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thegirlwhowritesawksh-t · 4 years ago

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la douleur de l'amour - georgenotfound x f!reader

author: @thegirlwhowritesawksh-t me!

word count: 4.7k +

warnings: hella angst, mentions of blood/scabs/injuries. if there’s any you think that you see, please let me know!

a/n: hi y’all :)) first off, to whoever’s reading this: stay hydrated, smile and laugh! and second: this is my submission for @bozowrites writing event! <33 congrats!!

**this is my second fic, and i’m hoping to push more out as i get more comfortable with writing! i’m thinking to maybe make a part two to this but i don't know yet. please let me know what you think! *sending besitos to y’all :))*

Prompt: Why are you crying?

1:15 p.m.

In the corner of a dimly lit studio in front of the barre, (y/n) leans over to her left, counting four beats before resetting and proceeding to stretch over her right side. After months spent choreographing, picking costumes, and endless bandages wrapped around her feet, it has led to the final product: her first piece in her dance company’s annual recital premiering tonight.

All (y/n) could feel was pure energy and pride at what she has created. It’s her baby after all and nothing could ruin the day for her.

Feeling her joints start to loosen up, she runs through a mental list in her head making sure each dancer had their costumes, knew where all the dancers would start and end on stage, as well as remembering her own choreography, seeing as she had an important section to end her piece. After double-checking, (y/n) then begins to travel to the center of the studio, and begins to run over the piece.

Remember the triple pirouette here, before you end with a leap to fourth position. Finishing in the fourth position, she lets out a curse as she accidently stubs her right thumb toe, a small scab already tearing at the edge. Shaking out her pain, she reattempts the move, succeeding with an effortless bow.

“You know, your piece is going to be excellent. Why are you so worried?”, a voice calls out in the quiet studio, with (y/n) yelping and trying to find where the voice came from. Standing against the edge of the doorway stood Liam, her dance partner and best friend. (y/n) begins to chuckle and runs the piece over again.

“Can’t help but make sure it’s perfect. I have drenched all my blood, sweat and tears creating this dance, this- this masterpiece. It is my first, and most certainly not my last choreographing piece at this company. There’s too much riding on this for me.”, she replies.

“Even if so, I’d like to think you’ll be fine. Don’t stress, it’s amazing. Otherwise, how are you feeling?”

“Kind of excited, kind of feeling like I should run away.”, (y/n) replies. Avoiding to answering the question entirely, she begins to run the piece over again. She continues,

“I think regardless, it should be a great night. George is coming to the recital tonight and it’ll be the first time he’ll be seeing this dance.” With George editing and recording videos for the Dream Team, his Twitch channel, and YouTube channels, (y/n)’s barely seen him since the start of the dance season. The only time she’s been able to spend time with him has been going to bed with him - even if it’s been a bit more rare lately - and sometimes, a free day on a weekend with no dance practice or no recording for George.

“So that’s why you are nervous, how cute.”, Liam laughs, with (y/n) leaping over to Liam and swatting their arm lightly.

“He swore that he’d come tonight, and he knows how much time I’ve spent perfecting this. I just can’t imagine tonight going any other way. I made sure to get him a seat right in the front, so he’ll be able to see the whole performance, and me.”, (y/n) smirks. As soon as (y/n) found out she would be choreographing one of the pieces in the recital, she immediately told George her good news. George had told her she deserved it for working her butt off since the start of her being at the dance academy. Making him pinky swear, George swore that he would be there for her first performance with her also starring as a choreographer.

“So focus on that instead of thinking your piece is going to crash and burn! Relax a bit. We only have a bit of time before we start getting ready, so let’s run it over a few more times. And don’t even think about slacking off now, missy, we’ll stretch and go get ready after.” Liam decides, and she nods, thinking it’s probably for the best. Running to her bag, (y/n) sends a quick message to George.

George J: hey, can’t wait to see you tonight! i left your ticket on your nightstand, and remember to dress up slightly, it’s a dance recital after all ;) lub you xo - sent at 1:34 p.m.

Content with her message, she tosses her phone back into her bag, and heads back to run over the piece with Liam once more.

>>>

6:47 p.m.

Sticking the last bobby-pin to her bun, (y/n) glances in the mirror to make sure no mistake is in place. Eyeing her look, she can’t help but smile looking at her dance attire, admiring how her purple leotard and dress matches her eyeshadow. Paired with a dark nude lip, she smirks and turns to check her phone for any messages, hoping that one could be from George.

Out of the nine messages she received, most were from friends and family, wishing her luck on her performance tonight. She replied with a thanks and a heart emoji before finally reading the last message coming from George about two hours ago.

George J: hi darling, i saw the ticket, i am so excited for you! can’t wait for you to take my breath away, as you always do. love you more xo - sent at 4:48 p.m.

Smiling even wider, (y/n) puts her phone on silent, before walking towards the backstage area, passing dancers along the way. Grabbing their hands and wishing them good luck, she arrives at the destination, nerves buzzing as members of the audience start gathering at their seats. Deciding to take a peek, (y/n) rushes to the curtains, peeking her eyes out towards the front rows, trying to spot the pale boy who danced into her heart. First row, seat G for George, she giggles to herself.

“Trying to find your lover? I’m right here!” Liam asks, with (y/n) turning around.

“As much as I’d love that, I’m no Harry Styles, so I don’t think I’m your type…” (y/n) smirks.

“Hm. Where’s George, I want to see him!”

“I’m looking for him right now, Liam. Give me a second.”, (y/n) laughs as she turns back to the audience. Finding his seat, she subtly frowns seeing as he’s not in his seat yet. He’s probably in the bathroom, or still in line to get to his seat, (y/n) tries to explain to herself.

“He’s not here yet, I think he’s in the bathroom or something. But give him time, he’ll be here.” (y/n) mutters as Liam frowns at her.

“He better show up, it’s your night, (y/n).”, they grumble. They start to say more however-

“Places, everyone! Take your places! We’re starting at seven sharp!” the stage manager yells out. He continues,

“We start in five minutes!” Rushing to get off the stage, she sees dancers brush past another wishing them luck. As the ballet dancers start to move into their places for the intro piece, she then walks over to Liam, helping them set up the microphone as they begin to breathe slowly.

“Hey, you got this. It’s just reading off of cue cards and announcing pieces. And then you’ll be set for my piece. You’re going to do great, Liam.”, (y/n) tries to motivate, with Liam smiling shyly at her.

“And your piece is going to kick ass, (y/n). It’s perfection. Just wait until George sees you dance. I’m a hundred percent sure he’s going to fall for you even more.”

“Yeah, yeah, we’ll see…” (y/n) laughs. Liam clears their throat a bit before raising the microphone to their lips. (y/n) proceeds to head to the viewing room, where a broadcast of the show would play for other dancers to watch and support their fellow castmates.

Taking a deep breath, Liam starts to speak as (y/n)’s nerves start to palpitate.

“Hello, how are you this evening? And welcome to the 67th Annual Recital for the London Dance Academy! I am your emcee, Liam Barrings, and let me introduce you to the first dance of the night created by Sam Hastings. Here is Invictus!”

>>>

8:51 p.m.

An hour later, seven dances, and many whispered good jobs, it is finally time for (y/n) to step on stage and premiere her masterpiece. Slowly tip-toeing to her first position on stage, she glances at her castmates, thanking them silently in her mind for them to trust her to bring her visions to life. Before the curtains open, she turns to Liam on her right, kneeling down and grabbing her thighs, and they smile back at her.

“Ready for it?”, they smirk. Thinking to herself, she nods and turns back to the front of the curtains waiting for the music to begin. Remember the triple pirouette after Liam grabs you. And try to look like you’re in pain from loving him. It is exquisite pain, right (y/n)? Liam is toxic, yet you still love them. Make it believable. And finally, breathe.

Another emcee, Josh begins to speak.

“And now, I present to you (y/n - y/ln)’s dance. This is her first piece with her own choreography with the London Dance Academy, and tonight, we are the very first group of people to watch her story come to life. Please let me introduce you to (y/n) and her piece, La Douleur Exquise!” the audience claps softly, before the curtains open its wings to reveal the creation.

The background, a stark white, yet the lights casts hues of soft lilacs, with streaks of dark reds splattering across the dancers’ bodies. With a small pause, music begins to sing out of the speakers. Liam and (y/n) begin the piece with a small duet. Following closely behind, a quad of dancers mimicking their moves with childlike innocence.

Liam turns to (y/n), conveying an I love you through their linked hands and they abruptly pull her to their arms, as she looks at them with confusion in her eyes and pulling away. Gliding towards the middle, the quad walks slowly to (y/n), enveloping her with open arms, before having a dance section with (y/n) in the middle as Liam looks on, hellbent on grasping (y/n) once more. Every other beat, (y/n) turns to Liam, feeling lost as if they were missing from her.

As the quad looks away, having their own small solos, (y/n) slips away from the group only to leap back into Liam’s arms with her hands grasping their face as Liam slowly grips her waist. Looking at her with renewed interest, his face morphs into fury as one of the dancers pass by her, softly guiding his fingers from her shoulder down to her inner wrist. An angry duet starts, with Liam and (y/n) clashing against each other, as if saying they hate but love each other at the same time.

(y/n) leaps into Liam’s arms, before slowly sliding herself off him as the quad of dancers, follow closely behind, lifting (y/n) to her feet. Everyone proceeds to move as one, with the quad dancing in the center, whereas Liam paces their way to (y/n), lifting her into the air once again, before they land in a small leap. Conversing with their bodies, Liam guides (y/n)’s hands to their heart, slightly pulling her along. Finally coming to the end of the dance, (y/n) runs to the center of the stage, facing the audience.

Grabbing her left arm is Liam, pulling her to their side, and the quad of dancers are pulling her on her right. The war between the two goes back and forth in a tug-of-war before (y/n) seemingly gives up and slams herself to the ground, as the music fades into silence. The audience erupts into booming claps and cheers, and (y/n) feels herself being pulled up from the ground by Liam as a light blush covers her skin. Glancing up at the audience, she tries to smile despite the stage lights burning into her. I did it, I managed to make a story, my story come to life. Hearing the audience continuing to clap, realization sets in and she finds her eyes wandering over to the front row, seat G for George. Seat empty, her smile falters and her eyes become glassy. Some would think because of her success with her piece. She couldn’t tell if she was happy or sad, maybe it was a little bit of both.

>>>

9:23 p.m.

He’s here, he has to be. He’s probably peeing or waiting for me in the front with flowers, or in the dressing room. He has to be here, I know it, (y/n) mutters to herself, hellbent on her beliefs that George is here. Yet the bitter taste of rejection starts to seep into her bones. Shaking her head a bit and attempting to put on the brightest smile, she starts to rush back to the dressing room, a sinking feeling residing in her stomach with each looming step.

