#'You're not even courting him! Slow the fuck down!'

[be-my-sunrise]

Court-side Fever || z.cl

pairings: bf!chenle x fem!reader

genre: smut, minors pls dni

word count: 1,826

warnings: car sex, unprotected sex, pussy and thigh slapping, hair pulling, creampie, fingering, tit play. let me know if i missed anything!

a/n: happy new year's everyone! i hope you all enjoy your holiday :D i haven't posted in a while and i apologize for not being active here😞 anyways, enjoy this chenle fic! watching him play basketball does things to me, so i decided to write about it lmao

special thanks to @onriyuview @notyourjaem @lovetaroandtaemin @jenoslutie for helping me out🩵 ily teehee :3

“Good game, dude. See you next week!”

Chenle daps Mark up and leaves the basketball court. After bidding his goodbyes to Haechan and Jeno as well, he jogs towards where you’re sitting and grabs his water bottle. 

“Babe, do you want to order food at home, or should we go to a drive-thru?” He asks before downing his water.

However, you barely heard what he said. You don’t usually come with him when he’s playing basketball with his friends, mainly because Chenle feels bad about having you wait hours for him. But you insisted on tagging along this time, and boy, you were glad you did. 

Seeing him play and watching his moves on the court after so long has you in a trance. You find yourself rubbing your thighs together subconsciously almost the entire time. It's clear that he does things to your body, and it's evident in the way your panties stick to your core.

Now that he’s standing before you, lust clouds your mind, and every inch of your body is fighting the urge to take him on this bench. He looks so ravishing, all sweaty like this, the sun behind him like a paid actor. 

The cast of warm golden light around him only emphasizes the droplets of sweat on his dewy skin, and it’s not doing much to help with your situation.

Chenle glances at you when he doesn't hear any response. He waves one hand in front of your face. “Baby?”

You blink your eyes a couple of times, waking yourself up from your daze. “Huh? Oh yeah, sure.” 

“Did you even hear what I just said?”

“Uhh… no?” You look away nervously, which makes him chuckle. “Should we just order in? You seem a bit tired.”

More like aroused, but he’s right, you are somewhat tired. Tired of squeezing your thighs together. You need him so badly that you can’t even think straight. Realizing that Chenle is waiting for your answer, you give him a nod as a response.

“Alright then, let’s go home!”

Chenle leans down to pick up his bag from the ground beside your feet, and you suck in a sharp breath when you catch a whiff of his scent. He smells so fucking good, and it's driving you insane.

You stand up abruptly, almost bumping into his head in the process. He grabs your arm before you could walk away and pulls you close. “Baby, why are you being weird today? Are you okay?”

One proper look at him is all it takes for you to crash your lips against his. You practically throw your body onto Chenle, making him yelp when his back hits the fence. The kiss catches him off guard, but he quickly snaps out of it.

“You're so fucking hot, baby. I need you so bad,” you say in between kisses and feel him smirk.

You bunch his shirt up in a fit of desperation, exposing his toned abs. Chenle quickly snatches your wrist away when he feels you tugging on the waistband of his shorts. 

“Slow down, baby,” he says after pulling away. “Let's continue this in the car, yeah?”

He chuckles when he sees your face light up. You're buzzing with excitement as you drag him to his car, quite literally shoving him inside and straddling him in a blink of an eye.

You connect your lips with his again while grinding your core against his bulge. Chenle pulls your hips down to make you feel his hardening member even more. You run your fingers through his damp hair, giving it a slight pull. 

The kiss gets messier as the two of you get more desperate. He pulls away to catch his breath and tilts his head to give you more access as you start to leave hickeys across his neck. A small moan escapes his lips when you lick a stripe across his salty skin and blow cool air on the fresh red marks.

“If I had known you’d be like this, I would’ve taken you with me a long time ago,” he says breathlessly.

“I feel the same way, baby. I forgot how hot you look when you’re playing basketball,” you giggle. “At least we know better now.”

Chenle lays you down on the seat before pulling your pants down along with your panties in one swift motion. He smirks at the sight of your leaking core. 

“Fuck, baby. You must really like watching me play, hm? You soaked through your panties,” he says as he dangles your panties next to his face. 

You bite down on your lower lip when drags his finger along your slit, hips twitching as he lands a light slap on your clit. He pushes his pants down with one hand while rubbing your sensitive bud with the other. 

You feel a shiver down your spine when Chenle taps his cock on your clit, letting out a moan as he spreads your arousal across your pussy. You wait for him to push it in, but he continues to rub his cock against your slit and you start getting impatient. 

“You're so fucking wet I could just slip in easily,” he moans, admiring the mess he's making.

“Stop teasing and put it in then!” 

You snap and roll your eyes at Chenle, which makes him raise an eyebrow at your sudden change of attitude. 

“It’s cute that you think you can talk to me like that,” he scoffs. Chenle grips your thigh before landing a slap on it, making you flinch.

“You should be grateful that I’m hard as fuck right now, otherwise I would leave you untouched,” he says as he pulls you up by your arm. “On your knees.”

You quickly adjust your position, standing on your knees and placing your hands on the backrest. You let out a yelp when he pulls your head back by your hair, feeling his hot breath on your ear. 

“I've been spoiling you too much, and now you’re giving me attitude.”

You moan as he slowly rubs your clit. “Chenle, please.”

“Please what baby?” He teases while nibbling on your ear.

You try to form words but you can’t think straight. Your pussy is throbbing and the feeling of his hands on you makes you dizzy.

“Please… I need you,” you whine. Chenle lets out a condescending laugh seeing you push your ass back, grinding against his cock. 

“You can do better than that,” he says before slapping your ass.

“Fuck! Please, baby, I need you so bad. Need your cock inside me now, please.”

A gasp escapes your lips as Chenle pushes his cock all the way inside you, letting you adjust to his size for a moment as he leaves kisses on your neck. He pulls his cock out almost entirely, leaving just the tip before pushing himself back in all the way. 

His thrusts are deep and rough, your breath getting caught in your throat each time his hips slam against yours.

“You feel so good, baby,” he whispers before pulling on your hair once more. “Always so tight and wet.”

“O-only for you,” your voice trembles, barely managing to say anything.

He chuckles, “Is that so? Such a good girl.” 

Chenle slips both hands underneath your shirt, giving your tits a nice grip before pulling down your bra. He tugs on your nipples and rolls them between his fingers, making you throw your head back to rest on his shoulder as he continues thrusting relentlessly.

The car shakes with each thrust, and only the sounds of skin slapping and your broken moans can be heard. The grip you have on the seat tightens as Chenle angles his hips to push his cock even deeper, earning a loud moan from you.

Your thighs tremble as he hits your sweet spot repeatedly. He places one hand on the back of your neck to pull you in for a kiss, and you moan into the kiss when you feel his fingers sneak their way onto your clit. 

“Baby, I'm-”

“Close? I know, baby. You keep clenching around me,” he chuckles. He picks up the pace and rubs your clit faster. “Cum for me, baby. Cream all over my cock.”

Your jaw goes slack as the pleasure overwhelms you. The way you're squeezing his cock makes him dizzy. Chenle lets out a groan, his thrusts getting sloppier as he reaches his climax. 

He pushes his cock all the way inside you as he cums, and you grind your hips against his to help him ride out his high. He presses a kiss on your temple before pulling out of your warmth.

You gasp as he cups your pussy and flicks his fingers against your slit with a quick motion, making his cum drip onto the leather seat. He tugs on your shirt as a signal for you to take it off. 

“Lay down on your back for me, baby,” he says with a low tone.

You lay back down on the seat and he spreads your legs wide. Chenle pulls your bra down to expose your hardened nipples and leans over to latch his lips around one of them. 

He shoves his fingers inside your pussy as he flicks his tongue on your nipple and you suck in a sharp breath, back arching from the pleasure. 

“Fuck, baby. Feels so good,” you moan. 

You place your hand on his head to feel him even closer as he sucks on your nipple, making you whimper. You're still sensitive from your previous orgasm, so it doesn't take long until you feel the familiar knot again.

“Oh, god. I'm gonna cum again, baby.”

Chenle unlatches his lips from your nipple and straightens his back, pushing his fingers all the way inside before curling them. The intensity of his fingers has you crying out in pleasure as you reach your second climax, legs convulsing as he pulls his fingers out and starts rubbing your clit quickly. 

Your legs clamp around his arm, but he uses his other hand to spread them apart and hold them down. Chenle slaps your clit harshly after you come down from your high, making your hips twitch. 

He grips your tits using the hand that's still wet with your arousal, flicking the bud until your chest starts to tremble and you let out a shaky breath from the tingly sensation. 

He leans down to kiss you once more before tucking his cock back into his pants. You were about to get up and redress yourself, but Chenle stops you. You look at him confused.

“You're staying like this until we get home, baby,” he says with a smirk on his face. 

He grabs one of your hands and places it on your core. Then, Chenle climbs into the driver's seat and adjusts his mirror so he can watch you play with yourself.  

“Just keep that pretty little pussy of yours wet for me.”

a/n: save me basketball player chenle😵‍💫🫠 thank you for reading<3 i hope you like it!

[webism]

KINKTOBER DAY SEVEN: edging with sub!higuruma

kinktober masterlist

“I think I hate you.”

You have to laugh at the tortured way in which Hiromi speaks. He’s a mess, hair strewn over his forehead, skin glossed with sweat, cock angry with need.

“That’s not very nice,” you hum, languidly stroking at his cock. You don’t want to go too fast, ruin the awful buildup you’ve been working at. “You should be kinder to the person with your dick in hand.”

Hiromi bites the inside of his cheek. You’ve brought him to the edge three times now just to let his orgasm die the moment it starts to crest. He’d prefer a ruined orgasm at this point—anything other than the torture of denial. He's a hard worked man, stressed, and this is no way to wind down after a particularly hard case.

But god do you feel good; even just your hand, though Hiromi knows he'll be begging for more of you by the end of the night. Your fist squeezes around his cock in a way much like you would if you were riding him instead, soaking him in the mess he makes of you... he can't handle the imagery, his fourth potential orgasm starts to rise in his chest.

Maybe if he doesn't tell you he's going to cum, you won't realise. He thinks on it, focuses on the sweet coos of praise that slip from your lips and enhance his pleasure ten-fold, and groans. God, he wants to be good for you, to experience the sweet reward for doing so. He doesn't want to disappoint, doesn't want to do anything other than please you.

"I'm close," he bites, hating himself for giving in so easy. His chest heaves with each buck of his hips into your hand, he's really chasing a release, and it brings a smile to your lips.

"I know," you say, and Hiromi can feel the god-awful twitch in your hand as you start to slow down your movements.

"No, please—"

"Don't beg," you hum and release his cock entirely; he has half a mind to reach down and stroke himself through a mediocre orgasm to stunt the awful wait. "You're going to cum when I let you cum, baby, begging won't sway me. Just enjoy it."

Enjoy it? Hiromi could laugh, how can he enjoy repeat denial? Even if your hands on him are godlike and he'd rather be here with you than anywhere else in the world. Even if he doesn't pick up on how loud he's being, how much he's writhing, how fucking good it really feels. Your Hiromi has a habit of getting stuck in his own head.

That's why he hardly registers it when you're climbing over him and sinking down onto his cock with a sharp gasp. When Hiromi finally catches up to your movements, and he's able to untangle his grip from the sheets to rest on your hips instead, he thinks he's seen heaven.

He's so fucking sensitive, and you feel so good around him—warm and wet and sensual in so many ways your hand just can't compare with. Suddenly, as you roll your hips against him and lean down to kiss at his jaw, he gets it.

"Holy shit." "Told you."

He's barely just come down from his last potential orgasm when he feels another one bubbling in his lower abdomen. He feels ashamed, almost, of how quick he's going to cum now that he's finally inside of you—that is if you let him finish, of course. He knows you told him not to beg but he can't help the string of 'please baby please' that falls from his trembling lips.

You smile against his jaw, press a delicate kiss to his freshly-shaved skin and whisper something in his ear that he'd argue in front of a court is on par with a heavenly commandment. "Cum for me, 'Romi."

Fuck seeing stars, Hiromi's vision is lost on him completely as your words force the most intense orgasm of his life to wrack through him. He feels it in his bones, in his fingertips that dig into your waist, in his lungs that empty themselves of air as he cries a sweet release. He's never cum this hard. He's never cum this much—he's still balls-deep inside of you can can feel his cum being forced out of you and down his thighs.

What could have been a painful five orgasms tonight is rolled into one, and Hiromi is left gasping for air and struggling to keep his thoughts in check as you roll your hips and help him ride out the overbearing pleasure.

"Say it," you tease, and though Hiromi is fucked stupid, he still manages to roll his eyes.

"You were right, I was wrong."

"Good," you hum, and bring your hips up a little just to drop back down on his aching length. "Because you're going to keep still until I cum too."

[artdcnaldson]

*taps mic* "Ahem... jerking Art off and making him swallow his own cum"

The crowd boos. "That's disgusting!" One yells. "He'd never do that!" Another shouts. Then, everyone gasps and turns around as someone in the back stands and speaks up. "Yes, he would." Says no other than Arthur Clive Donaldson himself.

Alternatively.... cumming in you and then eating you out...

And the crowd goes... home!

🚬

Sighhhh <3

But yeah <3 Especially thinking very hard about jerking off sweet little 2006 Art. Perhaps even comforting him in your hotel room after he's lost the junior US Open final </3

He wants to feel desired, like he's won something. So he feels vindicated when you're clinging to his side, all starry eyed and happy to be in his presence. Patrick is across the room talking to Tashi, showing off his trophy with that dazzling, perfect, smarmy, frustrating smile of his. So he tries to focus on you, as you tell him about how you also won in the mixed doubles tournament, and you saw his final that morning and you thought he played really well.

It doesn't take much convincing to get him to your hotel room— he didn't really want to stay at the afterparty anyway, feeling like Anna Mueller with his stupid little plate engraved— Art Donaldson, runner up. He feels better on your bed, with your tongue down his throat, moaning into your mouth as you strip him out of the fancy outfit his grandma had bought him, expecting a win. A nice white button down, black slacks, his grandad's cufflinks. Even a goddamn tie.

"You're so hot," you murmur against his lips, once he's down to his boxers and you can feel him hard, tenting the fabric. "Can I touch you?"

And, fuck, on a night like this, who is he to refuse?

Your hands are so so soft around him, slick from spit so he can glide in your palm. Slow, practiced. You kiss him so sweetly as you jerk him off, tongue brushing his, licking into his mouth. You can taste the soda he had at the party, the cigarette he'd puffed on while you waited for your shuttle back to the hotel.

"Jesus that's—" He trails off, hips bucking up into your fist, seeking more. But you set the pace, and you want this to be slow. So you just smile, nod and kiss his jaw. You twist your fist a bit and make him groan, so his head falls back and you can trail your hot kisses down his throat. "God, you're killing me."

You relish in having him like this— panting and falling apart in your hand, literally. Art Donaldson— golden boy on the court. You toy with him— slowing down when his moans get too fast, when you feel his balls drawing up and his cock pulsing... speeding up when you want to feel his breath hot, panting against your throat, his kisses insistent.

He doesn't even have time to warn you before he's spilling into your hand. Hot, thick ropes that drip between your fingers. He groans and buries his face in your shoulder, embarrassed by his inability to last during a simple handjob.

"Sorry, that's... sorry," He stammers, his cheeks pretty pink. His cock flags, just a bit between his thighs, and you know this isn't the first time you'll make him cum that night. Not even close.

You kiss his cheek once, then bring your fingers up to his lips. He hesitates, just a moment, before his tongue peeks out, lapping at his spend on your fingers. His nose wrinkles, just a bit at the unfamiliar taste, but he obeys, until there's no trace of him left on your palm other than his spit.

You kiss his lips and taste his cum on his tongue. It doesn't take long for him to get hard again.

[qqueenofhades]

There is no law that prevents a convicted felon from running for and becoming president, nor a law that bans someone from being president in prison. Also, if Trump gets incapacitated in someway, many ultra right republicans who equally despise trans people and immigrants and Muslims would happily take his place

And I ask, with all due respect, what is your point?

Do you think I don't know that?

Do you think I am somehow convinced that everything is hunky dory now and we don't have any work left to do?

Are you just determined to be the first of the gloom-and-doomers who show up like clockwork in my inbox, every time some consequence happens to Trump, to morosely insist that no consequences will happen to him? First it was "he'll win re-election." Then it was "the coup will succeed." Then it was "he will never be indicted." Then it was "2022 will be a red wave!" Then it was "he will never be tried." Then it was "he will never be convicted." Now we've moved on, within less than 2 hours of the first US President ever to be convicted of ONE felony, let alone THIRTY-FOUR, "he'll never be sentenced or face a real consequence or lose the election." The goalposts keep moving RIGHT along without even a single pause to acknowledge the difficulty and the value of the progress we have made thus far, and it makes me CRAZY.

Do you people realize how fucking rare it is, both in the world today and historically, for a former (and would-be future) head of state to be held to criminal account by a jury of 12 anonymous ordinary citizens? When that one person, Trump, is the center of the malignant fascist cancer that has spread through this country ever since 2016, and plenty of his cultists are still insisting that it's Trump or nobody for them? When we've actually reached the stage of holding him legally accountable for (some of) his crimes for the first time in his miserable misbegotten life? I suspect that most of you are so deep in the "America is totally broken and the system is useless and we can only Revolute!!!1" rabbit hole that you're bound and determined to argue away every step we take, however slow, as Meaning Nothing TM. Voting? Fake. Fighting to make real progress? Also fake. Everything is fake except our belief that everything is broken and we need the Keyboard Warrior Glorious Revolution!!! As long as you can keep inventing ever more contorted twists of logic to ignore everything else that's happened so far, this makes sense... or something. I guess?

Now we're onto "removing Trump won't matter :(" when a whole lot of people have been fighting day and fucking night to get all the privileged-princess Online Leftists to get off their Che Guevara cosplaying asses and cast a single fucking vote to keep us from full-on-sliding into fascism. A slide into fascism that, again, has been spearheaded and centered around Trump's toxic cult of personality and which is still tied to him in almost every way. Apparently holding him to account (again, which has never happened to him in his life) already doesn't matter because wah wah he won't suffer any consequences. If he loses this election he's probably going to jail for the rest of his life! We would have electorally defeated the greatest threat to the American democratic experiment in 250 years, and frankly a huge part of the fascist far-right hydra that is currently attempting a comeback around the world! This is, yet again:

THE FIRST TIME ANY AMERICAN PRESIDENT, EVER, HAS BEEN CONVICTED OF MULTIPLE FELONY CHARGES IN A COURT OF LAW BY A JURY OF HIS PEERS

and yet we're still hearing that nothing matters and no work has been done and removing him will have no effect???

Come on. Come on. I know it's tiring and it's slow and it doesn't go as fast as we want. But every single damn time the process goes another step, here you people are in my inbox insisting that we're still at zero progress and it means nothing, and lemme tell you, I am Tired of it. Come on. You don't have to jump up and down (my own feeling is glee and vindication but still not relaxation, I will not relax until he loses the fucking election and goes to jail), but you also don't need to keep myopically pretending that all the effort thus far by so many people means nothing. Come on.

[chimielie]

yeah, you might want me to drop dead (but i don't even care)

summary: Atsumu x F!Reader. atsumu would categorize your relationship like this: he thinks you're hot when you're angry. you would categorize your relationship with atsumu like this: he had woken up one day and decided to drive you out of your fucking mind insane. 

word count: 2k

cw: miya atsumu's degradation kink (it's still sfw he's just not subtle), suggestive at the end

a/n: another resurrected fic from the drafts. walk him like a dog, bitch, walk him like a dog

Miya Atsumu was a player known for his thirst for blood. Like his brother, who termed the all-consuming need to dominate their opponent hunger, he relished in complete fucking annihilation. He was hardly soft off the court, too: few of his peers could withstand his cutting humor, his teammates couldn’t understand how he hadn’t scared off his fan club, and he had crushed a few hearts beneath his heel in his time.

He’d met his match in the natural enemy of heartbreakers: his university’s resident maneater.

“Hey!” Atsumu calls your name, lengthening his stride to catch up to you. You grimace—he can barely see your side profile now, but oh, you’re slowing down so he can catch up. Unusually considerate.

Oh, no, there’s just a clog in the artery of the crowded hallway, halting your escape.

“Hi,” he sing-songs, stretching the word out several extra syllables. 

“Good morning, Atsumu,” you say tightly, drawing up your shoulders so your arm won’t brush his bicep in the limited space. “I was hoping you’d died, since you weren’t in lecture this morning. Better yet, maybe someone buried you alive last night and you hadn’t dug your way out yet.”

“You went with the option that doesn’t kill me! You care,” he says happily, and takes a moment to bask in it. “I was actually at a volleyball game, you should come to one sometime, I’m pretty good at it—”

“I’d rather walk in traffic, ‘Tsumu,” you shoot him a wide smile that makes his knees feel weak and wobbly and shove your way straight through the crowd of people, leaving only an uncaring ‘Scuse me! in your wake. 

A lot of people would categorize your relationship with Atsumu as complicated. Atsumu is not one of those people.

