I’m honored that you think I might be that.”

“Well, you seem to know what you’re doing,” she said. “You have two boys already and they both seem reasonably happy and well adjusted.”

“I’d like to think so even if they’ve nearly driven my butler into an early retirement.”

“And I don’t want to make an enemy of your partner,” Janet added. “I just want Tim to be safe and loved.

“Let me worry about Talia,” Bruce said and Janet smiled sardonically. Not worrying about the fierce Talia al Ghul wasn’t something she was capable of, but it was a nice sentiment.

With that, Janet let Bruce wrap their conversation up and usher her from his office. She knew he had to be eager to get his people to work on the paternity test, so she didn’t take offense to her dismissal. She said her goodbyes to Emma on her way out, feeling lighter than she had in weeks.

The weather was nice when she stepped outside. The sun was almost shining and Janet thought that maybe Tim might like to go to the park or something a little later in the day.

Despite her earlier intentions, Janet stopped at a corner store on her way home. There wasn’t much of a toothbrush selection, but she reasoned that Tim wouldn’t deal well with too much activity. It was the store or the park and he would probably rather go to the park.

She picked out a Superman toothbrush (the Batman ones were sold out and they didn’t seem to sell Robin ones) and swore to herself that she would go home for a short nap before taking Tim to the park.

…

Bruce’s call woke her up shortly before dinner. He asked if she could come in tomorrow morning at the same time and she told him of course. Then, he tentatively asked if she could bring Tim and she said naturally.

After the call, she hauled herself out of bed to figure out dinner. She had no idea what Tim had done for lunch and tried not to hate herself for the fact.

#tim drake #janet drake #bruce wayne #my writing tag #batman #robin #dc #fic: no choice but to love you

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ten-cent-sleuth · 7 months

Text

A Galling Yoke, Part 9

<- Prev | Next ->

for the “Look at me when I’m talking to you” and Location: Art Gallery squares on my July Break Bingo card

See this post for main info, including a masterlist and synopsis. See this post for warnings.

Word Count: 3.9k

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x f!Reader

Rating: Teen

Despite the bitterly disappointing nature of your last conversation, Sherlock did continue calling on you to “keep you apprised” of his progress. He always stayed much longer than would have been deemed appropriate for a proper afternoon visit, sticking around so you two could toss ideas back and forth about possible next steps, possible hints, possible culprits. There were a frustrating amount of possibles.

Sherlock had consulted his contacts in Scotland Yard circles and had combed through old cases to look for precedents in capturing hired killers or their hirers. He wasn’t having much luck, and his colleagues weren’t so eager to help anyway when all they saw was Sherlock humouring a family friend with an unofficial investigation. For your part, you were content to take a back seat in the field work now; as much as you appreciated Enola’s insistence all those days ago that you would be an asset to Sherlock, you just didn’t feel up to roving around London anymore.

Partly because the case was at a juncture that required Sherlock’s network and strengths more than yours. Partly because the temperature had dropped and you didn’t want to test your bad knee. Partly because you and Sherlock were back to that uncomfortable reliance on “Good afternoon” and “How are you?”, though with a little more variety thanks to the work you could discuss. And—the factor nobody else knew—partly because you were uneasy in any public situation at the moment.

“You have been rather shut in since Lord Coltidge visited us, ma’am,” commented Mrs Rogers one quiet afternoon. “The knocker has been down from the door all week and you have not taken a single walk. Is everything all right?”

A sip of your tea chased away the lump in your throat. “Of course, my friend. I am simply weary of the ton’s gossiping and must recover my tolerance for it in time for the upcoming Season.”

She looked neither convinced nor prepared to push. In truth, you had revealed more to her than you would to Sherlock, though his prying gazes were far more frequent than her single inquiry.

He knew something was up.

But you would feel silly telling him about it. You felt silly simply experiencing it. Your father had offered no proof, had very little authority in Town society, and yet…

You set aside your cup and saucer in order to stand and walk to the window. Ignoring Mrs Rogers’s watching you from her seat, you looked at the carriages and pedestrians on the street below and wondered how many had apparently heard.

