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preeningpisces · 9 days

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Report - Kenjaku x F!Reader

Kenjaku shows up unannounced, and makes himself all too comfortable in your apartment. Pwp, 4k, Crossposted on AO3

A/N: At first I referred to him as Geto in this, as I found it unlikely YN would know his real name, but then figured this has no plot and there isn't many Kenjaku x reader fics without Geto & swapped it to Kenjaku ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Shoutout to this lovely anon for giving me a reason/the drive to write something for my favorite hoe 💚

Content: p-in-v, m!oral, sex toys, size kink, unprepped sex, edging, choking, biting, spit/cum stuff, degradation--personally I think this is more tame than it sounds

18+ content below, mdni, implied chubby!reader, enjoooy!

The figure seated at your dinner table makes your soul leap from your body.

Tonight you planned a date with a hot shower, your favorite snacks, and three seasons’ worth of TV to binge. You’d only completed step one, so recently that your skin hasn’t finished absorbing the lotion, leaving your calves and thighs tacky.

His back is to you, but you know he’s aware of your presence. For once, he isn’t wearing his signature robes, and instead sports simple black clothing. Seeing him dressed down is comforting, makes him seem less untouchable, and more like a regular person.

You lament the change in your evening plans, knowing your guest will occupy a decent portion of your time.

“You take awfully long showers,” he says without turning. “I’ve been here for over an hour.”

Springing up at random isn’t out of the ordinary for Kenjaku, though it’s more common for him to send messages from unknown numbers or ‘coincidentally’ run into you. He’s never showed up at your apartment before, let alone at such an odd hour of the night. Briefly you wonder how he knows where you live, but then dismiss this as a foolish thought—of course he knows.

“I’m just thorough,” you say as you round the table and sit across from him where he reads one of your books. A silly romance that was popular online; hardly revolutionary or life-altering, but it was a sweet, endearing story and you enjoyed it quite a bit. With how far he’s in, you wonder if he picked a random spot or simply reads that quickly.

“That you are.” He glances up, and a shift in his eye tells you he wasn’t expecting the cotton bathrobe with matching shorts. It’s a favorite that you got off a discount rack, lying somewhere between the lines of sensual and comfortable. Flattering, but hardly scandalous; you don’t feel indecent in his presence.

“I’m surprised you enjoy this drivel,” he says, judgment evident. “You seemed more intelligent than that.”

“They’re just for fun. Sometimes it’s nice to read something simple,” you reach for the book, beginning to feel defensive.

He leans back, now flipping through its contents. It reminds you of a schoolyard bully holding your belongings above you and taunting you for being too short.

“Are you here to antagonize me, or are you here for something actually important?” As soon as you say this, you know you made a mistake: the ire in your voice will only encourage his pestering.

“I came for your report, but now I’m more interested in your terrible taste.” He gestures to your bookshelf—small, and housing a modest collection of varying genres with the occasional knick knack. “I’ve gone through several already, but saved what I suspect to be the worst for last.”

“Then you can follow me on Goodreads, if you’re so curious. Now give that back,” you hold out your hand, growing agitated. The light catches the ridge of his scar, and taunts you to tug on one of those stitches, which look much less secure than they should.

“Embarrassed?” He smiles, and makes no move to relinquish the book.

“If I say yes, will you give it back?”

A snide puff.

“No.”

Knowing how fickle he is, you relent; he’ll grow bored with the book soon enough and move on. But minutes of his skimming pass, wholly ignoring your crossed arms and impatient tapping.

“Ah, I see. Is this why you’re so fond of these?” He turns the book for you to read: it’s one of the few sex scenes, and his finger points to a questionable line of dialogue.

You can’t resist the bait, and indignation rises in your chest. You spring forward in your seat, aiming for the book. Unfazed by your aggression, he avoids you with ease and an infuriating smirk. It only provokes you further, now motivating you to one-up him.

There is a sudden pause in his movements that allows you to snatch the book. As you look at him triumphantly, you notice his eyes aren’t directed at your face; instead, they’re fixed on your chest. Following his gaze, your heart sinks when you discover your robe hanging open, revealing your right breast.

When you look at him again, his eyes are on yours. Heavy and lidded, they freeze you in place with their weight. The playful energy from before halts, as if the room itself is holding its breath. Without breaking eye contact, he slides his hand in the opening, and cups your breast.

Shocked, you drop the book with a muted thud, more from his boldness than the sensation. A gasp escapes you when he pinches your nipple, rolling it slowly, and your hands fly to his shoulders, not wanting to topple over from the awkward position.

His other hand joins and teases your unexposed breast through the cloth; you fall against him, and a soft noise warms his ear before tracing the stretched lobe with your lower lip. Whether it’s ticklish or it’s your interest in his ear that entertains him, his shoulders thrum with amusement. The plastic clacks between your teeth as you toy with the plug, seeing how far you can rotate it before he becomes irritated.

It doesn’t take long, because a hand winds itself in your hair and pulls you forward, but the table creaks in protest under your weight.

“Not here,” you say, husk already tinting your voice. “It’s a shitty table.”

He releases you and follows you down the hallway to your bedroom. You don’t even have time to flick on the light before he pulls you backward, connecting your ass to his groin with his large hands fondling your breasts.

The eager touch surprises you—he hadn’t seemed at all bothered when you stopped him before. You can’t help but shiver when he sucks on your neck, fixing it with hickeys and bites. A renewed focus on your nipples makes you whimper and squeeze at his forearms.

“Sensitive here, or are you just desperate?” He punctuates with a pull of your left nipple.

“A bit of both,” you say, and press your ass against him. It’s been some time since you’ve felt this kind of touch, let alone by someone as attractive as him.

“Cute,” he hums, and grinds his forming erection against you.

Cool palms slide beneath the robe again, making your nipples so peaked they sting. Deft fingers are quick to melt the cold with slow rolls that morph into pinching and dragging from areola to tip. The attention makes you squirm in his hold and rest your head against his shoulder, weaving your fingers through his glorious hair—which is every bit as silky as it appears. Needing an outlet for your rising desire, you detach him from your neck and angle his head so you can force your lips together.

The kiss is more passionate than you expected, and it only makes you melt further in his hands. You scratch his scalp and earn a surprised moan. His right hand trails upward, wrapping around a considerable portion of your neck. Air isn’t cut or restricted, but he squeezes enough for your pulse to quicken and make your head fuzzy.

A twist of your nipple makes you arch your back, and he sucks your lower lip until it bruises. Teeth scrape it briefly, before he pushes his tongue into your open mouth and greets yours unabashedly.

Kenjaku has an air of grace to him, of superiority; you’d think him above such things as these. But he doesn’t flinch or show any disgust when drool pools from the messy kiss—he even licks the bit that trickles down your chin. He breaks the kiss, parting slowly to appreciate the strand that connects your mouths.

A tug of the simple knot at your waist peels your robe open, and you help him by shrugging your shoulders free. The hold on your neck tightens, and he feels down your stomach, dipping below the waistband of your shorts. Your skin prickles with embarrassment when he squeezes the full softness above your pussy. A pleased noise comes from the back of his throat when he realizes you have no underwear and finds slippery arousal.

“Look at me.”

You feel how heavy your eyes are, how blatant lust must be on your face. His middle finger finds your clit and traces a single rough, short line, making you flinch. Almost imperceptible circles soothe the rough sensation, leading you to loosen your grip on his hair and hold his wrist. The featherlike strokes feel like static, and every tingle of your flesh touching makes you wetter.

When your eyes shut, he squeezes your neck again, demanding you keep your focus on him. Even in moments like this, his eyes are full of condescension and superiority; the lowliness you feel in his presence only stirs your need.

Awkwardly, you feel around behind you for his cock and rub your palm over it as best you can. Despite the clumsy touch, his breath hitches, and his clever fingers pause. Thrill dances in your chest and you stroke him more firmly.

His hand flexes around your neck, and you can’t tell if it’s a warning or a green light. Whichever he intends doesn’t matter to you, because you squeeze his bulge. The firm tap of his finger on your clit reads as chastisement, but you ignore it, already deciding your next move.

“I want to suck your dick,” you say. You aren’t too prideful to kowtow to his desire for control. “Can I?”

Dark eyes shelter his thoughts as he considers your offer, and for a moment you think he’s going to turn you down, but he dips his finger in your hole and briefly skims the edge before swiping back up to your clit. A small noise comes out, and your face must be comical because he looks more amused than before.

“How polite.” The lack of heat and touch as he steps away are disappointing, but the sounds of his belt and zipper more than make up for their loss. “I suppose I’ll let you.”

“Let me,” you snort as you watch him undress. “As if you didn’t start this.”

A broad hand presses down on your shoulder, urging you to kneel—which you do eagerly, not minding the cheap carpet scratching your knees.

“I did, and now you’re exactly where I want you,” he removes his sweater, bearing the impressive muscles of his abdomen. You wonder if this was his true intention coming here tonight and that he played you like a fiddle.

These thoughts disappear when he pulls his trousers and underwear down; you can’t help when your face twists in shock: his cock is huge.

“No wonder you’re so full of yourself.”

He smirks, and you dread what this affair will do to his already inflated ego.

You scoot forward, assessing the beast, and idly rotate your jaw to prepare for the task at hand. Despite most of his head being exposed and dripping with pre-cum, you push back the remaining foreskin to fully reveal the dark head. You lean forward for a kiss, but land it on his groin instead.

The click of his tongue and the twitch beneath you is reward enough for the entire night; you’re confident he would never beg for anything from you, but this disappointment feels close enough to claim the satisfaction all the same.

Still positioned at his tip, your thumbs softly stroke the sides, more soothing than pleasurable as you continue to mouth everywhere but his cock. Fed up, he grips your hair and pulls you back. You get the message, and eagerly suck his head in your mouth, where you set your lips and tongue to work; it’s difficult with his girth, but you manage. He grunts and loosens his hold, allowing you to do as you please.

To show your gratitude, you plunge him deeper, tongue now rubbing along the seam of his cock as you flex and contract your lips. The muscles in his thighs jolt, and you feel energy rolling off him—the urge to do something, to react.

Steeling your resolve, you slide him further in and pull back, never stopping the pulse of your lips or tongue. It’s then that you suck around him, creating the wet sounds of suction that fill your small bedroom.

The light from the hallway glows behind him, making him radiant; like he’s a god, and this is your offering.

You cup his balls gently and rub a thumb over them to test the waters. Your curiosity is rewarded when the single hand in your hair becomes two, and he moves your head for you.

They cover your ears, cutting out all sound. Whether this is intentional, you can’t say. All you can hear is the wet sounds of your mouth molding around his cock. It’s as if this is your entire world, that this is the only thing you’re good for, and the thought makes you drip.

Lewdly, you hum and moan your prayer around him. Noises of his own join yours, but you are not worthy of hearing them. Overeager, he pulls you down further on his cock, poking dangerously close to your gag reflex. Your second unoccupied hand wraps around the portion not in your mouth preemptively, and stroke him in time with your mouth. Seeing right through your attempt, he holds your head still and begins fucking your mouth.

It takes only a few thrusts for him to push deeper than before, making you gag softly, which causes him to throw his head back and continue the deep thrusts. It’s uncomfortable, but not so much that you feel the need to stop him. Watching him loosen up is so hypnotic you don’t register how worryingly deep he is in your throat. Until he surges himself all the way forward, forcing your nose to meet his groin.

When you choke, he groans deeply, and rolls against your face as your throat convulses around him sporadically. You’re about to beat at his thigh, but he pulls you off his cock entirely.

Quickly, you recover and recapture him despite the pull on your hair, doubling down with a soft mouth, tonguing all the sensitive spots you found. And to your surprise, hot cum spurts down your throat with a low groan. You drink it all until he pulls your head back and strokes his cock, shooting the remaining spurts on your face.

You didn’t think he’d be so quick to cum, and it seems, neither did he.

A painful yank of your hair forces you to stand before you can comment, and full of surprises, he licks a line of cum from your chin and smears it over your tongue with his own. The dirtiness of it makes a raw noise come from your abused throat.

Not breaking the kiss, he walks you to your bed and pushes you back; you scoot yourself to the headboard and barely shimmy your shorts off before he crawls atop you, flaccid cock in hand. With a surge of reversed cursed energy, he urges it to re-harden.

“Is this the difference between special grades and the rest of us?”

He doesn’t acknowledge your taunt, and after two pumps, positions his cock at your hole. Unprepped, his tip presses against the ring of muscle for several moments, unable to breech despite ample lubrication.

“The Viagra tech-”

Your pussy finally yields, and his cock spears itself to the hilt.

“Fuck!”

Mercifully, he doesn’t rail you, and instead rolls his hips, stroking your most receptive spots. It aches, his cock stretching you to what feels like your capacity, but it’s the sort of ache that makes you crave more. You meet his hips with your own, desperately chasing more of the electric feeling. He grabs the underside of your knees and leans forward, putting his weight on them. The position angles his cock upward and fucks you with more fervor.

“Jesus, it’s so big,” you say, legs trembling in his hold.

Needing a distraction, you cup the back of his head and pull him as close as your breasts and stomach allow. You kiss at whatever flesh you can reach, starting at his damp hairline, and following up immediately with the seam on his forehead. The simple kiss earns you a sharp cant of his hips and a hiss, tempting you to fixate on the scar.

Your tongue traces the divot faintly, careful not to press too hard and minding the sutures. The effect is immediate, as he ruts into you, slow, deep, and hard, surprisingly loud moans spilling from his pretty lips. Even his moans are rough, as if they scrape his throat on their way out. Like his vocal chords haven’t made such sounds in some time.

“Sensitive?” You murmur your tease against the raised flesh.

“Wounds tend to be, yes.” He kisses you tenderly, and when you sigh, bites your lower lip with a crunch. Teeth pierce, and copper flavors the kiss. You part with a hiss, and his thumb swipes at the puncture. “See? Or do you need further demonstration.”

“You’re such a dick,” you mutter, batting his hand away from your sore lip.

His attention falters, and you follow his eyes to your nightstand. You live alone and have no need for secrecy, so your vibrator charges in plain sight. Owning sex toys is something you’ve never thought twice about, let alone felt any shame towards, but you become flustered when Kenjaku leans over and unplugs it.

Excitement overpowers your embarrassment when he turns it on. To your surprise, he doesn’t place it on your clit, and instead keeps it in a low setting and traces it along your labia. His hips slow, but they maintain a steady pace. Your body tenses with anticipation anytime it nears your clit, but it still doesn’t touch you. The stretch of his cock feels amazing, but your clit practically burns with need, swollen and begging to be touched.

“Now, what do you have for me this week?” he asks, full of mischief.

“What?”

He pushes your chubby mound upward and finally places the toy on your clit—you gasp.

“Your report. It’s what I came here for, after all.”

He circles the vibrator around your clit in time with his hips, looking all too amused when you struggle to respond. You ignore his question, and instead squeeze your eyes shut as your orgasm approaches at an alarming rate. You’ve waited so long, you’ve been so pent up, you just need—

“Ah, ah, you’ve got a job to do. Stay focused,” he tuts, and lifts the vibrator. You swear loudly, and your hips chase the toy, but he pins you with a hand on your hip.

“T-the first year,” you begin, legs trembling with pent up anticipation, “students–” you whimper when the vibrator returns.

“Go on,” he coos.

“They-they…” you trail off when a slow and delicious drag of his cock steals your mind. The vibrator moves, and you throw your head back. “Theywentto–fuck!”

“Speak clearly; this is vital information.” He presses it on fully, directly, gleefully watching you struggle.

“They wen-went to Ro-oooh,” with a click, he turns it up a notch. “Fuck, you’re–” he nestles it between your lips and rotates it teasingly. Only a few hums more and he removes it again.

“Please, please don’t stop.” Your voice warbles pathetically, “please let me cum. I need it–”

“And I need your report,” he smiles, as if he isn’t torturing you.

The hopeless look you give him must spur him on, because he fucks you with the most vigor he’s showed thus far. Ripples roll across your soft stomach and thighs, and your breasts bounce wildly, but you’re too far gone to pay them any mind.

“They went to R-roppongi!” You manage, and before he can torment you, add, “it was just—third-grade curses.”

Even now, as he fucks you hard and fast, he doesn’t pull out much, and instead focuses on stroking your all of your sensitive areas relentlessly. It’s so different from what you’re used to, and so, so much better. You don’t know if you’ll be satisfied getting fucked any other way now.

“And what of Satoru Gojo?” he grunts when you squeeze him particularly hard.

“A meeting–he had a meeting,” you breathe heavily, trying to catch your breath. The pause must displease Kenjaku, because he slaps your wet clit with the buzzing toy, making you jerk beneath him.

“Wednesday!” you yell. “The Higher uh-” you’re cut off with a kiss that’s more teeth and tongue, agitating your bloody lip.

“No need to shout, I’m right here,” he says cheekily, and grips your jaw, demanding your attention. “I’m sure you’re eager for your reward.” You nod the best you can.

A large palm spans your lower belly, pressing the plump flesh down to meet his upward thrusts. It feels like you’re even fuller, even more sensitive; your eyes bulge when a deep pressure builds.

“Can you feel it?” His eyes look wild, more unhinged than before, and it makes you squeeze him in apprehension. “How large this cock is—incredible, isn’t it?”

If you weren’t on the verge of exploding, the way he marvels at his own dick would make you roll your eyes.

“Hmm?” He pulls all the way out for the first time, and sharply thrusts back in, meanly stabbing your deepest, most tender area.

“Yes, yes—I feel it!” He repeats the motion, aiming higher. “It feels so fucking good!”

He chuckles and ups the vibrator’s setting, rocking into you faster. All you can do is hold on to him, your mind too scattered and pliant for anything more. With each powerful thrust, he hits the spot near your cervix, causing your pussy to clench around him and draw melodic sounds. You force your eyes to stay open, fully aware that this is a sight you’ll never forget. His disheveled hair clung to his sweaty skin, with most of the strands of his top knot undone. Pink tinges his cheeks, and his brows crease ever so slightly. The sight causes a sudden leap of pleasure, and you feel yourself dancing at the edge.

“Are you ready to come?” He asks, as if sensing the sudden development.

“Oh, god yes!”

A smile is the only warning you're given before he withdraws the vibrator again. The cruelty almost makes you cry. Before you can plead, he pushes the hood of your clit back and the vibrator returns.

“Then come.”

Everything you held onto breaks as you come, abdomen convulsing deeply, and mouth wide open. You soar so high you forget he’s with you for a moment. Your pussy gushes, and clenches him so hard it feels like it’s trying to push his cock out along with your release. The euphoric sensations quickly become a sting as the vibrator doesn’t falter, and you claw at his back and wail.

With a click, he turns off the toy as he tosses it aside, and traps you in his arms with his head nestled in the junction of your neck and shoulder. Teeth sink into the flesh hard enough to draw blood and a shout. Only four pumps more and he fills you as deep as he can reach, as if his cum seeps directly into your womb.

He lies on you for several moments, his cock softening and twitching occasionally. It’s pleasant, and oddly domestic, feeling skin against your own and listening to the sounds of each other’s breathing. Eventually, he slides free, and you’re reminded that he came inside you when it trickles down your ass.