Atsumu would categorize your relationship like this: many moons ago, you and he had been in a few of the same classes and shared some mutual friends—mere acquaintances. He hadn’t known you very well. In fact, he’d thought you were cute, which he now knows you aren’t. A few minor catastrophes he wasn’t privy to later, you had come to verbal blows with some loser in the middle of the quad. You’d later found it rather embarrassing. Watching you eviscerate him, though, Atsumu had experienced a fear like never before. If he was bloodthirsty, you bathed in ichor. 

He would always remember the look on your face as you dealt the final blow and turned away, walking with a straight back right toward him.

Atsumu, who had never seen anything quite like the look of controlled rage on your face as you took that man apart. Who wasn’t sure why the sound of you doing your damnedest to instigate a fight made him shiver despite being all too warm inside. Who was looking up at you from his seat like a puppy, desperate to see you don your war paint again.

You walked past him, because of course you did. You weren’t pulled by the same magnetic force he was, focused on him like he was suddenly fixated on you. You were barely acquainted with him and obviously going to your friends for moral support and ice cream and whatever it was people did after one of them basically tarred and feathered someone in the town square. He was merely a bystander along the path you strode.

Of course, the very action of totally ignoring his existence cinched it: he was hooked.

You would categorize your relationship with Atsumu like this: he had woken up one day and decided to drive you out of your fucking mind insane. 

You’d tried to ignore him. He was persistent, though, and he just pushed and pushed and pushed until he crossed the line. It was exhausting.

Except that you kind of loved fighting with him.

You couldn’t help the adrenaline rush it gave you, the way he seemed to light a fire inside you no one else could and keep it burning hot. It was almost like a release to debate him, the way some people boxed or listened to heavy metal to destress. The feeling of victory never failed to put a sparkle in your eye and a cocky smirk on your lips; sometimes, you felt like he was stepping back and letting you win.

This continued in perfectly pleasant vicious and sometimes bloody antagonism for the course of forever until a few months ago, when Atsumu had begun the new and inimitable torture of flirting with you. It was horrible and it was weird and you had no idea what kind of mind game he was playing, but you certainly intended to find out. 

Atsumu, for his part, had recently realized that he likes it when you smile so much more than when you scowl. He likes it when you flutter your lashes instead of staring flatly into his soul, hoping to yank it out and set it aflame. He likes it when you say nice things to him, which has only happened once, but was very nearly a second sexual awakening and thus monumental.

He does not like it when other men flirt with you.

“Your pencil is broken,” Osamu notes, glancing down at his brother’s clenched fist. “You’ll get splinters.”

“What? Oh,” says Atsumu distractedly. “Yeah, I’ll do it later.”

Your laugh rings across the library, the warm glow of a fireplace instead of the burning fires of hell you share with Atsumu. His grip slackens, and his twin takes the opportunity to prise the pulverized writing utensil out of his hand. This kindness goes unnoticed as the guy, that’s how Atsumu’s thinking the word in his mind, low and mocking, guy, says something to you that makes him instinctively kick Osamu in the shin.

“Ow! Douchebag!”

“Sorry, reflex,” Atsumu apologizes.

“Do you want to go with me?” Asks the dickhead you’re talking to.

“To ice cream? Sure,” you reply, and you don’t even sound like you’re being sarcastic. What the fuck? There’s a long pause while the jagoff scuffs his shoe against the floor, a red flush coming over his face while you stare slightly past him with your trademark stare. But your lips are slightly turned up.

The expression haunts Atsumu on his walk back. Your smile was so pretty, sweet and soft. You never smile at him except mockingly. 

“At the risk of sounding like I care,” Suna says. “Are you okay?” 

“If I killed someone, would you help me get rid of the body?” Atsumu says, staring straight ahead.

“No,” Osamu says, “he’s finding out about human emotions and he’s coping very badly.”

Atsumu is ignoring you. As quickly as his interest (his desire to piss you off) had flared up, it had disappeared seemingly overnight, which was fine for you. It was great! You had booted the most annoying man in the world out of your life and replaced him with a perfectly nice guy. Your life was coming up roses.

Except it was driving you insane. You had your phone out, held an inch below your desk, leaving the perfectly nice guy (what was his name? You hadn’t saved it in your contacts and you weren’t sure why) on read as you stared across the room at the faux-blond.

He was chattering to another boy who looked bemused and patient; probably another volleyball player. You were half-convinced this was part two of his ploy to get under your skin; he was playing the unpredictable game.

As you try to bore a hole in his brain with your eyes, you see him glance back at you for a second, just a second, and that’s it. You slam your palms down on the desk, shooting up from your seat, trying not to make eye contact when a few other students turn and look at you because of the noise. He still won’t look directly at you as you make your way to his seat.

“I just remembered I have to leave,” says Atsumu’s friend—Aran, not that you care what his friends are called—picking up his bag. “I have to go be anywhere else right now.”

“What,” Atsumu whines as he books it away from the two of you. “Oh. It’s you.”

“Yeah,” you snap, folding your arms in front of your chest. You’re not sure why you’re so angry, just at the look of his melting chocolate eyes and hunched shoulders and pouty lips. Ugh. He’s the worst. “You’re avoiding me. Why.” The question sounds more like a sentence or maybe a threat.

“I’m not doing that,” he defends weakly. “Maybe I just got tired of looking at your face.”

“My face is fucking precious, okay,” you argue, “you should want to look at it all the time. Idiot. What’s wrong with you?”

“I do—I mean, what? What’s wrong with you?” He returns, and there’s the familiar snap and sting that you like so much. “You don’t even like it when I talk to you—”

“I don’t!”

“So why are you mad now that I’m not?”

“Because—” You struggle for reasoning. You can’t find it. Something strange and huge is crawling its way up your throat.

“Because, uh, um,” he mocks you, and you almost sock him. “Make up your mind! I was trying to be nice to you, even though it’s fucking boring!”

“I don’t want you to be nice to me!” You shout, and then curl over, your face nearly in his lap as almost everyone else in the room turns to look at you. One of the library workers shushes you loudly. “It’s—you’re right, it is boring. Everything else is fucking boring. I like it when you bother me, ‘Tsumu, okay?”

“Okay,” Atsumu says, eyes widening, leaning away from you as you seem nearly on the verge of manic combustion in front of you. “Then—I’ll keep doing it?”

“Will you?” You sit up straight and look him squarely in the eye. He gulps, unsure what he’s being asked. Something is fluttering in his stomach, but he’s hesitant to trust it.

“Yeah,” he breathes, and it feels like so much more than a confession.

“You’re so fucking annoying,” you say, in the same deceptively soft tone. “Can I kiss you?”

“Not if I kiss you—” You grab his face before he can finish talking and smash your lips onto his, first hard and like you’re trying to bully your way into his mouth, then a little sweeter, a little more tender. “First?”

“I win,” you say smugly as he tries to remember how to breathe.

“Please leave,” says the librarian. 

You live alone, which is amazing, because if Atsumu were to see his brother or teammates right now he might commit felony battery. In your apartment, which is full of trinkets Atsumu wants to examine but can’t because he’s very busy staring at you, you shove him onto the couch and sit on him. Sort of like you’re wrestling, but not at all.

“If we’re goin’ out,” he says, “we are going out, right?”

“Yes, ‘Tsumu,” you say, and your smile is as bright as the stars. He clears his throat and prays his voice doesn’t crack.

“Good. Uh, if we’re goin’ out, does that mean you have to start bein’ nice to me?” 

“I’ll be nicer to you,” you promise.

“Oh.” His tone is almost disappointed. 

“Or,” you lean down, and he almost chokes on his own inhale. “I can date you and be mean to you at the same time,” you say into his reddening ear, your breath hot and your smiling lips barely, just barely brushing his skin. Atsumu makes a squeaking noise that can barely be understood. “What was that?”

“Yes, please,” he says fervently.

You bite his earlobe teasingly, and he finds that really nice, actually. The nicest.

[sidthedollface2]

Something Old and Something New

Pairing: Azriel x Reader (Rhys sister)

Summary: Rhys tells Azriel to back off Elain and find release at a pleasure hall. Instead, Azriel finds you, Rhys' younger sister. 

Or

The Princess of the Night Court becomes Azriels rebound. What could possibly go wrong?

Word count: 4.8k

Warnings: MDNI 18+, ANGST, hurt/no comfort, cheating? (not really tho you'll see), smut (p in v, oral, fingering) no use of yn, nicknames, drug use, alcohol.

A/n: I’m back from vacation and decided to do this one shot in between crown fit for a god. I really don't like using yn (its me not you) so every one of my fics will have a nickname but its still x reader. I’m sorry in advance if this hurts you. Anyway, enjoy. :)

“You will leave Elain alone. If you need to fuck someone, go to a pleasure hall and pay for it, but stay away from her.” 

Azriel hadn't slept in weeks. The weight of his shame suddenly became too heavy for his illyrian shoulders. You weren't supposed to be this magnetic and he wasn't supposed to stick around this long. He told himself it was just going to be a quick fling, someone he could spend the night with and try to forget about her.

 But you had always been in his company. Ever since you became of age he thought you were stunning and entirely too good for him. You were afterall Rhysands younger sister. The female version with equal power and even more beautiful. Graceful when needed, mostly among people of importance, and always polite and kind like a princess should be. You were a Princess for the people, earning the citizens trust and walking among them like each and every person was your friend. It was no secret why they preferred your company to their High Lord.

Your amethyst eyes were now engrained behind his very own eyelids, everytime he closed his eyes for the night, they shot wide open. The image of you under him all those nights and the soft moans as he took you to bed in the shroud of darkness. He really didn’t know how it happened, mostly, he blamed it on the alcohol. One night after Ritas was all it took for him to be obsessed, seeking you out when his loneliness threatened to consume him.

Azriel’s panting mixes with your own moans as he pumps himself inside you. The delicious drag of his thick cock leaves you breathless under him. His touch is gentle as he cups your cheek, his hazel eyes never leaving yours as he imagines forever in your arms. “You're so beautiful. Can’t believe I get to have you.” He coo’s as he trails soft kisses down your neck, nipping and biting your flesh, careful to not leave any marks. Your hands card through his dark waves, back arching off the bed when his lips attach to your pebbled nipple.

Kissing and biting at the fullness of your breasts, soothing away the love bruising he left on them previously. His scarred hands feel like silk when they roam the soft curves of your body, lighting a fire within you with each and every touch. Knees dig into the bed as he grips your hips, still completely sheathed inside you. He moves your body against his, matching the velocity of his thrusts. Deeper and deeper. One arm wraps around your waist while the other rubs tiny circles on your clit. His eyes never leave your beautiful face as his favorite part comes to life right before him. Your head is thrown back, mouth agape as pleasure builds in the pit of your stomach. “Oh fuck Az, don’t stop.” Azriel’s eyes sparkle with wonder as you fall apart beneath him. Toes curling as the force of your orgasm takes over all your senses. Azriel follows soon after. His pace stutters as your name falls from his lips with a groan. Spilling his seed into you with slow thrusts, ensuring each drop doesn't go to waste.

 “You were so good for me baby,” he smiles as he peppers your face with kisses. Azriel pulls out with a hiss and you giggle into the covers when his toned ass walks to the bathroom. You pout adorably when he returns wearing a pair of low hanging pants, and a warm cloth in his hands. “None of that love. I’m all yours and very willing to give you seconds and thirds,” he waggles his eyebrows and nestles between your legs. No shame or embarrassment from neither of you as he gently cleans you up. In between his gentle wipes he places a loud kiss to your core, “so fucken pretty.”

“Pink or Red?” He asks, looking through your assortment of panties, imagining how you'd look wearing the lacey ones. “Black.” Is all you reply and Azriels grin widens when you pick the lacey ones. 

He insists on helping you get dressed, pinching your butt and digging his fingers in your sides, making you giggle. You swat his greedy hands away. knowing it's just an excuse to keep touching you. “I’m not going to let you help me next time, all you do is tickle me,” you joke, knowing very well you couldn’t keep him away if you tried. “Fine. I won’t tickle you next time,” he says, crossing his arms with a sly grin on his handsome face. 

“You said that last time, and the time before that too.”

“Then you should know what to expect. Now come to bed, and snack with me.” Azriel moves to lay on the bed and opens the covers. Patting the space next to him with the palm of his hand, beckoning you next to him. You don’t have to be told twice, because this was without a doubt your favorite part. Like clockwork Azriel requested all your favorite snacks and without hesitation the house delivered.

Like a true Royal he fed you ripe grapes from the vine, watching intently as you parted your mouth for the sweet berry. Azriel licked his lips when your mouth wrapped around the fruit, making you chuckle as you pulled it off the stem. “When you said snacks this is not what I had in mind. I was thinking more like dessert.” 

“You just had dessert baby,” he teased with a shit eating grin as he gestured to his cock. You couldn’t help the snort that escaped from the back of your throat, causing you both to burst into fits of laughter, giggling like children. Who knew the shadowsinger belly laughed so openly. Something he only did with you. Once your laughs died down Azriel indulged you with a sweet treat. Again offering to spoon feed you, taking every chance to lick frosting off your glossy lips or fingers. 

By the end of the night you couldn't believe how sore your cheeks were from laughing so hard. Azriel had this charm about him, and you couldn’t get enough. You draped your arm over his toned stomach. Head nestled against his chest, listening to the rhythm of his strong heart, a melody you loved to fall asleep to. He held you close to his chest, pressing a kiss to the top of your head, inhaling the scent of your hair, “Goodnight baby,” he whispered. 

“Night Az, I love you.” 

Silence. 

Azriel didn’t sleep that night. Neither did you. You didn’t expect him to say the words back, because he’d shown you he loved you in his actions alone. But his coldness afterward was unexpected. He laid still under you. No longer stroking your hair, or rubbing small circles on your back. It was like all the air had left his body yet the rhythm of his heart increased, hammering against his chest with the ferocity of a freight train.  If he felt your saddened tears fall on his chest he didn’t mention it, too caught up in his thoughts to console you. 

But now all his thoughts were of you and how quick your love had turned bitter when he didn't respond after you had said those three words to him. 

He was an idiot. Because he did love you. At the very sight of you his heart beat wildly in his chest. He wanted to spend every waking moment holding your hand and kissing your perfect lips. Fall asleep with you in his arms only to be awoken by your feminine beauty.  But Rhysand was unaware that you two were in a relationship. Were you in a relationship? He never asked. Wanted to. But he didn’t. He couldn’t imagine a day where Rhys would accept him as your lover. Rhys had been furious that he wanted to sleep with Elain, threatening him to no end. He couldn't imagine the anger if he were to find out that he turned his efforts to you instead. There were only a few things Azriel was scared of. Rhysands fury if he were to ever find out he’s been sleeping with his sister. And losing you. Those sort of went hand and hand didn’t they. 

You woke up alone the following morning. Thinking that your confession was too much for the shadowsinger. And perhaps you were just one of his many conquests added to the long list of females that warmed his bed. For as long as you knew Azriel he only had casual flings, nothing of substance. No one he introduced to his family. It made you feel stupid. He made you feel stupid. Hoping that you were the one he could call home. Someone he could envision spending the rest of his life with. You could forgive him for not saying ‘I love you’ back. That didn’t stop you from loving him and that didn’t mean he didn’t care about you. Because surely he did right? 

Right?

It wasn’t just that though, you had overheard Azriel tell Cassian sleeping with you was a mistake and that choosing you to be his rebound hadn’t worked out for him. “She said she loved me. It’s just all wrong. This wasn’t how I wanted things to go between us-” You didn’t bother hearing the rest of the conversation. Azriel’s words left your heart gaping, a wound so large you were afraid no one could mend it.

You had missed the importance of his following words, how Azriel wished he had done things right with you. Courted you the right way, with flowers and lovely dates to the finest eateries. Taking things slow at first, holding hands and sweet kisses under the moonlight. You didn’t hear Azriel explain that you had become more than he ever expected, more than just a rebound. He wanted a life with you. Now and forever, just you two and the family he always wanted.

You’d both move into a beautiful house just along the Sidra where you’d spend hours decorating every room to your liking. He’d soon marry you in front of all his family and friends, wearing the finest gown that glittered brighter than the night sky. During the mating frenzy, because of course you were his mate, he’d be sure to fuck a baby into you. And if his seed didn’t stick he wouldn't stop until your scent shifted to one of a pregnant female. He just hoped that Rhysand would give his blessing. 

Now everytime Azriel tried to seek you out, you were nowhere to be found. Like you had just vanished from the Night Court, even though the other members had interactions with you. You suddenly had no time for Azriel. The citizens of Velaris saw you less and less and when they did, your time spent was cut in half. Your joyous laughter no longer echoed the halls of the House of Wind, instead Cassian and Nesta’s not so secret sex romps were becoming more frequent. You had changed your entire schedule to avoid crossing paths with the shadowsinger. 

You no longer spent your mornings having breakfast with Rhysand and Feyre, instead you woke up earlier than usual and held your morning breakfast in the library. 

 “Why are you having breakfast here and not with Rhys?” Azriels hazel eyes took you in as he neared, noticing your tense shoulders. Closing the book in your hand, now finished with your chapter, you stand and gather your items into your bag, “was just catching up on some reading.” You don’t meet his gaze, the sight of him too painful for your heart to bear. “You haven’t been training with Cassian either,” he continues. “Or shopping with Mor. You haven't exchanged books with Nesta and,” Azriel towers over you, his breath fanning over your cheek at his closeness, “you haven’t warmed my bed.” Your eyes finally meet his, a look of desire in his warm eyes as his hands come up to cup your face. A glance over his shoulder has you pulling away from his touch as Elain enters the library, her soft voice dancing along the walls, “Hi Az.”

He ignores her completely, doesn’t even spare her a glance. But your eyes travel from her to him and back again. You see the fondness she has for him in the flush of her cheeks and the way her voice sings as she calls his name.

Memories of their subtle interactions come crashing into your mind. Her shy gaze whenever he walked in the room. The slight brush of fingers when they crossed paths, his lingering gaze when she exited a room.

He’s not yours, and you're not his. Never was, never will be. It dawns on you then that all the soft touches and lingering glances were never sincere but simply a ploy to get Elain jealous. Everytime you made love to him you gave a part of yourself, hoping he would accept you with open arms and an open heart.

You had hoped you were the only one in his life that made him throw his head back, eyes closed shut in ecstasy. But it's clear now when he closed his eyes he saw Elain riding him instead, not you. She was who he really wanted and you were just a placeholder. The rebound. 

He knows you well enough to tell when you're about to fall apart and now is one of those instances. It clicks for him now why he hasn’t seen you. Azriel catches your arm before you dart away, his touch gentle yet firm “you're avoiding me.” He says, worry etched all over his face as he attempts to pull you into his chest. “I’ve figured it out so you can stop pretending to care about me now.” A tear escapes your waterline and Azriel reaches to thumb away the hurt that he's caused.

You don't give him the chance as you swat his hand away and turn to make your exit. He’s panicking now watching you practically run away from him, as you hurry to get away from his presence.

A wound so intense suddenly opens within his heart. With no other option but to just blurt out the first thing that comes to his mind to keep you close. “I adore you!” he says breathlessly and waits for you to run into his arms so he could kiss you silly. When you turn around to confront him, Elain comes up from behind him and wraps her arms around his middle in a tight squeeze. A picture perfect couple you think to yourself, her innocent personality and bubbly nature a lovely contrast to his tall, dark and handsome. Azriel can’t pry her arms off him in time to chase after you before you rush out of the library, traces of your scent still lingering in the air. 

You run and run you're not sure for how long, just long enough till your tears are dried tracks along your soft cheeks. You find yourself in the arms of your brother, clutching his shirt in your closed fist as you loosen the cries that held your throat hostage. “Hey hey, what's wrong?” he coo’s pulling away just enough to see the heartbreak etched in your pretty face. “Send me away please Rhys, I am begging. I never ask anything of you, it doesn’t have to be forever, just a few months.” Your shoulders are shaking violently as you continue to wail into his chest, the intensity of your cries cracking the high lord into submission. “Are you sure, love? I can fix-” 

“No! There's nothing you can do.” 

Rhys nods, winnowing you to a secret cabin that sits along the border of The Night Court. “Just tell me this. Are you in any danger?” he asks, “because I know Azriel and Cassian or even myself will-” 

You wince at the mention of Azriels name, “I’m not in any danger, brother.” You assure him as you settle on the couch in front of the hearth, pulling a warm throw over your body and curling in on yourself. “Good, that’s good. I’ll talk to Kallias. He has someone he wants you to meet. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind hosting you for as long as you need.” Rhysand takes one last look at you, studying how unhappy you look, hoping you can confide in him your troubles, whatever they may be. You lay bundled under the comfort of the blanket, your glossy eyes staring into the flames of the fireplace. It’s heat providing a comfort you wish was someone else's. 

Azriel enters your room frantically searching for you, but he gasps and stumbles back when he sees Cerridwen packing your belongings. “Where is she?” he asks, his voice tense and panicked as he grips her by the shoulders. “I’m afraid I don’t have that information.” 

“Why are you packing her stuff then?” He starts shaking her shoulders, as if it would quicken her answer. “She’ll be visiting the Winter Court and Rhysand requests her favorite items to be sent to her.” 

You were running away from him, when all he wanted was to run toward you. Azriels world shattered completely. If you weren't here to live beside him then he had no interest in living. He had been too complacent in being in the now and not once had he initiated to be something serious. Now he was left with longing. 