Your father had no reason to lie, after all. When he had told you that your “skulking about” the East End and “confronting” Miss Algar had whipped the upper circles into a frenzy about a scandal surrounding the Voss family, you had been incredulous—not because you disbelieved him, but because you had not expected anyone to care what you were doing on Cable Street. Who in the world had seen or heard of your presence there and had wanted to dig deeper, deep enough to unearth your husband’s betrayal?

Lord Coltidge had not cared to inform you of that detail, however, only of all the whispers people were sharing about the new light in which they saw you. A wave of nausea washed over you, and you shut your eyes against it.

“Ma’am…” You had heard your housekeeper come up beside you moments earlier, yet her voice startled you.

“All is well, I assure you, Mrs Rogers,” you told her, though you still did not dare open your eyes.

“Certainly, ma’am. I only meant to ask whether you planned to accompany Mr Holmes out today.”

“I do not believe he shall come to invite me, Mrs Rogers. It is long past when he normally calls on me.”

“That is true, but if he were to arrive…? It would do you good, I think.”

You hummed in halfhearted agreement. If giving her the response she wanted to a hypothetical improbability would ease some of her worry for you, it was hardly a sacrifice. “Yes,” you said, “I would accompany him.”

“Splendid!” replied Mrs Rogers. “I shall fetch your pelisse.”

Your eyes flew open. “What do you—?” They caught on a familiar figure coming down the sidewalk, nearly at your door. “Mrs Rogers!”

But the clever woman was already out of the room. You shook your head, but a chuckle overtook your groan with little struggle.

To Sherlock’s visible surprise, you met him at the door, ready to go.

“How did you know I was to invite you on an outing?” he asked.

“Whether an invitation was forthcoming does not signify,” you answered. “If you had had no outing planned, you would have had to improvise one, for Mrs Rogers shall not have me remain indoors this afternoon.”

Your housekeeper tisked dismissively through a smile. Your butler looked pained to hand you your cane.

Sherlock looked even more befuddled but managed to bid the Rogerses adieu as he led you outside.

“I almost did not come today,” he informed you after a moment’s awkward silence. “I did not wish to go to you empty-handed, and I was stuck in a bit of a rut. Professionals do not leave loose ends, that much has been made clear to me these past few days. To err is human, of course, but if any missteps or oversights would have been minimised from the onset, could they have survived twelve years in the shadows? Without a motive to find the conspirator or a trace to find the contractor, how are we to move forward?”

A thread of wistfulness wound through you at the gentleman’s earnestness; this is exactly what you had thought of when faced with your father’s sanctimony.

“You know what this means, do you not?” the earl had asked you.

Defiantly, foolishly, you had remained silent, spitefully comparing his righteous tone with the sincerity you had taken for granted when Sherlock urged you to partake in his thought process. Defiantly, foolishly, you had made no attempt to hide your ignoring your father, and he had shouted—

“Look at me when I speak to you! Are you even—?”

“—quite all right, my lady?”

You flinched, jolted out of your distraction. “Forgive me, Sherlock, I was not attending.”

You braced yourself for the offended huffing that Sherlock always managed when he learned somebody wasn’t listening to him, and you were left slack-jawed when he instead grinned.

“What amuses you?” you demanded.

“It is only that I was explaining why I ultimately decided to come see you despite the case’s stagnation, and you are proving my point!”

Heat flushed through your face. “Well, what was your point?”

“Of late, your mind has been preoccupied, has it not?” He didn’t wait for you to decide whether to be honest or to attempt to lie to a human lie detector. “I shall not ask why; I endeavour only to ease that mind somewhat, if I can.”

Any hope of an intelligent—or even intelligible—response fled in the face of his tiny, hopeful, almost bashful smile, so you settled for a tiny, grateful, almost bashful smile of your own. Reddening, he spluttered on—

“Of course, I hope to refresh my mind as well, to gain some insight into this case of indirects by allowing the brain to attack it indirectly.”