Facing the dressing room door, (y/n) can’t help but hope that maybe George is standing there with a bouquet of flowers and kisses reserved for her. Slowly opening the door, her hopes slip through with her mouth curling as she stares at only her reflection in the mirror. He swore that he’d be here. He swore that he would be here for my first performance, (y/n) softly whispers to herself, tears threatening to fall. Gasping, she finally lets herself breathe as she repeats to herself again and again that he wasn’t here.

A soft knock on the door interrupts her thoughts, causing (y/n) to quickly wipe her tears before foolishly yelling out,

“George?”, as the door opens to reveal Liam and the Director himself, Nicholas Anderson.

“(y/n)? It’s us. Where’s George?” Liam asks, a frown settling into his brows.

“Oh, he’s just in the bathroom, he hasn’t been feeling good.” She lies, feeling bile itch her throat. A little white lie shouldn��t hurt anyone, (y/n) thought.

“Hello, (y/n). You looked wonderful out there! Your dance was easily one of the highlights of the night, I couldn’t stop replaying the duet between you and Liam in my head. Your dance truly captured the aspects of a toxic relationship not from one side but from both of point of views. It truly showed exquisite pain, knowing that you would always go back to Liam, but would Liam be there for you?” Nicholas explains, his words smacking (y/n) at full force. Is- is George there for me?, (y/n) thinks to herself. Nicholas continues on,

“I think you are a great addition to our Academy, and tonight truly proved how ready you are to become a full-time member. So how about it? Next season, we’ll be adding you to the roster of choreographers.” Eyes wide, (y/n) nods furiously with a yes and hugs Liam. Nicholas smiles and exits the room, leaving behind two excited dancers jumping around.

“You did it! Now we have to celebrate! Club night, I don’t care. We are going to get plastered! Bring George!” Liam laughs. At the mention of George, her stomach turns as she then realizes George wasn’t here. What sounded like good news turns to rot as she starts thinking of George.

“Let me check my phone, it has been a while in the bathroom, huh?” (y/n) tries to joke, trying hard to not let her voice waver and letting her brain scramble to come up with another small lie. Reaching through her phone, she reads over the texts once again sent from family and friends, finding the conversation between her and George. No new messages, her heart sinks as she slowly starts to open up the rest of her notifications, scrolling to most likely find the purple box that would always stay permanently stuck on her home screen. With bright white letters glaring at her, her heart begins to ebb away feeling a familiar sense of loneliness.

1h, 53 min ago: MINECRAFT MANHUNT W/ THE DREAM TEAM

Relying on her emotions, she turns to face Liam, hoping that her excitement of her promotion would overcome the feeling of abandonment of the man she loved. Plastering a sad smile through watery eyes, she forces out,

“George isn’t feeling well, he’s got an upset stomach. I think it’s the stomach flu going around.” If you can convey pain through dance, you can lie through this as well, (y/n) thought. She continues,

“I don’t know if I should be going out since he’s sick.” (y/n) mutters.

“So we go without him! It’s your celebration, his loss.” Liam rolls their eyes. His loss, my loss - seems like the same.

“I- I don’t know, Liam… I’d want to celebrate with him as well.”

“And I get that, but at least go out with us. You always have tomorrow with him, or later tonight. Do it for tonight, do it because you’re going to be a choreographer next season! At least do it for me and the group. We’ve worked our ass all season and we made your vision come true.” Liam explains. Contemplating with herself, (y/n) resolves with a soft smile and mutters an okay. Pumping their fist in the air, Liam excuses themselves to notify the others of the good news and plans.

Once again facing the mirror, (y/n) repeats with determination to celebrate her night. It’s her night to celebrate with loved ones, even if the one she loved the most isn’t there beside her. So much trying to take your breath away when you weren’t even here, George. Taking a breath, she forces out a shaky laugh and tries to smile. Let’s go celebrate, (y/n).

>>>

1:39 a.m.

Slightly stumbling out of the taxi, (y/n) manages to slowly walk her way up to his doorsteps, phone still showing that George was still streaming. Pausing her hand on the doorknob, she resolves to try to wait until morning to confront him, not trusting herself completely to be okay in front of him. Opening the door softly, she walk in, attempting to not make a sound. With small steps, she closes and locks the door before setting her bags down. That can be cleaned tomorrow, (y/n) thought. Rubbing her eyes, she decides to make herself tea before she goes to bed, most likely not with George until he finishes his stream.

While making her tea, (y/n) thinks of everything that she has worked for in the last few months. Endless changes to her dance, countless small injuries, whether it be a jammed toe/finger, scrapes of blood scattered around her feet from dragging her feet too hard across the floor, everything. Why is it that with her triumph, she is beyond proud yet the idea of George not being there to witness her moment shatters that accomplishment? Mulling it over, she doesn’t notice George bustling down the stairs, finished with his successful 5 hour stream with Dream and Sapnap. Spotting (y/n) making her tea, he slowly approaches her and wraps his arms around her waist, landing a soft kiss to her shoulders.

“Why are you home late, Darling? It’s nearly almost two in the morning.”, George chuckles, as (y/n) freezes in his arms. Softly shaking her head, she tries to side-step out of his arms and brings her tea to the opposite side of the room, wrapping an arm around herself. Clearly, he didn’t remember, (y/n) slowly starts to think and repeat to herself.

“Why do you think I was out, George?” she softly asks, taking a sip of tea to calm her nerves. I guess we’re just going to have to hash it out now.

“I don’t know, but did you see the stream? I beat Dream at the last second and he was this close to defeating the Ender Dragon!”, George starts to explain while laughing, with (y/n) taking a harsh breath in. Pinching in-between her brows, she snaps,

“No, George, I didn’t see the stream because I went out to celebrate.”, she mutters, tears slowly starting to escape.

“(y/n)? Is there something wrong? Why are you crying?“ Turning around, (y/n) tries to look anywhere but him. She settles on looking at the clock, watching as time went by, and her nerves increasing with each second. George starts to say more-

“I needed you tonight. Do you remember what tonight was? To my career? To me?”, (y/n) cuts him off. Standing there without a thought, dread slowly seeps in as George realizes that he missed her performance. He starts to stutter,

“Darling, I- “

“No! No. You do not get to apologize. I needed you and where were you? Sitting on your ass playing Minecraft with Dream and Sapnap! I get that your career is very reliant on you being consistent with your uploads, but you couldn’t have taken a night off? For me? I- ”

“(y/n), it’s not like that at- “

“Don’t- just don’t try to explain or come up with excuses. I just don’t want to hear it George. I spent months working on this, exhausted yet still pushing myself for the damn Academy. You swore that you would be there. I left you the ticket on your nightstand, you even texted me saying that you were excited to come! So imagine me standing on stage, looking at the front row, seat G, and where the hell were you? Not there, George. You were not there. I looked like a fool waiting for you to see me perform and dance. Do you remember Nicholas Anderson?”, (y/n) tries to ask calmly. George only stare at her with defeated eyes as he shakes his head no. Cursing, she heaves out a breath before continuing,

“He’s the director of the Academy, George. He’s offered me a position to be a permanent member and choreographer for the London Dance Academy. So please, let me ask again: where were you? I had to lie to Liam and say that you had an upset stomach and that you couldn’t come out! So, Liam invited me to celebrate with the dancers, to celebrate tonight’s success.”

“(y/n)- (y/n), we can celebrate now. I know- I truly know I messed up, but I can fix it, we can celebrate right now!” George stumbles out, walking towards her to grab her hands. Stepping back, she glares at George, appalled that he truly thinks he could resolve this. Shaking her head harshly, she bites out,

“I don’t want to celebrate with you. I’ve already celebrated with loved ones.” Rolling his eyes, George tries to reason with (y/n).

“Okay, I get it. I’m the bad guy in this scenario. But I’m trying to make this right. I am so sorry, darling, but I want to make it up to you, you know I am sorry.”

“You know, I never ask you to cancel a stream or get off of the stream. I always try to understand for the life of me why the streams have to be long, but I try. I always watch your streams and interact with your fans for your sake. I’ve had to explain countless reasons as to why you never show up to my performances, or why you can’t go out with me with the other dancers. And I am okay with it, don’t get me wrong. I know how much Twitch and YouTube and the Dream Team means to you. But you mean everything to me as well. So forgive me if I wanted to be a little selfish and ask you to support me in one of the biggest performances of my life.”

“I can go to the next one, (y/n). It’s not like it’s the last performance.” George snaps.

“You don’t get it, do you?”, she asks, wiping furiously at her tears, trying to not stutter through her words.

“What is there to get? Clearly I’m trying my hardest to make it up to you.”, he replies.

“I love you. I’m so much in love with you, it hurts. But you don’t get it. I have been there for everything in your career. Your first hundred subscribers, your first million subscribers, when you won the MCC back to back, everything. This was- is the important night of my life, and you didn’t show up. You stuck with Dream and Sapnap and decided to stream instead. This night was important for my career, and you knew! I told you months and weeks in advance. I wanted you to take charge and clear your schedule for today and- and sit in the damn seat that I chose because G stood for George. It was for you.” She sobs out, chest shaking as she tries to collect the words tumbling out of her mouth. With eyes flashing in annoyance, George tries to speak over her tears,

“(y/n)- “

“I created this dance for you! For me and- and for us. Because we believed in each other and had the support for each other. Clearly, it was one-sided and tonight proved that.”

“(y/n), listen to me- ”, George stops himself. Watching (y/n) fall apart, he takes a shaky breath and tries to walk closer to (y/n). However, (y/n) takes more steps back, leaving a distance of hostility and guilt between the two lovers.

“I love you. I love you with all of my heart. And… and I know you love me. But I needed you. Do you even need me?” she asks, the thick silence covering the air.

“Yes! How- how could you even say that, (y/n)?“ George replies just as quick as she finished asking. Looking at him for the first time tonight, she lets out a sob. With cheeks red, hands tugging at his hair, and George frantically looking at her, (y/n) can’t help but cry a little more.

“Because tonight proved otherwise. I wanted a night of you to myself to watch me be pretty and dance, and you didn’t even give up one night for me.”, she says, tugging at her sweater. Looking up, she further goes on to say,

“How stupid would it be if I were to ask to choose between me or the Dream Team? Or- Or your career?”, barking out a bitter laugh as George stares with guilt. As silence meets her ears, (y/n) slowly starts to sober up, eyes slightly widening with shock.

“George…”

“I’d find a way to make it work, I’ve been making it work for us since the beginning!” George snaps.

“George, you know I would never ask that, because I personally think it’s a selfish question. But if I decided to ask seriously, right now. What’s your answer?”

“And I’m telling you, I am making both work. Please believe me, (y/n).”, George says quietly, grasping at whatever opportunities there are left to resolve this potentially fatal matter.

“I can’t tell anymore.”, her voice cracking as fresh tears pool down her cheeks.