“I’m not on birth control, you know.” You eye him as he flops next to you, making himself comfortable, as if this is his bed and you’re the guest. “Unless you want some kid of yours running around, you owe me a Plan B.”

He shrugs.

“Makes no difference to me. It wouldn’t be my first child or my last.”

“Ha, right,” you stretch your legs, sore from being bent for so long. After a pause, you turn to him again.

“Wait, really?”

#rct can get it back up #idc idc idc its canon #someone teach me how to end things bc its such a struggle #dreams of kenjaku ☁︎#dreams ☽#wet dreams ☽#kenjaku x reader #kenjaku smut #kenjaku x chubby reader #chubby reader #chubby!reader #jjk smut #jjk reader insert

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somnolentdipso · 3 months

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Soft Gainer Shoutout!

Everyone Enjoys A Soft Vibe Once and Again~

My my, look at yourself. Just a little dirty mess, aren’t you? The sweet aroma of the cake you had been eagerly anticipating filled the air as you gazed at it with delight. You couldn't resist the temptation and decided to indulge in it, after all, you had worked hard to reach halfway to your weight goal. As you savored each bite, you couldn't help feeling a sense of accomplishment and pride. Mister is just so equally delighted with your progress!

Lately, have you not noticed that you are producing more noise than usual while walking? The floors seem to be creaking and speaking back to you as you move around. It almost too adorable to watch you wobble like a blubbery short stack. Nevertheless, seems like your hunger pangs are causing some noticeable effects, such as the tremors that originate from your stomach and the sounds of creaking furniture under your weight. Additionally, it seems like you've been indulging in food quite frequently, as evidenced by the growing expenses on food bills. The sheer number of Togo sauces you order from various places is quite noteworthy and could potentially be used as a game of bingo.

Do you remember how we both had a great desire for your growth and expansion? Your progress has been on the top of my priority list even when I forget most things. I'm proud to see how you've filled out those old clothes and eagerly await the the new clothes for your voluptuous figure.

I understand that celebrating success with indulgent treats and traditions is common, but please remember I also prioritize your health and well-being as well. It's important to find a balance that makes you happy and fulfilled.You’re a great little lard loaf, just a bundle of puff and fluff, right?

It seems like you're on the path to newfound expansions. I can't wait to see what's next for you. Perhaps there will be opportunities to try funnels, paddles, and velvet ropes to add some excitement to your experiences. With so many possibilities, the future looks bright. I'm excited to see what the future holds and can't wait to explore the amazing possibilities yet to come our way! Great news! We can definitely replenish your oils and lotions, so no need to worry. Get ready to be pampered and indulge in some luxurious self-care! Mister believes it's important to prioritize your skin's health and maintain your dough and your sprawling plumpness. While I encourage you to strive for your goals, taking care of your skin is equally important. I want you to feel comfortable and confident in your own skin, and that starts with good skincare practices. It's important to exfoliate regularly to keep your skin healthy. During your next bath, lets focus on exfoliating the areas under your fat folds to prevent buildup and keep your skin smooth and fresh. Hey there how about we give that new scent you picked out a try, hmm? I aim to provide you with the utmost care and attention following our rigorous activities and untidy situations. I can sense that you have a bright future ahead of you. I am excited to help you grow and achieve your goals beyond your wildest dreams. Together, we will make great strides and create loving memories.

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whimsicallyenchantedrose · 10 months

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The Girls’ Trip Fairy Tale Ending

Summary: This is my combined birthday gift for Joni ( @jrob64 ), Marta ( @snowbellewells ) and Krystal ( @kmomof4 ). Happy birthday ladies! Four fandom friends are nearing the end of their annual girls’ trip when they’re suddenly visited by Isaac, the author before Henry. He gives them an each a gift--an opportunity to jump into any scene in the storybook they want and fix it. Large focus on CS, although other characters and relationships will be explored. A big shoutout to @hollyethecurious and @winterbaby89 for betaing!

Word Count: 1123

Other Chapters: (2) (3) (4)

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Chapter 1

“Does anyone remember what we used those puzzle pieces for in the escape room?” Krystal asked, looking up from her laptop at the kitchen table of the Pigeon Forge cabin.

“It had something to do with that map of France, didn’t it?” Joni answered from one end of the couch.

From the other side of the couch, Jen looked up from her laptop where she was busy editing. “Yeah, it led us to that big map on the wall I think.”

“Oh, that’s right,” Krystal said, going back to her typing.

Across the room, Marta sat in the armchair, trying futilely to keep her eyes open.

It was the last day of their second annual girls’ trip, during which they’d crammed as much into the first three days as was physically possible. This last day had been more relaxed. They’d spent the entire day writing what was turning out to be an epically long fictionalized version of their adventures.

Now, it was closing in on midnight, and though they were all tired, no one was quite ready to call it a night. After all, tomorrow morning they had to check out of the cabin and head back home.

For long moments all that could be heard was the clacking of laptop keys as Krystal finished writing her scene while Jen and Joni continued with their editing.

Marta lost her battle with the sandman, and her hands relaxed after which her laptop clattered to the floor.

“You can go to bed if you want,” Joni said.

Marta shook her head. “I don’t want to miss out on anything.”

Jen grimaced. “At this point, I think all you’d be missing out on is the loud music our neighbors seem to be intent on blasting. An hour and a half past the noise ordinance.” As though to emphasize her point, there was a loud cheer from the neighboring cabin followed by even louder music.

Marta chuckled but shook her head again. “I don’t know what it is, but I just have this feeling, if I went to bed now, I’d be missing something. Something big.”

No sooner had she stopped speaking than there was a crackling, fizzing sound and a formless puff of grayish smoke in the center of the living room. When it cleared, the ladies found themselves face to face with none other than the smirking face of Isaac, the author before Henry.

For a moment no one spoke, mouths hanging open, brains trying to catch up to the fact that the impossible had just happened to them.

Finally, Jen spoke. “Seriously? Of all the OUAT characters who could have visited us on our girls’ trip, it had to be you?”

“Could be worse,” Krystal said. “It could have been Neal.” She spat the name as though it was the foulest of curse words.

“Might as well be,” Joni pointed out. “After all, the author is the one who made Neal the way he is.”

Isaac rolled his eyes. “Everyone’s a critic. Look, is anyone actually interested in what I’m here for, or do you just want to sit around criticizing my life’s work?”

“I’m interested,” Marta said, raising a hand.

Meanwhile, Joni mumbled “Why can’t we do both?” under her breath.

Isaac rolled his eyes dramatically once again. “So here’s the deal. Every writer emits a…for lack of a better word…energy, and fanfiction writers are no exception. When someone works with an author’s original source material, that author can feel the energy. Normally, I feel nothing but a ripple, but you, ladies, have been working together ALL DAY on your story, and to keep it brief, I felt a tidal wave.”

“Sorry?” Jen said.

“You fanfiction writers!” Isaac continued to rant as though she hadn’t spoken. “Always so critical of little things like plot holes and timelines and character development. Always so sure you can do my job better than I can. Well, I’m sick of it! It’s high time I put you all in your place.”

“By… monologing us to death?” Joni deadpanned.

“No,” Isaac said, glaring at her, “by letting you try it if you think you’re so smart.”

Four confused looks met him.

Isaac reached into the messenger bag he had slung over his shoulder and pulled out what appeared to be a copy of the storybook. “I’m giving each of you an opportunity to dive into the story at one key moment you would like to change. You get to interact with the characters, tell them whatever you want, lead them in whatever direction you want. Hell, you can even make one of them fall in love with you if you want.”

“But… won’t that change the whole trajectory of the story?” Jen asked.

“It may,” Isaac said, “but that’s the whole point. If you change one thing, you’ll see the ripple effect–and just how difficult it truly is to do my job. Don’t worry, though, once you return, all will be returned to the way it should be as though you’d never been there.”

“So, let me get this straight,” Krystal said, “you’re letting us, what, jump into the book and interact with our faves?”

“That’s exactly what I’m doing,” Isaac said with a nod.

Krystal’s excited shriek echoed through the entire cabin.

“Sorry to be a bother,” Marta piped up, “but… won’t it require a lot of explanation to the characters why random women just happened to show up in their lives?”

“Ah, exposition,” Isaac nodded sagely, “the scourge of writers everywhere. Don’t worry, I’m trying to get all of that out of the way in this first chapter of your adventure. For the purposes of this exercise, all the characters know you and believe you have been a part of their story from the beginning. No need to pull attention from the narrative to explain your presence.”

“But how does that work?” Jen asked.

“Because…” Isaac sputtered, “because….magic, okay?”

For several moments there was excited murmuring among the ladies as they discussed the relative merits of various scenes they’d like to “fix”

Finally Krystal addressed Isaac once again. “We’ve only got one more question: How do we get there?”

“That’s where this comes in,” Isaac said, tapping the storybook. “Think of the scene you’re interested in visiting, step up to the book, and in you go. So who’s first?”

“I know exactly where and when I want to go,” Joni said, getting to her feet and stepping up to the author. “Let’s get this fix-it underway!”

The book fluttered open, the pages flipping until they rested on a drawing of the beanstalk. Joni placed her hand on the drawing, and suddenly there was a bright flash of light, and then she was gone.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Notes:

--When I was thinking about what I wanted to do for @jrob64, @snowbellewells, and @kmomof4 for their birthdays this year, I thought about our girls’ trip to Pigeon Forge in late May. We wrote our favorite characters into our trip, essentially, so I thought, what if I write us into their story? So I asked each of them this question (without explaining the context): If you could go to one scene from OUAT and fix it, which scene would it be? In order to avoid arousing suspicion, I started the ball rolling by giving my own answer to the question. What follows will be the results of their answers! I find any kind of writing involving IRL people as characters to be very difficult, so hopefully this works!

--This first chapter, of course, is basically just a set up chapter containing, as Isaac warned, quite a bit of necessary exposition--but hopefully, as he suggested, most of that will be out of the way now! Just as a point of general interest, This chapter was nearly word for word what happened to us on our last night at the cabin--well, up until Isaac showing up at least, lol. The photo I used is the living room of our cabin...where this story starts.

--Up next on August 3rd, we start with Joni’s story! What if Joni convinced Emma that she really wasn’t wrong about Hook and she could trust him?

NEXT CHAPTER-->

#ouat fanfiction #girls' trip fanfiction #captain swan fanfiction #fandom friends' birthday fics #my fanfiction

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snarky-art · 1 year

Text

Alrighty I’ve finally finished season 5

I hate how obvious it is they’re trying to tone the show down completely to even lower audience demographic. The first 3 seasons were for kids but there was actual peril and darker concepts and stuff that were much more interesting damn you Nickelodeon and your desperate attempt to keep the most squeaky clean image ever not only does it not work it’s costing stories and plot

I REFUSE to believe Stella would be a bad fashion designer with how much she loves fashion (I know it was a joke in s1 too but I still refuse). Plus, avant-garde is a thing and she would serve

That boat that was sent from Andros was def made exclusively for the winx there is NO WAY that style exists anywhere else on that planet for land related peoples with all of its hard lines and industrial style architecture with its limited color palettes

The nautical themed outfits are cute but Bloom’s looks SO overdone to me and Stella,, my sweet babygorl,, wtf did you do to your own fit?? Aisha’s poodle puff braid ftw also

Harmonix was totally useless BUT I still like the flower petal aesthetic vibe (even tho only Flora is a nature floral lady) and some of the color combos. Bloom in pink is still a no tho, which is something I mainly hate because of how obvious it is they started integrating it into her more to make her more marketable for toy lines and shit

Where did the gems that were already on the starfish thing for sirenix come from?

The amount of times the girls all gasp or ooo or ahh and go like “wow!” “so cool!” “amazing!”,, I will kill I feel like I’m watching a 1990s or early 2000s anime dub I hate it I hate it I hate it

Icy would NOT simp like this (shoutout to her leaving Valtor when he got ugly and telling him that’s why she’s leaving him)

The relationship drama was just as stupid and hamfisted as I thought it was from an outside skim of the season based off of secondhand knowledge ie posts and gifs. Also, Krystal did nothing wrong, she’s just autistic and Helia would NOT introduce Flora as anything other than the love of his life.

Timmy and Tecna also have one of the healthiest relationships why tf is everyone trying to give them advice like this they’ve all been dating for YEARS why are all of y’all so insecure like this? The writers really said fuck everyone’s character development even more than they already had

I continue to not give a shit about skoom also this was just exhausting I can’t do it

Also that is NOT Luna and Radius. That “he wouldn’t say that!” meme is ME SOOOO MUCH during this season at so many people but I actually started YELLING about Luna being some sort of soft gorl while Radius is this prideful ignoramus

Sirenix giving Aisha that blonde hair while knowing about the insane white washing to come in the future is something I Think About

The sirenix song does bop also, although I’m so sorry to say I don’t think I’m as big of a fan of it as a lot of people are but maybe that’ll change as I hear it more please forgive me

Also, Musa’s little coffee grinder move during her sirenix transformation? So cute, wish we actually got to see it more than like 2 times. Damn you shortened sirenix transformarion sequence

Im convinced Tecna doesn’t actually know karate, she just thinks it looks cool so she mimics it. Same with Flora and her ballet/lyrical looking poses she does during her sirenix transformation sequence. She doesn’t actually know those styles of dance, she just thinks they looks neat and tries to copy it.

Dark sirenix, you’re slaying thank you for your service

Bloom, you can’t insult Diaspro and remind her you’re a princess in that fucking dress while she’s serving cunt like that

The combat is soooo slow compared to previous seasons I hate it

The rigging throughout this season was a MESS

They should go after the handful of companies that are actually responsible for the majority of pollution and destroy them and their ceos a la Flora season 1 core

Where did they put all of that trash they got out of the ocean? They went to the pacific trash island and cleaned it up. Where did it go? I’m so curious

All of the kings are so STUPID too the whole meetup thing was so dumb like just fucking,, help each other you know it makes more sense

AND PUT SOME MF RESPECT ON THE WINX’S NAMES, ALL OF THEM. They are GUARDIAN FARIES who have saved the magical world HOW MANY TIMES NOW??? Bites the writers bites the writers bites the writers

Their little dance workout outfits? Hatred. I miss the old ones so much. All of these outfits from this season,, it’s so clear cishet people were the main ones designing the clothes I hate it so much it’s not the same kind of tacky and camp that the first 3 seasons had. The only good things I can say about the dance outfits is that Flora’s purple leg warmers were cute, Aisha’s color palette was nice, and Bloom’s was very Bloom core

Icy: you guys are helping me??

Darcy and Stormy: I mean, yeah, we aren’t talking to you rn, but you’re still out sister

Me: OUGH🥺🥺🥺😭😭😭

I forgot Roy existed🥲

Daphne being brought back like this still seems so bleh to me knowing how they don’t really do shit with it and about how it was done only because they retconned all the og stuff from canon and to continue to milk the franchise until it’s teats are dry and chapped BUT I’m glad she does a little spinny at the end of the season with Bloom so at least I got that

that’s all I got for now

Shout out to @charmixpower for suffering through this all with me.

We watched the first half of the series in like 2 or 3 sittings that took place months apart, and then did the last half in one 8 hour sitting

I couldn’t have gotten through it without yelling at each other and making shitty jokes.

The psychic damage you inflicted on me throughout this was awful but I would do it all again in a heartbeat (but not really because good lird this was EXCRUCIATING sorry bestie💕💕💕)

Anyway onto season 6 now I GUESS

#Winx club #winx #winx club rewatch #rewatch #winx rewatch #snarky ramblings #which is a new tag I’ll make I GUESS #Winx club season 5 #winx season 5 #Winx s5 #Winx club s5

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fullscoreshenanigans · 11 months

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HI bestie happy pride !!!!!!! one quastion do you have any lgbt hcs for tpn that you're particularly fond of? whether they were hard hcs from the beginning or picked up from others,, give me yuor thoughts <3

ℍ𝔸ℙℙ𝕐 ℙℝ𝕀𝔻𝔼 𝔹𝔼𝕊𝕋𝕀𝔼!!! 🌈❤️🧡💛💚💙💜✨

My favorite hard headcanons that will come as a surprise to no one who has spent some time browsing this blog are endgame Norrayemma/REN/NER and Gildayshe, the former of which I'm very fortunate with when it comes to finding art and fic, and the latter not so much because I've never seen it anywhere besides this site. </3 (Thanks for prompting me to finally put together my past!Gildemma → endgame!Gildemma ramble I mentioned months ago. 🧡💚💛) Special shoutout to @frozentothetouch whose art converted me back in 2021 before I made this blog.

I don't have hard gender or sexuality headcanons for the trio for reasons @hanz-xd perfectly articulated here:

i think they'd have a hard time understanding the human world's perception of relationships and their hyper focus on labels. it's not like they really had those things at grace field, or at least, it wasn't important enough for them to care about. no one really called themselves straight, gay, bi, etc. so it's a little confusing for them in the real world. not the concept of these identities, just the need for labels in the first place. emma is kinda like "well i love every body?? why do i need to label that??" i think emma also struggles to understand the pressure of monogamy because again, her heart is so big and so full, she can't possibly imagine containing that love to one single person. especially when she thinks about ray and norman. she doesn't love one of them more than the other, she loves both of them so much. why would she want to force herself to choose when she could just love both of them? [...] but yeah, to summarize, the three of them would be together, but they'd never put labels on their identities, aside from calling each other their boyfriend/girlfriend. that's all it needs to be for them. the most they’ll do is confirm with a simple “yeah i guess” when people ask if they’re polyamorous. like yeah, they are by definition, but they don’t really care about labels. they just love each other in a way that feels right and authentic to them

The trio of my heart 🤍🧡🖤 though if I had to pick some, I'd default to the ones @officersnickers uses in this piece.

Likewise I don't have firm gender headcanons for Gildayshe, but I'm very big on lesbian Gilda, once again thanks to Rain and also to @just-like-playing-tag. I would also say I'm 95% committed to lesbian Ayshe, with the last 5% being my soft spot for Rayshe, though even then she's wlw + Ray doesn't necessarily have to be cis for it to work.

I'm ever so slightly less big on Yuucas but still big on it and a firm believer in the bunkerdads. 🖤❤️ Like many people in the fandom, I also champion gay Lucas and bi Yuugo, though ngl I'm half convinced Shirai included Dina as an afterthought at the suggestion of higher-ups so people wouldn't suspect either was a mlm or "funny" with the kids given how inconsequential Yuuna is to the story. Do love a bi skunk king though. 💖💜💙👑🦨✨

I also love the idea of bi Nat with him leaning toward guys thanks to @puff-poff. Don is pan with a preference toward girls (though you have shown me the light of trans gay Don. 🙏💙💖🤍) I love the thought of him firmly believing in the idea of "finding a cute girl to date" like he talks about in episode 1, only to one day be hit with the mental equivalent of a sack of bricks upon falling hard for a guy. Not in like an angsty way because this is years down the line and he's able to handle his insecurities better, plus he has the support of a large family filled with members of the community and I'd like to think after another world war the human world as a whole is more accepting of this, so there's no shame attached to it. It's more like having it happen and then going in the group chat with something akin to "remember when I said I was a ladies' kind of guy?"