Though you would normally find entertainment in Sherlock being flustered, this time you found only grief that a brick wall now ran through your friendship and guilt that you had erected it. But if he could make an effort to move past the suffocating fog of “childhood friends and first loves” to the clear blue sky where romantic feelings cast no shadow, so could you.

“Where, exactly, are we going?” you asked.

Sherlock straightened his shoulders, a sly look chasing away the distress on his face. “It is not altogether exciting, I fear: only a certain building at Trafalgar Square, which I have heard from certain sources is trying a new initiative due to the success of a similar one in York…”

Your brow furrowed. Trafalgar Square? What would Sherlock take you there for? The pigeons? Uniquely Sherlockian, of course, but not much for him to get sly about. St Martin-in-the-Fields? Mm…definitely not.

You whipped your head around to gape at Sherlock, who was looking even more impish at your realisation. “The National Gallery?”

His broadening smile was answer enough.

“I had thought it closed,” you said. “Are they not adding a new section that the public is not meant to…?” Trailing off, you thought back to the clues Sherlock had teased you with. “The York Art Gallery. It is known for its Great Exhibition Hall. Goodness! Is that what they have been building at the National Gallery, then? The grand opening would be the talk of the ton, I have no doubt, and I have heard naught…”

With a low hum, Sherlock pulled you closer to whisper, “It is not yet the grand opening. I simply have an in with one of the managers, ever since one of my investigations provided him much-needed assistance a few years ago.”

You would have gaped more if you’d known how. “You would use one of your contacts for a casual outing?”

He pursed his lips and glanced away. “It is not a one-time arrangement,” he defended himself, “so I may as well make use of it. Since I would not appreciate the opportunity as much as you, it was logical—” He glanced back with wide, horrified eyes. “That is, not logical, only…only…”

Your gaze dropped to the ground. Oh, goodness… Had you really reduced the great Sherlock Holmes to walking on eggshells around you? How could you possibly fix the mess you’d made of things?

“You like art very much!” he blurted out.

Your eyes shot back up. “Er—”

“At least, you did when we were young,” he said, looking ahead instead of at you. “I remember how much you enjoyed studying art theory and history, and I assumed you retained the passion due to the collection of artwork I noted in your home…”

“You noticed that?”

You flushed at your outburst, and Sherlock did not reply. You weren’t sure whether to be grateful for that reticence or not.

Pushing past your blunder, you ventured, “I do like art very much. I am sure I shall enjoy this excursion, but even if I do not, I apologise for apparently wool gathering so often that you noticed. Just now, I was…thinking of my father.” And you almost told him. You almost told Sherlock about Lord Coltidge’s reprimand, about the dreadful self-consciousness it had awoken in you. You almost told him about your biggest concern out of it all—

“I thought you were past all this, Daughter, all the insolence and the foolhardiness. Clearly not, if you would so carelessly handle the identity of your husband’s mistress.” The earl had sneered so zealously you had almost thought he was actually pleased with this turn of events. “Now that you have bandied about that you and Edmund did not have a happy marriage, you shall be the prime suspect of Scotland Yard and gossip corners alike when Holmes proves Edmund’s death was not an accident!”

—but one look into your friend’s sharp, bright eyes and you knew he would be troubled if you spoke a word of it.

This. This is how you could possibly fix the mess you’d made of things! Letting year-old hurts spill out of you had done no good; you would spare Sherlock any more of your woes, and that included the stifling shame of all your acquaintances knowing you were slighted by your husband as well as the suffocating anxiety of all your peers about to think you were involved in your husband’s murder.

With one stroke, you wiped away thoughts of your predicament and painted on a reassuring smile for Sherlock. “Do you recall how we met?” you asked him.

“Of course,” he scoffed. “How could I— That is, how could anyone forget walking down a corridor in their house like any day and coming across a strange little girl rummaging through it?”

You rolled your eyes. “How many times must I tell you I was not rummaging! I was merely leaning on that chest of drawers to better inspect the painting—”

“That is arguably more bizarre, you realise.”