“I don’t think I can stay here for a while. At least until I’ve had some time to think.”, she manages to force out.

“(y/n), you can’t be serious. No, we are fixing this now!” George tries to say with an unwavering voice, eyes slowly becoming glassy.

“I can’t look at you George without wanting to cry, and- and scream- yet tell you I love you, even if you don’t deserve my love, especially right now. I need to go- I’m going to go. I’ll be back in a while.”, (y/n) says, choking on her words. Walking backwards, she turns to the door, with George following her and watching her pick up her dance bags. Lying on the ground was a bouquet of flowers, crumpled amongst her heart. Choosing not to pick up the bouquet, she mumbles out,

“I’ll call you when I’m ready.” Pausing, (y/n) looks up at George for the final time tonight, willing herself to not run back to him, despite how much the desire is growing to do so.

“I love you, George.”, opening the door, George yells out,

“I love- “, the door cutting through his confession, acting as a wall between the two. George tries to reach the door knob, ready to run after the love of his life. Yet… he’s frozen on the spot, with tears finally trickling down his cheeks, and pushing deep breaths out to steady his shaking heart.

Why are you crying, George?

146 notes · View notes

palbabor-writes · 4 years ago

Text

Latibule

Pairing: Sakusa Kiyoomi x Fem!Reader

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

Words: 9790

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

pt. i: an opening

[ pt. ii: four set ] ||

It’s a quiet coffee shop.

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

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

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

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

And…vines…or is it a tangy pine?

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

Odd.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Pity. He’d liked it.

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

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

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

Wait. Favorites?

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

No. You must be joking.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Come on…come on…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How long has she worked there?”

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

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

“Dunno.”

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

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

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

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

“Yer’ full of it!”

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

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

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

“Oooh, what’s she studyin’?”

“Not sure.”

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

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

It’s stupid; he’s stupid.

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

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

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

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

The ticket is good for a first row balcony seat.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wait. You asked him something?

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

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

It’s a perfect segway.

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

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

Something’s off with him.

Wait, that worked.

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

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

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

It could be any number of things.

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

It’s just…

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

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

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

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

“Nothing.”

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

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

Oh. There you are.

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

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

They won.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ah, it’s you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is that bad?”

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

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

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

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

He didn’t mean to come by the cafe.

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

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

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

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

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

But days pass, and he hasn’t returned.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What is there to say?

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

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

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

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

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

In fact, he thinks he likes it.

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

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

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

262 notes · View notes

oftenderweapons · 4 years ago

Text

And Chocolate for Dinner - Namjoon

Pairing: Namjoon x reader (nicknamed Vixen)

Wordcount: 3.7k

Genre: smut, fluff

Rating: 18+

Hello babies, very NSFW Namjoon birthday fic right here! (Minors DO NOT READ OR INTERACT, PLEASE)

I won’t even say anything because I’ve just finished editing the banner and I’m honestly NOT in the right state of mind, still shocked from yesterday’s selfie AND that interview, you know what I’m talking about.

TRIGGER WARNINGS: very daddy. A lot. Heavy food play. Unprotected sex within an established relationship (please, be careful y’all!) Fingering. Buff, daddy Namjoon. (did I say daddy?) Wall banging ;). Mentions of oral. Size kink. Also a small mention of YoongixKitten... LOL.

Wordcount: 3.7k

Here is my masterlist

And here a kind reminder that you should probably vote for the next prompt (check my bio for the link) :)

Enjoy!

"Vixen, baby I'm home!" Namjoon called from the entry.

You stayed in the kitchen — not like you had any choice.

"Baby, are you home?" He called again, following the light in the corridor. "Holy fuck babe, yeah."

Yes, he had found you.

At the kitchen table.

Scratch that. On the kitchen table.

Naked.

A chocolate cake for two propped on your belly, together with a fancy silver fork.

"Happy birthday, love." You greeted from the table, moving only as much as the cake allowed.

"Fuck, is this a dream?" He asked, wide eyed, his incredulous expression quickly shifting to a big and ecstatic smile.

"It's your birthday, daddy. I just tried making one of your wishes come true." You teased.

"Vixen, love, I'm going to spoil you rotten, baby." He said, taking a seat. "You trust me with the silverware on you?" He asked, surprised.

"There’s a small plastic disk at the base of the cake. Plus you're old now, mister, time to learn some manners. I'm not going to let you eat with your hands." You chastised. "I'll need those for later." You teased.

He winked at you. "I can eat dessert before dinner?" He asked, happy like a three year old who'd just been granted ice cream for dinner.

"This is just an appetiser. A snack." You said, carefully pointing to the cake. "And this is the whole meal." You said, your hand waving down your naked body.

His belly laugh echoed in the kitchen.

"Then let me start quick so we can move on to the main course. I've heard the house offers excellent fox meat tonight."

You smiled brightly at him as he bent down to your lips. “I love you so much, little one.” He pressed a kiss to your mouth, then to your forehead. “You have no idea how much.”

“Eat quick, the chocolate sauce is starting to melt and it tickles like hell.” You begged.

He smiled wickedly, grabbing the fork. “Last time I checked tickling turned you on, babylove.”

You pouted, watching him cut some cake and take the first bite. “It wouldn’t be ideal for me to break into a fit of giggles right now.” You commented.

He nodded, taking another bite. “I’m sorry, love.” He confessed. “How ungrateful of me to tease you after such a beautiful surprise.” With his spare hand he caressed your hair, then touched your lips. “You’re so precious to me, little one.” He bent down again, his chocolate stained lips landing on yours.

You licked his lips sweetly, as innocently as possible. “Do you like your cake?” You asked, faking demureness, waiting for nothing but his praise.

“I love it, little one. But I love the plate way, way more.”

Carefully he took a piece of cake to your lips. “Taste some, baby.” He said, feeding you a piece a bit too big, especially considering that you were laying down.

“Sorry, doll. I fed you too much, uh?” He caressed your face as you munched, cheeks full, gulping with difficulty. “Want something to drink, ____?”

You kept munching, shaking your head delicately.

You inhaled sharply as a droplet of chocolate slipped onto your belly. “Joon.” You whined.

“Yes.” He ate another bite. He was halfway through the small cake.

“Chocolate. Near my belly button. Quick, please.” You said, your lower abs twitching as the sauce tickled you.

He raised an eyebrow at you, his eyelids lowered in a sultry gaze.

Slowly, he lowered his face to your skin, licking you seductively.

“Joonie.” You whimpered. “It tickles daddy.”

“I’m sorry, little one.” He went back to the cake, making eye contact as he started the other half. “Do you want another piece, baby? A small one, this time.” He said, blushing slightly as he remembered his previous mistake.

“Please.”

He brought the fork to your mouth, the piece maybe accidentally falling on your chest. “Oh, sorry baby fox.” He said with faux guilt in his voice.

You pouted.

“Here,” he said, collecting the piece with his lips and offering it to yours. Your kiss felt heavy with chocolate sauce, slippery and sticky. His mouth made you want indecent things.

“That’s so good, Joonie.” You mewled, your legs squeezing together.

“Is my babylove growing impatient?” He teased, caressing your hip.

You nodded, your face made up with the sweetest, childish disappointment, a bratty remark ready on your lips.

“Open your legs, Vixen.” He commanded. He smeared his fingers in chocolate, drawing a line between your breasts, up to your mouth. He tapped his digits on your lower lip, inviting you to suck on him.

You carried out his intention, offering up even more, licking his fingertips deviously.

“Look at that doll mouth,” he praised with wonder in his voice. “Yeah, baby, take it all.”

You nodded, proud.

“That’s it, baby fox. Lick ‘em clean.” He continued.

Wetness oozed from your slit, coating your thighs, condensation gathering on the table.

“You’re so hot, Vixen. So incredibly sexy.” He murmured as he lapped at the chocolate line he had drawn on your body.

You parted your legs obediently. “Now what, daddy?” You said, biting your lip with a lazy grin.

He kissed the small snake tattooed on your pelvis. “You smell so good, baby thing.”

He took a bite of the cake directly with his mouth, heading south.

You grabbed his hair, pulling him away roughly as you needed to stop him quickly. “That’s not safe, love.” You chastised seriously. “Sugars mess up the natural balance down there.”

He listened carefully and nodded. “Sorry. I didn’t know.” He murmured, coming up to your mouth.

You giggled as you noticed some crumbles on the tip of his nose. “It’s okay. Dork.” You giggled, cleaning the crumbles away with your finger, eating them from your digit.

He shook his head, tutting at you. “Vixen, baby. Do you want to play a game?” He asked, peppering small kisses on you.

You raised your eyebrows, curiosity running through your veins. “What is it?”

“Would you like to touch yourself? Get ready for me?” He offered?

Stretch yourself out. That’s what he meant. You were most definitely getting fucked after this one, and apparently not in the loving, soft way you had expected.

You tried reaching for your pelvis without knocking the cake over. Carefully calculating the angle of your elbow, you successfully managed to touch your clit, nodding.

“Good girl.” He kissed your nose. “Always such a good girl for daddy.” He cooed, caressing your cheek.

“I’m so wet, daddy.” You whined, your fingers almost too slippery over our clit.

“That’s because you’ve been a good girl.” He explained with a condescending tone.

You rolled your eyes.

“Baby is getting petty, uh?” He growled, “You were doing so good, little one. You wouldn’t want to get daddy angry when you’re so close, mh?” He put down the fork on your belly, the cold metal slightly warmed up by his grip, then he laid his head beside your ear. “I can turn this into torture, babylove. I can make you touch yourself until I finish the cake. And I’m feeling a little full, so I might take a pause, wait a while, and continue eating later.” He whispered before raising to his feet, taking a couple steps away. “Maybe I might finish it tomorrow morning for breakfast.” He announced nonchalantly.

“I’m sorry, daddy. I’m a spoiled brat.” You cried out, afraid of seeing him leave.

He turned around, raising an eyebrow, clenching his jaw, observing you. He came back and sat down, cupping your cheek. “You’re forgiven, love.”

He picked up his fork again. “I need you to cum, Vixen. Stop toying with it.” He said, using his spare hand to guide the hand between your thighs.

You whimpered. “Daddy.”

He kept eating, unbothered. “Yes, babylove?”

“I want you inside.”

“Then make yourself cum, so I can finish the cake and fuck you against the wall, baby fox.”

Your hand stilled. “Against the wall?”

“I promised you I would.” He replied.

You made a small “o” with your lips, which soon turned into a smug grin as you began to move your hand in earnest. He mimicked your expression, mocking you, before eating a smaller bite of cake. He was temporizing.

“Daddy.” This time you moaned.

“What is it, little one?”

“Can you please kiss me, daddy?” You pleaded.

He smiled at you kind and gentle. “With pleasure, baby.” He gave you a taste of his lips, kissing your lower one, the corner of your mouth.