No one in the Goldy Pond crew or Lambda gang claims cishet, but my favorites for each:

Trans lesbian Violet. I cannot pass up Shirai canonically making her favorite food pickles (noted in the mystic code book). It writes itself.

Love the thought of Violet taking Gilda under her wing during their search for the Seven Walls when she finds out she had a crush on Emma. (something Violet can relate to lol)

Trans girl Gillian. Feel like this one is less common than trans Violet, but regardless, she's pan and Nigel's bi.

Vincent is gay. M'guy dapper af.

(Chapter 137)

Cislo is a mlm, though Snickers has kind of converted me to him being aroace.

Barbara is a lesbian. While I'm definitely not opposed to Cherry Bomb, I've recently taken a liking to her and Sonya being a couple. (Sonyara? Is this a thing that I've missed or am I the only potential shipper? I like the idea of Sonya approaching things in a more calm and levelheaded fashion and how that sometimes conflicts with Barbara's more chaotic one, but instead of it resulting in ire, they take it as a playful challenge. Plus I like how Sonya's blues pop next to Barbara's pinks and reds.)

(Bad mesh of their color pics in the art world book but I work with what I have. </3)

This is already hella long but there was definitely something between Leuvis and Bayon Sr. Also Geelan is a mlm.

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yfmconfessions2 · 1 month

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this is such a contrast to my last confession but erm

honestly, wish my yfm phase ended like idk, around the same time most people's yfm phase ended (which was around idfk mid 2023?) cause now its a pretty dead fandom (shoutout to that one twt oomf of mine who let me ramble about yfm to them, ily dude/p) with the possibility of ray cancelling yfm 50/50. i do hope i don't sound like im begging that guy to release songs everyday but my point is, idk man, kinda miss tht kinda short-lasted hype around yfm in 2022-early 2023. like i was so excited because i discovered this dumbass (/lh) band in like 2021 and i was so sad it was retired because i loved their songs so only god could describe my excitement when june 1 came, and to be honest, dont wanna sound like a bitch but some of their gen 2 songs disappointed me but i was happy otherwise. and the talent this fandom has like GOD YOU ALL ARE SO TALENTED (except for some of you, you know what im talking about). i dont even know why it hasn't ended yet, perhaps because yfmblr has cool shit and some of the "lore" you guys found out about puff and your hcs and all made me go "he kinda just like me ??" that and i gotta talk about ray's content too. like yeah, welcome to part 10 of "wow smth i liked is now bad! fuck me!" dude, that guy has sm potential in comedy, loved his old shorts and videos. like who tf told that guy to, idk, make those types of crime videos ??? like im serious, where and how. HE'S EVEN COLLABORATING WITH DHAR MANN GOD HAS TO BE KIDDIGN MEEEE. ray please do you need some life-changing video to convince you to do those shorts again. because i can do it bro please i miss the silly shorts. like does he not realize how his views dropped or how most of us dont like the new content or?? like what prompted this man to do these crime videos with shit ai art anyways thanks for listening to my rant, you, yfm-confessions and featheredcartoonist are my favs on yfmblr, and one of my favs on tumblr. i feel like you guys bring that old feeling of the hellyeahyourfavoritemartian blog :3 i didn't have tumblr that early to read them but based off the wayback machine, it looked really cool and fun actually. like ray noticed it whay the hell. anyways wish both of the admins a great day ! take care <3 - ❄️🎀

I TOTALLY UNDERSTAND!!! i still have a lot of faith in things turning around cuz thats just me being me. if theres a dead fandom, its chance of resurgence is running on my hope LMAO

HONESTLY THE YFM FANDOM KINDA COMES ALIVE AGAIN WITH EVERY NEW SONG THAT'S RELEASED.

AND YEAH. I TRULY GENUINELY HOLE RAY OPENS HIS EYES AND REALIZES THAT COMEDY IS WHAT HE DOES BEST AND WHAT EVERYONE ENJOYS!!!!

also feathered cartoonist whos that

#yfm #your favorite martian #confession

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shadowbender19 · 2 years

Text

And we’re back folks, if not a few days late. Sorry about that, I had to write a classics essay, of all things, so that held me up a tad. Despite that, here are my live thoughts and reactions for the new (and final :( ) Heartless video. Enjoy!

Alastor

“Curse of the hollow” is a vibe of a name, also I giving me Molly flashbacks

Ah yes, Genshin, something that I definitely know about (sarcastic)

Mythology vibes? We Stan

I love the attitude of, even if it gets scrapped or the comic never gets made, its fine, its fun to make. It’s a great philosopher towards creation

Yeah, he do be a vampire

Black hole/void magic is so cool. The audio it brings to mind is stunning

I love a spooky arm

The stars are plot significant

You can tell that I love the spooky arm thing, cause it is the main aesthetic of one of my D&D characters lol

Lorelei

I hate spelling her name, brain says no

I know that poster girl is a very common phrase, but for Lorelei specifically, it gives such a strong image. Those huge theatre posters that can’t fit on your wall, yeah that

Shoutout to all the people who did the black swan fanart

(Notes app tried to correct ‘fanart’ to ‘canary’ apple explain)

Ah yes, bird

Lorelei’s outfit being even slightly based on a wrestler is such a vibe. I don’t know what that vibe is, but it is indeed a vibe

Star placement is once again iconic. I feel like I’ll be saying that a lot tonight

The idea of the Lorelei fandom that almost certain exists in the Heartless universe having wild conspiricy theories about her tattoos gives me life, cause you know they would.

Diana

Cool cowboy + spy is a stunning aesthetic. That post about stealth vs. Russian stealth is strong with this one

The Eye!

As someone going through a Sandman phase, the ideas that come to mind at Diana being based on the Fates are numerous

The wld west vibes + the snakes are stunning.

So many references I don’t understand lol. Is this how my friends feel every time I speak?

Taking the two ‘heavy hitter’ characters and giving them the most ‘big brain strats’ fighting dynamic would make for such fun fights. Especially compared to other random fights that may happen in the series

Lance

The bastard boi!

Yes Alex, make it gayer. As God intended

My screen is small so I cannot see the face. Very sad

Alastor makes Lance captain for one day. He thinks, the guys literally a knight, how bad could it be? Next day Alastor revokes Lance’s position as captain

Alastor walking into a cell block, pointing at Lance and saying that one before walking out as the guards release Lance.

I don’t know why Lance is giving me the strong fan fiction ideas but here we are

He would call his sword teeth

He do be Erza

I actually did watch the video after he mentioned it in the last video. If you haven’t I highly recommend. Stunt people are icons. And nerds apparently

Eira knowing the ex-owners of Lance’s swords is great angst material.

Part of me says ‘armour cool’ Gremlin brain says ‘armour go clang when he walk’

I have not yet mentioned how much I love this specific art style from these videos so I will say so now.

Scales look amazing. That’s the comment

Shiny orange on the armour giving me NRG from ben 10 vibes

Scales on the sword handle. I love the attention to detail

Bandy

My beloved

He do be giving Mr Compress Vibes since day 1

Swap

The personality swap fits are great guys, never stop

(There’s a character in the current fairy tail manga who does something like this in a really fun way. Not relevant just came to mind)

The line between cliche and aesthetic is very thin

When he said, ‘not just normally playing cards’, my brain went straight to the idea of him having an absurd amalgamation of different card sets. Like he has a few Pokemon cards, a yugioh card, maybe something from magic the gathering. Black cards makes a lot more sense

Swap

Contract demons. terrifying

Pretty hair!

Puff go the sleeves

(Good lord my gremlin brain is taking over these comments)

I think I would prefer the banter rather than miming, but that’s just me.

I love this pose

Dock

Dock is probably the character I’ve seen the most fanart of

Right there! Love that he labeled it

Gross and scary and kind of decomposing. Now more people are going to have a crush on him

OMG, he’s an empath

Goop

We love a creepy cleric

“Pause for ADHD moment”

Another creepy arm!

Can’t wait to see this coloured (specifically talking about creepy hand)

“And also, pretty hot” - I have no words. I love

Alex paying specific mention to Dock showing his arm gives me the same vibe as that Tumblr post about the Mandelorians wrist

Love the Disney villain green on this guy

I was right, the creepy arm looked great in colour.

Final thoughts- This new style continues to impress me. I don’t know enough about art to say what’s change, but I absolutely adore it. The way it makes things glow especially sparks joy.

The curse names give me such strong DND vibes, specifically subclasses. But that may just be that bloodhunter subclasses are all order and they use curses. No more Heartless videos makes me sad, I hope that we get more content in the future. It may take some time for me to get excited at the idea of a new concept corner, but I know I will and I know I’ll love it. Heartless has been, and probably will continue to be my comfort YouTube series.

#abd illustrates #abd heartless #heartless #content #live reaction #alastor creed #diana shikari #lorelei #lance lothaire #dock heartless #bandy bellamis #shadow makes content

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mygreatadventurehasbegun · 2 years

Photo

One Dress a Day Challenge- Part Two!

Monochrome July

Stage Door- Lucille Ball as Judith Canfield

I wish I could find a full length shot of this dress!! It’s a floor-length evening gown and it looks so pretty on Lucy! My favorite part is the neckline...with that sheer fabric going up over the neck like that, with that little bit of skin peeking out. And it balances so well with the puff sleeves.

Also have to give a shoutout to her coat. I love the fasteners up the front and those wide sleeves.

#one dress a day challenge #stage door #lucille ball #costume design

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rawrmeansilyindinosawr · 9 months

Text

MARGaRITAVIlLLE TRI3D 2 SCam MEH ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! !

HelllOOooooo yall it has been A mf minute since i hav posted bloggie cuz i hass been mf IN A Depressiee episode n traveling but also hustling hard afffff n also manically bleaching my hair n then toning it 2 silver then dying it back 2 brown which is now fading in 2 a blondeish reddish copper patchy thInggy.. ;p

whuts been new since i last bloggyedd on like 4th of july or some10... n hung out w ravers on a bender from electrickk forest cafe i meEAN forest rave. speekiingg of dat cafe i hav never been to rainforest cafe ;p lulzz. i updated moi tinder bio to 'NEWLY SINGLE SO KAN ONLY DO CASUAL BUT IF UR ON THE MARGARITAVILLE CRIUSE SHIP.....HMU 0.0 ' ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! n tha Cruiseshipp in west palm bITCH floridA def tried 2 charge me for fuel immisions n 'OPENING A WATER BOTTLE IN THE HOTEL ROOM' WHICH I DID NOT................the only CHAOzszz that i ENSUED THERE WUZ breaking the bathroom door [[[in my defense it was already hanging off the hinges]]] n needing 2 call tha maintence pplzz to cum fixx it while crying under my sheetzz,. tha cruise wuz whatev but shoutout to all the mILFS in the hot tub who were telling me to LOVE WHO I LOVE [[gay advocates]]. ;]] bc 'JESUS LUVS ME.' also Y were there no hawt pplzz in florida except the increasingly short ppl [ex wuz 4'11 n the only hawt person was a 4'9 shawty] .....

WHyyYyyyYYyy IS IT SO HARD 2 ACCEPT THAT THE MF BEAUTY STANDARD FOR CHRISTIANZZ WAS FUKIN LARRY THE CUCUMBER WITH NO HAIR BUT HAD A WHOLE ODE/SONG TO HIM BEING SOOOOOOoooo SAD HE LOST HIS HAIRBRUSHHHHHHHH n YYYYYY am i still replaying in my headdd when tht Gurl fell downwards from trying to jump a cargo train in front of mehh N YYYYY am i still craving ass eating on train trak n makin11-11 wishes on passin train cartz.

yES i hexed my ex and tha nxt day someone got shot outside his house n NO I DONT FEEL BAD AB IT BITCH CUZZ even tho i did get triggered WAKING UP 4 dayzz ago n SEEING HIM PRETENDING 2 B A FUCKING DOG oNLINE ......... i kan sleep in peace knowing i do not pretend 2 b DOGGO n AT THE END OF THE DAY IT IS ALL LUV BITCHhhhhhhh. ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! !whew. =]

dEFINING KETAMINE CHIC . [NOT CHICK.] having undiagnosed adhd until UR an 'ADULT...''' having 'acute pain of riGHT SHOULDER' as 1 of ur medical diagnoses......ASking FLOWErz if ur crush likes u Back cuz flowerzz nevr LIE,...spending at LEAST 4 hours a day wondering why charlixcx has soOooooo many songs ab carszz.......falling on sidewalk outside of moodring cuz everything lookin like lEGO BLOCKZ N GLITTERRRRRR ... being DEPRESSED cuz the age filter on tiktok makes u look like ur DAD n u kant make urself feel better by downloadng reiMI AI ART 2 C UR FUTURE BBBBBYYY. WLALLOWW. loving EVERYONEEEE but bein reecluse n keeping ur thots to urself meow mEOW NOWWW. always havin ur phone at lik less than 10 percent...,,.holding bloodstones 2 ur hart n googling ab shamanism at 4am cuz ur lik wondering why that Tboy that came over for hot disrespectful sexx ended up saging ur pussy n telling u ab how he got initiated into being a shaman by fighting for 11 eggs....,,.,.....havin tummy problems, nose drip N using toilet paper instead of ACtual tissue paper,..,..flashbacks of being told NO when u asked 2 lick the outside of someoness coffe pot.......DICKTIONARY 2 B CONTINUED

sooOOO many short poems compiled in my notes app tht idk where else 2 share sooo here it is

'it was 2am when we talked in ur kitchen, shoes off n ur face looked different'

'built me up 2 tear me down. sugary sweet cocoa puff u Were a radioactive bomb. whispers in my head u told me 2 never trust my friends,..'

'my sex is my poetry, yet my broad shoulders n straight posture an embodied personality,...i feel like a copy of what i thought i should be, by simply observing those around me'

'u apologized 4 walking in 2 my soul, said u treat ur friendz like tht...but bc of ur brain u kant remember much n i wanted 2 ask u how does it feel to experience everything lik it was the first time, but all the time'

YEepPpppp i defz still am sneaking in2 nowiezz by going thruu tha side door into tha yard/outdoor area N yaaaaa i am still somehow ordering uberzz back to bushwIG from paulsbabygrandd with only 1 percent then moii phone dying rite after ordering itt but then somehow finding the car a block down N tha driver miracuouslyy still waiting 4 uss lik 10 min later....N yaaa i am still almost getting kicked out of the MOxy cuz im being loud wiff moi fWEndzz in tha vintage photo booth........n YA still crushing on moi friendzzz new roomie wiFF terrible social anxiety n i DEF offeredd 2 walk they doggo 4 free cuz ima SIMPPP 4 SIMP. n def am tryna buy dem a plant cuz thts whut gay ppls do when they ask u if u wanna fugg/peace offering. n YASS i am still binge watching trash tv N surrounding moiself w ppl tht wanna 'AIR OUT ' in my room by stripping completly nekkid then takin a shower in moi shower n defz yam still SCREAMING at tha top of moi lungs cuz im ANGRY... n YAAA still sad there is no unique lesbian experience cuzz pplzz still wanna giv u they ex's anime/manga bookz . Vegas bound nxtt week n reddy 2 b outta town yet again n b wiff my best friend. ;] C U NXT WEKKKKKKK

LUV U ALLL xoxoxoxo renny69247 [my old tiktok username i am 1000000 percent still spiteful my old boss asked me to change for tiktok creds for styling jewlery on some bella hadid campaign. WHATEVZZZ.]

#blog

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sinnoh-student · 1 year

Note

for the pokéblr ask game: 11 and 26

11. Favourite Gym Leader?

I’ve not actually challenged any gyms yet, so I can’t comment on Gym Leaders from a battle perspective. However! There are a couple who I really like just generally, so I’ll tell you those.

I really like the look of Fantina and her Gym here in Hearthome City, Sinnoh! I think Ghost types are super cool, and that dress she wears? Impeccable. I also really like Opal, the Fairy type specialist in Ballonlea, Galar. I actually met her a couple of times when I lived back in Galar, she seemed like such a sweet little old lady! I also have a soft spot for Fairy types, so that definitely factors in.

26. Pokéblocks, Poké Puffs, Poffins, Poké Beans, Curry, or Sandwiches?

Oh man, it’s got to be curry. Not to be a stereotypical Galarian, but I think if I couldn’t have curries I’d quite possibly just die. I also really like that they’re a food you and your Pokémon can share together! I’ve been trying to introduce Prof. Rowan to a couple of my favourite curry recipes, but he says they’re all too spicy for him…

Shoutout to Poffins as well! I’d never even heard of them before coming to Sinnoh, but my Piplup loves them!

#OOC: i’m really enjoying this ask game! pls send more <3 #pokemon rp #pokemon irl #real pokemon #pkmn irl #pokeblog #pokeblogging #pokeblr #pokemon #pkmn #pokesona #ask #pokemon ask game 11 #pokemon ask game 26 #pokemon asks game

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fvrxdrm · 2 years

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you can try to get under my skin while he’s on mine

Pairing: Chamber x F!Reader

Warning(s): NSFW

I told myself I wasn’t about to go meta on this fic…

Happy New Year yall!

*****

Love isn't a throwaway emotion, something to invoke on a whim. It isn't transitory like lust or something to regret like anger. When love is allowed to permeate every action, influence every thought, guide every deed, it leads to an inner peace not attainable any other way. It is the light in every dark night, shining brightly into each recess of the mind; healing, igniting passions that would otherwise have died. Love leads the way to being who we were born to be, people who prize peace, dignity and honor, people who find solutions that work for the many instead of the few. Love is what we must hold for one another, especially when tensions are high, for it is the trapdoor in the prison wall, the only one.

There is no perfect lover, we are all flawed, but knowing those flaws and still loving with all your heart creates perfect love. You would never look further than Chamber, your love. If the heart was a flower waiting to bloom, then love was the only sunshine it needed.

Though, it wouldn’t be love without its temptation, call it passion if you will; it’s a type of concupiscence not even lust itself and alone could conquer. It beats the wildest of hearts against their bars, fooling you into thinking your ribs are made of caramel strips rather than of the strongest metals.

You’d be a numbed fool to be unconscious of his lips on yours, a dead woman to not be aware of the heat radiating round about you. All this frenzy trickling down your spine was coincidentally more than enough to heal the hurt it costed when you accidentally fell for the man, a bump in the head he was willing to cure with his own unexpected feelings. It was as if you wished on the same star; your dreams chasing all of his dreams spontaneously.

Your nails dug what remained of his hair – what used to be slicked back for an immaculate approach now hung against the circumference of his skull and appeared a pointed mess in between your fingers, like a grass bunch newly fertilized and watered by the rain. As he thrusted inward all you could see was his face, the dream of being in the cold, the breaking of feathered crystals, and the bluster of ice outside. Your breaths rose in visible puffs and though it was you and Chamber against the cold, you were warm with one another. It was too icy for you to be stranded within the bounds, but the snow left you with no choice and quite frankly, you didn’t care and neither did he. Tomorrow, once the new year has approached, this memory would be what would get you through your days, and in your old age it would be the reason behind your grins.