“Well. Either way, I only had the chance to wander off and look at your corridors and corridors of family portraits because my father had brought me along when he visited with your parents. In a way, it is his fault we are friends, is it not?”

A corner of Sherlock’s mouth turned up. “I doubt he would appreciate that interpretation. As for me…” He leaned his head forward to look at you. “I would like to think that we would have run into each other eventually, regardless of your father’s involvement. Perhaps it is ridiculous of me to rely on the thought of…”

“Of inevitability?” You couldn’t quite keep the disbelief out of your voice; Sherlock couldn’t have faith in something so close to the concept of fate, could he?

But he looked away, and you hurried to reassure him, “We were both inquisitive children of a similar age on neighbouring estates. Perhaps our connexion was indeed…” You found yourself trailing off too; somehow, you couldn’t get the word inevitable out anymore.

With a shake of your head to clear it, you realised you were entering Trafalgar Square. You let the awkwardness melt away as you leaned heavier into Sherlock’s arm and grinned up at him.

“Oh, it is sinking in now,” you breathed. “Sherlock, I thank you for this. It is the height of thoughtfulness.”

He opened his mouth, then slowly shut it and opted instead for a rigid nod.

Sherlock led you across the square, tightening his hold when you jumped at the noisy and nearby take-off of a group of pigeons, before showing you through a side door of the National Gallery and past its standard wings into a renovated-looking section that you’d never visited before.

Letting go of Sherlock and wandering along, you drank in the hall of paintings, as clear and clean as any well maintained home you’d visit, but sunnier and, of course, more colourful. What home, well maintained or not, held this many paintings? Displayed this much warm red and bright yellow and deep green and swirling blue? You were floating off the floor as your head whipped left and right, trying to absorb as many of the various shapes and sharp lines and masterful strokes as you could.

Though you did not forget yourself enough to start rummaging, you were overtaken by a sense of lightness—the lightness of giddy freedom, the lightness of pure and unfettered enjoyment—that you could only remember from childhood, and you would not have been surprised if your steps were as skippy and your movements as twirly as they had been the day Sherlock found you admiring his hall of paintings. But in this room full of beauty and creativity and devoid of judgement and shame, how could they not be? In this room where Mr Sulyard did not haunt you, Lord Coltidge did not hound you, and indeed the only company was the person you most lo—

You skidded to a stop and stared agape at the wall. No, no, no. You could not entertain such foolish thoughts! You could not harbour such foolish sentiments! Your feelings had to be muddled, that was all—

“Interesting,” came Sherlock’s voice at your side. “You were enraptured by all the tints and brightness of the art around you, I noticed, but you pause to consider the solitary piece in monochrome.”

Blinking, you scrambled to take in the painting you had been staring at—or towards, really. The plaque helpfully informed you it was a portrait of Queen Margaret of Anjou, and Sherlock helpfully informed you of who exactly that was by reciting—

“She’s beautiful, and therefore to be wooed; she is a woman, therefore to be won.”

It took you a moment, but you recalled attending the start of Drury Lane’s run of Henry VI just a month or two ago. You turned towards Sherlock with a retort on your tongue and only stumbled a little at the startling discovery that he was looking at you rather than at Queen Margaret.

“I never did grow fond of Suffolk,” you said, “though I did like one of his lines near the end of Part One. Oh, how did it go again? ‘Marriage is a matter’, and something about attorney deals…companions or what-have-you…then: ‘For what is wedlock forcèd but a hell, an age of discord and continual strife?’”

Sherlock looked at you so long, so searchingly, that you braced yourself for another vulnerable conversation. But just as he seemed about to open it, he shook his head and smirked lightly.

“I do not much like Suffolk either,” he said. “I am not a great fan of Shakespeare’s histories in general—”

“Be they too inaccurate for thee, sirrah?” you teased. He shot you a look.

“—but I at least enjoyed Henry VI for Saye’s character, as minor a role as he may have had. In particular, I enjoyed his line, ‘Ignorance is the curse of God…’”

“‘…Knowledge the wing wherewith we fly to heaven,’” you concluded in unison.