And then you felt it, the intrusion of his fingers inside you.

You whined out loud, mouth opening wide, and smartly he covered your mouth with his, his tongue tangling with yours in a drooly mess.

Parting from you, he whispered: “Don’t worry, it’s my clean hand.” He reassured you, kissing where your jaw met your neck, under your ear.

“I love you, Joonie.” You whispered as you slowly climbed to your climax, trying to ride his fingers.

Using his spare hand to hold your face, dwarfing your head, he looked you in the eye, staring half worried, half turned on at your helpless expression. “Relax, baby. You’re safe with me.”

His deep voice, the sweet comfort of his words helped you take the final leap off the edge, precipitating into the dark spiral of your orgasm.

You came silently while his forearm blocked you from buckling your hips wildly and throwing the cake off yourself. You moved your hand away as he kept massaging your inner walls, stretching you properly to make sure he wouldn’t hurt you later. “Tell me when it’s too much, ____.” He reminded you.

You enjoyed it another five seconds or so before caressing his face. “Okay, Joonie.”

He nodded, taking his fingers away from you and immediately pushing them in his mouth, moaning with his eyes closed. “The fucking sweetest.” He growled with affection as he freed his fingers. Sitting on the table beside you, he caught hold of the plastic disk, lifting the cake from your belly, moving his other hand behind your shoulders to raise you up.

“Come here, Vixen. My sweet angel.” He propped you up on his shoulder as he found the fork. With his arm around you, he fed you the remnant quarter of the cake. “You need your energies, babylove.” He kissed your temple as he fed you. “You’re amazing, princess.” He praised you. He had always had a kink for praising you after sex. Well, after any sexual activity. “Are you okay, Vixen?” He murmured, putting the dish on the table before holding you close to him, careful not to smash the chocolate work of art — or what was left of it.

You nodded. “I’m just a bit fucked out.” You giggled.

“Do you want a shower and sleep?” He asked. Sure, he was hard as hell, but that was not the point.

“I want you against the wall.” You murmured. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed how buff you’ve been getting, mister.” You teased, asking yourself whether you had any sense of self preservation, considering that you were still fucked out but you were already searching for more.

He laughed. “You’ve noticed?”

You nodded. “Have you been doing that to fuck me against the wall?” You asked.

“For that reason too.” He admitted. “I love feeling healthy. And being strong enough to take care of my baby is most definitely another pro of this situation.” Once more he took hold of the plate, feeding you again. “You mentioned you were interested.” He whispered quietly. “I wanted to give it to you.”

You looked at him wide eyed. “Well, of course it’s a fantasy, but you don't have to make it happen.”

He bit his lip, insecure. Maybe you didn’t want it anymore. He frowned. “But I wanted to.” he objected.

It was your turn to caress his face, stealing the fork from his hand, taking half of the last bite for yourself, his gaze focused on your sinful mouth. As you swallowed, you took the last piece and brought it to his lips. He ate. “I love you, Namjoon. And if getting buff is your goal I’ll stand by it and root for you.” You encouraged. “But don’t you ever feel like you have to get thicker to keep me interested in you. Or to make me attracted by you.” You removed the fork and the cake from your action zone, then, with a motion of your foot, you made him slide off the table and stand at the edge of it.

You noticed with immense pleasure that his trousers were significantly strained. You straddled his hips.

“I’m attracted by what’s in here.” You said, your polished nail tapping against his temple. “And here.” You said, dragging your fingernail against his sternum. “The package is cute, sure, but it’s not what I feel in the dark, when I tell you I love you before I fall asleep.” You murmured, your voice getting emotional. “I’m so in love with you.” You said, grabbing his face and kissing him. He tried to bring you closer.

“Off with the shirt. Chocolate stains.” You explained, gripping and tugging at the dark cotton of his black tee.

His hands helped you, then flew to your hair, bringing you closer, chest to chest.

“The zipper, baby, please.” He groaned, almost pained.

You nodded, kissing him again, your “sorry love” getting lost on your mouths. As you undid his belt you felt your hands tremble nervously, just like the first time.

“Baby, please.” He whined again.

“I can’t, love.” You growled, frustrated, shoving your hands away.

He chuckled. "Baby's impatient. God, your hands shake every time, ____." He undid his belt and slapped your hands away as you tried to take over with the zipper. "How many times, Vixen? In the last ten months you've seen my cock more than I have." He teased as he undressed before you.

"Joonie. Naked. Now." You chastised.

His chest shook with laughter. "I'm here, my love." As soon as he rose, you looped your arms around his neck, tucking your face under his chin. “Here, baby.” He murmured sweetly. “You’re so cute when you act shy.” He continued, kissing your head.

“You’re too tall.” You whispered from his chest.

He shook his head with a snicker. “Your size kink is out of the world, babygirl, don’t pretend you don’t like how big I am.”

“I hate when you’re right.” You said, puckering your lips.

He tilted your head back. “I love you, you dumb little fox.” He whispered playfully.

Shutting your eyes tight, you hid in his chest even more.

“Tell me how you want me, little vixen.” He whispered in your ear after ducking his head.

“Inside. Now.” You protested.

He caressed your face. “Here, on the table?” He asked.

You nodded. “You can just pick me up and turn around and do me against the wall when I’m close.” You instructed. That position was tiring and troublesome, you’d better save it for when the orgasm felt close, so that the physical effort would last less.

He snickered. “Okay, your highness.” He joked at your commandeering attitude.

“I might like that nickname.” You teased back, one of your arms untangling from his neck and reaching down, stroking his hard on and bringing the tip to your entrance.

“I’ll save it for the next roleplay, then.” He kissed your brow. “Look at me, angel.” He whispered as you positioned him correctly. “I love you so much, ____.” He moaned as he slipped in, your hand slowly sliding down his length as he entered you, until he was fully sheathed inside you and your hand cupped his balls.

“Joonie.” You whined.

He shushed you with a kiss. After all these months — and pretty intense one at that —, it was still new. Your face still scrunched in that lovely way, your inner walls still hugged him like the most perfect velvet glove. “Vixen, you okay baby?”

You nodded, your mouth going a little bit everywhere, hanging open, pressed to his skin to keep yourself from screaming his name. He was still that good. Even better. He was always so tender, so delicate, his big hands touching you like you were his porcelain doll, always so gentle and careful during his first few strokes. And inside he was always so big you had to take a minute to adjust, the thickness of him giving you a mindblowing stretch. There were nights in which he gave you orgasms back to back, with his hands, with his mouth, stretching you open with his fingers and various toys, and still it felt like only he could fill you to the brim, almost to the breaking point.

“Joonie bear,” You murmured. “Wanna take care of you.” You whimpered.

“Let’s lay you down, love.” He grumbled, bending forward as you stretched down, laying on the table, the shift making him move inside you, his tip rubbing the bottom of your inner cavity.

“Fuck, Joonie, move.” You commanded with a whine.

He obeyed, his arms still cradling you, looped under your waist and the other around your neck. He was literally latching onto you, so close you were melting into each other.

Your mouth searched for his neck, leaving hickies on his pectorals, toying at his nipples with your teeth and tongue.

“Vixen, dammit, love, you’re gonna ruin me.” He growled.

Your hands scratched down his spine, grabbing his ass, pushing him into you. “You’re gonna make me cum babe, stop it.” He fucked into you angrily and you moaned loudly into his chest.

“Daddy, harder, please...” You whimpered.

Reading your cue — and because he knew your body better than you did — he picked you up again, turning around and getting closer to the kitchen wall. “Ready, Vixen?”

“Is it...?” You asked, so fucked out of your mind that you had barely registered the movement, your arms around his neck and your legs around his waist, while his hands were now groping your ass, his face scrunched in effort, but still sporting a mischievous smile at the advantaged grip he had on your bottom.

“Yes, love.” He left a peck on your lips. “Careful, little one, it’s gonna be cold.” He said, before making your skin adhere to the chilly marble tiles.

You moaned at the shift in temperature, the coolness at your back and his warmth on your front. He took a minute to position you properly, making sure that you stayed up but also close to him. The first thrusts were tentative, slow and deep, his arms keeping you up while his hips worked on you.

There was some cruelty in the position, you discovered, as you tried to tip your head back, moaning for him, but the wall stopped your movement. You had to settle to turning your head to the side, your muscles so feeble that it fell heavy on his shoulder.

"Are you good, Vixen?" He asked, breathless.

You only managed to nod as your inner walls began squeezing around him.

Humming darkly, he latched his lips against your neck, drawing a crimson splodge before asking you: “Can you touch yourself for me, ____?”

You silently obeyed and immediately his thrusts grew restless and deeper, almost painful with the way he was pushing your legs open.

Naturally, both your heads bent down to look at where your bodies joined, Namjoon getting distracted by your chest, sucking on your nipples and bruising your skin in an attempt to muffle his cries. By now his forehead was sweaty, droplets rolling off his skin and onto your chest, the heaviness of them punctuating your breath and his thrusts in an obscene pattern of beats. It was a matter of seconds: with three rubs of your clit, your kegels spasmed, making him lose his mind and push you up higher, sliding and bouncing on his lap. Like a sensual chain reaction, the new angle teased your g-spot perfectly, sending you on cloud nine, and then down, fast, to the burning pits of hell, your skin melting at the hotness of your climax. Your spare hand gripping and scratching his back recklessly was all he needed, his own release manifesting as he followed you suit in pleasure, crying out your name, trembling against your skin.

You were holding onto each other for dear life, panting like exhausted beasts, eyes closed, lost in the sudden silence disturbed only by your breaths.

“Namjoon.” You moaned quietly, your ears tingling with your sudden change in blood pressure.

He hid into your neck. “Love, I think we have to do it again. Not now, but sometime again.” He whispered. “You feel so tiny on me.” He kissed your cheek, your brow, your heavy lids. “I love you.” He murmured.

You could barely nod. You were a mess. A slippery, wet mess, sweat coating your skin, cum smeared all over your thighs, Namjoon’s saliva dripping down your nipples, drying on the bruised swells of your breasts.

“I want you on the bed Joon.” You whined. “I want to lick you clean. Sixty-nine. Ride you so you can spank me and call me your little girl until I fuck you so good you forget everything but my name.” You provoked him, squeezing him a couple times. He was hard again.

Glorious.

His chuckles turned into a groan when you tightened around him. “Let me take you to bed, then, babygirl.” And with that he slipped out of you and gently bowed down, throwing you over his shoulder, smacking your ass as he walked to the bedroom. “Hold on tight, cause it’s gonna get wild, brat.”

⫷⁂�� ⁕ ⫷⁂⫸ ⁕ ⫷⁂⫸ ⁕ ⫷⁂⫸

In the apartment next door.

Yoongi stared at his dish in absolute disgust. “We need to move away from here.”