In all sincerity, there was this fear of breaking an amity lingering and lurking in the air like a snake slithering in between grass-filled branches, but if anything, it’s just made your relationship so much deeper, more sensual. Your hands alighted on Chamber’s face, moving past his collar bone. Already his mind was on fire; you were his angel, his angel with fingertips of flame.

In this moment you loved him with your eyes as much as your body, your souls mingling in the quiet moments between action and stillness. The car already felt even warmer. It was hard to hold back, to make the moment last. It would always be this way from now on, so caught between the intoxication of the climax and extending a moment you never wanted to end as you learned each other all over again like a one-on-one.

This helpless circumstance has brought a new day ahead of you, a new year and a brand new life, the perfect time to take it all off and just exist, to skinny dip in water under the bridge. And no matter how much they tried to exploit your happiness, they could never break the fact that while they were trying to get under your skin, he was on yours.

*****

Shoutout to @crappwr0m for drawing this for me :D She requested more smut bc she’s thirsty asf lool

#chamber x reader #valorant chamber x reader #chamber valorant #valorant x reader #valorant

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wordsnwhiskey · 3 years

Text

As It Should Be | Chapter 6: Negotiations in Pain & Pleasure

Pairing: Agent Whiskey x F!Reader x Frankie Morales

Summary: The summary is smut, good, fun, BDSM smut, and aftercare. OR, Frankie needs to let go and hasn’t been able to for months. Jack promised to help and show him the aftercare that his old partners had been neglecting him. He’s making good on that promise.

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: M/M, BDSM, Dom!Jack, sub!Frankie, impact play (with a flogger), oral (M receiving), praise kink, dirty talk (it’s Whiskey here), anal, unprotected sex, alcohol, food mention. (I think that’s it but let me know if it isn’t!)

A/N: Y’all, it’s finally here! I have been waiting for this chapter for a while and I am so glad it’s here. These men both need this, especially Frankie and I really wanted Jack to be the person to provide it for him. If M/M isn’t your thing, I’m not sure how you got here, but this probably isn’t the fic for you, and this chapter is definitely not your thing because that is literally all there is. Huge shoutout to my friend Agent Capri Sun and mi esposa @danniburgh for feeding my thots and beta-ing!

For those of you who don’t know, PrEP is a medication that can be prescribed to those who do not have HIV and are looking to further protect themselves against it. Why did I include this? Because on the whole, it’s recommended as a safe practice and it’s rarely mentioned in media/writing. Also, please remember BDSM revolves around SSC and/or RACK. Go learn about these things. So there’s my soapbox moment. Enjoy!

“C’mon, Flyboy, we’re gonna have some fun tonight.”

Without hesitation, Frankie stood up fluidly and grabbed his go bag from the corner of the room while Jack shut his computer down for the night and collected his keys from his desk. The energy around them was buzzing with anticipation. Jack’s outward demeanor seemed casual, but the way his whitened knuckles gripped the steering wheel as his other hand alternated between tenderly playing with the hair at Frankie’s nape and searing Frankie’s thigh, showed Jack was anything but cool, calm and collected.

Frankie’s breath was coming in shallow, shaky puffs. Funny how he could maintain his breathing while being shot at, while going through combat exercises, and even when he had to crash land their helicopter in Colombia, but feeling Jack’s hand on him as they drove back to the condo broke his composure. That large, warm hand had found its way to his thigh again, fingers pressing, squeezing gently at his inner thigh, and Frankie could hear his blood roaring in his ears.

Mercifully, the drive was short. Frankie grabbed his bag with a shaky hand and quietly followed Jack to the elevator, just a short ride to the fulfillment of a promise Frankie was aching for. The elevator doors shut, and Frankie tried to take a steadying breath. The anticipation was heavy on him, and he wanted nothing more than to lean into Jack, but didn’t want to seem clingy. That had been something that his old partners, Sam and her husband, had discouraged.

Jack could see Frankie struggling, his wants warring with his nerves. With a soft smile, Jack pulled Frankie so his back was flush against his chest, loosely wrapping his arms around Frankie’s waist so he didn’t feel trapped, and pressed soft, teasing kisses along his neck. Frankie was dizzy from the feeling of Jack’s lips, his mustache tickling at his skin, the intimacy of the action, and his embrace. He was so lost in the feeling that Jack had to clear his throat to alert him that the elevator had in fact stopped and the doors were open. Frankie blushed, quickly disentangling himself from Jack, clearing his throat while he stepped out of the elevator.

Jack’s hand appeared, warm and steadying at the small of his back as he guided Frankie to the door. Jack unlocked the door, and Frankie stepped over the threshold. He didn’t even have time to drop his bag to the floor. Jack was on him, pushing him against the door, Jack’s Stetson collided with Frankie’s cap as Jack’s mouth claimed Frankie’s. There was no care for either the Stetson or Frankie’s cap as Jack’s tender kisses from the elevator turned hungry, his tongue swiping at Frankie’s lower lip. Frankie dropped his bag, his now free hand clutching at Jack’s shirt. Jack’s fingers gripped Frankie’s hair tightly, pulling a whimper and a moan from Frankie that was muffled against Jack’s own growl of approval. His knee pressed between Frankie’s thighs, and Jack could feel the other man’s erection, hard and needy against his hip.

“Damn, Flyboy, eager aren’t ya?”

Frankie could only nod as he tried to catch his breath, Jack’s drawl making his cock twitch and his eyes blown with lust.

“Go to my room, strip, then kneel at the foot of the bed. Put a pillow down for your knees.”

Jack’s voice dropped in register and took on a delicious edge that sent a shudder down Frankie’s spine. Any reservations Frankie had about being clingy or too needy were obliterated by the desire in Jack’s commanding presence.

While Frankie did as he was told, Jack shrugged off his blazer, tossing it over the back of the sofa, then rolled up his sleeves and poured himself a drink. He savored the smooth heat in his mouth, rolled his shoulders, then made for his room. His cock hardened at the sight that waited for him.

“Hands on the bed, Flyboy.”

Frankie was quick to obey, glancing over at Jack briefly to admire him. He quickly turned his gaze back to the empty space on the bed in front of him, instinct telling him that Jack would want him to face forward. Jack strode over to one of his wardrobes, opening the doors to reveal an assortment of hanging implements. After a moment’s consideration, he pulled a flogger from its hook along with a pair of leather cuffs.

“Normally, I prefer to use rope, but we did such a number on you in our haste the other night, I’m gonna have to settle for the leather cuffs for now.”

Frankie shuddered as the distantly familiar sensation of smooth leather strips teased his back and ghosted over his shoulders.

“Color?” Jack asked. Despite it being on Frankie’s list of interests, he wanted to confirm Frankie was still ok with the implement being used in this session.

“Green.”

Frankie responded quickly and took a deep breath. Jack hummed his approval, a smile tugging at his lips when Frankie’s body moved of its own accord at the sound, leaning back to seek Jack’s touch. The flogger appeared in Frankie’s line of sight as Jack teasingly ran the leather lightly down then up Frankie’s left arm before giving the other the same treatment. Frankie fought to sit still, goosebumps left in the flogger's wake, and another shudder raced down his spine. Jack switched the flogger to his right hand, and his fingers traced the path of the flogger down from Frankie’s shoulder, over his bicep and to the tips of Frankie’s fingers. He covered Frankie’s hand with his own while he kissed his shoulder and the fading bite mark from two nights prior. Jack’s teeth grazed over the sensitive skin at the nape of Frankie’s neck and hummed at the moan that caught in Frankie’s throat.

“Are you ready, Flyboy?”

Frankie’s breath hitched, and he nodded. Jack tutted and grabbed Frankie’s chin, forcing him to meet his gaze.

“Use your words, Flyboy.”

“I’m ready, sir.”

Jack’s eyes flashed at the honorific, his smile broadening as his grip tightened on the handle of the flogger.

“Good boy.”

Jack hummed his approval, brushing Frankie’s jaw with his thumb before pulling away. The whisper of leather on skin was a teasing promise of what was to come, making Frankie tense. There was a painful absence of sensation for the briefest of moments before the crack of leather filled the air, followed by another; sensation lighting up his back. Both weren’t particularly hard, intended only to warm him up, but Christ, did Frankie want more.

Jack marveled at the way Frankie’s back muscles twitched, aching to see them spasm at his hand, to make him squirm. Another two light flicks of Jack’s wrist before a resounding crack echoed with Frankie’s moan. Then again, two light cracks followed by two slightly harder ones. Frankie clenched his hands, bunching the sheets in his fists and crying out.

“Color, Flyboy?”

“Green!” Frankie keened, his back feeling delightfully warm.

“Good boy,” Jack praised again, smiling at the way Frankie whimpered in response. “Can you do more? Do you want to go harder?”

Frankie nodded, then remembered the rules.

“Yes!”

“Yes what, Flyboy?”

“Yes, sir!”

“That’s my good boy.”

Frankie gave an obscene moan at the praise, breaking off into a whimper as Jack gave him another stroke of the flogger, making Jack smile. The next one was harder, the painful whisper of leather across his back left a stinging ache. At the eighth total stroke of the flogger, warmth enveloped Frankie, a knot caught in his throat at the feeling. By the ninth stroke, Frankie was almost floating, tethered to the moment by the wave of overwhelming emotion threatening to crest in his chest.

He wanted this so badly, he needed it. He needed to let go and not think about all of the shit in his life that had converged on him the last few days. Frankie choked out a sob at the last stroke, the cresting wave of emotion breaking free and crashing over him.

Everything he had buried, his mixed emotions, the drugs, and losing his job, bubbled to the surface all at once. The tears were just as cathartic as sinking into the pain had been.

He let out a shuddering exhale, and before Jack could ask, Frankie called out “Green!”

Jack sighed, the kneeling man’s back was an angry red, stripes forming from the flogger. He adjusted himself in his jeans to get some relief, then set the flogger back on its hook and returned to the bed. Jack sat down and maneuvered them so that Frankie’s head was cradled in his lap. He understood that Frankie needed this, now more than ever probably. It was one of the reasons he had offered to do this for Frankie, to give him an outlet to just feel and let go.

“Shh, you did so well, Flyboy. You were such a good boy for me.”

Jack cooed as he stroked Frankie’s damp, curly locks. Frankie hummed in response, and Jack lifted Frankie’s chin to see his flushed face.

“Can you do more, or do you want to stop for now, Flyboy?”

Frankie blinked, his eyes hazy then he buried his face in Jack’s lap, finding it hard to think and trying to ground himself.

“I-I can do more. I want to do more.”

Jack’s breath hitched as Frankie’s cheek brushed against the cock straining in his jeans.

“Alright, Flyboy. Lean back then, hands behind your back.”

Frankie did as he was told, his back burning slightly from the flogging. Jack stood up, a steadying hand on the sweet, willing man kneeling before him. He took a moment to let his gaze find Frankie’s cock, his eyebrows raising in surprise at just how hard and leaky he was.

“Shit, boy, I’ve never seen someone get as hard or leak as much as you from just the flogger.”

He carefully secured the leather cuffs, making sure they were fixed a bit above his wrists so as to not chafe the already irritated skin, then sat back down on the bed and tugged Frankie forward. Without his hands to stop himself, Frankie’s head landed unceremoniously back in Jack’s lap with a grunt. A low groan fell from Jack’s lips as Frankie nuzzled the large bulge in Jack’s jeans. Frankie mumbled something into Jack’s lap that he couldn’t quite make out.

“What was that?”

“Said ‘s not just the flogger.”

“Oh? What is it then, Flyboy?”

Frankie squirmed, and Jack did nothing to stop him.

“S’you, never was like this before.”

Jack’s heart melted at the trust, vulnerability and adoration that was tinged with sadness in Frankie’s words. This was about more than just the clear arousal Frankie had. The look in his eyes earlier, and the way he was nuzzling him now, told Jack that Frankie had been missing the safety and ability to truly let go for a long time now. Jack was honored that Frankie was able to find that solace in him.

“Hey,” Jack’s hands cupped Frankie’s face as he bent down and kissed him tenderly, making sure to place a kiss on each of Frankie’s tear-stained cheeks. After allowing them a moment, Jack pulled back, his thumb swiping over Frankie’s lower lip, nudging insistently until Frankie took it in his mouth and sucked on it eagerly.

“D’you want to put this mouth to some good use, Flyboy?”

Frankie watched hungrily as Jack made to unbuckle his belt until he realized that Jack was waiting until Frankie had consented to go any further .

“Fuck… I mean yes, sir.”

Jack chuckled, then finished unbuckling his belt, adjusting so that he could get his jeans and boxers down to his mid-thigh. He smirked at the way Frankie stared hungrily at his cock. It was nice to know that the hunger he’d seen the night at the safehouse hadn’t been entirely drug induced.

The smirk promptly disappeared when Frankie widened his knees to balance better then leaned in and his lips enveloped the head of his cock.

“Fuck…”

The curse fell softly from Jack’s lips, a moan catching at the back of his throat. It took all of Jack’s strength not to buck up into Frankie’s mouth from the searing pleasure of Frankie bobbing up and down on his cock, moaning as he took more of Jack’s length.

Frankie smirked as best as he could, feeling proud he was able to elicit such a reaction from Jack. Strong fingers gripping tightly and twisting in his hair pulled a whine from deep in Frankie’s chest, and his eyes rolled back a bit as he felt Jack’s hand push him further down his cock until Frankie’s nose brushed Jack’s dark curls. Jack held him there for a minute, getting used to the hot warmth that surrounded his cock. He let out a breathy chuckle when Frankie’s hips jolted forward involuntarily, the feeling of being held down making him seek the sweet tantalizing friction of the bed.

“F-Fuck, Flyboy… S-shit, y’got a hot fuckin’ mouth.”

Jack started to pump into Frankie’s mouth, his other hand on Frankie’s throat to feel his cock move. He could feel the small whimpers and moans Frankie made around him, increasing arousal turning his breathing into shallow pants.

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ… Such a -shit- Such a good, cock-hungry… Fuck!”

He felt Frankie start to struggle and pulled him off of his cock. They were both panting, trying to catch their breath, and Jack ran his fingers through Frankie’s hair to help soothe him. Frankie nuzzled into his lap then turned his head and breathed in Jack’s scent, marveling at the sight of Jack’s twitching cock. Smirking, Jack tenderly wiped some spit from the corner of Frankie’s mouth.

“How you doin’ down there?”

“Mmm... good.”

“Yeah?” Jack chuckled, “You sound a little cock dumb, Flyboy.”

“Maybe…” Frankie’s voice sounded dream-like and far away.

Jack put his hands on Frankie’s shoulders and pushed him back gently to see the head of Frankie’s cock flushed a needy red and leaking a small puddle on the hard floor beneath him, just missing the pillow cushioning his knees.

“Do you wanna cum, Flyboy?”

Frankie’s eyes widened at the whine that bubbled out of him, a deep flush taking a hold of his cheeks, and his gaze dropped from Jack’s dark, warm eyes.

“Yes, sir… Please.”

“Do you think you can take me?”

Jack watched Frankie intently, taking his chin between his index finger and thumb to make their gazes meet again. He didn’t want Frankie agreeing just because he thought that Jack would let him cum by doing so. Frankie bit his lip, then nodded.

“Words. I need to hear you say it, Flyboy. We don’t have to tonight if you don’t want to or can’t.”

Jack’s gaze was hard, yet tender, and Frankie felt a little lost in it, but he knew that he trusted Jack completely. He knew that if he wanted, they could stop at any time. Arousal pooled in his belly, and he knew that he wanted to take Jack, wanted to feel his weight pin him down, make him feel safe before sending him over the edge of pleasure.

“Yes sir, I-I can, and I want to, it’s just been a while.”

Jack’s chest tightened a little as he looked down at Frankie, smiling, then leaning down to kiss Frankie before moving down to nibble along the column of his neck.

“Don’t worry, we’ll take it slow, Flyboy, and you just let me know if you need a break or to stop.”

Frankie nodded, then grumbled in surprise when Jack effortlessly hauled him up and bent him over the bed. He turned his head on the bed to breathe a bit better and saw Jack grab a bottle of lube from the nightstand.

“Do you want to use a condom? Me and Bourbon are exclusive, but I get tested regularly and am on PrEP for Statesmen. All my tests came back negative.”

Excitement tingled down Frankie’s spine. He wanted to feel him.

“No condom. I’m on PrEP too, got tested after Sam and haven’t been with anyone since.”

Jack nodded, then walked back over to the bed, his large, warm hand kneading Frankie’s ass.

The cool liquid was in stark contrast to the heat of his fingers. Jack slowly circled Frankie’s hole while he reached around and took Frankie’s cock in his other hand. Frankie’s keening moan turned into a whine when Jack gently pushed a finger inside of him.

Jack felt Frankie clench around his finger and started to lightly stroke his cock while letting him get used to the feeling. After a bit, he coated a second finger with lube and slid it in beside the first. Frankie let out a shaky breath, the muscles in his back rippling lightly.

“Look at you. You’re doing so well for me. Just take it easy, Flyboy.”

He continued to work him gently, understanding it had been a little while for Frankie. Then Frankie began to relax, slowly fucking himself back onto Jack’s fingers and forward into Jack’s fist. Jack let Frankie get used to the sensation again, adding more lube and delving deeper, harder with his fingers.

After they were able to work up to three fingers, Jack pulled out of him and took a step back, drawing a whimper from Frankie at the loss of contact. He heard the shuffle of denim as Jack shucked his jeans and boxers, then felt Jack’s steadying hand on his back.

“I’m right here, Flyboy.”

Jack murmured reassuringly while he gave himself a few strokes with his lubed up hand, he teased the hole with the tip of his cock with a feathery touch then slowly started to ease into Frankie.

“Fuckin’ Christ, Flyboy!”

Jack hissed, then moaned as he slowly worked himself inch by inch inside of Frankie, taking encouragement from Frankie’s keening and ragged breath.

“Fuck… So… -mmmmmfuckme- So full, Jack!”

Jack smirked at the way he had reduced Frankie to nothing but babbling, but his smirk quickly faded when he smacked Frankie’s ass and felt him clench in response.

“Shit, Flyboy, you’re so fuckin’ tight.”

Frankie moaned, fingers grasping helplessly at Jack’s shirt. His arms were still bound, and he needed more contact than the teasing drag of the fabric.

“Shirt… off, wanna feel you, Jack.”

He let out a low moan that filled the air as Jack leaned back, pushing himself deeper into Frankie as he unbuttoned then tugged his shirt and undershirt off. Frankie hummed when he felt Jack’s warm body envelop him, giving him the contact he wanted. Jack chuckled as Frankie’s hands sought to feel his soft tummy, fingers brushing the trail of hair that gathered there.

Pulling back, Jack grabbed the leather cuffs for leverage and he started to fuck Frankie in earnest.

“Fuck yeah, Flyboy. Taking me…. So. Fucking. Good!”

Jack’s heavy hand came down with a loud smack on Frankie’s ass, and he steadily increased his pace until Frankie was squirming and whimpering beneath him. Frankie was so close, teetering on the edge, but not quite able to get there. He felt like he was slowly being driven mad by exquisite torture.