That same night Rhysand made accommodations for you to stay in the Winter Courts Palace. Kallias and Vivienne were more than happy to have you stay with them. They were quite eager to introduce you to their son Kit. Hoping that with time you’d become great friends. Kit was the spitting image of his father. His white hair styled to perfection, with not a single strand misplaced. Chiseled cheekbones and a sharp jaw, pouty lips with Icy blue eyes to match his cool demeanor. His eyes trailed your beautiful curves as he bowed, taking your hand within his, placing a tender kiss to your delicate knuckles. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you Princess.” 

Your violet eyes met his and for a moment his pretty face made you forget about your heartbreak. Kit extended his elbow to you and without a second doubt you linked your arm with his as he led you to see the beauty of his Court. 

You spent the next two weeks in the company of the future Heir. Kit remained a respectful host. Introducing you to his closest friends, a welcomed change of personalities compared to your friends from home. Each evening he’d join you for dinner. Offering a different restaurant each night in hopes to expand your palate in order to get a feel for your favorite foods.

During your brief stay you opened up to him and told him of the situationship you had with Azriel. You explained to him what you overheard Azriel say and how stupid he made you feel after you confessed your love for him. “I finally saw the way he looked at her and it broke me more than it should have, because I remember when he looked at me the same way.  I heard him tell Cass that I was just the girl he picked to get over her. I never meant anything to him. Yet this whole time it had been real for me and I foolishly fell in love with him.” 

“Oh sweetheart, you deserve to be someone's first and only choice. You’re a Princess of The Night Court, if anyones the stupid one It’s him for not seeing how incredible you are.” With the end of his sweater sleeve, Kit wipes away a stray tear that escaped your waterline. His gentleness is a stark contrast to the ice flowing within his veins. “Besides I hear there's a handsome Prince looking for a warm heart to thaw the coldness in his soul,” he smirks playfully, rocking on the heels on his feet, a look of innocence in his crystal eyes. Your sweet giggle transcends into his favorite song and he makes it a mission to hear it often. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Azriel was tearing himself apart from the inside out. By the third day of being plastered and starting fights with innocent bystanders; Rhys had pulled him off missions until he sobered up enough to function.  All that did was give him a larger drinking window. He visited every winery and brewery in Verlaris, sometimes even forgetting how he got there in the first place.  Drowning in bottles of liquor till he could barely stand, let alone fly or walk or do anything for that matter. Tonight was different from the past two weeks, as he decided to smoke his problems away, alcohol no longer providing the high that made him forget.

 The strain for tonight was Mirthroot laced with Amnesia Haze, a hallucinogenic that could either make your deepest wish a reality or make you completely forget your life's problems.

Azriel couldn’t remember how he got up the steps to the house of wind. He couldn’t remember lots of things as of late. One thing he’d never forget though, was your scent and the way you made him feel. So when he opened the door to the house and your sensual perfume hit his nose he almost fell to his knees with relief.

You were finally home. He could explain himself and tell you that he loved you and that you meant the world to him. Azriel followed your scent like it was second nature. His shadows excitedly rushed up stairs towards your bed chambers, leaving him slightly confused because you were sitting at the kitchen Table.

Your hair was long in flowy waves down your back, a little longer since the last time he saw you. It hadn't been that long had it? It didn’t matter, all he wanted was to hold you in his arms again. Keep you safe in Velaris where you belong. Azriel slowly approached you, his breath shaky as he placed his hand on your shoulder. “Vi?”

Violet, the nickname you were given for your stunning eyes with various shades of purple and blue. Your eyes met his and you smiled, “Hi Az.” 

“Gods I missed you,” he admitted as he pulled you up from the chair, enveloping you in a warm embrace. You were slightly startled at how tight he hugged you. Inhaling your scent deeply as his nose nuzzled against your neck. “I’m so sorry, for everything. Please forgive me?” Azriel cupped your face between his scarred hands, angling you to look up at him. His pupils were large and dilated, a gaze mixed with sorrow and lust.  Your brows furrowed in confusion, “Az? What are you talking about?” 

“Come here, I need to tell you something.” Azriel lifted you onto the kitchen counter, earning a small yelp from your lips. He settled between your knees, making your thin night dress pool around your hips. His hands remained on your exposed thighs, rubbing them softly to keep you warm. His eyes never strayed from yours, like he couldn't believe you were actually here. “I made a mistake and should have never let you feel like you were the wrong choice. I don’t care what Rhys says anymore. I want you.”

His hands inch closer to your center, a silent request to touch you as the other brings your lips to his in a steamy kiss. You nod into the kiss, giving him permission to touch you. Azriel pulls your panties to the side, easily coating his fingers in your arousal, groaning when he feels how wet you already are from his kiss alone. 

Your breath catches when he slips his fingers inside and curls them in a come hither motion. “Oh gods Az, I’ve dreamed of this moment,” you pant into his mouth, needing more of him, anything he's willing to give you’ll take. He then rubs tiny circles on your clit, making you throw your head back so hard it slams against the cupboard in a loud thud. White flashes behind your eyes as your orgasm crashes over you, a giddy smile plastered on your face from the pleasure he's given you. 

You hop off the counter, eager to return the favor. Palming his cock, you notice he's barely hard, a groan escapes his mouth as you fumble with his belt. You pull Azriels pants down along with his underwear, pooling at his ankles, his cock still not fully erect. Your small hand grips him at the base, making him hiss. He sways side to side, eyes closed as he concentrates on getting hard, something he's never had to do before. You pump his shaft. Once. Twice. And then you wrap your lips around his cock and suck, the warmth of your mouth excites him and he stands at attention, finally. “So the rumors are true,” you coo.

“Fuck baby, your mouth feels so good. I Fucken love you.”   

Wait. What rumors?

“Azriel?” 

Azriels eyes fly open. You're standing in the doorway, shaking like a leaf in the wind with a  hand over your mouth. Sobbing loudly into your hand, tears blurring your vision as they escape your waterline. Heavy drops fall to the ground and the only sound heard is the unmistakable ‘pop’ as the female on her knees releases Azriels cock from her mouth.  

Azriel blinks rapidly, shaking his head, trying to rid himself of the haze he's in. He looks down to the female, stuffing his cock back in his pants as she's scrambling to get up. 

“Elain?” he chokes out her name, tears welling in his eyes as he stares at her, devastation in his wide eyes  as he realizes what he's done. What he did to her thinking she was you. His eyes turn to meet yours again, but he only catches your dress billowing as you turn around and run. Your loud wailing echoing in his ears like a hammer to a church bell.

“Vi wait! Please. It’s not what you think!” He yells, rushing past Elain as he sprints after you, needing to reach you before you winnow away.  His heavy footsteps pound against the tile floors, waking up the rest of the inner circle. Just as you're about to reach the knob Azriels arms wrap around your middle, pulling your back to his chest. You both crash to the ground from the force of Azriels tackle. His back meets the hard floor in a loud slam, cushioning your fall. “Let me go!” You plead, kicking and  clawing at his arms that are tightly wrapped around you. “Sshh, baby please. Listen to me.” his voice cracks as he tries to calm you down, “I love you, I love you so much. I thought she was you!! Please believe me!” 

Your voice slices through him, like a dagger to his already bleeding heart. “I hate you!” You scream out in anger, venom lacing every word as it hits its mark. “I hate you! I fucking hate you!” 

Darkness envelops the entire room, It’s cold mist threatening to devour anyone who so dares to defy its power. “Azriel, release my sister before I sever those hands off your body.” Rhys stands at the bottom of the stairs, his power bouncing off him like flames of a fire. The rest of the inner circle gathered around him, watching in horror as both males stood off in a staring contest. It’s Azriel who wavers; finally releasing you to shuffle away from him. 

Azriel sits on his heels, a subtle submissive pose showing respect to his High Lord. “Rhys, I’m sorry. I’ve been in love with your sister for some time now. Too cowardice to tell you or her,” Azriels gaze falls on you. “I’ve been a mess since you left. Masking my pain with alcohol and drugs, which is no excuse. But tonight I took a hallucinogen, and,” his chin wobbles as he tries to hold back his tears, “I made the biggest mistake of my life. I know I’ve lost you, and you will never forgive me. However, I need you to know, in front of everyone, that I have always loved you. I will always love you.” 

Azriel lowers his head. The flood of emotions finally pulled him under the surface, drowning him in his own misery. Fat heavy tears break from his eyes; landing in scattered drops along the floor beneath him. This pain is all consuming, torturous in its own vile way. Tearing at his heart shred by shred, a disastrous mess all by his own hands. A lonely scarred heart to match his scarred hands. Hands that once held the most precious gem, a rare Violet beauty; now only hold the memory of a lost love. 

When Azriel lifts his head to see your face for the last time, he’s once again too late. Fear latches onto his ankles like a heavy chain, anchoring him to the bottom of the sea. You’re gone. His darkness driving away your bright light, leading you into the arms of someone new.  

Part 2 (Something Borrowed)

[javiscigarette]

Emergency Contact

Frankie Morales x f!reader

Summary: Frankie gets in trouble and this is the last time you're helping him. At least that's what you tell yourself.

Warnings: angst, smut, post break up, mentions of drug/alchol use/abuse, military ptsd, frankie on a downward spiral and needs to get his shit together, emotional smut because I had to, fingering, oral (f receiving), creampie, frankie is literally this emoji -> 🥺 the whole time

w/c: 6.8K

a/n: part of @iamasaddie writing challenge 2.0!!! I picked puppy eyes brown and my genre was angst with the prompt: "Tell me how to fix this." And guys listen. I literally never write angst I’m such a softy but I tried my best with this okay! and I obviously had to include some smut I just couldn't resist hehehe. Also thank u to my baby love @undrthelights for finding theses pics and for everything else you do :) enjoy!

my masterlist

You should scream at him, yell at him. Tell him to get the fuck out, fight him tooth and nail to prevent him from worming his way back into your heart, to avoid anymore pain.  But then he’s against you, his chest flush against your back, legs tangling together under the blankets. He slips an arm around your waist, the other underneath you, pulling you against him tighter as he nuzzles into your neck, burying his face into your hair and takes a deep breath. “Just one more night" he whispers. "Please. Just let me have one more night."

The vibrations of your phone buzzing on your nightstand pulls you from a deep slumber, your heart is already pounding at the sudden noise, the rest of your body slow and sluggish as you try to gain your bearings. 

You paw for your phone, squinting at the brightness of the screen when you find it. A call from a number you don't recognize. You debate letting it go to voicemail but the area code is local and that makes you pick up, a raspy Hello? leaving your mouth as you roll over in bed, glancing at the clock. 

2:13 am.

The sound of your name crackles down the line, the immediately recognizable voice causing your heart to plummet to your ass.  

"Frankie?" You ask, sleep quickly leaving you as tension takes its place.

"...Yeah, sorry, I…I didn't know who else to call." His voice is frail and pinched.

You don't have to ask him what's wrong, your brain already piecing the puzzle together You've been in this exact position before. The anger is already starting to creep in, your brow furrowed and stomach twisting as a familiar rage blooms in your chest.

"You couldn't have called anyone else?"

You know the answer is no. The rest of the boys are on a mission, leaving him behind after he failed on his promise to stay clean for long enough to get cleared to go. And now, you’ve fallen victim to that decision too,being the only person left to call whenever he finds himself without a leg to stand on. Frankie in trouble, you bailing him out. Just like normal. 

"I'm sorry I didn't want to bother you I just..." he takes a deep breath and sighs. "I'm at the station on Oak street. Can you maybe... pick me up?"

You close your eyes and take a moment to compose yourself and reign in the anger at the way he's gotten under your skin already.

"What did you do this time, Frankie?"

He's quiet for a second before he finally says, "DUI. And um, slightly resisting arrest? It’s uh, it’s my first one and I didn’t blow too high so they’re letting me go as long as I show up for court in a few days."

His voice is soft but you can hear him fighting back emotion, his voice cracking and straining under the pressure. the sound eliciting sympathy you desperately wish you didn't feel.

"Jesus, Frankie," you sigh, defeated already.

It shouldn't even faze you at this point. It should be expected given the path he's fallen down since his return home from their last mission 3 months ago. The Frankie you knew before he left had been a steady force. Protective, headstrong but soft in his demeanor, so sweet and full of love. The man now standing in his shoes still holds some traits of that Frankie, but they've all been scarred and tainted with his fall from grace.

Memories of the nights spent tucked in his bed, his arms around you, his hands buried in your hair come flooding back like they usually do. The sound of his laugh, the feel of the downy hairs on his forearm pressed against your skin and the steady thrum of his pulse under his jaw as you placed kisses against his neck. The words you would speak softly to one another in the early hours of the morning, secrets only shared with each other under the protection of black velvet night sky. 

All of it traded for bitter resentment and anger towards a version of the man that was ripped away from you.

When he was gone, you’d sleep in his shirts and on his pillow, clinging to the faded scent of his cologne as your brain conjured up ghost touches from his fingertips. Dreaming of the day that he'd come home, how he might touch you, and kiss you, the taste of his lips and the feel of his skin on yours. A reunion so deeply desired that the day after he returned was a sharp double edged sword - a blessing, and a curse. The Frankie that walked back in your life was broken, smothered with the weight of the innocent lives on his hands. 

Warmth and tenderness traded for stony silence. Nights now spent at the bar, warming himself up with vodka instead of your embrace. Fights ending in harsh words and raised voices as he stubbornly dug his heels in deep, too ashamed to admit he needed help. Staying out late with no warning and coming back at dawn smelling of smoke, weed, and liquor. You are always wondering where he went, who he was with, if he was safe, or if he’d found someone else to soothe the pain. 

Then the coke. An old habit that was kicked to the curb in his earlier years now back with a vengeance. Your ultimatum quickly following.

This or you.

A choice you prayed he'd be strong enough to make, but was clearly not.

And now here you are. Two months since you walked away, trying to convince yourself it was for the best. The majority of the last two months of his life is a mystery to you, which you've accepted is probably for the better. 

"I know," he finally replies. "I'm so sorry baby, you know I..."

You can almost hear the way his jaw snaps shut, three words catching on his tongue. You don't need to ask to know what the next words are. Tonight was not the first time he's tried to use them in a vain attempt to patch up a crack in the foundation of your crumbling relationship.

There’s nothing but silence on the line as a war wages within you. Part of you wants to believe that he’s the selfish, careless man that he’s recently proven himself to be. But your heart whispers in your ear a softer notion. He's scared. Fragile. Battered. Embarrassed. Alone.

With a heavy sigh, you run your hand down your face in a feeble attempt to wipe away some of the grogginess clinging to you.

"I'll be there in 20," you say.

There's a pause before he speaks, "Really?"

Always an air of disbelief.

"Yes. But this is the last time I'm doing this Frankie, I mean it,"

"I know, I... thank you."

You don't bother to reply, simply hanging up the phone as the heaviness of this final gesture sets in. The gravity of the situation, of the line you're about to cross, already threatening to consume you.

This will, without a shadow of a doubt, be the last time you show up to save Frankie’s ass. 

At least that’s what you tell yourself. Just like you told yourself the last time this happened and the time before that. But this time will be different. You'll set new boundaries. That's it, just ride this storm one final time and be done.

You know it’s a lie, one you desperately want to believe it.

___

He’s standing outside the doors of the small station, a cigarette dangling between his fingers, wisps of smoke rising and dissipating in the still night air. He looks up as he hears the engine of your car approaching, the red glow of his cigarette temporarily highlighting the deep frown on his lips as he takes one last drag before he flicks the butt aside and heads your way.

The anxiety radiating off of him is tangible as he drops into the passenger's seat, gently shutting the door and peering at you with wide puppy dog eyes full of shame. You don't look at him, focusing on backing out of the parking spot before pulling onto the road.

He picks at the skin around his thumb and bounces his leg, his jaw tight. You wonder how long he’s been at the station. How long he’s been sober. You’re still not sure if he entirely is right now.

Most of the ride is silent save for the hum of your engine and the clicks of your turn signal. His eyes never leave you, he can feel him boring a hole in your profile, trying to catch your eye as you watch the road.

"What?" you finally snap.

"Nothing, just...I was wondering if I could stay with you tonight. I can sleep on the couch, I…I don’t really want to be alone right now" he speaks so softly it makes your stomach lurch.

"Absolutely not."

"Please? I'll leave early in the morning, by the time you wake up I'll be long gone."

The rage is back, glowing red hot in your chest, fingernails digging into the leather of the steering wheel, your knuckles white and tense. How fucking dare he ask. 

"Absolutely. Fucking. Not," your grit your teeth with each word, biting off the end of the sentence with a sharp finality.

"Right. Okay."

Silence takes over once again, your heart slamming against your chest, heat crawling up your neck as your cheeks grow red and damp. No. No. Absolutely fucking not. Absolutely not.

Frankie leans his head back against the headrest and rolls it to the side to watch you again. You can feel the disappointment radiating off him, hear him sniffling, his eyes, big and glassy, pleading when you glance over at him. 

It would be a lie to tell yourself that your “plan” isn't already halfway out the window as your jaw clenches and your gaze ping pongs between the road ahead and the man beside you. Deep in the darkness of your soul you know that with Frankie is where your comfort lies. It’s tucked in the space between his ribs, squished alongside his heart and lungs, running the length of his spine and settling between each vertebrae. You worry you may never be able to completely dislodge it, unsure if it would ever fit anywhere else in any other person.

Maybe it would be easier if Frankie didn't fill up the cracks in your heart with the fractured parts of his. If he didn't take up room in your brain that's not his to own, if he didn’t crawl under your skin and take root into your DNA. Now every cell in your body knows what it feels like to be next to him, now programmed to cry out for his presence when he isn’t near.

And it’s no different now. He’s here, looking so pathetic it’s almost laughable, staring at you with tears sliding down his cheeks that glisten in the glow of the headlights passing you by. Crying over something that’s entirely his fault. You should be the one crying right now. Not him. 

So you do. 

Hot angry tears spilling over your lash line. Though you can’t decide who you’re more upset with. The man who drank himself out of your life, or yourself for falling for him once again in spite of it all. Either way, it’s not enough to convince yourself to stay firm in your decision. 

Fucking pathetic. Both of you. 

“You’re out first thing in the morning and then I’m done Frankie. I fucking mean it this time, we can't keep doing this to each other."

“Okay. I promise baby, I will. First thing, I promise." He replies quietly. 

Your hand flinches with the urge to reach over and slap him for calling you baby. But instead, you clench your jaw and you shake your head at him.

"Don’t call me that, Frankie."

He quickly nods his head in understanding, his eyes again facing forward as he wipes away the wetness from his cheeks, watching the road the rest of the way to your house. 

—

Neither of you move once the car is parked in your driveway. The silence is heavy, cut only by the tick of the engine slowly cooling once you remove the keys from the ignition. You chance a look at him and find him picking at his thumb once more, his face red, his eyes soft and timid when they meet yours. 

“Tell me what happened, Frankie?” 

You ask even though you don’t really want to know. 

Frankie sucks in a breath and scrubs a hand down his face. 

"I got into a fight at the bar, got kicked out, made the dumb fucking decision to try and drive home and...now I'm here," he laughs mirthlessly as he waves his hands as a vague gesture to you, your house, his current situation. You can't tell if he's telling you the whole story, his answer simple and devoid of context. The context you’re sure wouldn't be good for you to know. 

“You could’ve killed someone, Frankie. yourself included,” you say after a few beats, your voice comes out sharp, frustration bleeding in each syllable.

He slowly nods as huffs out a breath.

"I know... it was stupid, and I was an idiot I...shit I was really careless and not thinking straight I’m sorry. I'm really sorry I-"

"I mean seriously Frankie,” you snap, cutting him off. “Do you ever, I mean ever, think about anyone but yourself? Or has it genuinely never crossed your mind that your shit might possibly affect the people around you?"

Frankie opens his mouth, eyebrows furrowed as he's about to respond. You don’t give him a chance to. 

"How many more times are you going to take advantage of me, make me look like a fucking dumbass always showing up to rescue you? Why am I always the one covering for you, taking your crap, cleaning up your messes, only to have you throw it right back in my fucking face, every single time!"

Your voice cracks at the end of your sentence, chest heaving with each word that flies from your mouth. Two months worth of bitterness bubbling up from deep down, spilling over and cascading down your face in the form of frustrated tears.

"When did you become so fucking selfish, Francisco?!"

Hearing his full name fall from your lips spurs Frankie on, the last of his shards of resolve flying away as his walls come down.

"I don't fucking know okay?! I don't fucking know!" You flinch at the rise in his voice and his tone stings. But it's how quickly he follows up with a softer, feeble excuse that adds fuel to the fire, "I'm doing the best I can."

That does it for you. Hot searing molten rage pulses under the skin of your face, the tips of your ears hot with blood.

"Doing the best you can? The best you fucking can, Frankie? Fucking bullshit! Getting into bar fights, spending all your money on booze and blow, losing your fucking pilot license because you were too coked up to see straight? Was losing your driver's license just putting your best foot forward? Throwing your whole life away just because you refuse to get clean? Is that really the best you can do?"

You pause and swallow, giving Frankie a second to take it all in, letting him process the onslaught of scalding truths you've thrown at him, before you quietly continue,

"I can't keep doing this, Frankie. I just can't."

He sniffs and shakes his head in what appears to be defeat, his gaze fixed on his hands folded in his lap. 