You and he locked eyes, and the gallery echoed with silence for a long moment. He inched closer—or was that just a twitch?—and you froze. Your heart was racing, but your body froze.

And Sherlock looked away first.

Now, your heart shot to your throat. The only other time Sherlock had ever looked away first from anyone, as far as you knew, was that first day you and he had been reacquainted. Gracious, why did he make you panic? Why did you make him uncomfortable?

“I actually appreciate—” you started.

“Perhaps we ought to—” he said at the same time.

“Forgive me—”

“I— No, I apologise—”

“There is no need. What were you saying?”

“No, no, you may speak first, my lady.”

Your smile was taut but, hopefully, not too brittle. “I rather appreciate the Bard’s decision to write histories,” you said. “Studying the past would be fascinating and useful regardless, but with a play, those figures of study become more understandable, more relatable, and therefore more edifying. The plight of King Henry VI, for example, would not seem nearly so human to me if not for Shakespeare.”

Sherlock hummed in concession. “The playwright does succeed in portraying Henry as a good-hearted and therefore sympathetically naïve fellow, rather than simply a good-hearted and therefore hatefully weak king.”

“The measure of a man is on a different scale from the measure of a noble,” you agreed. “And it was all the harsher a proportion for Henry VI because of his father.”

Gravely, the detective nodded, but then his countenance lit up the way it did when a thought caught fire in his mind. “I suppose Lord Pashbroke shall be in a similar plight when he inherits and becomes Lord Coltidge instead.”

You grimaced. “I had not thought of it that way, but yes, I reckon you have the right of it.” You turned back to Queen Margaret and sighed. “I love William, but truly, I am glad he shall not be king.”

“I am sure he has the courage to protect England if the need arose,” said Sherlock with a chuckle, “but yes, the earldom shall be enough for him.”

You also chuckled—for William, more than enough. Another Henry VI quote popped into your mind then, but you brushed it aside in favour of continuing the flow the conversation had finally found. “Were you not going to say something as well, sir? ‘Perhaps we ought to…’?”

“Ah, yes! I was simply going to suggest a section of the exhibit you might like…”

The afternoon passed pleasantly. Although awkward moments poked through the bubble you and Sherlock had created around yourselves, they shortened rather than sharpened with time, so you returned home confident that you two could rebuild your closeness, your r—

Your friendship.

That’s all it was. That’s all it ever would be.

You wouldn’t even be surprised if that’s all it had been. Maybe all you had felt for Sherlock at Ferndell was admiration and endearment. Yes. Yes! Then, surely, all you felt for him here and now could not be more than that. Could not be… Could not truly be…

Shaking your head, you concentrated on your household tasks for the rest of the day. It was only as you did your nightly ablutions that your mind wandered back to that other Henry VI quote you’d thought of earlier.

“’Tis much when sceptres are in children’s hands.”

The line, though moving and memorable, had not seemed pertinent to your conversation with Sherlock: easily brushed aside. But why had your mind supplied it, then? Something about the conversation had made you think of it. What had you and Sherlock been discussing…?

Of course. William, dear brother. Still… Though he would always be your baby brother, he was hardly a child, and certainly not one with a sceptre in his hand. Your father was still Earl of Coltidge, as much as you believed the power did not sit well in his hands, and likely would be for years to come, unless some health-endangering issue lay in hiding beneath the surface or some apoplexy-inducing event lay in wait around the corner.

You snorted to yourself; if Lord Coltidge suffered an apoplexy, it would probably be by the hand of his own theatrics. The man was no good at coping with crises, much preferring to kick them under rugs and never talk of them again, even minor ones. That weakness was likely what had first pushed you away from seeing him as a fatherly figure, as a support or protector. Simply another role of his that did not sit well in his—

You stopped dead in your movements.

Another role of his.

Lord Coltidge was not merely an earl—he was also a father. Just as you had told Sherlock a few days ago, you had felt the need to make up for his parental lackings with William as a child. What if your brother had once felt the same need to do so with you?