“J-Jack! Please… I n-need-”

“Not yet, Flyboy.”

Jack gritted out, getting closer to his own orgasm. Leaning over, so his chest was as flush as it could be against Frankie’s back, Jack growled.

“Ask me nicely, Flyboy.”

“Please!” Frankie cried out, “Jack, please, I want to-”

Jack adjusted his hips, and dropped a hand to wrap around Frankie’s cock again. “Alright, let go, Frankie. Cum for me, Flyboy.” He thrusted again, hitting a different angle, finding Frankie’s prostate and causing him to cry out hoarsely as he came all over the sheets and Jack’s hand.

“Fuck!”

The answering growl that came from Jack’s throat seared Frankie’s soul, and he could feel Jack tense above him, his hips stuttering until he gave one final thrust and stiffened above Frankie. As Jack came, his grunts made Frankie’s chest flutter, the sensation of having been claimed and marked running hot in his veins.

Frankie’s breath hitched when Jack brought his fingers up to taste Frankie’s cum, and he moaned before bringing his fingers to Frankie’s mouth to give him a taste as well.

They both groaned as Jack slipped out. He took a moment to admire the mess he made of his Flyboy, soothingly rubbing Frankie’s hip.

“Alright, gimme a minute, Flyboy.” Jack’s voice was soft, trying not to interrupt the bliss that smoothed Frankie’s facial features.

Frankie grunted as Jack undid the cuffs one by one, easing Frankie’s arms to his side, massaging them gently to soothe the soreness.

“Hey, I’ll be right back. Don’t move. I’m gonna take care of you, Flyboy.”

Frankie mumbled in response. Jack cleaned himself up and returned shortly, with a soft, damp washcloth and a glass of water. He set the glass down, then began to gingerly dab the cloth over Frankie’s back, soothing him from the sting left behind by the flogger. Small little whimpers fell from Frankie’s lips at the contrast in temperature.

“Shhh, you did so well. This’ll help the burn a bit, Flyboy.”

Jack cooed, murmuring praises as he went. Once he was finished, he put the washcloth in the hamper, then wrapped the light comforter around Frankie to insulate him from Jack’s body heat. He pulled him in close, tucking Frankie under his shoulder.

“‘M so proud of you. My Flyboy… you were so good for me.

Jack kissed his ear, nuzzling the curly locks atop Frankie’s head, humming when Frankie curled in closer at his words. Frankie couldn’t do much more than that. His mind was still mostly floating on cloud nine, slowly easing back to the solid safety of being enveloped by Jack’s arms and his scent.

“You thirsty?”

Frankie nodded, but as Jack moved toward the bedside table, Frankie’s hand shot out and grabbed Jack’s wrist..

“No leaving, only water.”

Jack broke out into a hearty laugh, harmonizing with Frankie’s own laughter.

“It’s just right here on the night table.”

Frankie let him go. Jack stretched to retrieve the glass for Frankie, who took it to his lips, becoming more and more aware of his surroundings and less in the haze of subspace as he drank.

“Thank you, Jack. That was… incredible. I really needed that.”

Jack nodded and smiled down at Frankie, still nestled into his side, thumb rubbing circles over Frankie’s arm.

“It’s been a minute since I’ve done that, and I’m glad I could do that for you, Flyboy. I’d be lyin’ if I said I didn’t love every minute of it myself. Are you feeling alright? Do you need anything?”

Frankie shook his head, and Jack grunted as he peered over to look at the clock: 20:30.

“You hungry? There’s a biscuits and gravy place that delivers, and I did say I’d take care of you tonight, Flyboy.”

Frankie’s stomach growled in response and they laughed again. Jack got up and placed their order, then turned to find Frankie had retrieved his go bag and was rummaging through it.

“Shit, I barely have anything to wear. I wasn’t expecting to be gone from home this long.”

“Don’t worry about it, you can borrow mine. I know I definitely enjoyed seeing you in my clothes today.” Jack teased and winked at Frankie, pulling a flush to his cheeks. “Besides, me and Bourbon can take you shopping tomorrow.”

Frankie frowned a bit, remembering that he was technically out of a job, and though he was looking forward to a big paycheck from Pope, he had no idea when he’d next be able to get a decent job flying.

“Uh, I don’t really think I could afford much out here. I usually just wear cargo pants and a t-shirt or button down.”

Jack scoffed, “I said we’d take you shopping, not that you’d be paying, Flyboy. Either Statesman’ll pay or I will. You’ve got nothing to worry about.”

Frankie squirmed. He was not accustomed to such things, but Jack’s voice left little room for argument. Shortly after, Jack went to pick up their food from the lobby, and they promptly devoured it upon his return. Frankie sat back with a groan, his eyes fluttering closed.

“Time to hit the hay, I reckon.”

Frankie nodded and made his way to the guest bedroom. Jack frowned, putting a hand on Frankie’s shoulder.

“I’d rather have you in my bed again tonight... if you’re alright with that?”

“Y-yeah, I’d like that.”

Jack nodded, then threw away the trash and tugged Frankie along to bed. He smiled as Frankie scooted to curl up beside him, imagining how things would be once you were in bed with them as well.

Frankie thought to himself how easy this felt, how good it felt. Hell, maybe this was something he could do and not have it end up like before. Just in this night alone, Jack had done more for him than his old partners had the entire time the three of them had been together. Despite how easy or how right it felt, Frankie knew that any relationship, especially one with three people, required a lot of communication and effort.

He couldn’t think of anyone else he’d rather do that work with than you and Jack.

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palbabor-writes · 3 years

Text

Latibule

Pairing: Sakusa Kiyoomi x Fem!Reader

Warnings: mentions of anxiety, panic attacks & hypochondria, adult language, eventual SMUT

Words: 9790

His usual spot at the cafe is taken, and he’s already decided to keep walking on, but somehow, somehow, he manages to catch your eye.

His feet are slowing, a stuttering breath stagnating in his lungs, all at once hopeful and bewildered, but before he can examine his fluttering emotions, you’re alongside him on the noisy sidewalk, passing him his usual evening drink, a pleased smile on your soft lips.

Suddenly, the world smells like velvety pine and heady bergamot, and he can’t stop staring down at you.

Notes: hi. this is my first real foray into the world of Haikyuu!! & i’m so excited to branch into this fandom! if this is your first time reading my stuff imma warn you, i take things slow, so expect some slow burn.

this will be a multi-chapter fic with eventual NSFW/18+ only content. i will post warnings for each update. i’ll also link other chapters on this page and any other pages that come up, so keep in mind that there will be edits to links as things progress - i wasn’t planning on this being anything more than a one-shot, but this first exploration of Sakusa’s character turned into a monster & i wanna really hone in on that sweet, sweet build up.

big, huge shoutout to @wickedfaerytale & @albinoburrito for their edits and suggestions. y’all are amazing and i love you both so much, this fic wouldn’t be what it is without the two of you.

Latibule /lat-i-bule/ noun a hiding place; a place of safety and comfort

pt. i: an opening

[ pt. ii: four set ] ||

It’s a quiet coffee shop.

He likes that about it. He likes it almost as much as the simple fact that he can tell what day of the week it is by the smell of the disinfectant and bleach that’s being used behind the counter.

There’s a strange comfort to this place’s consistency and Kiyoomi Sakusa likes to linger here, propping his MSBY issued volleyball bag beside his usual table. He’s already placed his coffee order with the cheerful man who guards the cash register, watching as his paper cup is marked with a fresh sharpie and placed on the bartop, beside the elbow of that barista who always attentively turns to wash her hands before making each new order.

He had stumbled upon the shop his senior year of college and he’s haunted it ever since, content to sip on a smooth cortado as he watches over the latest plays from the MSBY games, mapping out his overestimations, his successes, and his flukes in his notebook– carefully lined kanji listing out what worked and what needs some extra practice. The caramel sweet flavor of the ristretto shots always helps to relax him, his broad shoulders lowering, the ache of self-induced tension and overworked muscles easing as his drink cools between his fingers, finally sinking fully into the plush leather seat of his clean chair.

The young woman, he should know your name, but he’s never caught a proper glimpse of your name tag, because you’re always moving, gives him a familiar lifting of smooth lips and places his completed drink on the handoff plane. You know his personal preferences well enough that you’re already moving the caddy of lids and cardboard sleeves forward, so he can select his own from the neatly stacked row. He gives you a cursory nod and his calloused fingertips pull the frothy beverage into his hands, cupping the curved sides and taking a deep drag of air through his masked nose, inhaling the bright smell of fresh coffee.

And…vines…or is it a tangy pine?

There’s something else that’s tickling his senses, and he blinks toward you, dark brows knitting together, a misplaced curl of inky hair brushing against his forehead, trying to make sense of the smell. His chin lifts and his head tilts, eyes watching your polished movements as you move onto the next drink in line. It’s definitely got some floral notes, but it’s not cloyingly sweet, like honeysuckle or gooseberry–no, it’s got some kind of balmy spice to it. It returns when you move closer and he swears he can taste summer when you shift back.

Odd.

When you look up at him again, he’s already stepping away, his running shoes squeaking across the slate tiles, making his way back to his bag and table. The aroma of your perfume is half forgotten when he cracks his laptop open, squirting some hand sanitizer across his chapped palms before he starts to clack his fingertips across the dark keys. He needs to get more lotion; he thinks as the sterile solution cools between his splayed fingers, this weather always dries his skin out.

The next time he comes in he spies you at the back of the shop, jotting something down in a large binder before kneeling behind the counter, returning with a sparkling, grated drain top. The white gleams under the accented lighting and he watches as you thumb at the paint, denoting a splotch of rust that rests under the dip of the metal. You return the cover to the ground and immediately twist to the hand washing sink that rests behind the bar, lathering up some dispensed soap and methodically stroking from the tips of your fingers to your wrists. A steady puff of steam is rising around you as he places his order–

[ a oat milk smoothie, with an extra scoop of protein powder, chia seeds, turmeric, kale, cucumber, dash of dates for sweetener ]

and by the time he’s paid and padding toward his usual spot, you’re finishing up, yanking a few disposable paper towels from the overhead dispenser and gingerly drying your damp hands.

He’s seen you wash your hands plenty of times before, but he finds himself distractedly following your movements this afternoon as he waits for his order and his computer to finish booting up. You catch his obsidian eyes when you turn around and give him a brief smile; a flash of teeth peeking through your lips before you move back to your binder. You jot down a few more notes as you move onto the fridges that sit under the countertops, pulling and prying at the gaskets that line the doors of the whirring chillers, speaking softly to a fellow employee, pointing out the missed stains and chipped flecks of ice that like to hide within the folds of the protective plastic.

You’re not overbearing in your coaching, keeping your tone even and friendly, focusing on what can be done going forward, rather than lingering on the ‘what if’s’ and ‘why wasn’t’ of the situation.

Practical, efficient, thorough with your work, and careful with your craft.

Those descriptors float to the forefront of his mind as he takes his smoothie from the barista that’s standing beside you. He lets his gaze hold against your half leaning form, watching the lead tip of your pencil mark over the stark red checklist that you’re working your way down.

He’s not sure why he’s so focused on you. He’s never thought much about you. You’ve been someone that exists in the background, part of his routine to be sure, but he justifies that your attention to detail is likely the reason why he prefers this shop to the dozens of other coffee houses that litter the main street by the MSBY training facilities and stadium. Your head shifts, and he can tell you can feel his gaze, so he swiftly plucks up his icy cold cup, his nose involuntarily trying to seek out that perfume you’d been wearing the other day.

Strange. His brow furrows, and he hunches into his sports jacket, walking back to his chair and his glowing computer. He can’t smell it today. Maybe you’re too far away, or perhaps you’d forgotten to put it on before coming in.

Pity. He’d liked it.

“Running a little late today, I see,” your voice snaps him out of his stupor, onyx eyes lifting to rest against your open expression.

“Kind of,” he replies blandly, his deep cadence muffled by the pull of his mask.

“Damn, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you be late! Want me to push your drink to the front of the queue? I’ve got the power to do that, you know,” you tease, tilting your head as a mischievous grin settles over your quirked lips. Kiyoomi blinks impassively down at you and shakes his head. How would he even reply to something like that? You were joking, right? You must be. And if you weren’t, the people who are clustered around the handoff plane would certainly realize that he was being given his drink first, clearly ahead of all of theirs, and they’d probably toss him a few disgruntled stares or mouthy jabs, and likely accuse you of playing favorites.

Wait. Favorites?

Does he count as a ‘favorite’ here? He looks away, lips drooping into a pursed line. You’ve always been…nice…but there’s no way he’s a favorite of yours. He’s hardly spoken to you in the year and a half that he’s been coming here. But is that all it takes? Just take up space in the cafe a few times a week and get special treatment?

No. You must be joking.

All the same, your jovial tone and that welcoming smile is a little intriguing.

He shuffles closer to the heat of the espresso machines, easily lifting his head over the lip of the bronze metal, watching you. You’re looking down now, fingers gripping the dark handle of the portafilter, holding it under the buzzing grinder to gather a fine sprinkle of dusky espresso grounds into the waiting basket. Then, you lift a lustery tamp to the heaping mound and press expertly against the delicate remains of the arabica, packing them to an even level before clamping the filter under the display of the machine. When you flick the switch that activates the group head you must sense his stare and lift your eyes to his, eyelashes momentarily fluttering against your cheeks when you spy his unabashed observations of you.

For a second, your hands falter, trapped within the unexpected intensity of his curious gaze, and you pat blindly for the cup that’s sitting to the right of your curled arms, embarrassingly disarmed by his transparent focus. But once your grip wraps around the waiting plastic, it seems to ground you and you let out a huffing chuckle, eyes crinkling up at his half obscured face.

“I’m only kidding about moving your drink up, don’t worry, I won’t get you in trouble. Besides, it’s against our policy. First come, first serve and whatnot,” you assure him, halting the stream of water that’s pouring the carefully timed flow of espresso into the clear shot glass that’s waiting against the gleaming metal of the drip tray.

“You’re busy today,” he notes, jerking his curly head toward the gaggle of college students sprawled across some of the bigger tables, their laughing voices and overly loud conversations easily drowning out the hum of lofi jazz that’s playing from the recessed speakers.

“Ah, yeah, finals are coming up for a lot of us that go to the university. I know my classes are starting to gear up for that last push and sometimes you just need a pick me up and coffee is great for that. We also get a big boost from the smoothies and frappes that we sell in the afternoons, so we get a little packed. Most of our sales happen during the weeks leading up to finals and midterms, uh, anyways, not that you asked for an economic lesson on a small cafe’s profit margins.”

“You’re a student?” he asks, head dipping back, eyes glittering in the lights. Wait. How old are you? Not that he can boast any sort of seniority on that front, he’s only 24 after all, but you just seemed, hmm, more mature? He didn’t picture you as a co-ed. Not that he’s actively picturing you when he’s not here. Well, he is a little recently, but you’ve always felt sort of timeless? Ageless? Is that the right term? You give off an air of confidence. So he’d assumed that you were older than him. Not in a bad way, in fact he’d sort of like it if you were. Why, that is, he’s not willing to look too deeply into, at least, not right now. Maybe later, when he gets back home and can…oh, you’re talking again.

“I’m a graduate student, but not for much longer. I’m finishing up my dissertation this week! Thank God. This semester has been the pits, I’m so ready for a break!” You sound genuinely happy and he can smell that faint aroma of your perfume each time you move.

“Congratulations,” he murmurs, unsure if you’d heard him since you’re stepping away from the machines that he’s posted himself behind. He watches you set up two steaming drinks, topping them with a lazy swirl of silky, housemade, whipped cream, a crosshatch drizzle of caramel, carefully snapping a set of black plastic lids on top, before calling out the handwritten names and handing them off to their respective owners. Then you’re back, hands already unhooking the portafilter, knocking out the used espresso pucks into the trash and bringing him back to that spicy smell of summer that sits on your skin.

“Haha, it’s a little early for a congratulations. Don’t jinx me, will’ya? But seriously, thanks, that’s nice of you to say,” you continue, flowing easily back into this half-hearted conversation he’s accidentally struck up with you. He winces at that thought and dips his hands deeper into his jacket, hunching his shoulders into a habitual slouch that he instinctively imposes upon himself when he’s out in public.

“You want a lid?” you question over the hiss of the machine, and he lifts his head, finding your bright eyes through the misting remains of the cleared steam wands.

“No.” His response is clipped, and he gulps down a sudden burst of hazy anxiousness when someone brushes past him, jostling him closer to the low wall that divides the bartop from the cafe floor. He braces himself against the warming top of the machine, his large palm steadying himself, shoulders caving forward, his dark curls falling over his eyes, obscuring his face further. He clenches his jaw, a scowl blooming over his lips.

His social anxiety isn’t anything new, and it’s likely exacerbated by the bustle of the nearby college students, who seem to be getting louder by the second. The noise is needling under his skin. He starts his carefully ingrained breathing exercises, tugging in a deep stream of air through his flared nostrils.

But the smell is coffee is too overwhelming and suddenly his ritual doesn’t help much.

He can feel blood leaving his fingertips and toes, or as his cousin Komori puts it [ the inescapable dread of some imagined ailment, which is making him think that his body is rushing blood from his extremities to his vital organs, his fingertips cold, hands shaking, when in reality ‘you’re just feeling unsure of yourself, man. It’ll be ok in a minute, promise!’ ]

But in the end, it doesn’t matter what anyone calls it, or how they think he should feel during these heart pounding moments, he just knows that he wants to get out of here, now.

His agitation must have twisted the top half of his expression because the feel of your warm fingertips against his wrist jerks him out of his head, causing him to suck in an unsteady breath as he lurches backwards, pulling away from your offending touch.

“Oh! Sorry! I didn’t think…I just…” you bite your lip, a look of stark worry passing over your usually open features. “Hey, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that. Are you…are you ok?”

“I’m fine,” he grunts, teeth clenched, right leg bouncing in place against the tiles. Shit. It’s not like he could have predicted that you’d try to touch him, so you can’t really blame him for his misplaced reaction. Just get him his coffee and he’ll be on his way…

Come on…come on…

“Here you go. Sorry for the wait, Sakusa,” you lift on your tiptoes, the stretch of your legs and arms apparent as you hold his cup out, careful to balance yourself against the lever of the steam wand. He takes the proffered drink and nods his thanks at you, his gaze dark. The gesture might be a little strained, and he knows you likely think he’s some kinda freak at this point, but he’s glad to see your customary smile before he turns, shouldering his way out the door and into the promise of open air.

“Stop being so secretive about this place. It’s not like you can’t search for it online, Omi Omi. I saw you come in with the logo of their shop last week and I wanna try it out. Don’t cha’ gimme that look, I deserve to have good coffee too! And if it’s close by you can’t just keep it to yourself! Think about the rest of us, huh? Besides, I think they’d like to see something other than yer’ prickly face every once in a while.” Golden haired Atsumu Miya, his fellow teammate and setter for the MSBY Black Jackals, has been walking beside him for five blocks, jabbering on about the bland offerings of the big box coffee chains that surround their home gym, and how he hasn’t had a good cup of coffee in days. Tch, he’d said months originally, but that was an obvious lie. After all, Kiyoomi pointed out, slipping his mask on before the two stepped into the strong midday sun, he’d come in with an iced coffee two days ago, proclaiming to the whole team it was the best he’d ever had, bar none.