Kitten shook her head. “Thank fuck birthdays are only once a year.”

Yoongi stared at her with a desperate look on his face. “Oh, you’re forgetting her birthday, in a few weeks, apparently. And you weren’t here their first weekend together. And what about that time, was it her promotion?”

“I will never forget her promotion.” Kitten groaned.

“What about when he came back from LA?” Yoongi teased.

“When all of you came back from LA.” Kitten replied, arching her eyebrows with a fake angelic smile, reminding him how he’d barely closed the apartment door before falling to his knees, tugging her panties down and out of the way, hunching up her skirt and eating her out against the entryway. “Don’t forget that you make me loud too.” She shook her head. “And you get quite messy too, mister groan.”

He nodded. Well, having to listen to the neighbours might be an inconvenience but…

“Are you horny too?” He asked.

“Kitchen counter or the sofa?” She replied, standing up, already taking off her shirt, only covered in her knickers.

He stood up, standing behind her. “Just bend over.” He said, slipping her panties to the side.

#bts smut #bangtan smut #namjoon smut #kim namjoon #namjoon reaction #namjoon x reader #namjoon scenario #namjoon imagine

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you-a-southpaw-doll · 4 years ago

Text

Hey, y’all! Stories Update!!

Hey, y’all. So, I know I haven’t exactly been posting much on here lately. I’ve, in a way, taken a small break from writing my Negan/JDM stories for a bit. But, that doesn’t mean that I’ve stopped writing. In fact, it’s quite the opposite! I just wanted to let y’all know that I haven’t stopped writing. In fact, I’ve been working on stories with @mychemicalimagines and @supernaturalwritingbunker. I decided I would let you know what they were, in case y’all wanted to go check ‘em out! If you love my Negan writing, feel free to check out these other stories I’ve worked on/been working on! They’re listed in alphabetical order, based on the first name then by the first name of the fic, unless otherwise stated (i.e. the Jasper Hale “You’re My…” Series). Stories we haven’t posted yet don’t have links, but everything else does. I’m hoping that I’ll get some more inspiration to keep writing for Negan here soon. We’ll see! Stay safe. Stay negative of Corona. Have fun! And as always, feel free to reach out and talk. I’m here. I just might not always reply back right away.

*For the stories listed below, I’ve separated based on which blog it’s from, and whether it’s a movie or show fic. Beyond that. I’ve separated them based on which show or movie it is, and if applicable, I’ve indicated if it’s a series or not. I’ve included the title of the story, what it’s status is (finished, in progress, or on hiatus), how many chapters there are, and the relationship pairings. If it’s on hiatus, the main reason for that, unless otherwise indicated, is that we just aren’t quite ready to finish that particular story. It’s like having a kid, watching it grow, and then them being all grown up. You wanna hold onto that innocence for as long as you can. XD Another reason that they might be on hiatus is we just haven’t had any mojo for writing it. Now, for the “in progress” stories, we are still writing those, but, some haven’t been updated in awhile because they aren’t getting enough love for us to want to continue. If you read one of them, and decide you love it, please leave feedback so we can continue it for you!

Taglist: @negans-network @prettyboynegan @mychemicalimagines @spnnnxangelsx @rockinkel21 @misskittycat02 @band--psycho@ofxallxwexlost @iron-halt @thamberlinawrites @ravenwings73 @lettherebepink @stoneyggirl @sebs-padawan @cladd716

Stories with @mychemicalimagines:

Movies:

American History X: Derek Vinyard 1. Changed Forever - One Shot - Derek Vinyard x Reader

American Pie: Chris “Oz” Ostreicher 1. Slice of Pie - In Progress - 5 of 8 Chapters - Chris “Oz” Ostreicher x OFC (Jacqueline Levenstein)

The Breakfast Club: Andrew Clark 1. Fighting Brought Me to You - On Hiatus - 2 of ? Chapters - Andrew Clark x OFC (Emily Marksman)

Final Destination: Ian McKinley 1. Are We Friends? Nope...More - One-Shot - Ian McKinley x Reader 2. Together, We Can Survive Anything - One-Shot - Ian McKinley x Reader 3. Together, We’ll Survive Anything (Part 2) - One-Shot - Ian McKinley x Reader

Friday the 13th V: Roy: 1. Friday the 13th V: Roy’s P.O.V.

Halloween: Tommy Doyle Once A Month - One-Shot - Tommy Doyle x Reader

The Hangover: Phil Wenneck 1. Doctor’s Orders for a Hangover - Finished - 17 of 17 Chapters & 1 bonus photos post) - Phil Wenneck x OFC (Emily Billings)

Harry Potter: Harry Potter 1. Loving the Boy-Who-Lived - In Progress - ? of ? Chapters - Harry Potter x OFC (Kelsey Weasley)

House of Wax: Nick Jones 1. Protected by Love - Finished - 17 of 17 Chapters - Nick Jones x OFC (Melissa Felton)

IT: Ben Hanscom 1. Ageless Love - Finished - 12 of 12 Chapters - Ben Hanscom x OFC (Emily Tozier)

Reggie “Belch” Huggins 1. A Bets a Bet - One shot - Reggie “Belch” Higgins x Reader

Richie Tozier 1. Richie...Married? - One Shot - Adult!Richie Tozier x Reader 2. Can’t Take My Eyes Off You - One Shot - Teenage!Richie Tozier x Reader

Stanley Uris 1. Best Friend...Forever - One Shot - Young!Stanley Uris x Reader 2. Shower Caps - One Shot - Young!Stanley Uris x Reader 3. Our Fights Don’t Last Long - One Shot - Young!Stanley Uris x Reader

IT: Chapter Two: Ben Hanscom 1. Forever Love - In Progress - 3 of ? Chapters - Ben Hanscom x OFC (Emily Tozier)

Jumanji: Anthony “Fridge” Johnson 1. Welcome to the Jungle - In Progress - 2 of ? Chapters - Anthony “Fridge” Johnson x OFC (Emily Gilpin)

Pirates of the Caribbean: Will Turner Pillaged Love - In Progress - 2 of ? Chapters - Will Turner x OFC (Emily Swann)

Scream: Billy Loomis 1. All Just a Scary Movie - Finished - 5 of 5 Chapters - Billy Loomis x OFC (Lindsey Prescott)

Billy Loomis & Stu Macher Punished by the Big O - One Shot - Billy Loomis x Reader x Stu Macher (Contains Smut)

Twilight: Carlisle Cullen 1. Love As Old As Time - In Progress - ? of ? Chapters - Carlisle Cullen x OFC (Elizabeth Clarke)

Edward Cullen 1. Lost In Silence - In Progress - 1 of ? Chapters - Edward Cullen x OFC (Gabriella Swan)

Embry Call 1. Everything Changed - On Hiatus - 5 of ? Chapters - Embry Call x OFC (Hayley Uley) 2. Holly or Jolly? - Christmas Drabble - One-Shot - Embry Call x Reader

Emmett Cullen 1. Girl Almighty - On Hiatus - 3 of ? Chapters - Emmett Cullen x OFC (Jade Stanley)

Jasper Hale: 1. She’s The Original - One-Shot - Jasper Hale x Reader 2. You’re My...Series (In Order) (MOST POPULAR) 2a. You’re My Monster - Finished - 8 of 8 Chapters - Jasper Hale x OFC (Alexia Swan) & Alice Cullen x Kevin Hale (OMC) 2b. You’re My Love - Finished - 7 of 7 Chapters - Jasper Hale x OFC (Alexia Swan) & Alice Cullen x Kevin Hale (OMC) 2c. You’re My Major - Finished - 6 of 6 Chapters - Jasper Hale x OFC (Alexia Swan) & Alice Cullen x Kevin Hale (OMC) 2d. You’re My Forever - Finished - 11 of 11 Chapters - Jasper Hale x OFC (Alexia Swan) & Alice Cullen x Kevin Hale (OMC)

Paul Lahote Imprinting Changes a Man - On Hiatus - 6 of ? Chapters - Paul Lahote x OFC (Melissa Black)

***

T.V. Shows:

Criminal Minds Derek Morgan 1. Stealing Hearts - In Progress - 3 of ? Chapters - Derek Morgan x OFC (Dr. Lily Sanderson)

Spencer Reid 1. Eggnog - Christmas Drabble - One-Shot - Spencer Reid x Reader

FRIENDS Chandler Bing 1. Coal - Christmas Drabble - One-Shot - Chandler Bing x Reader

NCIS Tony DiNozzo 1. Scared, But Safe - One-Shot - Tony DiNozzo x Reader

The Office: Jim Halpert 1. Happens Like That - On Hiatus - 9 of ? Chapters - Jim Halpert x OFC (Melissa Ford)

Sons of Anarchy Jax Teller 1. Patched...But Not Broken - Finished - 5 of 5 Chapters - Jax Teller x OFC (Melissa Winston)

The Walking Dead: Negan “I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus” - One-Shot - Modern Santa!Negan AU - Negan x Reader (I know this is already in my masterlist, but it is a story I worked on with @mychemicalimagines, so I felt it only right to include it here!)

Rick Grimes 1. Always My World- In Progress - 7 of ? Chapter - Rick Grimes x OFC (Emily Walsh) 2. I Found You - One-Shot - RickGrimes x Daughter!Reader (non-romantic, paternal relationship ONLY)

***

Celebs:

Jeffrey Dean Morgan: 1. Baby Negan In The Making - One-Shot - Jeffrey Dean Morgan x OFC (Unnamed wife)

Johnny Knoxville 1. In Sickness and In Health - One-Shot - Johnny Knoxville x Reader

***

Stories with @supernaturalwritingbunker:

T.V. Shows:

Supernatural Dean Winchester 1. Apple Pie Life - One-Shot - Dean Winchester x Reader 2. Dinner Date with the Winchesters - One-Shot - Dean Winchester x Reader 3. Self-Esteem - One-Shot - Dean Winchester x Reader 4. Published Before Editing - In Hiatus - 1 of ? Chapters - Dean Winchester x OFC (Emily Morgan) 5. Can’t Stop Loving You - ? of ? Chapters - Dean Winchester x OFC (Michaela “Mickey” Storm)

Sam Winchester 1. Take Back Home Girl - One-Shot - Sam Winchester x Reader 2. Repeated Words - One-Shot - Sam Winchester x Reader

***

Celebs:

Jensen Ackles 1. Social Media Love - Social Media!AU - 1 of 1 Chapters (18 Photos) - Jensen Ackles x OFC (Hazel Armstrong)

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amelialincoln · 4 years ago

Text

Stuck With You

“Hey, babe.” Link’s practically frostbitten cheeks burned against Amelia’s as he leant down to greet her with a kiss. “How are you feeling?”

“Better,” Amelia smiled, rubbing her stomach in a small circular motion. “I wasn’t expecting the morning sickness to last this long.” Link couldn’t help but grin at his girlfriend who looked picture perfect in her oversized woolen sweater and newly formed bump. “What’s so funny?” She grinned back at him.