Sceptres in children’s hands.

Yet that was nothing so terrible. Regrettable, perhaps, and another black mark on your father’s character, certainly, but… Something niggled at the back of your mind. When would William have needed to step in as a support or protector for you? What would have motivated him…?

Sceptres in children’s hands.

For the plain truth was you had not needed a father in a very long time. You had adapted your childhood to need no parental affection save for the occasional smile or compliment from Eudoria. You had found love and laughter enough from your London friendships and household. You had even survived a dreadful marriage without a hint of paternal concern or—

Oh, blazes.

The letter. The hitman. The motive.

The sceptre in a child’s hands.

Your brother had killed Edmund.

Thank you for reading, and if you have been following along the series since July, thank you for your patience. Thank you especially to @every-username-is-taken-damnit and @sailorguardianwannabe for (probably unknowingly) providing me the motivation to complete this update by your comments. :3 I hope this chapter, despite its delay and possible consequent differences in tone, is okay. Feedback is always welcome! :)

#sherlock holmes x reader #sherlock holmes x you #henry cavill sherlock x reader #enola holmes #a galling yoke #the dimensions of fandom

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detectivesplotslies · 5 months

Text

On Your Marks

Description: It's Kaito's first Sports Day at Hope's Peak Academy and he's ready to make it count! Is everyone else? Written for Luminary of the Stars: A Kaito Momota Zine Word Count: 2082 Read on AO3 The sun was high in the sky, the conditions were perfect, not a cloud out there. No one, not even Mother Nature, was going to rain on his parade today! With a bounce in his step, Kaito crossed the grounds. His eyes skimmed over the track where the staff and volunteers were already starting to set up the coming events. Sure, there was still attendance and homeroom, but after that, he was going to have his first big victory here at Hope’s Peak Academy! He pushed open the entrance doors into the busy halls of before-class bustle.

As Kaito made his way in, a hand slapped his shoulder. “Good to see you came prepared with better footwear!” a voice boomed. The towering figure behind him was an upperclassman, one who seemed just as hyped as Kaito was for the event: the Ultimate Team Manager.

“Sure did.” Kaito grinned, hefting the sneakers he had slung over his shoulder by the laces. They had a personal touch too: gold laces and tiny embroidered shooting stars. Perfect for him! “I’m serious today, you’d better watch out!”

“Excellent! We could use a challenge from the first years!” Nekomaru laughed, hands falling back to his hips. He was wearing his own odd footwear, geta sandals, but the bag on his shoulder made it clear he was ready to change.

“A challenge? You gonna take us on? Bring it!” Akane chimed in from behind him, a wicked grin on her face as she packed a fist. What kind of challenge was she expecting?!

“Yeah, I’ll see you at the tug of war!” Kaito prompted, trying to steer things back to the event and away from… Whatever idea Akane had. He glanced across the hallway and pointed at the redhead leaning over a girl’s locker. “Your class too, Leon! You bring your all!”

“What?” The baseball star looked up with irritation, then shook his head. “Oh right, Sports Day? Tch, like we musicians care about something so dumb. Right Sayaka?”

Popping her head out of the locker, Sayaka giggled and smiled behind her hand. It always looked like that girl had a secret. “Oh, I don’t know, I think it’ll be fun! Got to stay in top form to perform.” The look of betrayal on Leon’s face was priceless. The idol turned her dazzling smile to Kaito. “Good luck today!”

“Thanks!” Taking this chance to escape before Akane set her sights back on him, he waved and left. He heard her challenging Leon as he made his way out of sight, Sayaka’s melodious laugh ringing out again.

The astronaut trainee rounded the corner into the hallway with his own year, his anticipation mounting. Their first time competing together as a team! Most of the studying done at Hope’s Peak had everyone split off for talents, but this? This would be a group effort.

Kaito opened the door to the hubbub of chatter, everyone spread out and ready to go! The energy in the air was excellent! He could feel the excitement, they really were going to show those upperclassmen that they wouldn’t be taken lightly! He pumped a fist in the air. “Alright!”