“It’s a small shop,” Kiyoomi glumly elaborates, his dark hair soaking up the rays of sunlight as they crossed the bustling pedestrian walkway. “I think it’s run by an American. The staff speaks English, besides Japanese. There’s one barista in particular, a young woman, she has–”

“English? Oh, hell yeah! I can practice! This is perfect! They got any specialty drinks? I couldn’t see any from the menu that they had online, but I told ‘Samu I’d send him a picture of the place.”

Hmph, what’s the use of bothering to hold a conversation with this guy, Kiyoomi thinks, obsidian eyes narrowing as his brows furrow over his scrunched face, watching Atsumu chatter on about the vague sampling that he’d seen on their website. He’s not listening, anyway.

The coffee shop bell dings as the two of them step into the space, greeted by a waft of freshly ground coffee and the sharp tang of disinfectant. “Ahhh,” Atsumu says, propping his hands on his trim hips and fixing Kiyoomi with a pointed look, “totally see why you like the place. It smells like they have a freaking bleach, whaddya call those, ah, an air freshener! Yeah, smells like they have an ‘eu de bleach’ wall plug in.”

“It’s clean,” Kiyoomi affirms, his own hands sliding into his pockets, fingers wrapping around his wallet as he steps into the line. “There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“Not at all,” Atsumu grins, resting an arm on Kiyoomi’s shoulder as he glances over the chalkboard menu. “Just can tell that must be why you like this place so much. Bet you huff cleaner as soon as you get home.. Speaking of, I still need to see your new apartment, heard you let Ushijima come by and that’s not fair at all. Kinda– ow! Omi, ya’ friggin ass!”

Kiyoomi jerked his arm upwards as he stepped toward the register and the abrupt displacement sent Atsumu’s hand flying up, managing to perfectly strike himself on his nose as he attempted to counterbalance his sudden shift in momentum.

“HA-ah, ahem, I mean…hello! Nice to see you again, sir!” the barista calls out, poorly concealing his mirth at Atsumu’s fumbling behind a gloved hand. Kiyoomi nods curtly, his order on the tip of his lips, but before he can utter anything Atsumu is beside him again, leaning against the well lit pastry case and peering over his options critically.

“Hmm, ya’ got any of those little madeline cakes? They’re vanilla, kinda look like a shell? Saw em’ on yer’ website.”

The barista gives Atsumu a broad grin and twists to talk with someone who’s below the arched dome of the food case, quietly asking a few questions before looking back at the blonde man. “Yeah, we do! We’re actually just putting them out, my manager is checking for the–”

Atsumu steps impossibly closer to the gleaming glass and pops his head over the dome, peering down at whoever is restocking the sweets. “Oh! Hey there!” he chirps, lowering his chin, his face pulling into an exaggerated, cocky smirk. “Ya’ know what I mean, right? It’s kinda like a cake, but it’s small, like a cookie. It’s French. No, it’s not that. Maybe on the next tray? What? I can’t hear ya’. It’s smaller. I can step around, see if–”

A familiar voice pipes up before Atsumu can move closer and Kiyoomi turns, ears instantly pricking up at the sound of your reply. “I said, I know what a madeline is, sir. I’m rearranging and organizing my cart at the moment and, if you’d like, you can order your drinks first. I’ll have the madeline waiting for you on the other side of the bar.”

“Lemme just see one,” Atsumu grins, resting his hands against the glass. Kiyoomi’s lips curl at the sight, watching Atsumu’s hands leave lingering prints behind. Great, now they’ll need to clean and re-polish the display. Besides, you’d said you had them. Why keep pushing the issue? Ugh. If he wasn’t regretting his decision to show his fellow teammate the shop before, he certainly is now.

“Just wanna make sure we’re on the same page, is all. Ya’ might give me something else by mistake and that’s a waste of time for both of us!” Atsumu’s smile broadens, a shadowed look falling over his angular features.

You hop up from your crouched position, a wrapped package with bright blue lettering that clearly says [ French Vanilla Madeline ] on the side, clutched between your fingers. “Oh no, I get it,” you begin, mimicking Atsumu’s cheshire grin with startling accuracy. “You just want to double check! I mean, the words on the packaging do say: Madeline. So unless you mean something else, something that’s not called ‘A French vanilla madeline, made with real vanilla extract and buttery goodness,’ I think we’ve got you covered.”

Your voice is saccharine sweet, lilting over the words, a well-practiced smile lifting your lips. You’re still clearly mirroring the one Atsumu is giving you. It’s the snappiest your tone has ever been, and the fact that it’s being used against his annoying teammate is priceless. Suddenly, he can’t help the laugh that’s already snickering its way past his mask.

“Oi!” Atsumu cries, pushing himself off the case at last, his teeth gritted at Kiyoomi’s obvious amusement. “I just wanted to check! And you, manager lady, don’t be so mean!”

“Pfft, manager lady? It’s (Y/N). And me? Mean? I was not mean, I told you that we had them! I just needed to FIFO some of the other pastries first,” you defend, a surprised exhale falling from your lips.

“FIFO? What is that? Don’t use that food jargon on me! I get that enough from my brother. He does that crap all the time, like it’s some sorta secret lingo. ‘Don’t do that ‘Tsumu, gotta make sure it’s in date’. ‘Don’t come on the line!’ ‘Gotta wear a hat or a hair net if yer’ gonna be back here!’ ‘Don’t mislabel the rice!’ On and on. What’s with you food people? So uptight. Look, I just wanted to try one. Yer’ reviews said they were good! Here, tell you what, give me two. Don’t laugh! Omi, help! She’s picking on me!”

“Stop it, you’re making a scene. Any other inane questions? Or anything else you’d like to order, because I’m certainly not buying any of this for you,” Kiyoomi replies, sneaking a glance at your bemused expression. You catch his eye and give him a quick wink and he finds that his smile stays with him long after he, and a chastened and satiated Atsumu have left the warmth of the coffee shop.

“Mmm, these are pretty good,” Atsumu mumbles between bites of his madeline. “Ya’ want some?”

He stops by after his evening practice, when the sun has long since fallen past the horizon of the city, but as soon as he rounds the corner he regrets his decision.

The cafe is brimming with people. They’re everywhere; outside, they are clustered on the pavement, sitting on the collection of iron wrought chairs, and gathered in groups. Inside, most are sprawled close to the hand off plane, or draped over the couches and tables. They appear to be animated, with computer screens and voices bright, too bright. His usual spot is taken, and he’s already made up his mind to keep walking on but somehow, somehow, he catches your eye.

Suddenly, the world smells like velvety pine and heady bergamot, and he can’t stop staring down at you.

“Hey! Glad I could catch you. Wanted to tell you good luck on your upcoming game! I think I saw on the news that it’s tomorrow? Right?”

“Yes, we’re playing Azuma Pharmacy. They have a good starting lineup. It’s entirely possible that we’ll lose.”

“Jeez,” you exhale, cocking your head at his serious expression. “Kind of a pessimist, aren’t you?”

“I’m a realist. I’m perfectly prepared to beat them, but things always play out differently on the court, no matter what your personal expectations are.”

You give him another smile. This one comes quickly, and it’s bigger than any of the others, the pull of it lighting up your face. It’s different, and he can tell that the way you’re looking at him has shifted; that you’ve liked this answer. He’s not sure why, it’s the truth. Nothing more, nothing less.

“Good point. Well, win or lose, you’ve got my luck! I better get back inside. Your drink is on me by the way, for the other day…when I touched your hand…well, I’m sure you remember. Anyway, see you, Sakusa!”

He watches you slip past the packed lines of students, already rolling up your sleeves so you can wash your hands. Once you’re behind the espresso machine you’re hidden by the burnished copper and he walks on, shouldering his MSBY bag higher, lifting his coffee to his lips. It’s got a rich flavor, well balanced and expertly poured. Once again, he’s reminded that you’re good at what you do and, despite the balmy heat of early spring, that makes his fingers tingle and his skin break out in gooseflesh.

Later, when he’s falling asleep, he keeps seeing your eyes. Watching as your colored irises come alive in the moonlight, hopeful, shining, and wholly focused on him.

At practice, Atsumu insists on completing his post workout stretching next to him. He’s used to Kiyoomi’s sullen silences and barbed retorts, content to chatter however he pleases, flitting from topic to topic as he eases into his cool down routine.

“I need to go back to that coffee shop. Ya’ been back lately?”

“No,” Kiyoomi lies, brushing a stubborn wave of curls out of his sweaty face.

“Too bad. Maybe after Friday’s practice? That girl really knew her stuff. Made some great coffee, too. What was her name? Ah, that’s right, (Y/N). She’s cute, what’s her story?”

Something twinges against Kiyoomi’s rib cage at the word ‘cute.’ Hmm, that’s not normal. He flips to his left side, facing away from Atsumu’s greedy eyes and leering smiles.

“How long has she worked there?”

“Not sure,” Kiyoomi replies, flattening his palm against the cool flooring of the gym. “At least a year, maybe more.”

“That other barista said she was a manager. She’s not one of the owners, is she?”

“Dunno.”

“Is she a student? Kinda strange to see an American working in Japan, and she’s definitely an American. She’s good with the Japanese, but her accent is off.”

“Your accent is off, so I’m not sure what your point is. I can understand her, and I can’t say the same for you.”

“Jackass!” Atsumu snaps, flopping up from his splayed stretch to butterfly his muscled legs. “It’s called a regional accent, and it’s perfectly normal. Ya’ got one too, city boy!”

“See? No one says things like that. You sound like a cartoon character. Sometimes I don’t even know what you’re talking about.”

“Yer’ full of it!”

“Hmph,” Kiyoomi hums, curling himself onto his haunches and flattening the tops of his hands against the floor. The satisfying crunch of his wrists as his fingers settle makes Atsumu visibly shudder and Kiyoomi flashes him a quick smirk of his own, hoping it will spook his stretching companion enough that he’ll leave him be. He prefers to do his cool down in silence.

“She do anything else? Other than diligently slaving over yer’ coffee, that is?”

Tch. It seems that luck isn’t with him today. “She said she’s a graduate student.”

“Oooh, what’s she studyin’?”

“Not sure.”

“Yer’ about as fun to talk to as a stack of bricks, ya’ know? Bet if I’d asked you what her name was the other day all you’d say was, ‘I use’ta just call her barista: first name: cute, last name: girl.”

Kiyoomi doesn’t reply. Something about these questions is bothering him. He doesn’t like that he can’t answer them properly– it’s frustrating, really. All he can honestly tell Atsumu is that you’re neat and efficient, that you have a smile that he can’t quite shake out of his head, a perfume that he wishes he could place, and that, to date, you’ve given him one free coffee. The fact that he knows that you’re a graduate student is sheer luck, information that you’d happened to share with him, not that he’d asked you about. He uncoils his hands and flips them over, letting his eyes rest against his reddened palms. Oh, and you’d touched his wrist once and the sheer metaphysical weight of that contact had nearly sent him stumbling backwards.

It’s stupid; he’s stupid.

It’s not hard to talk with people. It’s just…he knows he’s not good at it. Besides, when would he practice? He’s surrounded by extroverts; extreme extroverts. Extroverts who defy all sense and who usually can’t be silenced unless they’re tucked into a deep sleep, and even then it’s doubtful. Both Hinata and Bokuto have demonstrated that they can, and will, talk in their sleep. Still, it’s frustrating to find himself boxed into a corner, completely at a loss and unaware of the most cursory, mundane, simple, facts about you. For almost two years, he’s seen you at least twice a week, shouldn’t he know more? Why doesn’t he know more?

“Why not give her a ticket to a game?”

Atsumu’s question makes him lift his head, abandoning his musings as he lets the weight of that suggestion sink in. The setter is crinkling his eyes at him now, that all knowing smirk back on his lips, umber eyes hooded, mischievous. “The front office can do that, ya’ know? We’ve got extras. They keep em’ for that purpose. Just say she’s a special guest, or a potential sponsor. They ain’t gonna question you.”

Kiyoomi looks away, crossing his legs and leaning to his right side, feigning disinterest as Atsumu tells him who he can speak with, where he can see the upcoming calendar, and what seats might be open. It’s a good idea, a great idea, and he can’t help but loathe that Atsumu thought of it first.

The ticket is good for a first row balcony seat.

It’s situated in the best spot. He’d picked it out himself, carefully looking over the colored diagram of the stadium and belaboring the proximity of the sight-lines, wanting to let you have a bird’s eye view of the court. Where would he like to sit, if he could watch a game? What works? What doesn’t? Too high and you can’t catch the movement of the ball. Too low and you can’t see the players. Too far to the right or left and you can’t see the breadth of the court. It’s tricky, and he’s cautious with his selection. He can’t help it.

Kiyoomi only considers you not even liking the sport when he’s placing his order, watching as you carefully tuck his empty cup down on the polished steel of the bar. Shit.

The cafe is quiet. The students are gone, and when the register barista goes to the backroom it’s only him and you in the well lit space. The click of the burr grinder almost makes him jump, and he compromises with his nerves by shifting toward his usual table, resting his bag in the chair and taking in a deep breath.

The gentle press of the tamp is audible over the low beats of the music and he hears you knock the side of the portafilter, no doubt leveling off the crushed arabica before you hook the device under the grouphead. Seconds later he sees you flip the switch for his shots, already grooming his heated, foaming, oat milk in the short pitcher, popping the liquid free of any errant bubbles. You’re gentle with this part, and he’s always loved to watch you pour his cortado, liking the raise of your arm and the flick of your wrist as you let the creamy milk flow into the paper cup, swirling a rosetta design through the ochre of the waiting espresso.

Usually, this well-oiled process of yours calms him, but today he feels fidgety and his head is buzzing. The sooner you finish the drink, the sooner he’ll have to talk to you. Shit, shit. When you move the dark lids forward, his hand feels like it’s heating around the slick paper of the ticket, making it clammy and tacky. He bites his lip and removes his hand from his jacket, wiping his palm against his dark jeans.

You’re already looking up at him, nodding toward the fragrant cup that’s waiting at the edge of the handoff plane. Automatically, he lurches forward, completely in-sync with his familiar routine. The question [ would you like a ticket to one of my games? ] is resting on the tip of his tongue and his fingers are hovering beside his cup. He can see that they’re shaking and that sight doesn’t ease him. Then you ask him something and he feels everything skitter to a halt. Why is this happening? It’s just a ticket, it’s just a game.

Wait. You asked him something?

He does his best to ignore the humming of anxious tension that’s filtering down his fingertips and lifts his bowed head. “What?” he mumbles, lips unsticking at last.

“Just asked how your game went the other day. I tried to record it but my stupid cable box isn’t working. I need to try and see you guys, I know I’ve probably said that before, but it’s pretty pathetic of me to not catch one game when the stadium is only two miles away. Plus, I know y’all are a great team! Heard you made the playoffs last year, that’s so awesome!”

It’s a perfect segway.

But he feels like he’s rooted to the spot, like his tongue is trapped against the roof of his mouth, and his hands are too heavy to move, content to shake beside his cooling drink as he whittles his time away, too filled with the what if’s to do anything about the here and now. He’s going down a mental checklist, mulling over each possibility, cautiously tampering with that heady rush of excitement that’s threatening to bubble out of his masked lips. Shit.

He’s gotta check his vitamin intake, maybe he’s low on omega 3s? The team has a general practitioner on standby. He really should call him after this, maybe run by his office before the next practice.

Something’s off with him.

Wait, that worked.

That shift in his whirring thoughts broke him out of that suspended state and then, before he completely fucks this up, the ticket is down against the counter and he’s muttering something about unlimited uses, that if you can’t make it now, then you can always switch the date, or add someone on, if you have a [ boy ] friend you want to take; the next game works best with the seat that’s listed, he’s checked. He knows it’s open. Again, zero pressure and no worries if you can’t make it. See you around.

You might have responded, you might have smiled, fuck, you might have laughed at him. He’s not sure.

All he knows is that as soon as he is out of the shop he’s calling the team’s gp and confirming an appointment for tomorrow morning. It’s not natural for his heart to stutter and thump like that. It could be an arrhythmia.

It could be any number of things.

He hasn’t felt this nervous about a game in years. Sure, it’s a good team, and they have four players that are of his generation, most of them powerful outside hitters that will probably give the Jackals a good run for their money, but they’re not insurmountable. They can beat VC Kanagawa; they’ll have to if they want to advance further in the lineup for the playoffs.

It’s just…

He keeps looking for that seat. Your seat. He’d gotten to the stadium early; opting to forgo the first team meeting, saying he needed to practice his wall drills, work on his spin, but that’s not the real reason. The real reason is something that he doesn’t want to acknowledge. At least, not before a game. He steadies himself, reiterating that it’s not practical or helpful for him to worry about things like that.

Nevertheless, he’s pinned the seat in his mind. He studied it as the lights shuddered on, the maintenance staff flashing him bewildered looks as he stepped into the empty brightness of the court. He’d found it again during the pre-game warmup, onyx eyes committing the location to memory, searching for the little details that he could watch for if he wanted to find it again, later, when the arena was packed with thousands of eyes and waving signs.

As they open the main doors and the seats fill up, he’s still looking at the seat.

“Whatcha looking at?” Hinata asks, his burst of orange hair already slicked with sweat, vivid eyes sharp.

“Nothing.”

The results of Kiyoomi’s physical had shown no outliers, no cause for worry or concern. Everything was fine. He should just get a little extra potassium in, maybe eat a few more bananas in the morning, or after his practices. He’d been a little miffed when he opened the manilla folder, eyes hunting for abnormalities, for a reason, an explanation. If nothing is wrong, then why does he feel like he’s tingling with adrenaline all the time? It makes him light-headed, sluggish, and that’s detrimental to his playability, to his value to his team.

He looks away from Hinata and paces past Atsumu’s arched eyebrow, ignoring the implications of that wicked grin that’s resting on the setter’s quirked lips. It’s fine; he’s fine. His eyes look up to the balcony again. He really shouldn’t be doing that, he reminds himself. It’s a distraction, and he doesn’t–

Oh. There you are.

He can’t make out details, not from this distance, and he suddenly feels self-conscious about his face. There’s no mask. He doesn’t wear it when he plays, and this will be the first time you’ve seen him without it. Suddenly, he wishes he hadn’t cared so much about the visibility of the court. Why did he plant you so far away? If he can’t see you, then there’s no way you’ll be able to tell which one he is either…oh…wait…his name is on the back of his jersey and they’ll announce his number. Nevermind.

The referee calls for the teams to line up and he diligently follows his teammates, standing in his usual spot, ignoring the dull thump of his heart as it beats a ragged tattoo under his ribs.

They won.

They won, and he’d racked up a whopping 23 points for himself, a personal milestone. It’ll be something that will go down on his athletic record, that the local and national news reports will chatter about, that he can feel proud of. He’s glad; you always show him your best, so it’s only fair he does the same for you too.