“Nothing, I’m just lucky,” he replied with a shrug.

“Yeah, I’m sure you were thinking the same thing this morning when you were holding my hair back to keep me from spewing chunks in it.” She shook her head. Link chuckled, tugging off his flurry filled jacket and sitting down beside her. “I doubt we’re going to make it to Meredith’s for New Years at this rate.”

“Most people were cancelling at work. Other than half the staff who live at her place,” he joked. “I doubt anyone is going to be having too much fun tonight.”

“Oh, cause you’re stuck with me instead of drinking with your boys?” She teased.

“Right, Amelia, because I’d rather start the New Year with anyone other than you.” That received a small giggle and he pulled her onto his lap gently. “You feeling hungry? I was craving some soup with it being so cold.”

“That sounds perfect.” She nodded.

“Alright, up you get then.” Amelia gave a moan of protest as he lifted her to a standing position before tugging her hand into the kitchen. Luckily they had vegetable stock in the fridge so the rest was simple. Amelia sat at the island chairs while Link chopped the veggies and chicken before adding them to the pot to cook.

“No pasta?” Amelia whined.

“Why don’t you come over and help me rather than complaining?” Link chuckled. Amelia shot him a look of exasperation before joining him in the kitchen. She searched through the cupboard before finding her favourite bow shaped noodles and adding them to the pot. Link wrapped his arms around her and rested his chin atop her head as she stirred. “Smells good,” he mused.

“Thanks, it was all me.” She received a poke in the side for that comment. The couple waited patiently for the soup to cook before spooning it into bowls and setting the rest in the fridge for leftovers.

“What do you want to watch?” Amelia asked from her place on his chest as she lifted a spoonful of veggies into her mouth.

“I don’t really care.” Link shrugged, absentmindedly wiping a drop of broth from her cheek with his sleeve. Amelia put on some random documentary as the true crime junkie she was and settled into his lap comfortably.

“Not while we’re eating,” Link complained as the narrator ran over some graphic evidence.

“You’re trying to tell me that you’ve got a queasy stomach,” she asked, “when you shove people’s bones back in place for a living?” Unapologetically, Link set his ceramic bowl on their coffee table and swallowed with distaste.

“You were the one throwing up all day,” he grumbled.

“And whose fault was that?” Amelia batted her lashes, never allowing Link to forget that it was his fault for impregnating her.

“Alright, then.” Link picked up the tv remote and clicked the off button before throwing the device far enough away on the couch that Amelia wouldn’t attempt to go after it. “I just want to talk to you, I feel like I haven’t seen you all day.” Amelia’s irritated expression washed away.

“Fine,” she grumbled before pulling out her phone. Link almost threw that across the couch too before realizing which app she was searching for. “Our baby is the size of a mango today,” she stated proudly. “I can feel him getting heavier.” She placed his hand on the underside of her belly and smiled as he acknowledged the new weight there. “His lungs are apparently developing,” she squinted at her phone, “and he might start kicking soon.”

“That’s exciting, babe.” Link rubbed her back tenderly and she relaxed into his touch.

“I didn’t get that with Christopher.” She frowned. “I mean there were phantom kicks...but I don’t know how they’re actually supposed to feel.” “Well we’ll find out soon, I guess,” he offered, not really sure what to say.

“Yeah, exactly,” she said more brightly than he knew she was feeling. “You finished your soup?” She asked, slowly standing up with the assistance from his hand on her back. He nodded as she stacked his bowl on top of her own and made her way back into the kitchen. He followed her cautiously, noticing that she was deep in thought and messaged her neck as she wordlessly did the dishes. Link knew she wasn’t supposed to start nesting until her third trimester but he’d noticed, with amusement, how much of a neat freak she had become over the last couple of weeks.

“You dry?” She finally asked, handing him the pot.

“Sure,” he replied, moving to stand beside her. They stood in silence for a couple of moments longer before he asked, “have you ever heard of a babymoon?”

“Huh?” she replied, her hands deep in soapy water.

“It’s like a honeymoon...kinda but not really.” He scratched the back of his neck. “It’s like a trip you take before the baby comes. Like to celebrate the last time you’ll be together, just the two of you.”

“Sounds kind of dreary when you put it that way,” Amelia chuckled lightly. “It’s not like our lives are ending.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Link backpedaled. “It’s just to spend some time together before the baby comes.”

“Link, I’m teasing. That sounds really nice,” she assured him.

“Okay, cool.” He sighed with relief.

“I mean I think I deserve it if you can’t manage to give me an actual honeymoon.”

“What, I--”

“Link.” She rolled her eyes. “Teasing, again.”

“You suck,” he growled, flinging droplets of soapy water in her direction.

“Oh, really?” She taunted, spraying an enormous amount of water at him and soaking him from head to toe. “Shit.” She went to wipe suds from his cheekbone and slipped, landing embarrassingly on her ass.

“You okay?” The urgency in his voice immediately ended the joke.

“Link, I’m fine,” she winced.

“Are you sure? We could go to the hospital and--”

“I promise,” she confirmed. He breathed a sigh of relief, hovering over her and surveying her quickly. “Link, I mean it. You can get off of me.”

“Well, when you put it that way.” He grinned cheekily, pressing a lingering kiss to her lips before pulling away and leaving her wanting more.

“Okay, come back,” she whined, ignoring the fact that her clothes were soaked with dishwater.

“Nah, let’s get you in the shower. You’re all wet.” He smirked, pulling off her clothes shamelessly as he led her into their bathroom.

[][][]

Surprisingly, it was Amelia who convinced Link to stay up till twelve. Usually she was passed out at eleven tops with Link lying awake in bed for hours, deep with worries about parenting, the environment and everything else that he’d be bringing a baby into.

“It’s the baby’s first New Years,” she argued, pulling the fluffy white towel around her dripping body.

“The baby’s first New Years is a year from now,” he groaned from their bed. The hot shower and the amount of cardio he’d just performed had practically knocked him out and he wasn’t sure if he could keep his eyes open for the next half hour.

“Well it’s our first New Years.” She had him with that one. Link sighed before opening his arm to allow her to crawl in beside him. “Fine, I’ll stay up.” He didn’t. Link conked out about a minute later and their bedroom was filled with his soft snores almost immediately. Amelia sighed, running her hand through his hair and kissing his forehead lightly. She picked up a medical journal she’d been flipping through throughout the day and cuddled up beside him.

“Link,” Amelia shook her boyfriend awake.

“Huh?” His groggy voice responded before his eyes shot open. “Is the baby coming? Are you having contractions?”

“Uh, no.” She remarked. “You’re about four months too early.” Link nodded, swallowing nervously and she couldn’t help but wonder if that was what was keeping him up most nights. “It’s almost midnight.”

“Oh,” he breathed. “Sorry for falling asleep.”

“It’s okay,” she assured him. “I just wanted my New Year’s kiss.” Link glanced at the clock and grinned before placing a gentle kiss on her lips.

“Was that what you were hoping for?”

“Mhmm.” She bobbed her head. “Thank you.”

short cute domestic fic hope u enjoy! didn’t have time to edit so I probs will tmrw but I wanted to get it up for y’all.

#amelink #amelia shepherd #AmeliaShepherd #amelinkfanfiction #amelink fanfiction #link #Atticus Lincoln #atticus link #atticuslincoln #greysanatomy

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august-anon · 4 years ago

Note

Ok 1 more, 4 & 15 with the Jaskier & Geralt again? Love ya!

You are an angel for being so patient with me, my friend, lol. I don’t even know how long I’ve been hoarding this because I have no sense of time, but thank you for being patient with my prompt-hoarding tendencies!

Also, this is very rough, I have not written a tickle fic in a while (everything I’ve been posting is months or weeks old oops lol), my apologies that your prompt is my warm-up!

Edit: idk why the read-more got all messed up :/

4. “You’re faking.” 15. “You’re not allowed to hurt me.”

Also,,,,,,, modern AU anyone?

Dissonance

Fandom: The Witcher

Ship(s): could be platonic, but y’all know I’m about Geraskier lol

Characters (lee/ler): Lee!Geralt/Ler!Jaskier (little bit of lee!Jask/ler!Geralt at the end)

Word Count: 906 words

Summary: Geralt thought that Jaskier should know better than to annoy him. Jaskier proved to him that Geralt should know better than to provoke him.

[ao3 link]

--------------------------

Jaskier loudly strummed yet another dissonant note. Geralt’s eye twitched.

“Are you finished?” Geralt grit out, turning a glare to the other side of the couch.

Jaskier rolled his eyes. “Geralt, I am an artist,” he said, playing another dissonant note. “I need to find the perfect off-putting chord, I can’t just play any random chord that comes to mind.”

Geralt growled and shut his laptop, barely refraining from slamming it. “Sure as hell seems like that’s all you’re doing.”

Jaskier scoffed and gave him an offended look. Then, in revenge, reached up and purposefully untuned a couple of his guitar strings and began strumming as loud as he possibly could.

Geralt lost it.

He launched across the couch and wrenched the guitar out of Jaskier’s hands, holding it high above his head. Jaskier stretched up to try and reach for it, but, despite how close they were in height, Geralt still had the advantage.

“Maybe if I beat you over the head with it, it’ll make the note you’re looking for.”

Jaskier scoffed again and cocked his hips to the side, putting his hands on his hips. “You’re not allowed to hurt me. As if you would ever.”

Geralt let out a frustrated huff. It was true, he wouldn’t.

Geralt resisted the urge to step back as Jaskier moved closer, beginning to smirk. “I know how to get you to give it back, anyway.”

Geralt raised an eyebrow. “Hmm?”

Jaskier wiggled his fingers in the air above Geralt’s armpit, smirk growing into a teasing grin. “Big tough guy like you? No way you’re not ticklish.”

Geralt locked every joint in his body, taking measured breaths to help him keep a straight face. “I’m not.”

Jaskier gave him a patronizing smile and touched his fingers down in Geralt’s armpit. It took all of Geralt’s willpower not to break immediately. He’d forgotten how truly ticklish he was, since he and his brothers had grown out of the playful torment so many years ago. Not to mention, it was usually him and Eskel against Lambert, anyway. He didn’t have much experience on the receiving end.

His stomach swooped as Jaskier let out a little evil laugh. “You’re faking.”

“You can’t prove that,” Geralt replied, speaking far too quickly. He barely stopped himself from gritting his teeth through the words and making it even more obvious.

“You’re cute when you’re lying,” Jaskier said.

And then he lunged.

Geralt couldn’t help his yelp of surprise as Jaskier managed to tackle him to the ground. Most of his focus went toward making sure Jaskier’s guitar didn’t smash against the floor, as well, and both hands went up to protect it.