“I know...fuck. I know I’ve fucked up alright? I know that. I just don't know how to fix this," he admits quietly, his wide eyes watching you helplessly. “Tell me how. Tell me how I can fix this. Please."

You bark out a laugh, sarcastic and cynical.

"Are you serious right now? What do you mean you don’t know what to do? How many times did I help you try to find a therapist, try to get you into a program? How many times did I suggest AA? Don't fucking tell me you don't know what to do because you do."

He nods, shifting around in the seat, sniffling yet again as he looks back at you. "Okay, okay. I get it, okay? But what can I do right now? To fix this at least for tonight?"

You sigh, deep and heavy, your entire body now just exhausted. You half wish he would put up more of a fight, call you a bitch, snap back at you for going off on him. Maybe it’d make it easier for you to let him go. But instead, he looks at you with desperate eyes and you can feel your resolve crumbling once again. 

"Just forget it, Frankie.”

But he won’t give up that easily. The man is persistent, you’ll give him that. 

"I'm serious. Tell me what I need to do right now to fix this. What can I do to show you how sorry I am?"

You stare back at him, jaw clenched, biting back the next words you were about to speak. They die on the edge of your tongue. You know the answer is.

Not a single damn thing.

"Look, I'll try harder, I fucking promise alright?” His tone becomes more frantic as your silence stretches on. “I’ll fucking try harder, please just...please," Frankie pleads, more tears welling in his eyes.

Your throat is tight, your head spinning and aching as your blood roars in your ears. He's already taken enough, stealing more would simply be the end of you. Giving in now would mean you've swallowed the bait, falling hook line and sinker into his trap, stepping back onto the slippery slope you've fought so hard to escape. And for what? More heartache, more bullshit excuses, more fighting, more pain?

But one glance into his wide-eyed, watery gaze and you know he's got you. Again. Faster than you can tell your mind no, your heart, foolish and hopeful, speaks for you instead.

"Lets just get some sleep, okay? It's late. We can...we can figure it out tomorrow."

"Thank you," he whispers immediately, relief coming off of him in waves. "I really mean it, I-thank you, I promise I’ll—“

“Can we not talk anymore Frankie? I just wanna go to sleep."

"Yeah. I'm sorry, let’s go."

There's nothing left to say, washing over the two of you as you make your way inside. You give him a towel and dig up some of his old clothes that live in the back of your closet from when he was here almost every night. You're back in bed before he’s done with his shower, tucked underneath the covers with your face pressed against your pillow, the silk fabric soaking up your tears of sadness and frustration.

The water shuts off and you can hear him getting settled in the living room. A pillow being fluffed, the creak of the couch when he sits. 

And then soft footsteps on the hardwood 5 minutes later, padding their way into your room.

He doesn’t knock. He doesn’t bother speaking either. He just simply creaks open the door and walks over to the other side of the bed, peeling back the covers before slipping into bed beside you. 

You should scream at him, yell at him. Tell him to get the fuck out, fight him tooth and nail to prevent him from worming his way back into your heart, to avoid anymore pain. 

But then he’s against you, his chest flush against your back, legs tangling together under the blankets. He slips an arm around your waist, the other underneath you, pulling you against him tighter as he nuzzles into your neck, burying his face into your hair and takes a deep breath.

“Just one more night" he whispers. "Please. Just let me have one more night."

You don’t have any fight left in you. Because at the end of the day, a night spent wrapped up in his arms, inhaling his scent, touching his skin and his beating heart is worth a thousand fights. And a million shattered dreams.

You don’t answer him, but you don’t tell him to leave either. Instead, you block out any looming thoughts, the impending worry of where this could go, or how bad the damage will be. For now, you chose to focus on the rise and fall of Frankie's breath against your skin, the way you fit so perfectly into his arms. 

One more night.

Frankie presses a kiss into the back of your neck, repeating his previous sentiment in a rough scratchy whisper, "Just one more."

And you listen to it resonate, bouncing around the walls in your head and tickling the space behind your eardrums.

Inhale

Exhale.

You should want to fight.

But instead, your body melts his, molding your bones and flesh against his, fitting into all the creases and gaps that have been carved out and reserved just for you.Trying to forget, to bury this pain as deep as possible,. Just for tonight. 

He waits a few more minutes, waiting until your breathing levels out with his before he makes his next move. His fingers trace mindless patterns on the skin of your stomach, goosebumps erupting under his fingertips, rippling outwards like a rock being tossed in a pond. He leans in once more, slowly dragging his nose up the length of your neck and curling his lip to press another kiss behind your ear. Then another.

And then another, this time lingering as he sucks softly on your skin.

Inhale.

You close your eyes, hoping for anything but this, yet feeling the sting of arousal spark below your skin.

And exhale. 

You’re better than this. You won’t stoop down to his level, you won’t let him chew you up and spit you out again.

But fuck, his lips are soft and warm, so is the breath as he exhales against your neck, lightly swiping his tongue and soothing the faint red mark he left behind with a small little hum.

“Frankie..." You warn, albeit much more breathless and weak than you would have liked. 

“Tell me to stop and I will," he murmurs, his beard gently grazing your sensitive skin, causing your toes to curl.

You take another deep breath, but this one is shaky, as you can't help but tighten your grip around his hand, squeezing his fingers as you lean your neck to the side, exposing more of your soft skin to him.

Dead in his trap. Caught so fucking easily. Pathetic.

But if his teeth and lips and tongue and soft, gentle touches are how you go down, then so fucking be it.

He hums his appreciation against your skin, scraping his teeth down to your shoulder, latching his mouth on a spot and sucking harder. Strong, callused fingers continue exploring, fiddling with the hem of your shirt, waiting for you to give him permission.

He rolls his hips forward against your ass and you bite your lip to stifle the whimper at how hard he is against you, his soft grunts in your ear traveling straight between your legs and fanning the flames building.

Then suddenly, he's sliding his hand up your shirt, squeezing your waist and traipsing over your chest until he’s cradling the weight of your breast in his palm, his thumb slowly brushing over your peaked nipple, and it takes every ounce of willpower not to moan out loud.

A small gasp escapes you instead, your fingernails digging into the back of his hand. 

"Frankie."

This time not a warning. It’s a plea. A desperate, burning want that you should be ashamed of. 

He murmurs into the shell of your ear then, his tone is deep and scratchy. 

“I miss you...I need you, baby. Just tell me to stop if you want. But I... fuck I miss you so much."

You don't tell him to stop.

You roll your hips back instinctively, a warm wave of arousal washing over you at the feeling Frankie's hardened length pressed firmly against your ass. He grunts in satisfaction as his palm slides from your chest and up your throat to your jaw. His grip is gentle as he turns your head to face him, his lips against yours without missing a beat. 

It’s too easy to fall right back into him, back into the practiced, very well rehearsed routine. To let him glide his tongue along the seam of your lips and coax them open so he can lick into your mouth, getting the taste of his tongue stuck behind your teeth. Too easy to let him remind you just how easily you fit in the palm of his hand, how tightly you’re wound around his finger. 

He kisses you fervently, desperately almost, lips and tongue moving against yours as though he’s trying to devour you whole, just like he used to. He’s been starving for too long.But right now, he's finally found nourishment, the feeling of your body under his hands and the taste of you on his tongue feeding his soul. Wanting more. Always more, entirely unable to help himself.

“Wanna make you feel good,” he murmurs, his mouth half a centimeter away from yours. “Let me make you feel good baby, please.”

As if you could say no.

As if you even wanted to.

He pushes his leg between yours, thick, firm muscle under warm skin pressing against your clothed core and you answer him with a roll of your hips, seeking out any sort of friction you can. 

It takes less than half a second for him to have you flipped over on your back. When Frankie truly wants something, he does it quickly and efficiently.

He moves above you, licking and kissing a trail down your neck. He makes his way down your body, greedily nipping at the skin stretched over your collarbones. He swirls his tongue over each nipple, only moving on when he’s satisfied. He presses wet, open mouthed kisses to your ribs and your tummy just above your navel, his beard tickling skin, making it twitch under his mouth. 

Your body is cooperating far more than it should, your hips lifting up instinctually when he hooks his fingers into the elastic of your panties, your thighs automatically parting further, and your hands migrating to his head. Your fingers tangle in his soft curl, your nails softly scratching his scalp just like you know he likes. 

And when his tongue drags up your thigh you have to sink your teeth into your bottom lip to stop the reactive moan. But your back arches with pleasure anyway, the last bit of your resolve evaporating into thin air as you give into him freely.  

His hands burn hot where they smooth over your skin, a comforting weight and a familiar drag of calloused palms fueling the fire and tightening the coil in your stomach. 

“Missed you so much,” he whispers, his breath fanning over your pussy before you feel the first stroke of his flat tongue up through your center.

This time, you're not strong enough to hold back the breathless mewl that leaves your mouth. You immediately push down on his head while simultaneously canting your hips upward, needing more friction, dying for more of everything he's willing to offer. He slides his arms underneath you and hooks his hand over your hip bones, holding you down and keeping you in place as he tries to find salvation between your thighs.

Heavy breaths through his nose as he uses his mouth, lips and tongue working in tandem to take you apart. Lapping and sucking at your clit while his fingertips nudge at your entrance, dipping just enough to tease, waiting until he hears the high pitched whimpers that he's after.

And when you've reached that level of desperation he wants from you, whimpering and panting, he slowly dips a finger in.

He moans along with you as though he's the one experiencing the pleasure. He's always gotten off on this almost just as much as you. The warm, slick slide of his fingers in and out of you, how you gush on his tongue, your thighs trembling on either side of his head, the tingle of his scalp when you tug on his hair.

More addictive than any substance he's ever found solace in.

And against your better knowledge, you're more than happy to indulge him, let him chase the high you give him and let yourself drown in it as well.

Your back arches off the bed as he adds another finger, grunting into you and thrusting faster as you tighten and flutter around them. He finds the spot he's looking for with practiced ease, whimpering into you and groaning along with you as he drags his fingers back and forth along the spot that has you bucking your hips into his hand. 

He knows how to get you there. Knows how to do it fast. And right now, that's what he wants. He's craved it too long, spent far too many nights with his hand wrapped around his leaking cock your name on the tip of his tongue as he fucked up into his own hand. He wants to hear you fall apart again, feel you coming on his tongue, your walls clenching as they try to suck his fingers in deeper. Wantsto know that he hasn't ruined absolutely everything between the two of you.

"Come on baby, lemme feel you,” he urges, voice deep and rough as he brings you to the edge. His mouth, licking and sucking at your clit, works in perfect rhythm with his fingers, sliding in and out, crooking them at the exact angle and speed he knows will get you there. 

"Please, Frankie...need to– fuck, I'm..." Coherent words evade you as he works you towards your peak, your breath stuttering as you struggle to keep air in your lungs. Your grip tightens in his hair, tugging roughly in an effort to ground yourself as the wave of euphoria starts to crest, the undercurrent pulling you down. 

Frankie growls in approval as you tighten around his fingers, all your muscles tensing as the sensation crashes into you. Your mind and body shut off and float into that sweet state of oblivion as Frankie's name falls from your lips, mixed in with a litany of profanity and slurs and choked back moans. He doesn't stop, doesn't even slow down until you're yanking on his hair hard enough for it to hurt, trying to wiggle away from his touch.

Frankie raises his head up and locks eyes with you, the tip of his nose, beard, and cheeks shiny with your arousal as he looks up at you through his dark, heavy lidded lashes.

"Want you so bad," he sighs, breathless and needy, crawling up your body and resting his weight on his elbows on either side of your head. He kisses you again, soft and sweet as if he has the right, tasting yourself on his tongue. 

You whimper into the kiss and hook a leg over his hip to pull his hips towards you. His cock strains almost painfully in his boxers when he grinds it against you, your warm arousal dampening the front of the fabric.

"Gonna let me baby?" He rasps when he moves to your neck, his teeth scraping sensitive flesh.

You both already know he's won. You're not even putting up a fight at this point, any dignity you thought you had left totally abandoned the moment you picked up the phone. But he asks anyway, needing the verbal affirmation, needing the confirmation that you want him as badly as he needs you.

And you can't lie.You're both equally weak and vulnerable. Two pathetic, heartbroken creatures chasing a temporary relief. A small glimmer of something to make the pain more bearable, something to fill the hole for the briefest amount of time.

You both know. And neither of you care.

No response to his question. Instead, you push up the hem of his shirt up and he does the rest, pulling it over his head and tossing it to the floor before he hooks a thumb underneath the waistband of his boxers and tugs them down his hips and off his legs.

Your hand finds his cock and he hisses at the contact, his hips shuddering as he pushes forward into your grip. You swear he's thicker and longer than before, heavier and hotter where you hold him. Your thumb brushes over the tip, spreading the pearls of pre cum around, coating the rest of his length to ease your glide. Frankie's mouth finds your neck again, tongue and lips tasting and teasing, his shaky breath in your ear.

You try to push up onto your elbows in an effort to roll him over, wanting to take over. But a palm finds your chest, gently pushing you back down until your flat against the bed again. 

"Wanna look at you," he says simply, as he pushes his length into the palm of your hand once more before sliding out. 

He lets his length rest against your sensitive clit and gently rocks his hips, slicking himself with the mess between your legs, sighing whenever you gasp each time his tip nudges at your clit.

"Please..." you whisper, feeling pathetic and needy, but at this point too desperate to care.

And he’s equally impatient, not waiting another moment before lining himself up and slowly pushing in. 

You tense at the initial intrusion, not having been with anyone in far too long and the feeling is almost overwhelming. You're trying to remember how to breathe again as you let your head fall to the side, trying to hide from his intense stare. But Frankie's there, using a gentle finger to tilt your face back up towards him as his hips moving at an agonizingly slow pace to let you adjust.

"That's it baby. Look at me."

And you do, the heat in your belly burning brighter with his eyes boring into yours as he witnesses your surrender to him. Your heart aches, still raw and tender and in pain from all the hurt that's transpired. But you ignore it and tell yourself the tears in your eyes aren't a result of a broken heart, but rather of how full you feel as Frankie's length finally bottoms out in you.

"Fuck..." You both curse under your breath as he stills for a moment, letting you adjust before he starts to move his hips. You cling to his broad shoulders as he pulls out of you, his eyes glued to where you’re joined, his thick cock slick and shiny with your arousal before he slides back in again with a quiet groan. He repeats the motions over and over watching as he pulls out almost completely before pushing back in, stuffing you to the hilt.

"Shit,” he hisses under his breath, his eyelashes fluttering when you clench in response. “You feel so good baby, fuck."

He buries his face into your neck, panting and pressing soft kisses as his pace starts to speed up. The soft grunts in your ear turn into more desperate moans when you lock your legs around his waist, pulling him, trying to get him even deeper than he already is. 

Your fingernails dig into the skin of his shoulders, holding on for dear life, hoping that you’ll leave half crescent moon shapes embedded into his flesh. A painful reminder for the morning that you were here and this was real, despite the circumstances.

His hands slide under your ass, angling it upwards to let him hit just that little bit deeper inside, pushing the air from your lungs with each thrust. The muscles in his forearms flex and strain as he tries to hold back, always making sure you finish before he does. 

And he doesn't have to wait much longer. Your orgasm is creeping up and taking over your body and Frankie can sense it. He knows exactly what to look for, knows all the signs.

One hand moves to reach between the two of you two fingertips pressed against your pulsing clit, drawing fast, tight circles just like you like it. Your grip on his shoulder tightens, your nails digging into the skin and dragging down his back as his thrusts become more erratic. 

"Keep lookin' at me," he grunts and you struggle to keep your eyes open. They sting, the image of him above you starting to blur around the edges as he drives you closer and closer to your release.

"That's it, baby. Lemme see it, lemme see you come on my cock."

He doesn't have to tell you twice.

You come undone again just like that, dizziness spreading and heart hammering in your chest as you sob out, pleasure consuming you from within. He fucks you through it, not giving you a chance to catch your breath, as he curses and rambles in your ear about how he's missed this, how he's missed you.

You've barely started to come down when he grabs one of your legs behind your knee and pushes it into your chest, letting himself sink even deeper into you. The new angle has your head spinning, drowning in an unparalleled amount of pleasure. Your eyes flutter and roll back in your head as you whimper his name, fingers curling into the pillow above your head.

He doesn't last much longer, breathless moans and strangled whimpers into your neck as he gives you the last few sloppy thrusts. He's almost there, and when he tries to pull out, it's the way your leg tightens around his waste and your needy whine that sends him over the edge, groaning and cursing with his face in the crook of your neck as he spills himself into you.

His cock pulses inside you with every wave, his hips chasing his release, tiny jerks as he empties into you. He stills, his heavy breathing in your ear, his weight resting on you, heavy but grounding, his thumb rubbing soothing circles into your skin.

Once the room stops spinning and the stars clear from behind your eyes, you drop your legs. With a shaky sigh, Frankie starts to pull out, both of you groaning in protest as he slips out.

His cum leaks out of you, quickly pooling between your thighs no matter how hard you squeeze your legs together. And when he catches sight of it, it makes your face burn. At the mere sight of his sticky, warm release spilling out of you, mixing with your own, Frankie swears he could go another round right then. Something about knowing he marked his territory, his claim on you established once again. He looks up at you, your eyes closed, forehead creased, and he has to dig his nails into his palm to keep from dragging his fingers through the cum leaking out of you and pushing it back in, keeping it where it should be. 

But the weight of reality is starting to press on him once again, the fear and shame from earlier taking root again and tugging at his stomach and pulling him out of the euphoria.

He kisses your hip bone once before making his way to the bathroom for a wet washcloth. The room is silent as he cleans you up, wiping gently between your legs, both of you keeping your eyes on anything except each other's. 

When he's done, he stands and moves to gather his clothes off the floor, tugging his boxers back on before heading towards the door. But your shaky, watery voice breaks the silence and freezes him where he stands.

"You're leaving?" You ask, voice squeaking at the end as you pull the sheet up to cover yourself, as if it would protect your heart when he ultimately breaks it again.

He turns to look at you, his heart aching in his chest from the innocent way you're looking at him. The way your eyebrows draw together, and your lips pull into a frown, the way your lower lip trembles as your eyes fill with tears.

"Can I stay?"

His voice is quiet, fragile, as if speaking any louder would scare you off, would cause you to start yelling at him again until you ultimately kick him to the curb for good.

He stares at you through the darkness of the room as you chew on your lip and try to grapple with the split decision you’re facing.

The logical part of your brain is screaming at you to say no and end this right here and now. But that part of your brain is buried and silenced underneath the heaviness in your heart. That desperate need to hang onto whatever's left. You swallow the lump in your throat and give in.

"Please," you plead softly. "Don't...don't want to be alone anymore."

A rush of air leaves his lungs as the pressure is released from his chest as he climbs back into bed beside you. Your head finds his chest, curled into his side and letting his arms wrap around you. His embrace is familiar, comforting, your safe space.

You count the steady beats of his heart in your ear as his blunt fingernail scrape lightly up and down your back, knowing it always soothes you. No words are spoken but the air between the two of you is thick, full of the things you both want to say, but neither of you speak.

Sleep wraps its tendrils around you once again, exhaustion settling in your bones. You welcome it fully, even though you know when you wake up, you'll have to face the reality of the situation once again.

You can only hope that he'll still be here in the morning to face it with you.

For now, you let yourself drown in the warmth of his embrace, pushing away all the other things that are gnawing at you and letting yourself relax in the arms of the man who broke your heart.

Just one more night.

Thank you for reading!! :))

[inexplicifics]

Since you're on an answering kick, I've been wondering what the early days of Zofia and Auckes' relationship (both as friends and lovers) was like. How did they go from total strangers to allies to training and meal partners to Zofia's "I'm horny, he seems the best option" and Auckes' startled "gods PLEASE yes" to a longer term attachment? I realize that could be an entire long fic on its own, if you ever truly fleshed it out. Like. What was it about each other that drew them together?

You know, I think I'm going to pull Sergeant Hanif in here, not in person but as someone Auckes remembers. Most Vipers, I suspect, haven't had a lot of amiable interactions with humans, but Auckes has met someone who was willing to talk to him and even expressed concern over his injuries, and that someone was military, so there are some similarities with Zofia.

I think they start as sparring partners; a lot of Witchers are going to be wary of fighting a human, because of the risk of hurting her, but Auckes will take the chance, and then it turns out she's good and also slowing himself down to human speed is a useful drill. And so they end up chatting, and then Zofia ends up at the Viper table, and she's blunt and has a filthy sense of humor and isn't fazed by Viper ruthlessness.

In short, she's marvelous and Auckes doesn't quite know what this strange warmth in his chest every time she chooses to sit next to him at supper is, but he's definitely figured out that she's fucking beautiful with a sword in her hand and he would very much like to get to know her better in a carnal sense. However, Witchers aren't exactly taught courting, especially not Vipers, and she's not a prostitute, which means he hasn't got a script for approaching her.

So when she approaches him, well, "Gods please yes" is about as coherent as he's gonna be.

On Zofia's side, Auckes respects her skills and doesn't assume she's going to spread her legs for him just because she's female, and the Vipers are the sort of crude she understands, and it turns out they can swap stories pretty easily, and he's smart and doesn't assume she isn't.