He’d peeked up at your seat during each time out, each break, every time the momentum shifted, and before he hit every serve. You looked like you had your feet propped up, resting against the metal barrier of the balcony, and he could see that your arms were wrapped around your knees. You were paying attention, and that knowledge made his lungs swell and his pulse quicken.

Now, after he’s finished toweling some of the clinging sweat from his brow and the matted droop of his obsidian curls, he twists back, facing your seat, but you’re not there. An empty curve of plastic greets him and his heavy brows furrow, his fingers dropping the towel onto the bench as they curl up into his palms.

Did you leave? It would make sense, he supposes. The game is over. He just thought you might come down. Might want to talk. Not that he’d have much to say. He never does. Stupid; what would he talk with you about? See the game? Yeah, duh.

The distant voice of MSBY’s public relations manager is calling for him. He’ll worry about it [ you ] later, he thinks, he’s still got a job to do.

During his interview he can hear Atsumu’s voice. It’s annoying. While the setter doesn’t attempt to tone himself down, he rarely talks that loudly. Kiyoomi glances over at his straight back, watching as his hand cups against the back of his golden head, an infectious laugh bursting from his turned lips. Strange. It’s not like him to chat with someone for that long, not when he’s got his own post-game interviews to conduct. He usually–

Ah, it’s you.

Suddenly, questions like: [ how does it feel to be considered for the 2025 Japanese Olympic team? ] don’t matter. His head is half cocked now, dark eyes following the two of you, his comments to the national reporter falling into clipped monosyllables. This is unprofessional; he should focus on the matter at hand, it’s not like him to be distracted.

He’s been thinking about that a lot lately. That so many things are suddenly not like him.

When you push playfully at Atsumu’s shoulder, he lapses into a stormy silence, nails biting into his clenched palms, pressing half moons into his calloused skin. After answering one more question: [ something about his future plans - how’s he supposed to know? That depends on trades, on opportunities. And right now he’s not in the correct frame of mind to answer honestly, not when he can see that you’re right there ] he bows to the smiling face of the reporter, formally concluding his participation in the interview. He knows it’s abrupt; he knows he’ll likely get an earful from the MSBY PR director, from his coach, and from himself, when the full weight of his uncharacteristic rashness hits him, but right now he doesn’t care.

His feet feel like lead and the steps that he’s taking shudder against the gym’s polished flooring. He’s usually smoother than this, more collected, but can’t will himself to stop lurching forward. He tucks his hands into the darkness of his team jacket, coiling his numb fingers into tight balls, and hunches his shoulders. He likely looks like thunder and this suspicion is confirmed when a ball boy scuttles out of his path, eyes wide, but Kiyoomi doesn’t care.

Atsumu hasn’t noticed his approach, but you do, and that shy wave and familiar smile makes his breath catch in his throat. Damn it. What’s going on with him?

Atsumu notices your wandering attention and turns, following your gaze. Once he spots Kiyoomi, he gives him a cheeky smirk, dipping his chin, lazily fixing his amber eyes on Kiyoomi’s arched figure. “Look who caaame!” he calls, lacing his tone with poorly concealed glee. “She said you gave her a ticket. What a great, absolutely original, idea! And you had your record breaking scoring streak today too! Hey! Maybe she’s good luck! Watch out (Y/N), pretty soon we’ll be hooking you up with a personal mascot job if ya’ can light such a fire under our stoic hitter’s ass. Must be something special in that coffee yer’ serving him.”

Kiyoomi narrows his eyes at Atsumu’s blatant needling and the setter chuckles, flipping his focus back to you, sensing the rising agitation that is rolling off of Kiyoomi in waves now. “Well, sure was good to see ya’ again! Talk to me next time, huh? I’ll get you a boxed seat. It’s much better than those nosebleeds in the balconies.”

You shake your head, a smile pulling at your lips, and make a show of rolling your eyes. “Flattery doesn’t suit you, you know? And what boxed seats? Feels like I’d see them if you had them,” you tease, earning yourself a last laugh and Atsumu’s back, a friendly hand waving a last goodbye as he finally strides toward the waiting cameras. Kiyoomi watches him go, his shoulders tense, a feeling of unease settling in his gut. Is Atsumu doing this on purpose?

He almost snaps a retort at his retreating figure, but the sound of your voice immediately snatches his attention toward you. His dark gaze meets yours and the look in your eyes makes his palms feel itchy and his feet scuff mindlessly against the floor.

“This is gonna sound so dumb, but it’s been on my mind since I got here…”

Kiyoomi’s fingers twist in his pockets, coiling over each digit, and his pulse feels like it’s speeding up again. “What?”

“It’s just…well, you look so much younger without the mask,” you let out a small laugh and duck your head, teeth pulling at your lower lip as you face away from his widening eyes.

“Is that bad?”

“No! You look good! Uh, I mean, not that you didn’t…I just wasn’t sure…not that I’d thought about it…a lot…uh, I…yeah, I’m…No, it’s not bad!” You press your hands against your mouth, steepling your fingers under your nose and fix him with a sheepish grin. “Anyway, I know you’ve got things to do, but Miya was right about one thing, you had a great game. I had a lot of fun and it was so nice of you to get me that ticket, and well…”

You pause, lowering your hands to yank your purse forward, fingers digging into the leather before you right yourself once more, returning with a small, zipped bag, and a plastic card that’s balancing atop the metal teeth. “It’s a…well…I sorta tried to think of some things that you might like. To say thanks! It’s nothing fancy. A nail filing kit, because I read that volleyball guys like to keep their hands in tiptop shape, one of those portable ball pumps and some masks.

The masks are from a great company, back home, er, in the states. Well, at least I like them, they’re super durable. And the card, uh, ha, um, the card is to the cafe. I know it’s not super original, but I didn’t know if you liked any other places. And I didn’t wanna assume or — Haha, oh God, I am talking your ear off. Just…here! Take this from me so I can get my foot outta my mouth, okay?”

You press the bag forward and before he can tell you he doesn’t accept gifts from fans, his hands are already out of the safety of his pockets, firmly wrapping around your offering. “Thank you,” he bows. He wants to say more, but he’s not sure how.

He didn’t mean to come by the cafe.

He thought he’d go for a quick run before practice, maybe loop the block, or jog toward the university. None of these things are close to the cafe, but apparently his feet had other ideas. The shop bell rings when he steps inside, wiping some hand sanitizer against his heated palms, onyx eyes alert, already searching for you.

A male barista [ is it Kane? ] greets him and before he can stop himself, he’s asking if you’re there. “Oh, (Y/N)? Nah, she’s off today. But I can make your cortado, you get almond milk, right?”

“Oat,” Kiyoomi replies, voice muffled by his mask. Damn. Why did he come here? He didn’t mean to and now it’s looking like it was a wasted trip. A useless instinct. He’d wanted to thank you properly for your gift, which had been on his mind a lot the past few days. Perhaps that’s why he felt so compelled to jog the extra mile, why he can’t seem to keep away, why he keeps looking for you as he waits, even though he knows you’re not here.

Maybe he can text you his thanks. That would make all of this easier. Oh, wait, does he even have your number? He pulls his phone out of his pocket and examines his contact list, searching for you. No, nothing under your name. Maybe he put it under something else? [ barista? cafe? ] Again, there’s nothing. Damn. Why didn’t he ask at the game? Or when he gave you the ticket?

When he picks up his drink and paces back into the sunshine, he’s still kicking himself that he hasn’t asked for your number yet. It would have made things so much simpler, he reasons, sipping at his coffee; now he’ll have to come back.

But days pass, and he hasn’t returned.

There’s just too much going on. Too many team meetings and late practices. Too much preparation. The pace of his schedule has never bothered him before, but now he keeps hoping for some kind of reprieve.

The other morning Atsumu strode into a meeting with a cup from your cafe, proudly flaunting the familiar label. It made Kiyoomi’s blood boil [ did he see you? talk with you? Did he get to see that addictively pleasing smile of yours? ] and later that afternoon he experienced his first scolding.

“What’s going on, Omi? Five missed digs? This isn’t like you. You look like your head is in the clouds. Come on, get it together. Big game in five days.”

“Sorry, won’t happen again.” It’s all he can say.

When he’s heading toward the team showers, he catches sight of Atsumu’s knowing leer and he grits his teeth, ignoring the huffed snicker and scoffing head shake that the setter sends his way.

Finally, two days later, he’s got some free time. There are other errands he needs to run, things he should do, but the only thing he can think about is you.

He’s walking up from a side street, one he rarely takes, when, at long last, he catches sight of you. You must be on a break. You’re sitting at a bench, facing a small, but well laid flower bed, flipping the pages of your open book languidly as you read under the cool shade of a gnarled tree.

He’s glad he’s wearing the mask that you gifted him.

You’d said that they were durable, and their quality had genuinely impressed him. When he got home, after the game, he slipped them out of their individual plastic cases, fingering the thick, well made materials before washing one. He’d left the others in their containers. He’ll use them, eventually, but not right now. He wants to savor them. He wants them to last.

Kiyoomi is almost to your side when you look up and he bites against his lower lip as soon as you give him that friendly smile of yours, already closing your book and standing, waiting for him to step closer. He comes to a stop in front of you, peering down at you through his dark lashes.

You always smell so nice, he thinks, unconsciously shifting closer, seeking more. You must have showered before coming into your shift because the crisp scent of peppermint and gentle lavender makes his nostrils flare hungrily under his mask.

“Hey there!” you begin, tucking your book into your arms. “Long time no see. How have you been?”

“Fine. I have practice later. I came by the other day. I…” he lapses into frustrated silence, dark brows falling, letting his hands grip at the material of his jacket. Why is this so hard? You, all the others on his team, Motoya [ hell, even the notoriously impassive Wakatoshi has come out of his shell over the years ] can slip into a conversation. Damn it, how can everyone else make this look so easy?

“Saw you’re playing the Adlers soon. They’re the team the Jackals have a sorta rivalry with, right?”

He blinks down at you and lets out a shallow exhale. There you go again. You’re giving him a life raft, a conversation he can fall into, something he enjoys talking about. He remembers his stilted conversation with Atsumu, the one where he did not know about any of the basic things, the obvious things, the things that made you, you. It’s nice that you’re looking out for him, that you’re helping him along, but he doesn’t want to talk about volleyball, not right now.

“We do. How did your finals go? You said you had a dissertation?”

“Oh!” you blurt, your eyes widening, but you’re clearly pleased, even a little excited that he’s asked. “You remembered! Finished it up last week. Now I just need to knock out my revisions and I’ll either go back to committee, or they’ll approve it! I’m hoping they approve it. I’m sick of looking at it, haha.” Your fingers tap against your book and you duck your head, a quick smile passing over your smooth lips. “Uh, did you want to come in for a coffee? Not trying to hold you up, if you’ve got practice to go to.”

“I was the one who came over.” He sounds a little harsh, he thinks, nose wrinkling under his mask. He’s never worried about being blunt, but that doesn’t work here. He doesn’t want to be, not with you. “I mean, I wanted…wanted to say thanks, for the masks and the other things. I like them.” He points to his covered face and you let out a chuckle, gleaming eyes crinkling as you look up at him. Damn, you’re pretty. How has he not noticed that before? He wants to see you laugh again, he’s just not sure how to go about it. Does he even know any jokes? Shit.

“Awe, I’m glad you like them! Speaking of, Atsumu came by a few days ago, I guess you must have worn one around him because he was trying to sniff out if I’d given them to you. He’s a funny guy, but I cannot get a good read on him. It’s almost like he’s doing stuff on purpose, but he’s never blatantly obvious about it. The way he was talking, I was kinda worried he was trying to play a prank on you. Does he like to get under your skin or something? He’s–”

Kiyoomi’s not thinking when he leans down. He’s been doing that a lot lately, not thinking. It makes his skin prickle. Or is that the smell of peppermint on your clean neck, the fragrant lavender in your hair? The kiss is soft; more of a press of his lips than a real caress. But it’s nice, and he actually likes being this close to you, but something feels off and, ah, damn it.

His dark brows knit together, furrowing his forehead, when he realizes what he’s done. He didn’t take off his mask. How stupid. But that shaky gasp of air that you let out when he pulls away, and the following upward lift of your body, your lips chasing his, clearly wanting him to come back, oh that’s so worth it, mask or not.

Your eyes are the first thing he sees when he looks back down, and he doesn’t think he’s ever seen something so perfect. They’re bright, vibrant, and rich with an excitement that makes his toes curl.

The smell of lavender and peppermint, of you, is almost overwhelming, and yet somehow it’s all together, not enough. He doesn’t say anything and neither do you.

What is there to say?

That one, half-formed, touch said it all. It expressed every frustration that he’s felt over the last few weeks, every faded memory of your voice, of your playful smiles, of those hesitant conversations you’ve helped him through. It’s all there, sitting quietly between the two of you, shimmering in the sunlight as you take a step closer and his hands finally fall out of his pockets, waiting, hoping for yours.

“(Y/N)! Break’s over! Coffee’s not gonna brew itself!”

The distant voice of your coworker shatters the euphoria and you tense, pulling away, your head turning toward the barked command as you call out your reply. Kiyoomi huffs out an impatient breath. He wanted to try that again. Do it right this time. How pathetic is he? Kissing you through a mask? But his annoyance dies when you face him again, slipping your hand tentatively into his.

His digits fall limply around yours and he can’t help but marvel at the softness of you. One of his thumbs lifts and he traces the skin along your knuckles, unsure if he’s even breathing anymore. “Come on,” you say, looking down at his touch before lacing your fingers through his, showing him how to hold you. “I’ll make your coffee.”

You’re walking forward and he has the inane urge to snatch you back, wanting to see how the rest of you feels, wanting to know how you’ll fit into his arms, but he distracts himself by following you. There’s a budding warmth that’s spreading from his palm, where your hand rests inside his, to his chest. It feels like a low burning fire is coursing along his veins and his heartbeat thuds out of rhythm, but for once he doesn’t care.

In fact, he thinks he likes it.

He sits in the cafe for too long, his coffee cold, the cup almost empty. But before he leaves [ already so, so late for practice ] he gets your number.

He taps the unfamiliar digits carefully into his device and you watch from the counter, your chin propped in your hand, a gentle smile kissing against your palm. Then he stands, pausing beside you and you run your index finger down his arm, lingering your touch beside his wrist, making him shiver in the warm sunlight, a pleased grin hidden behind his mask.

notes: this man has what, 10 pages of interaction? idk why and idk how, but he is stuck in my brain - like, seriously send help, i think i’m in love.

262 notes · View notes

green-socks · 3 years

Text

What More Could I Ever Need chapter 2

Pairing: Benny Miller x F!reader (Tangled AU)

Summary: Tangled AU where Benny is in the role of Rapunzel (without the hair thing) and reader is basically a female Flynn Rider. The adventure begins..

Words: 2,470

Warnings: idk, Benny has issues and his mom is still nasty.

Notes: This is very dialogue-heavy and possibly shit, I'm sorry. But big things are happening for our prince here! And shoutout to @writeforfandoms who helps me with the weirdest things sometimes.

Chapter 1 | MASTERLIST

You looked for an entrance at the bottom of the tower but there seemed to be none, and there really wasn’t time to stop to think about it. You needed to get up to safety fast, even if it was unlikely that your chasers would stumble through the same bushes that you had, it never hurt to be careful.

So you started to climb up. It was slow going, and even though you were quite the skilled tree climber, this was much higher and much more difficult. The brick wall of the tower was less than perfectly done, so luckily there were enough places where you could grab hold with your fingers and put your toes on.

Your muscles were screaming with the effort, but you didn’t dare stop or look down. The only way was up, and you kept your eyes fixed on the window ledge that was blessedly getting nearer.

With immense difficulty, and huffs and puffs strong enough to blow down a smaller house, you finally pulled yourself on the ledge. Heaving with one last push you jumped inside through the window.

“Safe at last,” you breathed to yourself, sweeping your gaze over the empty room.

You felt something brush your ankle and shrieked, and the next thing you knew you were lifted off your feet, trapped in some sort of net, not knowing which way was up and what was happening.

--------

Benny was horrified. And a little impressed with himself.

But the person in his trap was shrieking and he found himself yelling too, not so much out of fright but the adrenaline.

He had another human person in his home. A human person that was not his mother or himself.

Someone had found him. Someone knew where he lived and had come to get him. Not good.

The person in the net stopped screaming and flailing, and for the first time Benny got a better look at them. He could tell that the person was a young woman. He remembered how his mother had told him that women could be the most vicious, cunning, and dangerous creatures of all, and that he should never trust a woman that wasn’t his mother.

But Benny couldn’t help wondering how someone so pretty could be so awful. Was it like those plants he had read about that were poisonous even though they looked pretty? Must be, he thought.

And yet this person didn’t seem so dangerous right now, dangling from the ceiling in the trap he had set when he and Mouse had spotted the intruder coming.

“What is this?! Let me down!”

“I will not let you down until you tell me how you found out about me,” Benny said, and he was pleased that his voice didn’t shake as much as his hands did.

“What? What d’you mean found out? Look, I--”

“Bennyyy, I’m baaack!”

They both froze.

“Oh frigate, that’s my mother. Listen, if you stay quiet while she’s here I will let you down as soon as she leaves, but if she notices you, you are in much worse trouble than you can think,” Benny said seriously to his captive, while already collecting the rope to throw down.

For a beat the young woman looked at him, suspicion and irritation on her face.

She shrugged, and Benny deemed that good enough, throwing a thick curtain over the dangling net - hoping his mother wouldn’t notice it bulging slightly - and went to pull her up.

--------

You couldn’t believe your luck.

Of course, the lonely tower in the middle of freaking nowhere was inhabited.

You were seething at your own stupidity and at the boy who had dared trap you. But you agreed with him - the less people saw you the better, so you kept quiet and still.

If only you hadn’t dropped your bag on the floor when you had climbed in, you could have freed yourself with the knife in it. And shit, if the boy or his mother happened to look in it… You would be doomed. Your only hope was that the boy had had the sense to hide your bag.

“Mother, I want to talk to you about something,” you heard the boy say. Apparently, his mother had arrived.

“Benny, if this is about the stars again I--,” the mother started testily.

“They’re not stars--,” interrupted the boy.

“I thought we were done with this already,” snapped the woman.

“You don’t understand, it--”

“Boy, be quiet! I don’t want to hear about it anymore!”

There was a ringing silence.

After a while the boy said in a quiet voice, “I just.. I wanted to say that I need a new string for my guitar, and I thought that could be my birthday present. I know it was stupid to ask about the lights.”

A deep sigh from the mother.

“You know that is a long trip for me to make?”

“Yes,” came the reply, even quieter still.

“Oh, I have upset you now, haven’t I? You know, it really is silly for a young man your age to be fretting over some stars like that.”

A deep sigh from the boy.

“I know, mother. But a new string, please?”

He sounded so small, even though his voice had been so deep before. You would have bet he was around your age, and yet this young man sounded like a little boy with his mother. You wondered if this was their life every day. It sounded exhausting.

“Yes, of course I’ll go. Will you manage a few more days on your own?”

“I will. I have everything I need here.”

Then there were the sounds of packing and before you knew it, they were saying their goodbyes and I love yous. Well, at least they seemed to have made up after the fight, you thought.