In both an expected and unexpected move, Jaskier’s hands shot up into both his hollows. Geralt’s guard had gone down in his worry for the instrument, and he had no defense left to stop the startled laughter that was forced out of him. Geralt dropped the guitar the last few inches and it dropped harmlessly to the carpet with a gentle thud.

“I knew you were ticklish!” Jaskier crowed.

Geralt couldn’t respond for a few moments, trying to adjust to the sensation. It was far more intense than Geralt ever remembered it being, and either Geralt had gotten more ticklish over time, or his brothers and Vesemir were just shit at tickling.

“Jaskier!” He eventually managed to growl out through his laughter.

“Yes, dear heart?” Jaskier cooed.

“Get out!”

Jaskier gave him a little faux-pout and tugged lightly at his hands, caught in Geralt’s armpits from his arms pressing into his sides. “You see, darling, I would, but the thing is, I’m trapped! You’ll have to raise your arms and free me if you ever want to be free from my tickles!”

Geralt squeezed his eyes shut and tossed his head back against the floor as Jaskier switched from lightly skittering his fingers to wiggling them as deep into the muscles as he could manage, with his limited movement. Geralt wheezed and cackled and tried to roll away, but Jaskier quickly planted himself on Geralt’s waist and foiled his escape.

“Wow, you’re not even trying! I wonder, maybe the big, bad gym rat likes the tickles? Maybe he doesn’t want them to stop?”

Geralt swallowed a squeal as Jaskier hit a sweet spot on the edge of his armpit. He’d never admit it out loud, but Jaskier wasn’t necessarily wrong. Geralt wasn’t not having fun.

But Jaskier was getting a little too cocky for his own good.

Geralt tossed his body to the side with as much of his weight as he could, making Jaskier yelp as the two of them rolled. His hands slipped out of Geralt’s armpits at the sudden move, and they grappled for dominance for a few moments.

Geralt wound up being the one on top, straddling Jaskier’s hips and pinning his hands under his knees. He let Jaskier struggle for a few moments before planting his hands on either side of Jaskier’s head and leaning in close.

“You made a mistake, Jaskier.”

“Wha--”

“I have two brothers.”

Jaskier’s eyes went wide, but he didn’t have a chance to beg for mercy before Geralt attacked, reaching one hand behind him to dig into Jaskier’s thigh while the other started kneading at his stomach. Jaskier screamed in laughter, his voice reaching octaves Geralt didn’t even knew he had, but Geralt didn’t stop.

The noise complaint was worth it.

#tickle fic #My writing #the witcher tickling #lee!geralt #ler!Jaskier #ticklish!geralt #the witcher #geralt of rivia #jaskier | dandelion #geraskier

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xxbyimm · 4 years ago

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The knight and the princess - Fíli x reader - Modern AU

Link to my Masterlist.

This was a prompt I originally received from @saviorsong yesterday: next-door neighbor trope with the line ‘That won’t work, Try again’. As I wrote down most of this in bed last night, this piece expanded from a short drabble into a short fic of more or less 1500 words. I don’t know what happened and I don’t regret it. As I try to be less brutal about the level of perfection my work has to achieve to be worthy, I try to NOT edit my oneshots endlessly. So bear with me on that, and I hope y’all enjoy.

The knight and the princess - Fíli x Reader

Summary: Friday night. The reader tries to set up her new surround sound system, but it turns out to be harder than expected. Luckily friday night also means her favorite next-door neighbor comes over. MODERN AU.

Warnings: Fluff, bit of cursing.

Taglist: @soradragon @pistachiozombie @legolaslovely @tomisbaeholland @swoopswishsward @fizzyxcustard @deepestfirefun @ruthoakenshield @mariannetora @thequeenoferebor If you don’t wish to be tagged anymore, please let me know! Or if you’re not on the list and want to be tagged: check out my lists and I’d like to hear which list you want in on!

It shouldn’t be this hard. Literally anyone could do it. At least, that was what the people at the store had told you. And the delivery girl. Even the helpdesk guy had told you the same, though he even had the nerves to inquire ‘if you had read the instruction manual’.

Of course you did! You weren’t stupid, you were an grown-ass woman -damn it- and you could take care of yourself.

‘It’s not hard, ma’am.’ The guy repeated for the zillionth time. ‘Just put the red cable-’ ‘And I told you there is NO RED CABLE!’ you hissed back, exasperated by the fact that this person refused to listen. ‘There has to be.’ He mumbled. ‘Because otherwise you won’t be able to connect the tv with the left box.’ ’Okay, you know what…’ you grumbled. ‘I think this doesn’t get me any further than it already did.’ ‘But have you checked the package the system came in?’ You let out a strangled groan. ‘Of course I checked it!’ ‘You sure?’ the guy pressed. ‘Because more than often, our clients-’

You ended the call, just before you would have battered those poor worker’s ears with the most vile curses in the English vocabulary. It wasn’t his fault, you knew that. He probably had to stick to a protocol anyway and you were too impatient to follow such bureaucratic nonsense. But still, he wasn’t the proud owner of a surround sound system that was nowhere to near to be connected with the rest of your setup.

You heaved a sigh and eyed the chaos around you. There were cables everywhere and the manual lay crumpled on the couch. Six sound boxes were scattered across the room, waiting patiently to be put in their new place. Oh, and you weren’t even talking about all of the packaging it had arrived in! Ugh. You were ready to give up, even if it meant you couldn’t enjoy your favorite movie with some proper sound effects tonight. Whatever that meant anyway. This hadn’t been your idea.

Defeated, you strolled towards the kitchen. The least you could do, was reward yourself with a glass of wine. You opened the fridge and nearly jumped when someone knocked on the kitchen window. When you quickly turned your head to see who was disturbing you, your eyes met the dreamy blue ones of your next-door neighbor, Fíli. He was holding a bottle of wine and winked at you. His golden locks radiated in the sun and for a moment, you once again appreciated how handsome the bastard was. He obviously liked to take care of himself, as his blonde, shoulder length hair was almost more soft than yours and his beard was trimmed into perfection. Normally you weren’t into mustache braids, but the way this guy sported those made your legs weak. Fíli was wearing a simple, blue t-shirt with a V-neck that showed off some of his chest hair. You sincerely hoped that he had not paired it with his favorite jeans, because otherwise you’d spent all night gawking that fine ass.

‘Hey, Y/N!’ Fíli called, his eyes twinkling mischievously. ‘You’re going to let me stand here all night?’ You smiled and moved to the door to let him in. Because of all the hassle, you almost had forgotten it was Friday night. A few months ago, when you were new in this neighborhood, Fíli had swung by to say hello. In hindsight, you had lost your heart that night on your doorstep, though you had denied it for months after. It wasn’t a coincidence that the two of you had developed a habit of spending Friday nights together, since both of you highly enjoyed each other’s company over going out in search of love. In addition, Fíli was one hell of a chef in his spare time.

‘How are you faring, love?’ Fíli inquired while kissing your cheek. ‘How was work?’ ‘Ah. It was fine.’ You replied, closing the fridge and reaching for your fancy wine glasses in the cabinet. ‘My boss was a total pain in the ass, though that’s nothing new.’ Fíli smirked. ‘What’s the old toad up to now?’ A giggle escaped you and you shot him a glance. ‘You know you can’t call her that! What if I say that while at work? She will have my head!’ ‘Ah, but then all you have to do is to call upon your knight to save you.’ He told you while opening the bottle and pouring some wine. ‘I have a knight?’ you wondered. ‘Why hasn’t he informed me yet? I would spare me loads of trouble.’ Fíli shrugged, his eyes flashing briefly over your face. ‘Maybe he’s been a coward and doesn’t know how to show it’s him.’ ‘Selfish bastard.’ You muttered, too engrossed in the red liquid pouring into your glass to notice. ‘Anyway, no matter. I don’t need a knight.’ ‘Not even in shiny armor?’ ‘No.’ You groaned. The last guy you had gone on a date with a few months ago, had those ridiculous old-fashioned standards that you possibly couldn’t and wouldn’t meet. Naturally, the date had been a disaster when you straight up told him you refused to settle for a ‘woman’s place is in the kitchen’ kind of relationship.

Fíli took a sip and leaned against the counter. ‘I don’t get why the women get the knights, and us men have to settle for the princesses.’ ‘You want a knight, eh?’ you grinned, grateful for the fact that your friend hadn’t noticed you mentally had visited the dreadful topic of your dating life. ‘Exactly.’ He nodded vigorously. ‘Someone who can battle dragons, command legions.’ ‘And take over the world?’ you filled in. ‘Bend every civilization to your will?’ Fíli laughed and lazily moved towards the living room. His blue eyes burned through yours and you bit your lip. ‘Those are your words, milady, not mine.’ He purred as he disappeared in the hallway.

You winced when you discovered that he was, in fact, wearing his (and your) favorite pair of jeans. Damn that fine ass!

‘I said I wanted a knight.’ Fíli went on, obliviously to your appreciative glances. ‘A knight, Y/N, not a- Mahal’s hairy balls! What happened here?’

Oh Mahal’s hairy balls indeed. You had forgotten about the ground zero in your living room. You turned the corner. Fíli was eyeing the chaos with an amused smirk. ‘Is that the surround sound system I recommended to you?’ he asked. ‘Yeah.’ You said. ‘But I wasn’t finished just yet. I merely went to the kitchen to get myself some wine.’ ‘Finished with what?!’ Fíli grinned. ‘Wreaking havoc?’ ‘Oh, you ass! I was getting there!’ ‘Yeah?’ Fíli gestured at the pile of cables on the carpet. ‘That won’t work. Try again.’ ‘Hmmm.’ You mused while draining your wine in one go and putting the glass aside. ‘If I do that, I will lose my sanity. The helpdesk guy said it was easy, but I beg to differ.’ ‘You even called the helpdesk?’ Fíli chuckled as he grabbed the manual from the couch. ‘You must have been quite desperate.’ ‘I wanted to do this by myself!’ you said fiercely. ‘And I know I can, it’s just…’ ‘It’s not that complicated, once you know what to do.’ Fíli told you. ‘Shall I walk you through it?’ You narrowed your eyes. ‘Are you going to make fun of me in the process?’ He laughed. ‘Maybe a little. But in the end you’re a bloody amazing person and I’m sure you can do anything, if you set your mind to it.’ ‘Don’t mock me.’ He shook his head. ‘I’m not. You’re the proverbial whole package, and I don’t mean that in a patronizing way.’ You lifted a brow. ‘Then in what way?’ He took a step closer. His wineglass still holding in one hand, he gently stroked your cheek with the other. A fond smile was displayed on his face. ‘In a brilliant, I rather spend my free nights with you than going out, because what I want is right there, way.’ Your cheeks were on fire and you lowered your gaze. Your teeth sunk in your lower lip and slowly turned into a mumbling, flushed mess. ‘What? But I’m-’ ‘Y/N.’ Fíli whispered and a soft thud informed you he put his glass on the floor. You didn’t dare to look up, because you knew this moment would turn out to be a) a dream, or b) a cruel joke. So instead, your gaze was fixed on the carpet.