You know, it occurs to me that he probably teaches her to read. He's very literate, as all Witchers are, but she's a peasant mercenary; she probably can't read a damn thing when she first comes to Kaer Morhen. And he doesn't think of teaching her as being something remarkable; he's pleased that she's willing to spend time with him and learn a bit about bookbinding, which is a pleasant hobby for long winters. And why shouldn't she learn to read? It's a useful skill! It will make it easier for her to study the bestiaries, which is important if she's really going to go out on patrol with Witchers!

So Zofia thinks of Auckes as not only safe but kind, in a strange awkward rough-edged way. Also handsome enough, if you like 'em brawny and scarred, which she does. And things progress from there.

[ginnysgraffiti]

Hiii. I wanna say I love your works for all of Timmy’s characters. Ive gotten back into my timothee obsession and after reading your fic on what each character tastes like i was thinking maybe what sex is like with each of his characters? Feel free to ignore this if you don’t want to do it just thought I’d shoot my shot!❤️

so touched to see that someone appreciates my stories TT

i really tried my best with this, i hope i didn't leave any grammar mistakes here and there, enjoy! <3

&. LEE

for a while, lee refused to have sex. he was terrified of hurting you.

however, when you reassured him and told him it was completely okay, he let himself lose it completely and follow his instincts.

that's why sex with lee is rough, primal and wet, and you never actually doubted that.

nights passed in his pick-up, in motels where he would let you stay just to have more comfort and mainly a proper bed, at his aunt's house, anything.

sex with lee would be amazing everywhere, and not a time where he would refuse to dirty talk to you in the meanwhile.

he can fuck. over and over. he's like a rabbit. talking about him slowing down or stopping by himself, the thought wouldn't even cross his mind if your voice doesn't beg for it. he's fast. that's it. he's so damn fast, rough and shameless. he isn't used to matching his pace with his partner's or even taking their time with them, so it would take him some time to get used to your preferences or just maintain control.

lee would be sooooo loud. he would whine and grunt and beg. he also loves when you suck his fingers.

he even ties you up and blindfolds you while playing with your clit, thrilling the fact that you're oblivious about his next move.

the first time would probably be in some natural reserves, where he likes to spend most of his nights. he would fuck you hard on the back of his pickup, so the bright and shining stars could be the only witnesses. he would then take you inside, place you on the front seat and cuddle you to sleep on his lap.

he would start with needy and hungry kisses. everywhere. his tattooed hands would overstimulate you well to hear your moans even before starting. it would be the best adventure ever. he would try anything, all in. he would make sure to use his bony finger as best as he can, he would spread your legs like no one else and start with the damage. the real damage. because once he has the green light (and he always wants your permission) he won't stop. he will destroy you in any way possible. then, he would gradually slow down, return to use his fingers and feel you closer and closer.

he would watch hypnotized as milky fluid, both his cum and yours, leaks from inside of you. he would worship you as his most precious treasure.

&. HAL

do we seriously need to read how it would be to have sex with hal to imagine it?

there's not even the need to say anything, he's already on top of you.

hal is absolutely vocal, desperate groans, loud curses that never leave his mouth.

his mouth is always, always wide open as his pupils roll back.

dom for sure, he's too prideful to be below you, but if you beg enough, maybe he'll let you inside him. he's into fucking you when you're on all fours on the bed, maybe it's a king-thing, but you love it.

he never actually stops when you beg him to, but he absolutely cares about your body after the act.

you're his queen, but when hal is needy you can happily forget about your queen duties. his words, not yours.

he's also into pet play, you're his mutt and he makes it known.

he often enjoys to make you scream his name, moan louder and louder to make sure the messengers, maids or court servants hear you through the door.

making them hear the bed cracking, the slaps he keeps giving you to see your tears softly running down your pale cheeks, the way you lose your breath as he pulls your hair to almost make you swallow his cock.

he's violent, let's say, but he can actually care. really care.

he always adds "my" in front of pet names. my whore, my queen, my sweetheart, my love, my angel.

his kinks include cock worship, absolutely, breeding (we don't need to mention it), power imbalance, exhibition, humiliation (giving, of course), sadism (uhm...).

you never actually discovered how far his sadism can really go, and that scares you a little bit, hearing the servants' opinions or stories about it.

you know he's capable of anything, anything.

however, he makes sure, every single night, to massage you properly during the aftermath, kissing softly every inch of your inner tights while his finger tips play with your nipples.

&. LAURIE

laurie is a softie big cuddly boyyyy.

he waited so long for you to tell him you loved him before he made any sexual advances. he wanted it to be purely making love; not having sex.

he always will treat you first, you're his everything.

he would always clean you first, massage you first, check you out before even looking at himself.

not the most vocal, but definitely not silent. laurie prefers to let out soft moans and quiet praises rather than being vocal and over the top.

he would treat you more like a best friend in public, gently stealing you cheek kisses or holding your fingers under the table. he would eventually tease your inner thighs when -absolutely rarely- he would feel like doing it.

he's a sweet boy, the most intense he gets is probably the occasional slap on the ass when you look or sound too good.

laurie loves your lipsticks. he knows every single one you own and how every single one tastes. when they have a more visible colour and you leave kiss marks on his neck, he would surely refuse to remove them. also, he's into asking you to leave kisses on his shirts.

he's a romantic boy, come on.

during sex, he would always hold your hands. always, never letting go, holding onto you as if you were his only lifeline.

&. ELIO

elio is just like lee, absolutely vocal and completely down for you being on top.

he just lives for that shit, being submissive and guiding your hips as you take complete control.

sex with him would be difficult, because mafalda would always check the sheets and or his night underwear, and you know that elio needs to be careful. however, he's absolutely good and skilled at letting you enter his room late at night.

at the same time, during sex, he would worry often about noises and bed cracks.

in fact, he's totally whiney and whimpery, you have to kiss him to swallow his drawn out moans and don't let him lose control.

as written before, elio is obsessed with just going dumb, he wants you to control him, make decisions for him and use him whenever you want. he's definitely into being your pet, just being a complete boy toy for your use.

you don't always understand the difference whenever he wants you to take the lead or brutally use him, but again, it's clear that he wishes for both.

he loves receiving head, and thinks you're magic the way you work his length when he literally begs for it.

would cry often during sex just from the sheer overwhelming pleasure, always begging you to hold him through the tears.

he's absolutely insecure and would overthink the aftermath for entire weeks, shyly asking you if you enjoyed it, or if he had hurt you or if you still love him. his head goes completely dumb at your every touch, but he constantly needs you to confirm that that's what you want as well.

after the first night, he would suffer every instant he doesn't get to enjoy with you, so he would furtively touch himself or steal your swimming costume.

&. PAUL

deep down, paul is a lover boy.

he had been having visions about you for ages and he would just wait for you to get pregnant in his visions and wish for it to happen as soon as possible.

at the same time, paul isn't a very sexual person, but he enjoys pleasing you whenever you ask him.

during sex, he would always go slow and hold you the whole way through, being as gentle as he can be even when you ask him to move faster. he would eventually lose it as soon as you arch your back, moaning at the friction between your hips.

he often has fantasies about using the voice on you, but he would be way too nervous to tell you about it. in his head, using the voice over you is absolutely arousing.

you soon discovered paul had many kinks, for example calling you mommy (even lee would do that, of course.)

you absolutely adore when he moans, because you can always find a little hint of shame and insecurity, but as soon as you take the lead just to reassure him, his guttural sounds make his whole body throb on top of you.

he would be absolutely careful and use protections, always, except when his visions are too frequent and he would literally kill to get you pregnant, turn you into a mommy and have babies.

you surprisingly discovered that he is down for your cuts or wounds. he often offers to train with you, even if he knows you're so much more experienced than him, but he would just love to lick your fresh blood or your healing wound to feel his tongue fizz.

paul is obsessed when you pull your hair, begging you to make you cum with absolutely no shame.

&. WILLY

sex with willy can be a literal rollercoaster.

he can become extremely needy during sex, and with needy...i mean needy. almost in a very childish way, if we consider that he's impressively incompetent and inexperienced in that field.

once he's inside you, he is shy about it, asking if it's okay if he kisses you deeper or grabs your waist or simple gestures. he always needs to have your permission.

he slowly gains confidence the longer you two are together and the more you are imitate. he would pull you away and just whisper how much he wants you. sometimes, even dirty things, but you never understood if he had a special chocolate to let him gather enough confidence for that.

he can be extremely perv and dirty minded, but he'll never admit it.

he's obsessed with leaving hickeys on you.

he would occasionally start meowing and doing his :] face when you mess with his curls.

if you pull his air while you're on top, taking his cock the best way you can, there will be no return, seriously. he would fuck you all night, and i'm not joking.

willy's got stamina, he really does.

loves to be submissive, there's no need to say it.

just like elio, he would be deadly aroused when you use him like a pet, sometimes he would beg for you to blindfold him or tie his wrists.

in these cases, his wet tongue would do all the work.

loves to smell the sheets after you two had done it, he just loves that smell.

his moans are the sexiest thing ever, but he's more frequent to make small sounds and groans.

when he's on top, willy would use sweet nicknames, tongue twisters or rhymes to sweeten you even more.

if your body hurts he would massage it carefully and give you a special chocolate treat to regain energy.

right after sex, he would be scared to death that you could get pregnant. have mercy, he just doesn't know how it works.

willy is the fastest learner, though.

given that he doesn't know how to start, he willingly accepts all your advice, and knows how to follow them to the letter.

once you give even the smallest instruction, he would just be more and more needy.

[youvebeenlivingfictional]

Could you please do 14 with art from the comfort prompts? Maybe handjobs while he has his back to the reader if things get spicy 🤭🤭

Anyways, your fics never fail to amaze me! Always look forward to reading them💗💗

I'm getting the sense y'all would like me to write #14 from the comfort prompts with Art Donaldson 🤔

Also thanks, nonnies!!

Warnings: Fluff, handyj's, subby Art Donaldson, praise kink, smattering of dirty talk, established relationship

"In here!" You called out. You listened as Art's footsteps grew closer, and your brows furrowed as you heard him slow just outside.

"It's okay, you can open the door."

Art seemed a little perplexed by how dim the bathroom was, but as he spotted the candles you'd put around your jacuzzi tub and the glass of wine on the side table, it all seemed to fall into place.

"How was your—What are you doing?" You laughed as Art began to strip off.

"What does it look like?"

Your eyes drifted down over his muscled chest, lip drawing between your teeth as he shoved his pants and underwear down around his ankles before kicking them off. You grinned, scooching back against the tub as Art climbed in in front of you. He groaned as he settled in, cradled against you.

"Comfortable?" You teased, brushing your lips against his temple.

"Very."

You curled your arms around his shoulders, closing your eyes as you savored the peace of his body pressed against yours.

"How was practice?"

The question hung in the air for a few moments. Art shifted a little, raising his hands and trailing gently over your bent knees.

"...Art?" You pressed.

"I don't wanna talk about practice."

It wasn't the answer you were hoping for. It wasn't Art's first career slump, likely wouldn't be the last—but you knew better than to remind him of that.

"I wanna talk about you," He added, tipping his head back to get a look at you. "Feel like I've barely seen you the last few days."

"We've been busy."

He craned his neck, pressing a kiss to your jaw. "Tell me about your day."

"It was fine, boring. The usual."

"What's the usual?"

"Art."

"Please?" He urged again, taking your hands in his and intertwining your fingers. He raised one to his lips before resting it over his heart. "I've missed your voice."

You smiled as he snuggled closer, the water swirling around the two of you.

"Well...I woke up around seven. You'd already left, obviously."

"Mm."

"I had breakfast, got dressed, sat down at my desk and worked all day."

"You stop for lunch at least?"

"I didn't have time."

"Baby."

"I know, I know," You sighed. "Things just kept coming up and before I knew it, it was 6:30."

"Explains the wine."

"Yes it does." You untangled one of your hands to reach up, gently combing through his hair. "Want some?"

"Not right now."

"...You're too wound up, you know."

Art sighed heavily, head flopping back against your shoulder again. You took in his closed eyes, his slightly pinched expression.

"You are," You insisted, lowering your hand from his hair. You trailed your nails over his shoulder, down past your joined hands on his chest. "I know you need something to get you going on the court, but having your gut all tight like this makes you all..." You slid your hand beneath the water, trailing along his inner thigh. "Stiff. And not in the fun way."

Art smiled, huffing a laugh. "Is that so?"

"Mhm. You need to relax."

"Any suggestions on how I might do that?"

"Well, I'm no tennis coach..." You curled your fingers around his shaft, smiling as he pulled a stunned breath in. "So my ideas may be a little...Rudimentary."

You stroked him gently, shushing him softly as he whined, pushing up into your touch. You grasped him a little more firmly, moving in long, even strokes as you felt him hardening in your touch. Art turned his head, mouthing at your jaw and neck, anything that he could reach.

"That's it," You murmured, watching a blush spread across his neck as you swiped your thumb across the head of his cock. "Fuck, you're so beautiful Art." You twisted your wrist as he whimpered, and bit your lip as his teeth grazed your skin. "You've been working so hard...You just need someone to take care of you a little, hmm?"

The water sloshed around your legs as Art's hips rolled up into your hand. You could feel his hot breath pushing against your neck, his tongue flickering out to catch a droplet of sweat sliding down your skin.

You were so hot, so slick as his skin shifted and almost seemed to stick against yours. His legs knocked against yours as he reached down, curling his fingers around your forearm. You watched his hips judder, his back arching as he spilled across his abs. You smiled, smearing it into his skin as he sagged back against you. His heart pounded beneath your joined hands, his thumb skating along yours.

"We should get out of the tub," He mumbled.

"Because we're going to get pruney and we're sitting in jizz water?"

Art laughed, tipping his head back to nip at your jaw.

"And because I'd like to return the favor."

[merakiui]

Okay but...Skully who catches step sister in her baby doll and needs to rush back to his room and *cough* take care of something. Or Skully who feels step sister rubbing herself on his clothed ever growing erection and ends up covering his face cuz embarrassing but he likes it but he shouldn't like it but-but they aren't blood related so maybe it's okay. Just this once of course ¬‿¬ definitely not just this once

>:) hehehe Skully grabbing your hips by instinct and then immediately pulling away because omg omg now you know he's awake and you'll think he's such a gross, perverted, ungentlemanly stepbrother!!!! OTL especially when he pulls you down onto the bed and climbs on top of you, practically begging you to finish what you started. >_< he confesses he's thought of moments just like this one before, especially when he'd see you in your pretty pajamas, and he knows it's wrong and bad and he's so sorry please don't hate him he just really likes you and you're so pretty and he wants to kiss you so badly and and and!!!!

Imagine his surprise when you shut him up with a kiss. <3 all while palming at his erection. He's so silly and oblivious. Did he not realize your many attempts at flirting and seduction? It doesn't matter now, though.

Desperate, horny sex in the dark,, Skully hastily sliding your panties to the side. He really wanted his first time with you to be slow and romantic, but right now he needs to be inside you or else!!! T^T and you're already so wet for him, coaxing him even closer when you wrap your legs around his waist to keep him pinned right there. He babbles something about condoms, but neither of you have any and even if you did do you really want a barrier between your skinship? Moaning into each other's mouth, unable to exchange many words when your gasps fill the air. You have to be quiet so you won't wake your parents, which is great for Skully because he gets to kiss you over and over.

When the position is flipped and you're lying on your stomach while Skully fucks into you from behind, leaving you yowling like you're in heat, he has to stick his slender fingers in your mouth to keep you quiet. Gently pressing down on your tongue, feeling you curl it around those long digits,,, uuuwaaa he's cumming again and it's only been a few minutes. orz the sheets are sopping and you're both so tacky, and even when neither of you can cum anymore you're still lavishing the other with all kinds of attention, sweetly petting and kissing, legs tangled together,,, the rest of the world narrows down to his bedroom. Everyone else is sleeping peacefully anyway, ignorant to what you and Skully just got up to hehe.

Does this mean you're dating now? >w< waaa he's so excited. He has no idea how any of this works because you're his first everything, but he's determined to court and date you properly!!!! And then in the future you can get married and start a family and live together and maybe get a dog and name it Zero and celebrate Halloween together and then Christmas and kiss lots and have sex all the time and !!!!! He's getting ahead of himself. ^^;; holding your hand and snogging in secret is plenty good for now.

[looksm]

a bit possessive

— bf!daniel park x gf!reader

— its hard having a good looking boyfriend, sometimes you cant help but feel possessive over your bf.

your boyfriend that wags his imaginary tail whenever you're around. will praise the ground you walk on and is on the go to be your servant.

daniel who only wants to protect you from the world and keep you from any harm, he's quick to make sure you are always okay and safe whenever he's not around.

dates with daniel is just him following behind you, eyes only on you as you two walk around a mall. you're quite possessive over him, in his new body or original body, daniel is a pretty boy so other girls are always gawking at him.

daniel is kinda clueless when he sees you become more touchy in public, making him bend his knees so you can give him a kiss in public that makes his cheeks go into a red color.

going to the food court, and sitting besides him instead of in front of him, he doesn't really think much of it as he continues to munch on his food like a starved puppy. hes too busy eating to realize the random girls walking pass you two and stare a bit longer at daniel. he feels your small hand on his thigh, he freezes for a bit and looks over at you with curious puppy eyes.

you dont say anything and continue to look at him with your cute innocent face as you rub your hand up and down his thigh. "what are you doing?" he asks putting his fork down and swallowing his food. "nothing.." you smile cutely taking a sip of your lemonade as your hand went higher.

thats when he sees right thru you, you're so cute.. a pout forming on those lips of yours the longer he stares at you. you were jealous, and he doesn't know why cause you are the only girl he looks at but he knows a way to solve this problem. good thing a private bathroom was near.

"so fucking pretty fuck.. " daniel groans as he slows his moves to stare as his dick goes in and out of your pretty pussy from the back as you try and hold onto the sink. you whine in return and stare at him thru the mirror. "danny..." you whisper as you back up on him as a sign for him to not stop.

daniel who has a grip on your hips with both his hands rams his big dick back into you making you gasp. "this little skirt, cute ass and pretty pussy all for me.. fuck you make me crazy.." daniel smacks your ass making you squeak and before you can say anything daniel is back to pounding into you, his dick basically digging inside of you.

"danny!" you yelp and hide your face away from the mirror. "baby look up" daniel commands stopping for a second to get you away from holding onto the sink and wrapping an arm around your torso as he holds you close to him making you look at yourself into the mirror.

hes back to smaking his hips against your ass, reaching deeper inside your pussy thats for sure bruise now from his relentless pounding. "you're so damn perfect babe" he groans feeling you squeeze him.

you're mind goes into mush watching yourself thru the mirror as daniels big frame towers over you as he pounds into you, love juice going down your thigh, and the hottest thing of all was daniel's brows knitted together and sweat forming in his forehead.

the only things that would come out your mouths were little uh uh uhs not even caring at whoever was knocking on the other side of the door. "fuck danny.. you're all mine." you manage to say in one breath and hold onto his arm, getting closer to cumming.

"im all yours" he says bitting the tip of your ear that causes a shiver to go down your back and to coat his dick, he follows after you with a moan and pulls out cumming on your delicious thighs.

he releases his grip from your torso and has you stumbling for a bit but your boyfriend is quick to catch you. you two are breathless and continue to stare at each other before daniels lips form to a smile. "i fucking love you y/n..." he says out of breath before pulling you to a quick kiss. "love you too.." you blush and soon enough you two start to get ready again, and heading out.

holding hands and making sure every time you pass by any girl who stares sees the hicking on his neck, cause he is all yours.

im sorta crazy for daniel... also the plot got lost 😭 this was supposed to be golden retriever bf daniel but things went sideways

[r0-boat]

can you do gamigin NSFW alphabet pls???

Of course a Lucifer Nsfw wouldn't be complete without his baby brother!

Gamigin NSFW alphabet

Cw: breeding, rough sex, primal sex

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

Aftercare what's that? You mean that deep urge to hold you close, protect, heal and pamper you after breeding is called something?!

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

Soft lap, comfy lap. Laying his head in your lap nuzzling his nose and your plush and inhaling your scent, curling up in your lap as you stroke his scales and fur. He could die happy.

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

Feeling his balls tightening up his shaft and squeezing as he fills you to the brim, He can't help but press his hand over your belly, digging his claws into the skin as he forces you down as far as you can go on his cock, making sure you take every drop.

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

Sometimes when you come over and after you use the shower he takes your towel he buries His nose into it before touching himself. If the towel is still slightly damp the harder he cums.

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

You would be his first ever time He has no experience. He's going off of pure draconic instinct.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Doggy. Best to breed you with ;)

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Mating is supposed to be fun! Even if he's nervous he tends to make jokes when he's nervous. But after a certain point that goofy side all melts away into pure lust (more on that later)

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

Clean, Not that he shaves... he just doesn't have hair down there.

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

He sees mating is a special thing! And he wants to express how he feels... He just doesn't know how to show it, even when He gets all sorts of advice from his older brothers. He doesn't know what humans do or The devil way to court doesn't feel right to him and he barely even knows how dragons court... Why is mating so hard?

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Burying his sharp teeth and his fist until he bleeds as he fucks a toy till it breaks growling and gnashing as he pretends it's you.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Other than the canonical one he has a big breeding kink. Fuck how he wouldn't give to have a little family of his own... And not only that it gives him a sense of satisfaction to give everything he has to you, to claim you.