He was nudged out of the doorframe, his shorter classmate, Ryoma, muttering an ‘excuse me’ to pass. Looking back into the room, the bubble burst, his imagination having painted the room with far brighter impressions than actually resided within. There was chatter; Kaede in particular was talking with Miu and Angie, while Gonta was in discussion with Kirumi who was marking down attendance in the absence of their teacher. However, the only two who looked ready were Tenko, who was jogging on the spot, hair looped up into a bun as her eyes roved the room, and Rantaro, who had arrived in his gym clothes. Most others were seated at their desks like it was an ordinary day.

Kaito’s grin squished inwards at the underwhelming feeling, but he soldiered on, crossing the room to his sidekicks. They were both at Maki’s desk, the detective waving from his spot standing beside it while Maki glared from her seat. Kaito’s smile returned at the acknowledgement. He thumbed back at the rest of the class over his shoulder as he arrived, “Can you two believe this?”

Shuichi checked behind him, as if he was expecting something amiss, but looked back at a loss. “Believe what, Kaito?”

Maki didn’t even spare the room a thought, still waiting on the astronaut to spit out the rest. He was a little shocked neither of them seemed to notice.

“Believe the lack of spirit! Doesn’t look like everybody’s ready to win yet!” Kaito explained, patting Shuichi on the shoulder as he caught him up.

“We’re not going to win,” Maki retorted, sighing as she shook her head.

“What? Maki Roll, that’s quitter talk! Don’t you believe in us? I’m sure we can pull it off!” Kaito shot back as he raised a fist in the air, his shoes swinging from his shoulder loose as he did. The caregiver sat back to avoid them, crossing her arms, apparently unmoved by his declaration.

“Ah, it’s not that we don’t believe, Kaito, but, well… Our chances aren’t all that high,” Shuichi sheepishly chimed in. “Our class only has two athletes, and one of them is Ryoma. You know as well as we do his feelings on his talent. I doubt he’s going to be all that competitive today.”

“Now hold on! Just cuz someone’s talent ain’t athletic doesn’t mean they aren’t a competitor,” he countered. “Just look at Gonta, he could turn the tide in something like the tug of war, so long as we’ve got his back! Or front, since he’ll probably be the anchor, but y’know what I mean. And how about Rantaro and I!”

At the mention of his name, Rantaro glanced up from the stretches he’d started. He was without context but waved at them on cue before returning to extend his arm across his chest and push it back.

Kaito beamed and mirrored the same stretch before looking back to his sidekicks. “Both of us are in perfect shape for our own talents, even if they aren’t sports. Can’t be caught on any mission or excursion without some endurance.”

“So you think we’ll win with three more competitors? That’s not even half the class.” Maki frowned. Kaito could be imagining it, but she didn't seem to have the same finality this time. Progress! He patted her head happily. She ducked a few seconds later, like a delayed reaction.

“Well, not just them, there’s you two as well! Since we started training a couple months ago you’re both our secret weapons! Don’t tell me you weren’t counting yourself, Maki Roll? You’re fastest at pushups,” Kaito insisted. He really hadn’t expected that from her in the beginning, but given how tough her childhood in that orphanage had been, it wasn’t a complete surprise. Shuichi’s improvements were far more impressive, but he’d understand them assuming he wasn’t a ringer for the class.

“I appreciate the vote of confidence, Kaito,” Shuichi chuckled, cracking a smile. “I’m not really the best at these sorts of things.”

“Do you really think we can win? The whole class has to participate.” Maki remained unconvinced but diplomatic. “I’m not saying I’m not going to try, but we’re not exactly a team.”

“Those are just the easiest people to point out,” Kaito sighed. “A team isn’t all about peak physical condition, it’s gotta have lots of parts. Everyone’s got a job, even if that isn’t lifting something or running fast. I bet there’s loads of secret strengths we can use! C’mon!” He grabbed Maki’s hand and swiftly yanked her up out of her seat.