Suddenly the curtain was drawn back from in front of you, and you blinked to see the tall, golden-haired boy.

“Alright, now we can talk.”

“I want to know how you found out about me.”

“Huh?”

“I’m not afraid of you, you know. I just want to know who you are and how you found me,” the young man continued.

“What?”

“You heard me. I want to know who you are and how you found me.”

“Uh... Huh? I don’t know who you think you are. They call me Ronia, but I don’t know how I found this place,” you told him.

The boy scoffed.

This was getting stupid. You wondered if you could charm the boy into letting you go. Young men who lived with their mothers were usually easy prey. A flash of cleavage and big eyes should have him eating from your palm in no time.

You adjusted yourself in the net as best you could, giving the guy a small peek down your shirt - nothing lewd, just a little teaser. But he just kept his eyes firmly trained on your face. Huh. Not into that sort of thing, then.

“Tell me, Ronia, how many others are in on this? Where are they now?” continued the questioning.

“Look, goldilocks--”

“My name is Benny.”

“Sure, whatever. I’m only here because I needed a place to, err, stay, and I got a little lost and I found this tower and thought ‘nice, a place to stay’, so I climbed here,” you explained.

You looked around you, trying to remember the way you got here, and realized--

“Wait! Where’s my bag?!”

“I hid it,” Benny said matter-of-factly.

“What? Where?”

You felt panicked. If he had looked inside it…

“Mouse hid it. I trust her.”

“Mouse? You have a pet mouse or something?”

There were angry noises from below you, and you looked to see a raccoon shaking its fist at you.

“What the--”

“That is Mouse. But let’s not focus on her right now.”

You would have very much liked to focus on this weird creature more.

“What do you want with me?” the boy asked.

“I literally want nothing to do with you, I’d just like to get down from here and leave. With my bag,” you said.

“So you’re saying you don’t want me to sing for you?”

“What? No, I’m sure you’re great and all, but no, I do not,” you said. Seriously, what was up with this guy? “I only came here because there were people - and a horse - chasing me and this was the first place I saw.”

“You swear you’re telling the truth?”

“I swear. Why would I lie?”

He eyed you suspiciously for a moment until he crouched down to talk to the raccoon.

You caught only bits of the whispered conversation (can you call it a conversation when the other party is an animal?), such as “need help”, “the way”, “I agree,” and “lights”.

“Okay! We have decided to trust you,” the boy - not the raccoon - announced.

You rolled you eyes. Oh, goody.

He then proceeded to tell you about his plan to have you take him see the lantern festival tomorrow and return him home in exchange for your bag.

“Thank god you’re pretty,” you muttered. “Yeah, I’m sorry, goldilocks, but I can’t do that. My face isn’t really welcome around the palace at this time. How about you just give me my bag now, and I could be on my way?”

The raccoon looked angry; the boy looked disappointed.

“No. That’s not an option. I need to go see the lights and you’re my only hope. So, it’s that or say goodbye to your bag,” he said fiercely.

You looked at him incredulously. Was this guy serious? What did he want to see the lanterns for? And why was the raccoon shaking its fist at you again?

… What other choice did you have?

You relented with a sigh. “Fine. I’ll take you there.”

--------

Benny was hurtling toward the ground below him for the first time ever. He couldn’t stop the joyful shouts that escaped his mouth, and even Mouse was squealing excitedly, peeking out from his backpack.

The rope stopped just a couple of inches above the ground - this was it. The moment he had secretly waited for his whole life. But now that it was here, he hesitated. What if it wasn’t as good as he imagined? What if it was better? What if nothing changed? What if everything changed?

“You coming, goldilocks?”

He took the leap.

Ooh, the grass tickled his feet. He had always thought it would be soft, like water but solid, but it tickled a little.

He took a step. And another.

And then he was running, fully running for the first time in his life and it was freedom like he had never experienced.

He yelled and laughed, ran, jumped, rolled around in the grass, did cartwheels and handstands - he had room to move, and it was wonderful.

He touched plants, trees, and the dirt and sand beneath his feet. He couldn’t believe he was experiencing it all. He had never known what all of this could feel like. How could he have when his mother didn’t even like him asking questions about outside?

Benny halted.

Oh no… His mother.

What had he done? He had run away from the safest place in the world! And betrayed his mother’s trust, when she had only ever protected him. He was such an ungrateful son!

But he would be back home before she was back, and she would never need to know, would she? He could look around, fulfill his dreams, and then go back home happy, couldn’t he?

And oh, butterflies! Benny ran after them, past a stony-faced Ronia, forgetting his worries for a moment.

--------

After a couple of hours of walking - or in Benny’s case zooming this way and that while you walked steadily on - you stopped to rest in a forest clearing.

You noticed that he seemed down again, sitting against a tree, quiet and subdued. A stark contrast compared to just moments ago when you had been convinced his doglike behavior would have him trying to chase an imaginary tail next.

He had kept leaving his backpack behind as he got the sudden urge to climb trees, and you had kept picking it up for him.

Sighing, you walked over to him, dropping the backpack next to him. He murmured a quiet thanks but didn’t even look at you. Oh boy.

“Hey, I get that you’re feeling a little overwhelmed right now. We can totally just turn back and pretend this never happened,” you said, secretly hoping that he would take you up on that. It would be so much easier to just go back now; you could have your bag back and be on your way, and the guy would be one adventure richer with his relationship with his weird mother still intact.

He peered at you out of the corner of his eye. “I don’t wanna go back,” he said quietly.

“You sure? Cause you seem to be having a bit of a crisis every fifteen minutes. I mean I get it; this is a big thing for you. And from what I heard your mother seemed like she would not like it if she knew what you were doing.”

The raccoon pawed at your leg angrily, seemingly having opinions.

“Shoo!” you shook it off and continued, “I’m just saying, you don’t seem like the kind of person who would want to knowingly cause someone heartbreak and painlike that.”

“Oh ships, you’re right - I’m a terrible person,” he whispered, looking at you with wide, terrified eyes.

He punched the ground. “What the frigate is wrong with me?!”

Uh oh, now he was getting angry at himself. Time to change tactics.

“Hey, it’s okay, nothing undoable has happened yet. I’ll take you back home right now and everything will be like before,” you said bracingly, already starting to turn to the way you came from.

“No. I said I’m not going back. I’ve wanted to see those lights all my life, I can’t turn back now!”

You closed your eyes and took a deep breath. Damnit. It seemed he wasn’t as fragile as you thought. You would have to think of something else. Turning back was still the safest option for you, and you needed to convince Benny of it well before you approached town.

Just then the boy’s stomach rumbled loudly.

“I am hungry, though. Do you know any place around here where we could get some food?” he asked, the doubt and anger already forgotten.

Huh. There was one place where you could probably find both food and the solution to your problem…

“I know just the place! This way, please.”

tagsies: @writeforfandoms @starlightmornings @lorecraft @niki-xie @idreamofboobear @miraclesabound @cherryfun-k @sgnjimmy

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Chapter 3

#benny miller x f!reader #benny miller fic #benny miller x reader #benny miller x you #benny miller fanfiction #benny miller #benjamin miller #prince benny #garrett hedlund fanfiction #garrett hedlund #i still don't know what i'm doing #i accidentally wrote something #triple frontier fanfiction

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comfyswitcherblanketfort · 3 years

Text

Gentle

number 3 on the poll was ‘the softest yennskier smut i can muster’ and y’all i don’t know that i’ve ever written softer smut? idk, y’all be the judge of that

shoutout to @geraltrogerericduhautebellegarde for betaing this fic for me and being lovely and encouraging 💖

Warnings: well its smut, fwb to lovers, yen is scared of vulnerability and getting burned, penetrative sex, oral sex, m/f but don’t y’all think for a second these two aren’t bi as fuck. i don’t wanna hear any of that ‘but its a straight ship comfy!!!’ from anyone. understand? good.

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“Bard, don’t start with me tonight.”

“Too late,” Jaskier hummed, looking up at her from where he was sprawled on the bed. He was, admittedly, a rather pleasing sight. His chest covered in a thick layer of hair and his legs long and lean. He looked like something one would paint. And he was lying on her bed, nearly naked, looking at her with a coy smile that held... too much.

Yennefer didn’t often think things were too anything- painful, expensive, annoying- but this man was too sincere in everything he did, including wooing her. He called it wooing. She called it ‘following me around like an orphan pup’.

Either way she’d already partially given in. She thought she was firm in her boundaries though, repeatedly claiming they were just fucking. This was just revenge and fun. She would not fall for anyone, especially not after the way all of her past relationships had ended in disaster.

She settled into her nighttime routine, taking out her earrings and wiping away her lipstick at the borrowed -not stolen- vanity across from the bed in the borrowed -not stolen- master suite she’d been staying in, “I am not one for love. Don’t get your hopes up.”

“You’re almost as much of a hopeless romantic as me,” Jaskier laughed, rolling so he was sitting at the end of the bed facing her.

She could see him in the mirror over her shoulder but resolutely ignored him. There was a long stretch of silence where he watched her take away all the different things she adorned herself with. From eyeliner to jewelry to the way she curled her hair, it was a very carefully constructed facade and she feared he may have seen through it.

As she stood, he reached out and caught her hand, tugging her to stand in front of him. She raised an eyebrow, expecting a remark about her body, maybe even something about a strip tease before bed. But the bard continually surprised her.

“What’s wrong with a little vulnerability?”

She sighed and pulled her hand back, crossing her arms over her dressing gown and rocking back on her heels, “Do we need to do this right now?”

Jaskier stood, so close that she could feel the warmth radiating off him, but he kept his hands to himself as much as she could see he wanted to touch her, “You don’t want to know someone? To let them take care of you for once?”

“No.” Her stare was resolute but her voice wavered, even on such a small word.

“Why not?”

She pursed her lips and held back the immediate insult she’d thought. He deserved an answer if she really was going to let him stay, and she knew she would. Whatever the reason, she found she didn’t want to be without him anymore.

“It hurts,” she whispered, hoping he would understand and let her be. Or better yet distract her.

He ran his hand down her arm, fingertips dancing across her skin and leaving goosebumps in their wake. He said nothing, just watched and waited, completely open and patient and infuriating in his persistence. She could easily go for the kill, both metaphorically and literally, but she knew she wouldn’t. This was the first person in decades who had bothered with her. She didn’t count Geralt anymore. There was so much magic and Destiny and manipulation tangled up in their relationship that she’d lost track of any sincerity.

No, the bard was genuine. He didn’t have any other motive but to love her. And the thought terrified her.

She shook her head and looked at the ground, “You don’t understand. I haven’t… I’ve never had a love that ended well.”

Jaskier smiled and tucked her hair behind her ear, “Only the shitty ones do.”

A puff of air left her before she could conceal her amusement.

“You don’t have to be scared. I want to be gentle with you. In every way. I want you to know what it’s like to be taken care of,” Jaskier’s whisper spoke directly to the part of her she’d kept locked away for far too long. The part of her that yearned to be held for nothing other than lying close; that wanted sweet nothings and breathless kisses and actual lovemaking, not just goal oriented sex.

Her tongue worked of its own accord, used to acting only in defense, “How many times have you used that line?”

A moment of hurt flashed over Jaskier’s face before those big blue eyes were framed with a kind of sadness only someone who’d known the sting of neglect could understand, “Not once.”

She searched his eyes for something, anything that she could use to push him away, but found nothing. For once her choice was simple; take what is freely and sincerely offered, or continue on miserable and alone.

For once, she took a risk.

Yennefer draped her arms over his shoulders, tilting her chin up to level him with what she hoped was the pleading expression she was going for, “Just don’t lie to me.”

Jaskier pressed their foreheads together and rested his hands on her hips, “I won’t.”

It had been a lifetime since Yennefer had believed someone like she believed Jaskier and it settled achingly into the pit of her stomach. She leaned in and stood on her tiptoes, brushing their lips together as she took a shaky breath in.

When they finally kissed it was… calm. There was no unquenchable fire sparking in her belly, no stirring need to cling to him as if she’d never see him again. They were simply together, and the realization made her giggle.

Jaskier rested a hand at her jaw, brushing his thumb over her cheek as he nervously chuckled along, “What?”

She bit her lip and stared up at him through her lashes, running her fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck, “It’s nothing…”

“Hmm, doesn’t seem like nothing,” Jaskier’s tone was light as he sat back onto the bed, pulling her to straddle his hips, “What’s so funny?”

“S’not funny,” she sighed, pausing to kiss him again, feeling the same sense of calm, “Just... nice.”

“Just nice?” Jaskier was beaming up at her as he held her close to him, “I think I can do better than nice.”

She raised her eyebrows and grinned, brushing his fringe out of his eyes, “It wasn’t a challenge.”

He tilted his head back and forth and scrunched his nose as if to argue before laying back on the bed and pulling her with him. She braced herself on her elbows, one on each side of his head, as he trailed his hands up and down her sides.

This kiss was different.

This kiss set her whole body on fire, not the desperate kind that made her frantic, but a slow, hot-burning flame that she wanted to sink into and let consume her.

Jaskier clutched her to him as he rolled them over, gently brushing her hair out of her face and placing feather light kisses over her cheeks, eyes, brow, chin, everywhere he could reach. She sighed when he finally kissed her lips, tangling her fingers in his hair and pulling.

Jaksier chuckled, “Mmm, greedy? Impatient?”

“Whichever you like,” Yennefer gasped, not quite slipping the teasing tone in with her words, distracted as he sucked a dark red mark right behind her ear. She tugged at the hem of his smalls and he quickly kicked them off, giving her a pointed look.

“You promised better than nice,” she countered, giving a small shrug as he hovered over her again.

He hummed as he moved down her neck, chest, and finally made it to her silk robe, “Shall we get rid of this? Don’t- Don’t do it yourself,” he grabbed her hands and pinned them by her head, not with much force but she still felt a heat pool in her core, “I want to.”

She nodded and stared at him in awe as he carefully untied the delicate silk belt and softly, oh so fucking softly, brushed the material over her shoulder. The cool slide on her skin sent shivers down her spine and his warm, calloused fingers were a delicious contrast.

He skipped her breasts completely, kissing a trail down over her stomach, leaving a small circle of delicate kisses around her navel as he held her hips almost reverently. Unlike his normally teasing habits, he wasted no time in freeing her from her simple lingerie, holding her thighs where he wanted and leaving more kisses along the inside of her knee. Every now and then his fringe would brush over the delicate skin and Yennefer would gasp, reaching for him, any part of him, as if it would ground her and dull the feeling of lightning traveling beneath her skin to a manageable shock. Even when she got her hand in his hair, it didn’t change how she gasped when his tongue tickled the crease of her hips or how she shivered when he nosed along the soft curls between her legs.

“J-Julian,” She keened, then bit her lip and stared at the ceiling in mute horror. She remembered vividly when he’d shouted at several different people for using that name, for pretending to know him well enough.

He licked up her folds, making sure to look her in the eyes as he spoke, “Say it again.”

Her breath hitched when he spread her apart and flicked his tongue over her clit, it was no trouble at all to let out a needy sigh of his name over and over again.

When she tensed her thighs, he held them open, and when her hands curled into fists in his hair, he only groaned. He worked slowly, and any other time she would be annoyed at his pace, but this time she relaxed and let him take care of her. Let him delicately stretch her until he felt she was ready as his free hand stroked any bit of soft bare skin he could reach.

“Julian, please,” she begged, and for once it wasn’t performative. She needed him. Needed him so acutely she wasn’t entirely sure what she’d do if she couldn’t have him in her immediately.

He rested his forehead on her hip, breathing heavy as he slowly circled her clit with his thumb, “Tell me what you want.”

“You know,” she whined, clenching around his fingers. She’d deny it in the morning, but she whined. It almost startled her when she realised that, like this, she was completely at his disposal and she didn’t mind one bit. Anything he said she would agree to, anything he did, she would follow his lead.

He crawled up her body, leaving kisses in his wake, her skin on fire wherever they touched, “Let me hear it?"

“I need you, all of you. Please?”

Jaskier’s breath came out shaky before he kissed her, “You’ll have everything I am,” he whispered.

For a moment she wondered if she was supposed to hear his words. They sounded almost like a confession, so softly spoken that it was almost impossible to tell he’d said anything at all. But she was quickly distracted by his tongue on her lips as they kissed and his cock sliding through her slick folds. She moaned softly, her hands sweeping up his chest to cup his jaw and hold him close.

Nothing else mattered. Not their troubles, not their heartbreak, not the politics they’d found themselves in the middle of. The other person was all they had the consciousness for and they completely consumed each other.

Jaskier finally broke away gasping and adjusted so the head of his cock was positioned at her entrance. He looked into her eyes and before he could ask, she breathed a soft “yes” and kissed his nose. Their foreheads rested together as he slowly pushed in, blue eyes locked with violet as they both gasped and hissed. Neither of them moaned wantonly like before, neither of them put on a show, and certainly no one grunted in frustration. They moved in a gentle rhythm together, each taking the time to really feel the other and hold them close.

For the first time in such a long time, Yennefer was content.

She didn’t realize she’d squeezed her eyes shut until Jaskier kissed her again, probably several minutes later, and whispered, “Look at me.”

He looked at her like she was his only guide, only anchor keeping him in this world. There was a light sheen of sweat on his forehead and his cheeks were as rosy as his kiss-swollen lips and Yennefer wished she could capture the image forever. She thought of painting him again, if only she could paint worth shit.

He kissed her again and breathed, “close,” as he picked up his pace. She nodded, wrapping one leg around his hips and reaching between them to circle her clit as he thrust.

She came first with a gasp and soft “oh” as she did her best to keep her eyes on him, let alone open. She truly didn’t remember the last time she was so quiet when she orgasmed, or the last time she caressed her lover instead of digging her nails into their back. Her body shivered, but it wasn’t earth shattering. Nothing about it would be memorable aside from the way he looked at her.

The adoration and unbridled passion behind his gaze would haunt her forever. Only time would tell if she’d be glad to see his ghost.

She wrapped her other leg around him as the fog began to lift, leaving her just on the pleasant side of over-sensitive. Jaskier buried his face in her neck as she smoothed her hands over his back, trailing her fingers down his spine and turning to kiss his temple. She cradled his head to her as he came, body shaking as he whispered her name like a prayer.

Her hands roamed his body, reveling in the softness of his skin and the power held in his frame as she gently soothed any tightness in his muscles. After a while she settled to carding her fingers through his hair as he rested his cheek on her collarbone. He’d slipped out as he softened, but they laid still, Yen enjoying the comforting weight while Jaskier recovered.

“Are you alright?” she whispered her question, tucking her chin in to try to get a look at his face.

He just hummed and nodded, turning his head to face her with a dreamy smile.

A bright smile spread across her features and she kissed his forehead, “Do I get to call you Julian now?”

One of his arms snaked up under her back as he snuggled in closer, “Only you.”

Yennefer paused, holding her breath as she debated whether what she thought was worth saying.

“Spit it out, love,” Jaskier spoke through a yawn.

She let out a breathy laugh and wrapped her arms around his shoulders before she whispered, “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“Wanting to… to take care of me.”

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