Don't try to squirm or move away you'll just unlock his predator instinct to hold you down His jaws bearing on your neck as he continues his brutal pace.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Anywhere everywhere. Especially in a shower, bathtub... Or skinny dipping You'll never see him the same again

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

You're naked wet body, You're naked wet body with new shampoo and sweet smelling soap. You're sweet freshly ravished body still smelling of another demon. When he finally gets going he can't control himself it's like he becomes a whole other person. Sweet baby Dragon becomes ravenous beast.

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

Actually not really, He's very eager to please, And he will always try anything once.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

His skill could definitely use work But hes so eager to pleasure you He eats you out like a starving man getting rougher and deeper with each flick, lick and suck.

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

From slow and sensual to will break you. He tries not to lose control but he fails every time, once he has his very first taste of you He's hooked and he could never get off the drug that is you.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Don't tempt him He's not going to just be satisfied with one quickie. Will want more and more and more until before you know it He's ramming against you and the sun is already going down.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Like I said eager to please he is happy to experiment! Though he might be a little nervous the first time around.

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

His stamina I dare say far surpasses Lucifer and Mammon. he is a dragon after all.

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

Doesn't understand toys. He rather just be inside of you.

It'll have to take some convincing ;)

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

If you think it's a good idea to tease a dragon be my guest. He might look teasable and cute at first glance but looks are very deceiving.

Gamigin also doesn't get teasing He rather just be inside of you.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Loud animalistic and unholy. Everyone in a radius will know, and it's so hard for him to keep his mouth shut. To keep him from howling at how good you're inside, clamp down around him. He bites into clothing, pillows, blankets, and even himself.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

When he's fucking you he slowly begins to become more dragon-like his skills start to appear on his body his claws become sharper and thicker than his canines get longer.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Yes.... He has two. And they're big

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

Yes.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Yes holding you close as he snoozes away when he finally finally gets all of his pent up frustration out on you. He likes being the little spoon :)

[matchadobo]

KIDD; overheard

wc: 2768

summary: kidd overhead virgin!freader moaning out his name

warning/s: nsfw🔞, fem reader, v1brators, first-time-s3x, cooming inside, cunnilingus, thr0at fucking, fluff in the end

you never had sex. you're a virgin. and kidd respects that. kidd had been courting you because you insist on doing it the traditional way. he just likes you so much he does sacrifices for you. he's not the type of guy who'd go through such lengths for a girl, but with you, man he'd do anything to let him love you.

you wouldn't expect that a man of his stature wouldn't talk you into having sex when you two started getting romantically involved. kidd was, of course, not a virgin. a man like him, who's built like a fucking fridge, who's tongue brings him so many places, who's charisma is unparalleled, and his overflowing sex appeal. you admit that your boyfriend is hot, and you want to know what i feels to bed him someday. he's perfectly aware of your situation and he gaves you free reign of your sexual status, he never forces you to go all the way. it's just all about touching between the both of you.

it's mostly on kidd's end when we talk about containing it. especially when you don't fix up yourself around him on domestic days. or when you don a pretty little dress.

you'd be fooling yourself if you don't wanna do more than touching and kissing with him. each time he takes his shirt off and his happy trail shows. how his muscles flex when he's reaching over something high or hugging you. you can't help but be curious of how it'd feel if he have his way with you.

so that one night where curiosity won over you, you decided to buy a vibrator since you can't find it in you to ask the guy that's been courting you and you who has been constantly insisting on taking things slow. once you're all alone, you discarded your clothes and lied on his bed. you were staying with him for the night. you could've done it in your place but, the scent of his cologne on his sheets and the sight of his things made you more aroused.

as you spread yourself on the bed, you don't know the first thing about vibrators. all you knew was how badly you wanted him, how you imagine him doing the stimulation and not this expensive fucking vibrating rod. as you felt the splurge of pleasure, you were out of this world. your eyes rolled at the back of your head and your mouth muttered his name with the filthiest intent.

little did you know, kidd was on his way back to his place. he just got off the elevator and is walking toward his unit with a handful of takeout for your date night. he was exhausted from work today and all he wanted to do was come home to you and feel you. not fully aware of your act.

"y'all fuck yet?" heat asked over the phone. kidd tsked through the call.

"if that's what the hell you're gonna talk about i'll block you." he almost hit the end call if it weren't for killer taking over.

"listen, we're just iffy about this courting thing. you always start your relationships with fucking or something." killer calmly retorted. "plus, it's been three months and you two are kind of a blur, aye? don't you think it's time to take a step much higher?"

"let me tell you freaks somethin': name is the most precious angel that ever crossed this earth, ya hear me? she ain't some whore i chase to keep my cock warm. i want to have somethin' special with her, cuz hey, she's one special lady herself." he took a deep breath before continuing, fishing out his keycard from his wallet. "ain't it enough reason to wait it out? i imagine sex with her like a good ol' scotch, aye? longer you wait, tastier it gets. i know she couldn't resist me either, the way those eyes linger ain't a wholesome thing. all the more reason the sex'll be so fuckin' sweet once she's ready." he emphasized on the last three words.

you were too lost in the glee of the stimulation, you didn't even hear the beep of his door as he got inside. as kidd settled his stuff down and calmed down by his couch, he started to wonder where you are. he roamed around his unit to find you, only to hear faint noises of your voices. they sounded like whimpers so he started getting worried and hurried to find where the sound was coming from.

he felt his dick tighten in his pants when he heard you moaning out his name loud and clear. his grasp on the plastic bag carrying your food tightened, he swallowed a hard lump down his throat. he couldn't resist barging in on you.

he would nut right then and there. when he saw you wide open right before him, you reached your climax just as he went in. your scream resounding in the room. so you sat frozen with your legs spread, one hand on the vibrator while the other played with your tits. you stopped immediately and hid yourself under his sheets, your face flushed red in sheer embarrassment. "w-what the hell?! i-i- what the fuck are you doing here, kidd?!"

he sighed before saying, "in case you didn't know; this is my room," he pulled his shirt over his head, walking a step closer to you. "and you're naked," he unbuckled his belt, getting even closer to you. "wide open." he kicked his pants away the floor, crawling by the bed. "moaning my name unbefitting of a cute little thing such as yourself." he pulled the sheets you were covering yourself with. "this much is fuckin' rich coming from someone who insists on taking it slow. your words bit you back in the ass, aye?"

you were flushed red at his proximity, your eyes shakily alternating between his. "i-i wasn't..."

"wasn't what? fucking yourself with that thing and imagining i was ramming into you?" he cocked a brow, canines tugging by his lower lip. "baby, hadn't i told you that you can just tell me if you wanna give it a go? i'm more than happy to teach ya," he gave your cheeks a soft caress.

his big hands trailed down your jaw, fingers tracing the edge of your face, down to the column of your neck until he wrapped his hands around your it and pulled you closer. eliciting a moan out of you, his grin widening. "aren't you a filthy, little slut too?"

he kissed you on your open mouth, the grip on your neck tightening. "what were you thinking about, hm?" he pressed the vibrator closer to your clit after flicking the button on. "was i too hot for you? you want me to fuck you up so bad, huh? stretch this tight, little thing wide, fucking, open." he pressed foreheads with you after licking your lips.

all you could do was pout and curl up your brows, your eyes rolling at the back of your head as you didn't even know what kind of high you're in right now. "nghh- kidd- please...!" you bit your lip, clawing at his arms.

"please what? i can stop." he gently whispered against your ear. "i can take care of mine just fine you know." he gestured to his bulging length underneath his brief. you felt yourself choke at the act, imagining how he'd be like.

"n-no!" you responded, squirming under him. he hasn't discarded the vibrator but only made it even more extreme. "k-keep going... i-i want to go all the way, okay?"

"aye." he nodded, giving you a long, wet kiss before turning the vibrator off. he ducked his head down and placed soft, gentle kisses on your inner thighs, teasing your sopping cunt by his stippled pecks. "ready?" he stared at you, his hot breath tickling your folds. you nodded with pressed lips, bracing yourself with his tongue.

he languidly dragged his tongue down the line of your folds, not breaking eye contact as he watch you squirm with only just his tongue. how you sound so much like a slut just for him. he pulled your hips closer, drowning his face within your opening and the flesh of your thighs. he hummed through you as a response to your moans, vibrations pumping through your veins. he took it a notch higher and slid a finger in. you were becoming limp at this point.

but you wanted to please him too, you want to help him with that tent in his pants. so once you pushed his head deeper and you pulled on his hair, you came in his mouth. he sipped in your juices, slurping in your cum.

"c-can i please you too?" you looked up at him with pleading eyes.

"i was just about to say that." he stood up on the bed, holding your jaw by his hands. "go ahead, love."

you hesitantly raise your hands, still looking at him. your fingers crept on his waistbands, sliding them off. his pulsating length sprung out, dripping with precum. you couldn't help but act surprise at the size of him even though you already know that he's phenomenally huge. he would already cum right then and there when he saw the enormous difference between the size of him to your face, how your eyes try to fathom how you'd fit that in your mouth and in your cunt.

you start to wrap your cold fingers around him, a gasp escaping him at your contact. you pumped unsurely, from his flushed head down to his veiny shaft. you opened your mouth and gave a kitten lick by his head, keeping an eye on him before swallowing him whole. he was so huge you gagged when you were just by the half of him.

his hands found its way to the sides of your head as he pushed his length further in your throat, relishing on the warmth of your mouth. you dug your nails by the skin of his hips, eyes watering at the impact of the head of his length touching the back of your throat. he grunted as he tried to restrain himself to let you adjust.

once you let go with a pop, strings of saliva trailed from his head to your lips. there were scattered drools on your lips, you wiped it with the back of your palm. "w-wait, i- you're too big." you giggled shyly, tucking your hair by your ear.

"yeah? sure you can handle it?" he rubbed your chin between his thumb and index, studying your expressions. "i assure you, it will be a lot fucking bigger inside you."

you gulped deeply, face heating up. so you cleared your throat, and prepped yourself to do it once more. you slowly got used to bobbing your head back and forth, the friction of your lips gliding across the surface of his veiny length. as your saliva coated his shaft, it became more slippery and easier to slide in your mouth.

kidd was cursing out words each time his cock slipped in and out of your mouth. he pushed himself further, despite your protests of drumming his hips. he pulled on your hair tightly, fucking your mouth in an unforgiving pace. once he came in your mouth, he left it there for a while, his cum dripping down your throat. you had to catch your breath as residue of cum and drool littered your chin.

he sat down before you,"for a beginner, you're goddamn amazing." he placed a kiss on your forehead then to you lips. as he kissed you fervently; his hands went from choking your neck, squeezing your tits with his palms, and rubbing on your clit as he spread your wetness from your cunt to your inner thighs. "let me spread you up for the finale." he mumbled against your open mouth which elicited breathy moans. his thigh and shoulder provided support for your frame as he fingered you open.

your hand reached over his cheek, looking at him with the most vulnerable gaze. he memorized how sinful you looked for him, how your eyes begged for more and how your mouth uttered the neediest response from his stimulation.

you pressed your forehead by his cheek as you approached your climax, clawing at his arms. he watched how your cunt clenched around his fingers at each curl and spread. you ended up breathless after you came.

but he didn't give you any chance to pause and compose yourself, he lied you down the mattress and knelt before your body. he gave his length a few pumps after spitting on it, he teased his meat on your soaking cunt; savoring how you furrow your brows and gawk at him. he spread your legs by your inner thighs, pushing your hips toward his so you two could be very close. kidd leaned down and pressed foreheads with you, "i'm putting it in, aye?" he asked for permission and you hummed. he gave your nose a little kiss before sliding himself in slowly.

"f-fuck...!" he stuttered, breathless at the tightness of your innocent cunt. he could slide in without any pain from his or your end, your walls just clench around him a lot. you too were drooling and too lost at the fullness of his cock, he's way too huge for you to fathom. "if you keep clenching like that i'm not gonna last, love. i haven't even been fully in." he panted, smiling against your cheek.

once he fully got settled, the head of his cock reached your cervix; that's how big he is. after adjusting, he began moving back and forth. it took everything in him to do it slowly, he wanted to fuck you stupid in a harsh pace. you reached for his neck, slowly lling him down to kiss him. "i-it hurts, b-baby. i-i it feels sore." you said in between kisses. "b-but don't stop, i-it feels amazing too." you smiled meekly, a single tear falling at the corner of your eye.

kidd felt motivated to refine his performance, your words were like a brush on his shoulder. he kissed your tears away before saying, "i know, bunny. i promise to only let you feel the good part, hm?"

as you fist the sheets and his grip on your waist tightened, you two slowly found rhythm. kidd adored how pleasured you look right now, to the point that you don't know what to do with yourself. you played with your tits, sucked on his fingers, clawed on his arms, covered your face with the pillows, and clutched your tummy as you grew near. he was doing all of that to you and it was the biggest turn on for him. he reached over to hold your face in his hand, then he rubbed on your lips, and finally wrapped his hands around your neck. you swallowed at the constriction on your throat, his firm hand holding you in place. his other hand was holding your leg that was swung on top of his shoulder. "you close?" he asked, hips unceasing.

you nodded, your eyes becoming swollen at the amount of tears you let out. "me too, baby. i-i'm- ngh fuck!" he too was lost for words, he felt you clench again around him, you felt him throb inside you; the vibration coursing through your veins. "do you want me to p-pull out?"

you didn't know either. it was your first time and you know the risks. but it was kidd. you want him to release inside, to keep you warm, to let his cum drip down your cunt. so you shook your head and pulled him by the neck. "cum inside, release all of it."

from your words, he came right then and there, shooting up ropes of cum inside your womb. "if we're gonna have brats, i'm done for." he panted with his forehead resting on your shoulder.

"me too, mini versions of you are a headache." you giggled a bit, kissing his ear.

"can i just stay inside?" he lied gently beside you, "you just feel so good and i want to sleep like this."

another tear streamed down your cheeks, what a goddamn softie. you nodded turning your back on him and placing your hand above his which was resting atop your stomach. "i'm glad you're my first." you blurted out, blushing afterward.

"i'm glad you're my last, shortcake."

you gave him a glare but he just giggled.

one last hc before i wage war with my exams 🥺 this is for tHE FREAKSSS 🤪🫣

[blockedbykei]

𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐈𝐅 𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐈 𝐍𝐄𝐄𝐃 𝐈𝐒 𝐘𝐎𝐔 ?

— synopsis: kageyama always had one agenda in his life: volleyball. it just so happens that you seemed to challenge him even more than the sport has ever done in his life.

— warnings: (this chapter) awkward kageyama, sucks at feelings. frenemies to lovers, a little angst bc kageyama's about to relapse lol pls don't attack me also i don't know how the academic system works in japan

— parts: i, ii, iii, iv

ii; love thorns all over this rose

kageyama is awake thirty minutes before his alarm rings.

and in those thirty minutes, he spends it like he usually does— planning.

and with a little bit of spice, reminiscing.

"they'll pay you," he said on the phone. he had sensed your relief despite your silence on the other side.

"thank god." you sighed. "okay dude, i gotta be honest with you. i'm only using this opportunity as some kind of job starter, 'kay? i won't be permanent. so don't get your hopes up."

"i won't be too hopeful on you." he deadpanned. a little too honest, to upfront, maybe brought up by buried pain. kageyama shook the thought. "when can you start?"

"anytime you want me to start, tobio-chan." you beamed. he heard ruffling in the background, and the familiar sound of keys jingling. "except today though. i have some paperwork to do. will tomorrow be okay?"

"okay."

that was yesterday, at 4:13pm. it was now 5:30 in the morning.

and it seems like you were awake too.

kageyama jumps at the sound of his phone vibrating against his wooden bedside table. he pushes the covers off his body, pushing himself up to sit against the bed frame before unplugging his phone off his cable.

you. u up? wanna jog around? 5:32am

he doesn't hesitate to reply.

kageyama. Sure. 5:32am

—

to his fortune, your apartment was near his home. so the idea of jogging around was easily fulfilled as his legs are now being warmed up outside the entrance of your building.

kageyama is a little eager to see you at this time in the morning, a rush of excitement adding a bounce on his heels. and he only waits for five minutes until he sees you exit the elevator in your sports attire.

jacket and leggings. same as his, except he wore sweatpants.

your hair is tied up messily, strands of hair above your head uncombed and bumpy. you walk towards him and give him a smile, stopping just a few friendly feet from him.

he thinks that image of you will stay plastered on his mind.

"ready to go, tobio?"

he looks at you, foot pressed on a bench. his fingers tie his laces as he stares at you.

kageyama was always a man of few words, and you'd learned how to read him through his eyes and body language alone. his stare may seem blank to others, but you read it as "yes, i'm ready."

and he says it either way. "yes"

—

"so what exactly is it that i'm supposed to do?"

you've matched his pace, or maybe he's slowed down to jog by your side, or maybe he's just slow and you're a bit faster than him. either way, you're happy to be in the same speed, enough so that you can talk to him without having a hard time.

kageyama hums. "uh. you will be like my life coach?"

"what the fuck is a life coach?" you grimace.

"i don't know either." his breath is white past his lips from the cold air, sparing you a quick glance. "i just think i'm too obsessed with volleyball that i kind of... don't have a life outside of it."

"i thought volleyball was your life."

"it is. until i became an adult." he swallows thickly. "when i'm not on the court, i'm in my classes. when i'm not in my classes and the court's not open i... i don't do anything. i think i'm a boring person."

"so you're like a loser?"

kageyama sighs dejectedly. "yeah."

"and you want me to make you more, what, interesting?"

"yeah."

"and i'm getting paid to do this?"

"yeah."

"i'm getting paid to teach you how to get a life," you guffaw, small pants leaving your mouth as you do so. "i never thought i'd be doing that after three years. holy shit, tobio-chan."

kageyama pouts. "do you find joy over the fact that i'm a loser?"

"oh yes," you shake your head, a smile on your face. "i do enjoy that."

you both stop after ten minutes, deciding to take a break by sitting on the bench. you place your feet on the space beside kageyama, bringing it to your chest, facing him. he tilts his head up and swallows the water rapidly as if he'd been parched since the dawn of time.

he wipes his sweat off his forehead, his biceps contracting, hair sticking to his skin. you blush at the sight.

"so what do you want to try doing?" you ask him, tugging on your sleeves.

kageyama shrugs. "how to not be too obsessed with volleyball."

"okay genius," you roll your eyes. "i meant do you want to learn how to ride a bike? how to paint? to swim?"

"i know how to ride a bike," then he pauses, looking down at the tips of your shoes grazing his thigh. he scratches his chin. "i wanna learn how to swim."

you scrunch your nose. "did you even attend the swimming classes back in high school?"

"no."

"god, tobio," you laugh through your nose. "where were you? hiding in the gym?"

"i was with you inside the janitor's closet remember?"

your smile fades a little, pulling your feet closer to yourself. and then you look away from him.

"so i'm teaching you how to swim then." kageyama wishes you'd look at him again, take your eyes off from whatever you're staring at and plant them on him instead. "i might push you into the deep part of the pool, then i remembered you're tall so you could just stand. unless i put a rock on you..."

"do i need to list it down?" he asks, and you look at him. your eyes seemed duller than earlier. he almost winces. "all the things you're going to teach me?"

"hm," you scoot closer. your arms rest on top of your knees, your chin resting on top of your left forearm. "first, you're gonna get a manicure with me. that'll be tomorrow because i want one."

"okay."

"then we're gonna do yoga," you beam. "so you could relax. you're always so tense."

kageyama pulls his phone app, and you assume he's opening the notes app. "okay."

"swimming. then skydiving. camping. joining those bike marathon thingies. oh! pottery. i think you'd like pottery."

"do we really have to do skydiving?" he shivers a little; partly from the cold, partly from the image of falling from the sky with the chance of dying. "i don't think that's a hobby that will help me with volleyball. i think that would just make me want to stay on the court."

you roll your eyes. "whatever. add cooking. unless you already know how to."

"just a little."

"add cooking."

his fingers type on the letters, the click-clacks emitting from his phone mingling with the soft breeze's gentle whisper. "anything else?"

"i kinda wanna keep the others a surprise." you smile, flashing him a bit of your teeth between your lips. the wisps of your hair fall on your cheeks, and your eyes almost smile at him. "done taking a break? i wanna run again."

kageyama stands up, putting his phone on his pocket. you kick your feet off the bench and place them on the ground, stretching your arms.

you start before he does. he feels a thread of nervousness coursing through his veins, tying it around each tendril. there's doubt knocking on his head telling him that at some point of this "life-coaching" of yours would eventually fuck up whatever it is that you have now.

he wouldn't want to fuck up twice.

his feet jogs himself up at your pace, his heart twinging at the smile you give him.

—

september 2014

senior year meant mandatory swim classes. which meant that kageyama would skip class for the 63rd time since his freshman year.

the table was jovial with excitement, albeit it seems that tsukishima was voicing the similar disdain towards swimming. "getting dressed in front of you guys is enough." he reasoned.

hinata and yamaguchi beam in excitement, mostly because they both knew they would be given free time to play around the pool. and since the boys and girls were separated, you and yachi made a silent vow to stick with one another.

"tobio," you placed your hand on his shoulder. he jumped out of his daze, food in mouth, his head turning to look at you, and you debate on telling him to stop looking at you like that, because while a second ago he seemed horrified, now he looked at you like you'd given him a miracle to be saved. "you alright?"

"yes." his head nodded, putting another broccoli in his occupied mouth. "i don't want to go swimming."