Her eyes went wide as she found her balance, sputtering. Kaito didn’t need to worry about that of course, he knew she was on the ball. Kaito pulled her up to the front of the class with him, looking for someone to add to their arsenal of secret weapons. Of those sitting at their desks he locked onto someone who looked to need some spirit, a hand propping up their cheek.

“Here’s something no one else has!” Kaito announced, near scaring him out of his chair. He turned to look at the two of them nervously. “No other class has an Ultimate Robot! He’s bound to give us an edge!”

“Are you referring to today’s events?” Kiibo asked dubiously. “I’m unsure what help, if any, I’ll be. As a physical activity for health, they don’t account for someone like me. But I told Miu I want the true student experience, so I turned down her suggested improvements…”

No upgrades, huh? Kiibo’s strength was pretty average, most of his functions were smaller utilities. But that wasn’t enough to give up!

“That’s not the edge I’m talking about,” Kaito said, waving a hand. “I mean, sure those would help, but I bet a cool robot like you has more to prove than anyone else! Think of all the future robot highschoolers you can inspire if you win today! Something like that’s gotta be motivating, right?”

“That sounds ridiculous,” Maki said from behind him, freeing her hand and crossing her arms. “Just like the kids back at the orphanage talking about their Saturday morning shows.”

“It’s not ridiculous if it gets you going, though!” Kaito said, turning to lean back over the robot’s desk. “Don’t you want to be the hero of the class? The first robot to win at Sports Day?”

Kiibo seemed unsure.

“You should! Hold on, Maki Roll, you start training with him, I’ve got just the thing,” Kaito pushed off the desk and pivoted away.

“You are aware,” came a chilling voice as he passed another desk, “that we are to adhere to class rules until we’re excused, yes?” Kaito spared a glance over at Korekiyo, who sat tall in his seat, bandaged fingers clasped on the desk. His soft laugh as always was muffled by the mask. “Someone’s eager.”

“‘Course I am, you should try it,” he said, crouching in the closet. Kaito was positive this was where Tsumugi had stored her last project. Peering over his shoulder to be certain Korekiyo hadn’t followed him for a cheap scare, Kaito’s hand touched hair. He flinched back, eyes going to the closet again, where a face greeted him in the darkness. He caught himself when he recognized it as a familiar sleepy one.

“I’m just meditating, to gather mana…” Himiko mumbled from her spot tucked tight in the back. Tenko’s endlessly searching eyes made more sense now. In her own way, the mage probably needed this more than a warm-up; she might tire out if it was one guided by the other girl.

“Sure, do what you gotta,” Kaito agreed, reaching behind her to grab his quarry. He yanked free the black and white pom poms from his classmate’s cheerleader cosplay, bouncing them once experimentally before straightening up.

Maki was there facing him as he stepped out. Behind her it looked like Kiibo had taken up the stretching routine with Rantaro, to the latter’s amusement. Shuichi was speaking animatedly with Korekiyo. The energy in the room was changing, bit by bit. Even Ryoma was back, talking with Gonta, demonstrating some step-technique. Maki raised a brow at his find.

“They’re for encouragement!” Kaito said, waving the pom poms in the air.

“I think you’re already doing that without a prop. If we do stand a chance at winning, it’s going to be because you lead us there. I don’t think Kiibo’s a hero, or that Gonta will turn any tides. Shuichi and I might not be secret weapons, either, but I think you made a fair point about not quitting, there’s still a chance.” A faint smile appeared on her face.

Kaito’s eyes lit up. He jumped up to throw his arms around Maki, who startled. “That’s all I’m asking! We can’t go down without a fight!” He squeezed tight, the pom poms ruffling behind her a moment before—

“Yoink!”

The pair looked behind them as Kokichi liberated the fluffy props, and waved them about, laughing. “Can’t have a team without your supreme leader, right?”

“You give those back to Kaito,” Maki demanded, indignantly freeing herself from the embrace. Kokichi took off and she ran after him.

“Hey, wait! Save it for the relay you two!” Kaito laughed. They were all fired up now, there was no stopping this! They’d leave their marks on this school.

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