"me neither," you giggled. your hand was still on his shoulder, burning onto his uniform and seeping through his skin. kageyama fought hard not to blush. "i promised yachi though, so. please don't skip."

"okay." okay, i'll still skip.

"kageyama," hinata bumped his shoulder. "let's race to see who swims fastest."

"i don't want to, dumbass," kageyama snarled. "i want to eat lunch. let's see who gets to finish first."

their petulance had always interested you. their relationship would always trick people into thinking they despised one another, but no one ever really saw their true bond and how close they were. you laughed at the way they would swallow their food directly and at the way yachi had begin to voice her concern on choking and something about the heimlich maneuver.

in front of you, yamaguchi and tsukishima's slowly blooming ("platonic" they said, defending) relationship seemed to quietly berate the two.

later that day, you'd lost yachi with your other classmates right after you ascend from the pool. you quickly got yourself dressed, hair dripping wet and leaving streaks of water down the back of your blouse, and searched for her.

you found yourself inside the gym five minutes later, seeing that the doors were unlocked. but when you peeked, the sight of her bright blonde hair was nowhere to be seen.

a muffled cluttering sound startled you.

"hello?"

your voice echoed in the empty gym.

"(y/n)?"

kageyama's nervousness rang at every corner of the gymnasium. you saw him peek his head out from the closet, eyes wide. you furrowed your eyebrows.

"what the fuck are you doing there?" you asked hastily, walking towards him. "you're supposed to be at the pool—"

he yanked you towards him, inside the closet and closing the door behind him. it hadn't registered to you that kageyama began hearing footsteps approaching the gym and it put his heart at an alarming rate. your mouth snapped shut, hiding behind his body, your hair leaving droplets on his uniform.

then there's muffled conversation, a few laughs, a tone that mimicked questioning, and then you heard the doors slam shut. you froze.

"how are we going to get out?" you panicked, voice small and a whisper, even though you're certain that a normal volume would've sufficed.

"calm down," he scowled. "i have the keys with me. how'd you think i got in here in the first place?"

he pulled the keys out and twirled them in his finger. relief defeats the panic that settled on your face, though a smile never rose out of you. but it was enough for kageyama to reassure you. he walked to you, resting his back against one of the shelves beside you, keeping a distance that could've looked like he wasn't giving you any sort of distance at all.

"what are you doing here?" he asked, arms crossed. you took the keys off his hands, clutching it in your fist, and couldn't help yourself but sneer at him.

"you said you'd go to the class."

"i only said okay, doesn't mean i'm agreeing."

you gawped. "that is agreeing!"

"you didn't answer my question." he instilled. "what are you doing here?"

you scratched the back of your neck, fingertips dampened from your slowly drying hair, chlorine and faint conditioner evident through the scent. "i lost yachi. i thought she could be here 'cause the doors were open."

he showed his acknowledgement through a hum, no words leaving him. you sighed and approached the door, twisting the doorknob and peaked through the small slit you created.

"i should probably go," you said, looking back at him. "we should probably go."

you give him a stern look, vexated at his lie. kageyama pushed himself off the shelf, walking towards you, and you thought that maybe he'd decided to follow your orders, but instead his arm reaches out to pull the door close.

the brightness from the outside is only evident through the cracks beneath and between the doors, the only light in the dark room. kageyama stood in front of you, both of you leaning your bodies against the metal door.

your heart beated a little faster, the sound reverberating in your ears. you hope he doesn't hear how fast it gets with the way he slowly leaned closer to you, his head tilted just the slighesg, hair falling just above his eyebrows.

his eyes are dark, but there's a little shine at the edge of his irises, his gaze soft. his lips are parted the slightest, tongue coming out to gloss the dried skin. you swallow thickly.

it felt too oddly intimate to be in a situation like this with a friend you've known since the beginning of junior high. and you wondered if it was inappropriate of you to blush wildly; if it was disrespectful of you to want to tiptoe the edge of your friendship just because you're in a closet with him hiding as if you'd both be shot dead and you're enjoying the last, quiet moments together.

you knew you've never seen him as more than a friend. at least, that was what you've manipulated yourself to think. you convinced your excitement to see him as a way to be excited to start your day. you tell yourself you're concerned for his safety because you worry his sister would eat you up if he'd gotten hurt without you rather than because you wouldn't want him to get hurt in general.

you forced him to take breaks from volleyball because you poke fun at his lack of social life, not because you worry he may drive himself away from you from his over enthusiasm and passion.

you do not feel lovesick over kageyama.

and he thought that the look on your face— surprised, blushing, wide eyed— was the most endearing sight out of all endearing sights. the corner of his lip tugs upward, his teeth beginning to poke out of his awkward smile.

"we don't have classes right after," he reasoned. "we could stay here for a few more minutes."

"you-" you point your finger to his chest, nail digging on his shirt and onto his thick skin. "-have practice. i have a student council meeting and volleyball training at the local court, thanks to your fucking greedy asses, by the way. both of which will start in like-... uh...-"

"seven minutes." he cocked a brow. "let's stay here until then."

so you did.

you sat on the floor and ate the snacks he had on his bag, cross legged, on opposite sides. you started the conversation by asking when the nationals were, and that if it fit right into your schedule, you could bring the student council to up the level of the cheerleading team for karasuno. kageyama beamed at your offer.

your phone lit up, a notification bar on the screen, and he knew what your wallpaper was– it was the six of you, on one of the carnivals last june, on the ferris wheel that showed hinata yelling out the edge, tsukishima gripping on the sides for his dear life, yachi and yamaguchi laughing at the chaos they ensued;

you, holding the phone up, with kageyama beside you, smiling with his eyes set on your laughing figure.

he saw the way your eyes lingered on the screen for a moment before you tapped on the text, screen brightening, your fingers tapping on the keyboard.

"who's that?" he asked, curiosity undecided if he should be jealous (and deny it) or be relieved.

"kuroo-san," you said. "he's inviting you guys to play at nekoma next week. says he and the old team are visiting to check out the new team, and he thought it would be great if you guys fought with them again...? what...?"

"why is he texting you, though?" he shoves a hello panda in his mouth. "shouldn't he text yachi? or literally anyone else."

"i don't think he has her number."

"why does he have your number?"

"because hinata gave it to him."

he swore to murder him after 7 minutes.

"i'll tell them," he said, forced to give you a smile; forced to hide the distaste on his tongue at the thought of kuroo sending you a text. "you gonna come?"

"maybe, i could play, too, bring my team so we could finally play at a court where we wouldn't have to share with kids." you scowl at him. "can you impress me for a hundredth time?"

he'd take that chance at any given moment.

—

kageyama finds himself on the court again after your jog. the cold air still fresh on his damp skin, the sound of your voice still evident even if you'd already left almost an hour ago to meet up with your team one last time.

"so, how'd it go?"

hinata plays with the ball on the other side of the court, bouncing it between the floor and his palm. kageyama shrugs, placing his towel on top of his gym bag.

"she said we'll start tomorrow," he answers, walking towards the net, fingers poking through the square slots. "i'm nervous about this."

"i think it's a big mistake." hinata blurts out, his hand immediately covering his mouth. his wide eyes do nothing but start the fuse in kageyama's temper.

"what do you mean it's a big mistake?" he ducks between the net, towering over his shaking friend, who walks backwards and shoots him an ever nervous grin.

"i'm just saying– i mean well, we've talked here and then, and she hasn't exactly– dude, you're scaring me–"

kageyama stops in his tracks, sighing heavily with a hand on his forehead. "exactly what, hinata?"

his friend shakes his arms, snapping them. his right hand comes up to his left and rotates it, looking at kageyama like he hadn't scared him beforehand. "she hasn't exactly forgotten about what you did, you know. i mean its nice of you to take the chance and make up for what you did, but if you ever fuck up again, i don't think she'll be as forgiving as last time."

"i won't fuck up." he scowls, going back to his side.

"and if she finds out you only did this to keep her from getting that job with kuroo-san?"

kageyama places his hands on his hips, looking up yo the ceiling. it was high; the lights a bit blinding, the basketball hoop folded upwards to keep out of the way from high serves. his eyes close and counts to three, until he feels his nerves calm down, before looking back at hinata.

"has he mentioned it to her?"

"i don't think he has." hinata says. "i don't think he's forgotten, either."

"okay."

"kageyama," he begins, looking at him warningly. "if she finds out you're only doing this so that you won't lose her– so that she'd be here with you, she's not going to like it."

"i know that."

"then stop whatever it is that you're doing!"

"whatever, man! i'm doing her a favor," he spins the ball in his palm, squishing it with the other. kageyama glares at his orange hair, not at his eyes– because he doesn't want to actually make him feel that he was mad at him. "she said she quit because she didn't want to be associated with volleyball anymore. kuroo's offer is associated with volleyba-"

"an offer is an offer, kageyama, it's her decision to decline it or not," hinata sighs. "don't confuse her. don't make her fall again. don't make things even more complicated than it already is."

kageyama feels the gasoline inside him about to burst, his eyebrows furrowing further, scowl deepening. he throws the ball into the air, and jumps at the right time to serve. hinata, thrown off guard, ducks and covers his head with his hands as the ball hits the wall behind him.

hinata looks back at him with wide eyed anger. "you- you jerk!"

he runs to him, diving beneath the net to tackle his legs. kageyama falls to his back, his yell echoing, wrapping his legs around hinata's neck.

his anger, albeit predictable, is rooted on something he can't identify. he knows he's mad at hinata, but he also knows it's not exactly the actual cause. there's a deep set of guilt planted in him that coalesces with the anger he decides to displace on others. maybe it's because he knows that hinata's right— that the offer kuroo was supposed to propose was yours to accept or decline; it wasn't his position to keep you from doing so.

but at the same time, he knows that if he hadn't done anything— even if he could— to keep you here, with him, while he's slowly easing the pain he'd caused you, he would die with the regret he'd feel. and even so, he would do anything to get you back.

so at the feeling of his head meeting the floor, kageyama is snapped into a dilemma of morals and deluded wants. hinata pins him to the ground, knees on either side of his hips, looking disappointedly down on his heaving friend.

"we haven't fought this hard since freshman year," he laughs tiredly. "she's my friend, kageyama. and you're my friend either. i don't want you both to be hurt to the point where it affects all of us. i was honestly surprised that she was able to act normally after the shit you pulled. she was that afraid to lose you."

hinata pushes himself off him, offering his hand to kageyama. he takes it, pulling him off the ground. "please don't tell her."

kageyama could see him contemplate. he knows how easy hinata is to control under pressure, most especially if it included his guilty conscience in honor of a friend— he can't bring himself to lie. he was never a liar at the expense of someone.

but if it was something he had to do for the people that he cared for...

"okay," he says in his pleading gaze. "i can keep quiet. but i don't know when kuroo will bring this up to her. she'll find out eventually."

"i'll tell her myself."

—

after spending five hours in relishing the exhilarating thrill of spiking a ball across the court, his free training is cut "short" when his phone begins to ring.

doused in sweat, he walks to the bench where his bag resides. hinata plops down to the ground, elbows on his knees, panting. kageyama picks up his phone and sees your icon—

in a small circle, with a smile, in the karasuno uniform with your hair in a ponytail. he does not remember the day the picture was taken nor what the event was, but he swears he's had the same icon of yours since high school, even after he'd switched the phone.

he clicks the green telephone button.

"hello?"

"are you at the court?" there's a busy crowd behind you. you sound uncomfortable.

"no."

"don't lie."

"yes."

you laugh, he blushes. "okay. can i come there if it's okay? we've got matters to discuss."

he says yes and you're there 20 minutes later. you discard the thick coat off your shoulders, revealing something that looked too comfortable to be considered as casual— literally a large shirt and sweatpants.

"ey, (y/n)!" hinata comes up to give you a one-armed hug, trying not to get you wet with his sweat. you smile at him, sitting down on the bench beside kageyama's bag.

"hey, sho-chan." you beam. "mind if i'm here for a short while?"

"i don't mind if you stayed here until midnight." he laughs, sitting down crossed legged in front of you on the floor. kageyama sits on the same bench, his bag dividing the two of you.

"so what's up?" he wipes his face with a towel. do players actually sweat this much?

"so i got a call from your management," you begin, taking your phone out and opening your notes app. "i took in minutes of the meeting as a habit. anyway, so your pr manager told me that we can't exactly be seen together all the time unless we want people to think that we're dating. yuck."

the emphasis on your yuck makes him laugh out the pain.

"anyway, so she said we can't do whatever it is that you want all the time. we either have to do it with your friends, the two of us on a very private area, or just you alone." you explain. "so i decided to, like, create a list of all the things we should do. and i also need you to sign this contract because i'm not doing this forever."

a soft copied contract he assumes is sent by his management is displayed on your phone as you hand it to him. you zoom in on his name, types in capital letters beneath a line where his digital signature is to be placed. with a shaky finger, he writes his signature.

you stutter. "you- you didn't even read it."

"i don't want to."

"you have to," you roll your eyes. "okay so, your management says that i have to do this life-coaching shit of yours only until your next big match."

"which is in a few months." hinata butts in, a granola bar in hand.

a few months. he has a few months with you.

a few months of making up for the damage he caused. a few months to change the way you act around him. a few months to keep you with him. kageyama doesn't know what happens after then— maybe you'd already found out the offer kuroo ought to give you, and maybe you'd take it with no hesitation, leaving him behind.

the stress of lying catches up with the way his stomach twists and his tongue loses its taste. the hollow feeling of nervousness emits from the way his palms begin to sweat. he feels pressured to plan already— to figure out what to do right after the contract ends; what to say when you found out he interfered with a major opportunity.

"yeah. so. i also can't interfere nor be the cause of your downfall in volleyball or they will sue me." you bite your bottom lip. "is that even possible? like, defamation?"

"what's defamation?" kageyama asks, fingertips fiddling with the cap of his waterbottle. you huff.

"it's by ruining one's reputation by creating false statements. i'd do that if you piss me off," you jest, going back to your phone and scrolling. kageyama thinks of it as a real threat. "anyway, so i will have to ask your teammates or friends to come join us for the following weeks, although i do prefer if you also do it."

he frowns. "why me?"

"because you hired me and it's also your job to be less of a pain in the ass," you poke the space between his eyebrows. he groans, grasping your wrist and pull it down from his face.

hinata's eyes narrow at the sight of two tinted cheeks.

you break free from him. "i'll be sending you the list tomorrow. i'll get going now."

kageyama stops you from slinging your bag over your shoulder, a hand on one of the straps. "how'd you get here?"

you make a confused face. "uh. by bus?"

"let me drive you home."

"i'm fine, tobio," you laugh lightly, standing up, adjusting the strap on your shoulder. "it's only one bus ride. plus, i don't think hinata's done with practicing yet—"

"we're done!" hinata claps his shoulder, squeezing it, tight enough to make him uncomfortable. kageyama glares at him through his peripherals. "it's fine. i'll close up."

it's gotten to the point where hinata had pushed the both of you off outside the court and into the parking lot.

kageyama almost feels desolated— the silence caused by confusion almost deemed you a ghost, thus making him feel like he was lost in a very crowded parking lot. but when you nudge his shoulder, and the look on your face was replaced with a small smile, he takes his keys out of the pocket of his gym bag, his car beeping not too far.

you sit on the passenger side, quickly buckling your seat belt and dropping your bag on your lap. kageyama shuts the door and sticks the key in the ignition, a random song on the radio playing as it lights up blue.

no one says a word during the drive.

you can sense the tension was brought by thoughts that are wanted to be shared but never spoken. something about the past— the past you'd tried to forgotten; the past kageyama was trying to mend. it was not because of the sudden professional relationship created by the both of you.

(it actually also was that.)

the ride was short— maybe five songs had passed and three ad breaks. he parks just at the side, where he wouldn't be told off, and you unbuckled your seatbelt.

"thanks for the ride," you say, finally. he sucks in a breath of relief.

"no problem." and just when you're about to reach out and leave, he puts his hand on your wrist again. you stop on your movements, looking back at him over your shoulder.

"is something the matter?"

"why'd you take it?" kageyama asks, his hand still on your wrist. you blink at him, sitting back down and resting your back on the car seat. but his hand now hovers over your burning skin.

your eyebrows furrow. "what do you mean?"

"why'd you take the job if it sounded stupid?"

you look into his eyes. kageyama looked unsure— almost in disbelief. he seems to be doubting you at this moment which almost brings a scoff out of you. his bottom lip is quickly bitten, a habit of anxiousness.

"i told you– it's a starter job. it's not easy to get a job while i'm still in college. i kinda need the money as soon as possible too, y'know? i'm not exactly a pro athlete so i don't get paid—"

"why are you helping me?" he urges. kageyama leans over the transmission, a hand on the wheel. his elbow is placed on the shoulder of your seat, and he's unbelievably close to you that you feel his hot breath. "you could've taken a job at a cafe. tsukishima could've helped you with it. or yachi-san. so why did you accept my last minute offer?"

it was like he was searching for a reason for your sudden acceptance at an incredulous offer for a job that he made up. he wanted to know the reason behind it— maybe something that could get his hopes up on fixing a relationship that's barely even there; something that could feed on his nightly routine of delusions about you and what could have been.

your eyes flicker between his. kageyama has always had intense eyes. too intense that you can't decipher what he's actually feeling sometimes. but even so, they're the only ones you're forcing yourself to look at— because he's so close. there's barely any friendly proximity between the two of you. you're afraid of glancing down his lips to avoid any miscommunication; you don't look at anywhere else because you don't want to seem shy.

your heart starts to beat faster. you curse it.

"because you're my friend," you murmur. "and i'm actually concerned about your obsession with volleyball."

kageyama leans back just the slightest, but you can still feel his heat.

"i've always wanted to help you lessen your obsession since high school, y'know? at least this time i'm– i'm getting paid."

"you still want to help me even after—"

"i don't want to talk about it, kageyama."

it seems as if you knew what he was going to say. the sudden use of his surname, the softness that immediately hardened at the memory flashing in your mind; the guard you instantly put up. kageyama's heart twinges, leaning back on his seat.

he expects you to leave him and slam the door, watching you walk towards your building.

instead, he feels your hand on his.

your hand on his.

his head snaps to you, twitching slightly. your fingers squeeze the back of his hand a little, offering him a sad smile.

"i care for you," you say. "i hope you don't abuse it again."

kageyama feels like he's been holding his breath for years.

you exit his car and close it properly, crossing the front and enter your building. he watches you disappear behind the doors of your elevator, and he thinks you may have been looking at him as well.

the feeling you leave on his hand remains. he puts it on his chest, placing his other hand on top of it, and feels the way his heart skips multiple beats that he considers rushing to the hospital.

nervous. guilt. an unfamiliar sensation on his belly that rises up to his chest filled with heat.

he does not want to fuck this up.

reblogs and feedback are appreciated <3

[deluluass]

It's all over now, baby blue (1/12)

Ushijima Wakatoshi/Female Reader/Oikawa Tooru

Multi-chapter sequel to "Red, like Blood. Blue, like Love."

General Warnings:  rape/noncon; nsfw; depictions of post traumatic stress disorder; a lot of negative self-talk (reader pov) Chapter Warnings:  panic attack (reader pov); internalized misogyny (reader pov) Note: nsfw stuff won't happen in this chapter since this is a slow-ish burn

“It’s bullshit,” the woman huffed. “This whole soulmate business— it’s all bullshit.”

It's the assault of nicotine that finally made you wince. Of all the things said in that room, a cigarette is what got a reaction out of you.

A cigarette .

How typical.

Crouched down to the pavement, you folded your arms above your knees and buried your nose further into the crook of them.  

Her back has yet to part from the wall behind the both of you. There's a mottled stain along the pointed toe of her left shoe. An imitation of a birthmark on this poreless, rouged lipsticked, executive coiffed up haired woman.

And it's not like it escaped your notice, but she's really quite tall, isn't she? This one; more so with three extra inches on.

You shook your head, sank your face further into your knees until you’re just about tasting your own sweat, and pressed your eyes shut. Pointless observations. 

Earlier, she made exactly zero effort to conceal her opinion about you, which essentially boiled down to: piss off . Not exactly a new one in your long and illustrious career of not being wanted in any room you walk into. No, she wasn't the kind of person you’d need to catalog observations for. You're never speaking to each other ever again. 

But then, all things considered, she tucked the pack of Seven Stars in her blazer with a swiftness that someone who has a cigarette only does when they're caught doing it in a place they shouldn't be. Last you checked, you’re both in the smoking area. There's even a large sign for it.

Right there. “ Smoking area ,” it said.

Yet she hid the thing before you could even shake your head and say, “ I’m good, thank you . Go kill yourself in peace. ” 

Because you did hate it, that smell of early death saturating the air. More importantly, you didn't bother hiding it. And you didn’t feel bad not hiding it. 

Maybe that was the most important tell about her character.

She didn't say anything. Didn't throw your words back at you– tell you to fuck off, if you're gonna be such a judgy miss despite the fact that it was you who ran here for refuge. 

You opened your eyes to take a peek at her again, nape stinging from the effort. 

She met your blank look as she dragged a cigarette, then waved through the fog of nicotine like she's shooing a stray. 

Suck in. Huff out. Smoke rushed through a grin. For all your open distaste, you let it waft through you anyway. You let her drag another and another. 

You only stared, head tilted upwards, the sun exposing phantoms that swirled around the decisive flapping of her hand, driving everything away to God knows where, and you wondered. 

How is that possible?   

It's all just cigarette smoke to this woman.

Japan wasn’t this humid as he remembered it to be. They were already in the throes of the summer season, to be fair, so maybe Wakatoshi should probably just be grateful that he wasn’t already drowning in his own sweat. Though he’s very close to doing so now. 

To the credit of the League, they did take heavy measures to avoid that from happening. 

He turned away from the boys he’s instructing, glare forcing him to squint, and finally paid mind to the trailer parked right in front of the court. It was a gigantic thing equipped with a kitchen, bedroom, jacuzzi tub (?), and an AC unit. 

On the other hand, his students– boys, stout and lanky things not older than fourteen– were no different from the freshly hatched chicks that he used to watch over when he was growing up in his grandfather’s farm. They blinked at him with wet hair matted to weak, delicate skin. Wakatoshi removed the trailer from his line of sight and, despite complaints for pausing the lesson so soon, barked for some water bottles from a nearby tent.

They rushed to him, ice cold condensation  dripping down their fingers, then passed down the water bottles from Wakatoshi to the children. 

“You wanna rest for a while?” one of the staff he came with asked. Some Chisaka or other. 

“No, thank you,” Wakatoshi replied. “Where are the younger ones?”

The man grimaced and wiped his forehead. “They’re by the food tent having some snacks. Listen, dude, massive fan, but you really don’t have to… do all this. You sure you don’t wanna…?” He nudged his chin towards the trailer again. 

Shaking his head, Wakatoshi then promptly left some pointers for the boys in the court and headed for the largest tent propped up in the orphanage grounds.

Summer breeze whispered through the trees. The tent’s blue roof rippled like ocean waves.

The boys there erupted in squeals seeing him, while the rest couldn't be bothered to give him the same attention that they're gracing the sweets bar. That was fair. Nothing could ever compare to a nice fluffy anpan, and certainly not Wakatoshi.

The trailer was still visible from here. 

Somehow, it looked even weirder from this vantage point. Massive four-wheeled chrome on barely trimmed grass. Like an alien ship that’d stopped by for some drinks.

The League spends such things on him. 

Big dinners with a bunch of suits. A penthouse suite that they insisted that he should start using. Exclusive matcha flavored floss. 

The people who Wakatoshi signed a contract with seem to have a different idea on what he came home for. When his contract had ended with Orzeł Warszawa after these couple of years, he really did mean to return to Japan and represent it in the next Olympics. 

And the one after that. 

The one after that , too, if he gets lucky. 

He wasn’t going anywhere. But–

“ Hey. Big guy, big guy. Calm. This isn't amateur hour. You know why they’re doing this ,” his agent had blabbered the moment they’d arrived at the orphanage, a way of pacifying Wakatoshi after he’d given the man a look. 

That was a warranted reaction. Wakatoshi came here expecting children who had too much energy to spare, and one named Hiro. That was the one who’d written to him in blue ink– his kanji still rough around the edges, that he’d been watching Wakatoshi play since he was in diapers (that was an exaggeration, they explained to Wakatoshi); that he’d be very extremely so, so happy if he came to see them for his tenth birthday.

He didn’t expect– nor wanted, really– a national TV crew, a couple of magazine reporters, along with a catering service waiting for him in their stead. 

“ All eyes are on Japan right now. You guys are hosting after, what, ‘98? How long has it been? ” His agent patted his back as he led Wakatoshi to an interviewer with startling white teeth. “ Not kissing up your ass or anything, but don’t go all modest on me. You know you’re the hottest player in the game right now. You’re the  guy. You’re the fuckin’ guy. So many motherfuckers across the globe are gooning to have you on their side and your team sure as hell won’t let those slimy bastards nab you. They’re showing you off and they’re showing off to you. Just enjoy the ride, yeah? Welcome home .” 

Welcome home, he said.

Wakatoshi pulled out his phone and skimmed each mail notification that had piled on the screen. More excited-to-have-you-back’s. More invitations to parties that he’d immediately swiped off. Wakatoshi scrolled through international SMS and expected one from a certain area code continents away. 

It’d come up empty.

He felt a tug at his shorts.

He looked down to eyes the size of saucers peering up at him. The creature was ninety percent uncombed black hair and ten percent child. 

“Aren’t you gunna eat, Uwaka-sensei?” the five year old boy asked. A few hours ago he’d  sprawled on the floor crying, which Wakatoshi only managed to placate by giving him a single pat on the head. Now, he’s got strawberry cream smearing his cheeks; a crumb stuck between jutted out gap teeth. 

“Not hungry yet,” Wakatoshi replied. 

The boy proceeded to raise a slice of cake to Wakatoshi’s knees. “Miss said having leftovers is bad manners,” he argued. 

Wakatoshi felt his lips quirk. 

“Alright,” he said, plucking it from (hopefully) clean fingers. 

Once the food was cleared, of course, the children sprang from their chairs and ran for the volleyball court. The warnings of upset stomachs from the orphanage volunteers went from one ear to the other. Wakatoshi followed. He watched and noted their positions, and reminded everyone about the things that they should have learned earlier. Postures were corrected. The older ones who he’d left with a few practice drills were now engaging in a match of their own. 

Wakatoshi peeked at his phone again.

Still, nothing. 

The announcement of his return was released months ago.

Excusing himself from the volunteers, he made his way far from the court and the tents, thumb still pressed on his phone. 

It wasn’t as if Wakatoshi was expecting felicitations– far from it, but it was even more out of character to not even receive…anything.  

Something like “ Can’t wait to smoke your ass ” or other comments that only he could utter without shame, in spite of his age. Their teams are facing each other once again and this time Japan is not cutting corners. Everyone involved is bringing only their best.

Everyone involved is only the best. 

There’s nothing on this earth that Oikawa Tohru would love more than that.

All of them had parted and made promises; had defeated each other and won against each other, but they hadn’t had the opportunity to be on the same court all at once in such a long time. All of them– Oikawa more so, had only gotten better over the years, like a blade that had been sharpened beyond perfection. No one would fault Wakatoshi for feeling like he’s back in Shiratorizawa again. Like his agent had said, how long has it been ? 

The image of Oikawa standing on the same side of the court comes to him like a ball that hightailed past his defenses. A sudden lightness overtakes him.  

He really is getting old, Wakatoshi mused. 

All this time, maybe he’s just chasing what he’s owed. The urge to be the first to break the silence between them cropped up—

…but the sound of glassware crashing interrupted Wakatoshi’s plan.

Phone slipped back in his pocket, he searched for the source and landed on the nearest classroom. It had been turned into a makeshift storage area, he noted upon closer inspection. 

The door was ajar. Barely a sliver of light inside. Wakatoshi opened it and saw– among the crates of napkins and crockery and table linens– a woman . 

She was curled in a ball on the floor. Shards surrounded her like star clusters.  

“Is everything alright?” Wakatoshi asked, shoes brushing sharp fragments aside. 

He searched  for signs of injury as he bent down, knee hovering above the floor. Peering at the tag pinned to her uniform, Wakatoshi tried to call out her name, but to no avail. 

Her blown out gaze was inseparable from the floor. Her hands were trembling, back rising and falling in rapid, shallow successions. Wakatoshi became conscious of his own breathing and immediately kept it even, as if tugging at the leash of a trained dog. 

His next words were uttered softly, well-practiced, while he tried to make out the movements of her mouth.

“....me,” she murmured. 

Wakatoshi leaned, careful not to get too close.  

“ Please…help……me. ”

Last Saturday, or was it Monday?, the tap stopped working. 

No tap. No shower. The dirty dishes that you promised you’d get to washing after your shift piled up. Leftovers clumped together and fossilized on the surface of each plate, chipped at the edges. The swirl of unfinished tea and soup and juice and accumulated trickles of water when it still worked surrounded it like a moat protecting a reclusive hoarder’s tower. “ The water people came by weeks ago, pumpkin ,” the sweet old lady running the complex told you. “ You forgot again? ”

And because you’d spent everything on groceries, and overdue bills, and medicine for the cough and cold that had left you on the bed with nothing else to do because they couldn’t risk a liability at work, you could only stare at her and say, “ Right ,” and breathe. “ Sorry, ma’am, ” you breathed.

“Breathe."

Breathe. 

Weren't you just telling yourself that earlier? This morning, was it? You forgot. But you told yourself that. Inoue couldn’t come today and though it’s not your day yet you went ahead and replied sure yup I can make it :)) to the work group chat even though you’re sure you still smelled like shit. Because you could do it and you’re not weak and you are responsible and in control and–

When that little volleyball exploded on the sleek, polished floor, and you'd dropped the tray like a complete fucking idiot? You told yourself to breathe. 

It’s easy. You could do it. You pushed through it. What happened to that, pretty girl?

You're not breathing now are you? 

Oh, dear God. Dear, dear. God. You haven't even paid rent yet. What will you tell your manager? You'd just washed those. Are you still breathing now? Look at them. Twenty a piece. Five hundred. Six. You ugly little bitch. 

You said you could do this, kitten. 

"Breathe."

It’s not you saying it now. 

The voice was deeper. Just like mine. Not like that. 

"I'm going to help you stand up," he said. "We're getting out of this room."

Not like that. Not like that. Notlikethat– The voice did not tease. My pretty, pretty girl. It didn't have that rise-fall lilt that took pleasure in keeping you on your toes. 

This one's as straightforward as an arrow. 

Unbending. 

True. 

"Breathe," he repeated.

But you were breathing. What was this guy saying? You are breathing, aren’t you? The chasm in your chest may have gotten bigger, sucking in all matter and trapping everything inside until there’s barely anything to hold onto– not even air, but you are breathing. 

“Look at me,” the man said. And you followed. You felt your neck crane up. 

Green eyes, like leaves on branches. Swaying behind him. “Breathe with me.”

Odd. His chest was expanding, inflating like a balloon at a kid’s party, once, twice, then he–  woosh went his mouth. You did the same. “Inhale,” he murmured. Once. Twice. “Exhale.”

Woosh .

Wind trickled in, the chime of bells, and all at once you felt like you’d drank water after a good cry, but you hadn’t been crying. You weren’t crying, were you? 

“You’re outside now.” 

Yes, you are. No, you're not. You're still inside that dark cage, dust in your nose. Iron– hot and suffocating and angry, is molding you, tearing you apart from the insides until muscle and fat are stretched into thin ribbons. Your mother’s warnings, sharp as the squeak of shoes, clear and deafening as boys shouting. Red means run. Blue means– 

“Do you smell that? Barbeque.”

The man was incredibly tall. 

Smoked meat and onions sailed with the breeze. Birds chirped like you'd just woken up. It felt like that. You closed your eyes and opened them again, looking at the warm anchor before you. 

His white shirt was darkened by sweat.

He didn't look like the type to smile a lot, but his face seemed softer now. Severe brows sloped  down a determined but gentle gaze. Something began to itch at the back of your head, like you were supposed to remember something. 

"You did well," he told you.

And you believed him. ‘Cause he said it like he’s just saying, “ The sun is hot. ” You did well, as in “ A ball is round ” or “ Birds fly .” 

And so, you did well. 

"What do you need now?" 

The feeling of sandpaper in your grip registered in your senses. You glanced down and realized that you'd been holding his hands. For how long, you could hardly tell, but the heavy weight of them held you down, kept you from floating back to the darkness where something waited for you, its starved eyes glowing red and blue.  

His palms were rough wrapped around yours.  You found that you didn't mind. 

"I-" you began. You cleared your throat. "I'm- I'm okay. I think."

He gave a nod in response. His thumb dwarfed yours. And when he brushed the back of your hand– why, you wouldn't have believed it, but your fingers glided, cool as can be, just like dandelion fluffs through the spaces between his. 

Silence sat unperturbed between the two of you. 

It let the summer critters chatter among themselves. It let the boys playing a game of volleyball just be boys playing a game of volleyball. It let the world just be what it always has been. And it…it was warm, unlike anything you’ve ever felt before.

Like being swaddled, almost. 

You felt yourself breathing in, the precious seconds right before drifting to a dreamless sleep. (Whose hand caressed whom? Was it yours?) 

The haze, however, had to be cut short. Sliced clean through by a pained, guttural noise. 

"What's wrong?" you blurted out.

He hissed. " Nothing. ”

Irritation disturbed his once calm features. You felt your heart twist as he discarded his hold on you. You almost begged for its return.

"I'm sorry," you cried, although you weren't sure of your crime. Doesn't matter now. You'd inconvenienced this man. You have to pay for it, kitten. You know what he'll do to you, don't you? Oh, beautiful. He's going to– 

He grunted, as if using all his strength to stop your derailing thoughts from setting up in flames. 

"I'm sor-"  

One sharp look was all it took. You clamped your mouth shut as he grabbed his wrist, a bead of sweat dripping down his forehead. Seeing his intimidating form bent over ignited prickles all over your palms. 

And there it was. Again.

That itch. You're forgetting something. Your hands were burning, but you didn't feel the pain, like they'd been scorched beyond sensation before being dunked in ice cold water. So you looked at them, just to make sure they're still there.

First, the forked lines.

Then, the dashed ones.

"Look at their palms!" 

Both of you turned to the sound of cameras clicking. Grown ups and children alike stood before you. They gaped and pointed as more people ran from the bottom of the hill. You felt your stomach drop. You searched his eyes for answers, but those keen olives were just as perplexed as you were.

Knowing that you'd come up short of explanation among the ruckus, he retrieved your hand, disgruntled expression still in place, and turned it palm side up. 

"Who woulda guessed, huh?!" somebody yelled. 

Neither of you were looking anymore. Not at the audience that you'd suddenly gathered. Not at your palms. You met his gaze, his breathing mimicking yours, chests moving in a familiar rhythm. 

Camera flashes made you wince. You could barely tell your left from your right. 

That look in his eyes didn't help either, burning you with what seemed like an accusation and– 

“I knew it. You really should stop trying to run away,” somebody had said, snickering, right up to your ear. 

Inhale. Once. Twice. 

“I knewit . You really shouldstoprunningawayfromme–”

Exhale. 

“I’ll always find you.”

You took a step backwards. 

“I’ll always always always always alwaysalwaysalways–”

The enclosing crowd are heavy double doors, rusted hinges creaking shut, and there is never going to be a way out. 

SPORTS ILLUSTRATED INTL 

Volleyball Star Scores Destiny Ahead of 2028 Summer Olympics

Temperatures are rising and the competition is getting heated in more ways than one!

Last Wednesday, FIVB Nations League MVP Ushijima Wakatoshi was caught in a first soul glow during a charity event for underprivileged orphans. “We are very happy for him,” Coach Blanchard said to NHK. “He’s been working so hard his entire career. He deserves this.” 

The video of the two gained massive attention worldwide. It has a whopping 2 million views on the VolleyWorld Youtube channel and is still gaining traction among non-volleyball fans on Twitter. 

 @rdlty12 

HE LITERALLY LOOKS LIKE A PRINCE?? LORD I SEE WHAT YOU’VE DONE FOR OTHERS 

@_itsmejayne

it’s actually their world n we’re all just living in it i feel sick rn

@KINGPQW 

bro met his soulmate while on his way to grab an olympic medal who is doing it like him 

@strawberryhertz 

not even into volleyball like that but if you catch me watching the olympics for a grown man playing an intense version of don’t let the balloon touch the floor MIND UR OWN BUSINESS

Orzeł Warszawa did not miss the assignment and showed support to their former teammate.

@OrzełWarszawa_Official

See you, lover boy ;)) 

The identity of the Olympic favorite’s soulmate, however, is yet to be known. Ushijima himself  refused to make a statement about this momentous occasion. Nevertheless, with a home advantage, a dream team on its back, and an inspiration of a magical magnitude bestowed upon their ace, it now begs the question: 

Is Japan finally ready to take back their gold?

The last time your mother had worn that red lip gloss was when you’d won an award for something. “ Perfect Attendance ,” your teacher had announced. 

She came with you to the ceremony, cherry polka dot blouse and vibrant lips, and you couldn't quite explain it then, but you were so sure that having your mother see you win was probably the closest thing that a person could get to flying. 

That was in grade school.  

The certificate for that is now molding in a cardboard box somewhere.

"What was he really like?" she asked you as the ribs under her knife bled thick sauce. 

Her eyes twinkled. Your throat felt tight like you'd eaten too much with little to no space to store it in. You're yet to put a dent on your plate. 

She hummed and wiggled her brows, nudging you into revealing more about the man who– in the span of a day, flipped everything you'd settled to believe about your life. You limply stabbed the celery with the prongs of your fork. 

Nostalgia truly is a funny thing. Yearning handed out with a grin and a twist to the gut. 

"He's tall," you started, shrugging. 

"He is," she giggled. "Handsome, too."

A grin miraculously fought its way to your chapped lips, though you may have failed the execution. It seems that it didn’t produce the look that you were going for. Your mother made that face that she makes when she catches you mid-prayer to the porcelain deities. 

"Is there something wrong?" she eventually asked. Who wouldn't ask that when you’ve got that permanently ugly, bearer-of-bad-news look on your face?

Is there something wrong, kitten? 

You remember that? Same question, wasn’t it? When you ran home all those years ago with your school jacket wound tightly around your waist. Like it could hide shit. 

“ Is there something wrong? ” she asked you.

She should’ve stopped asking that question by now. Seriously, how old are you? Something “wrong” only happens to girls who wear their skirts too short and then wander alone at night practically begging for it, not full grown adults who should be more than capable of shelling out for their own life.

Nothing wrong should ever happen to you again. Or what would that make you? Hm? Some little girl whose life goes in circles? Fucking up then, fucking up now? 

And just like what you told her before, you said–

“Nothing, mom.” You dropped the fork. “I was just thinking that–”

“ Do you think we can go…far away.. Again? The kids here are mean and– I don't know, I- I just thought, maybe, things would be– ” 

“... Different,” you muttered.  You pushed yourself to meet her troubled eyes. “It feels…different than how I’d…imagined it to be. It’s odd, that’s all. Can’t help but think that if I hadn’t stood in for Inoue’s shift today… I don’t know–”

I don’t know. The ignoramus shrugged once more. “Woke up that day to Inoue’s message. He said he couldn’t make it. It was supposed to be his shift. I didn’t wanna– you know, I didn’t wanna say I could. I wanted to go back to sleep.” Told myself that I could do it ‘cause that’s what people who can’t do anything say. 

“You’re still not feeling well?” Her brows are knitted together. Lips dulled now by the sauce and meat.

“No, no I am. Better. I am better, Ma. All I’m saying is, it’s all just– funny, is it? It could’ve easily not happened.” 

“But you still went,” she pressed. Her smile could’ve put the sun to shame even as it’s beaming in all its glory this month. Features softened, voice firm: “It would have anyway, baby. I know that.”

Of course she did. 

The story hung above your heads, above the dining room, like motes of dust struck through by the light, waltzing in the air all untouchable, refusing to settle but always, always there. 

Sit down. Get comfortable. It goes something like this:

Once upon a time, your mother had walked around the city in the middle of the night, alone and in her pajamas– as one does when they’re nineteen and had decided to sit out on a party because they believed that their friends secretly hated them. She bought a tub of ice cream, sat by the river bank, cried her eyes out, and rode the last train going back. Then, just as the track took a sharp turn and she’d stumbled on her feet, a kind stranger had caught her before she could fall.

The man’s palms glowed as blue as hers. 

On their way home (because, yes, he walked her back to her apartment) and her friends had caught sight of the two (“ Girl, where were you?! ”), one of them perked up seeing the man  and exclaimed, “ Hey! You were at the party too, weren’t you? Aoto-kun’s classmate, right? Why’d you go home so early?”

That’s why your mother could say stuff like that with all the sincerity of a fish vendor and the finality of a god. She could boldly proclaim, “One way or another, he would have found you even if you or him decided to turn away from destiny,” because it happened to her. All of it– everything that they put in the movies to encourage young girls to hope and dream and someday leave their hearts out in the open for all the world to step on. That was her reality, once upon a time. 

But what was it to you, cutie? What will it ever be to you, other than a bedtime story and a dead man in a photograph?

Perhaps that's what separates women like her from the likes of you. Her soulmate took one look at her and immediately decided to keep her safe, swaying her hand in his like they're dancing while playing two truths and a lie.

Yours took one look at you and couldn't be more relieved to see you walk away.  

Is that it? Is that the demarcation? Did somebody up there determine who gets to be the woman that gets loved and the woman that gets ra–

Something soft and warm patted the back of your hand. Your mother had reached across the table. “Baby,” she said, prompting you to look at her again. “This is a good thing.”

“Yeah, I suppose you’re right,” you mumbled, taking a bite out of an asparagus. 

“Everything is meant to be,” she repeated. And, “When are you seeing him again?”

Your mom cooked this food. She called you here for dinner. It still tasted like how it did many years ago. Maybe even better. And don't you think she should be wearing that lipstick forever? 

When she’d called you over the phone, as soon as the news broke, she’d– “ I knew it! I knew you’d have it just like the movies. Oh, you should’ve seen Mrs. Sasaki’s face– ” sounded a lot like the angels had woken her up to the vision of her old washing machine running again without the empty clang clang clang. Like you got off your ass and stapled and clipped your insides together and it finally held together.

This time, for sure. 

You smiled. 

“Hopefully, soon,” you replied, chewing.