‘Y/N.’ Two sturdy hands cupped your cheeks and gently tilted your head. A pair of dreamy blue eyes came into view and your heart skipped a beat. ‘You have asked me countless times why I had zero interest in dating.’ Fíli began with a faint smile. ‘Now let me answer that one for you: from the moment we met, I haven’t been interested in any other woman, but you.’ ‘Why didn’t you say so?’ you managed to blurt out. ‘Because you’re quite independent.’ Fíli confessed. ‘And it’s one of the things I like that about you.’ ‘Independent doesn’t mean-’ ‘I know that.’ He told you. ‘But I wanted to make sure that you and I match in all the right ways, rather dragging out our worst qualities like some couples tend to do.’ ‘Oh Fíli… Why would you think that?’ ‘I just...’ He heaved a sigh. ‘Fell in love with the wrong person one time, I suppose. After that you get careful.’ You pulled him against you and placed a gentle kiss on his jaw. ‘Sounds like you’re in need of a knight.’ Fíli chuckled. ‘And a damn brave one, I daresay.’ ‘That settles it. I am forever in your service, good sir.’ You grinned. ‘Do you happen to know a princess with technical proficiency?’ Fíli laughed and you reveled in the sound. ‘Oh, Y/N.’ he murmured, his lips ghosting over yours.

And then he kissed you.

Thank you so much for reading my humble story. Feedback is always welcome. Did you like my work? Spread the love and reblog! :) And here’s my Masterlist.

#fíli #fili #our golden lion #son of durin's folk #fili x reader #fili x you #modern au #the hobbit #fili fanfic #fili fanfiction #the hobbit fanfiction #fluff

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kmomof4 · 4 years ago

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Chosen, Protected, & Saved Ch. 2

Hello again, y’all!!! We’re back again with more of Chosen, Protected, & Saved for the @captainswanmoviemarathon!!! I had to increase the chapter count on this one. Before I even started on Saira’s suggestions, the chapter stood at 10k. So I decided to split it up. Please don’t yell at me too hard after reading this chapter! We will definitely finish the fic next week and I promise a happy ending!! I hope y'all enjoy this! Thank you so much for coming along on this ride with me!! I’d love to know what you think!!

All the love and hugs to @profdanglaisstuff and @hollyethecurious for their beta services and everything they’ve done to make this story what it is!! Thank you so much, ladies!!! *MWAH* 😘

Summary: A little boy with the Heart of the Truest Believer. Demonic forces will stop at nothing to possess it. It’s up to Killian Jones, PI to find him and save him before it’s too late.

Rating: T

Words: 6413 of 18,305 currently. Total word count will probably be around 20k by the time I’m done with the edits on the last chapter.

Tags: Inspired by The Golden Child, Kidnapping, Magic, Minor Character Death, Temporary Major Character Death, True Loves Kiss

ao3 fic link ch link Prologue on Tumblr Ch1 on Tumblr

Tag list: @hollyethecurious @winterbaby89 @snowbellewells @stahlop @resident-of-storybrooke @jennjenn615 @kingofmyheart14 @profdanglaisstuff @thisonesatellite @branlovestowrite @ultraluckycatnd @flslp87 @whimsicallyenchantedrose @let-it-raines @shireness-says @kymbersmith-90 @darkcolinodonorgasm @bethacaciakay @searchingwardrobes @ilovemesomekillianjones @teamhook @aprilqueen84 @qualitycoffeethings @superchocovian @artistic-writer @donteattheappleshook @doodlelolly0910 @seriouslyhooked @tiganasummertree @lfh1226-linda @nikkiemms @xsajx @klynn-stormz @captainswanmoviemarathon @jonirobinson64 @itsfabianadocarmo

Please let me know if you’d like to be added or removed.

Under the cut, unless Tumblr ate it.

Ch. 2

Emma and Killian pushed through the wooden doors of Salisbury Cathedral, a Medieval house of worship completed in the mid-thirteenth century over Sarum, the seat of the civilization that built Stonehenge. A holy hush fell on them as they emerged into the narrow sanctuary, lined with columns and arched windows, on their way through the nave of the cathedral to the choir area that would lead below the main floor to the crypt. Saints, illuminated by the light of the full moon outside, looked down on them from the stained glass windows that lined the aisles and Emma couldn’t help but feel like they knew why they were there and approved of their quest. She couldn’t imagine that the Dark One using the cathedral as the gateway to the hiding place for his dagger was looked upon with favor by the saints and angels depicted above.

As they crossed the transept toward the choir area, a sense of foreboding settled on Emma. Looking around for the source of the sudden chill that settled on her shoulders, she stopped directly under the spire, which was also directly above their destination. It was all she could do to suppress the shiver that worked its way down her spine. Killian turned toward her.

“What is it, Swan?”

“Something’s not right here,” she replied. “I feel cold.” She rubbed her arms up and down like she was trying to warm herself up. “Like we’re being watched,” she whispered.

“Let’s get out of the open, love.” His voice lowered to a whisper as well as he came toward her and grabbed her upper arm, tugging her toward him. She looked over his shoulder in the direction he was leading her and saw the door leading down to the crypt. Looking around the deserted and dark church once more to be sure they were unobserved, they slipped through the door and descended the spiral staircase to the crypt below.

~*~*~

They emerged from the stairwell and entered a small chamber lit entirely by tall pillar candles. The atmosphere of the room pressed in on her so much that she couldn’t draw a deep breath. Dank, musty air, coupled with the dark magic permeating their surroundings and a heaviness that she couldn’t explain combined to make her footsteps heavy, each one slower than the last. Killian didn’t seem to be faring much better.

His brow furrowed as he looked around. “What is going on here? I can feel something… almost pushing... against me.”

“It’s dark magic,” she replied. “This has to be part of the protection for the dagger. I’ve never felt this kind of concentrated evil before.”

A sudden screech caught them by surprise as a sandy haired, tall and gangly boy in his late teens launched himself at them from the shadows. The atmosphere of the room left Emma completely unprepared as he ran at her with an old fashioned cutlass with some kind of black substance coating the tip. Before she could even raise her hands in defense, a blast of light blue magic hit the boy square in the chest, sending him flying into one of the columns that lined the chamber. The sickening crack of his skull on the marble made her insides turn. Her hand flew to her mouth as she valiantly tried to combat the threatened mutiny of the contents of her stomach. When her assailant remained still, she turned to Killian. The blood drained from his face, his eyes as blue as the magic she just saw and as round as the full moon in the sky. Shock didn’t begin to describe what she saw on his face.

“Wh-wh-what was that?” he stammered. “He was coming for you and I threw my arms out to try and push you out of his way and then, that…” he trailed away, his jaw still slack in amazement. “That was magic? My magic?”

Emma reined in her own consternation to focus on the grievously agitated man before her. “Yes, that was your magic,” she confirmed, speaking as soothingly as she could. She knew exactly how he felt; remembering like it was yesterday the first time her own magic had manifested and the mixed emotions of terror and relief the circumstances engendered.

It all happened in slow motion. Two year old Henry spied Regina waving at them from across the street as they walked towards Granny’s. With a screech of delight, Henry pulled away from her and ran headlong toward his second favorite person in the world. The vehicle coming towards them didn’t see him as he darted from between the parked cars on the street. There were no words for the horror and pure unadulterated fear she felt as something else rose up within her. She screamed and a blast of white shot out the tips of her fingers towards her little boy. Regina’s terrified face barely registered as her magic simultaneously stopped the oncoming SUV and sent Henry flying into her friend’s arms. Regina held him tightly as she raced across the street toward them. Trying desperately to calm her racing heart, Emma gathered Henry close, Regina releasing him the moment she joined them. Once she had her heartbeat and breathing under control, Regina proceeded to treat them to their favorite meals at Granny’s while explaining all about the existence of magic and her own apparent gifts.

She knew that Killian believed them when they told him of his own magic, but believing was one thing. Seeing or using it for the first time was something entirely different. She approached him and ran her own hands up and down his arms trying to calm him down. Unfortunately, they didn’t have the luxury of time to process what had just happened. They had to get the dagger.

“Are you okay?” she asked. “I know this is tough to see and accept the first time it happens, but we have to keep going.”

Killian shook his head, trying to cast off his stupor and bewilderment. “Yeah, I, I’m fine.”

They proceeded further into the room where they could hear echoes of a moaning type of chant. On the other end of the chamber, they could see a dark passageway, sloping even further down. As they approached, the chant grew louder. When they arrived at the doorway, Killian could discern the Latin words Unus Tenebris, The Dark One. He turned back to Emma, her own eyes wide with recognition and fear. He held his finger to his lips and crossed the threshold into the corridor. The chant got louder the further down they went until, at last, they came out into another room where six cloaked figures stood in the middle of the room facing them. The chant was low and monotonous and was really starting to grate on Killian’s nerves. Their faces could not be seen, but the tallest one in the middle stopped his chanting as the others continued. He stepped forward to confront the unexpected duo.

“Who are you and why have you come to the sanctuary of The Dark One?” he intoned.

“We have come to collect his dagger,” Killian replied, a shiver working its way down his spine at the anger and evil he could feel radiating off the presumed leader.

“And why do you need his dagger?”

Killian suddenly had an epiphany. “He has finally captured the boy with the Heart of the Truest Believer and he needs his dagger in order to carry out his plans. He has sent us to obtain it.” Killian held out his hand to the figure to show the scar the Dark One had left him.

“Very well,” he said. “You may proceed. Follow all the directions or not only will you lose the dagger, you will lose your life as well.” They nodded and stepped toward the now silent figures. They moved toward the walls of the chamber, creating a path for them to follow. As Emma and Killian moved across the room, the leader spoke again. “Only one of you may pass into the chamber of the dagger. Only one. The other must wait here.”

They came to the other door and found strange markings in the stone above the lintel. Emma recognized the lettering, but was having to concentrate to translate it.

“Take the water, but spill not a drop, lest all you desire comes to naught.”

Emma turned stunned eyes on Killian. He turned his startled and confused countenance on her as well.

“What?”

“You could read that?” she asked, incredulously.

“Well, yeah…” he trailed away, his confusion deepening. “Can’t you?”

“I recognize the symbols, but I couldn’t translate them that easily.”

“What do you mean ‘translate them’?” His eyebrows rose in question. “That’s English. Isn’t it?”

“Uh, no. It’s not. Those are druidic symbols. A deeply esoteric and magical language. Regina has only just started teaching me.”

Killian looked back up at the words that were in plain English to him. He shrugged. “That’s what it says. This must be the instruction that Regina and that guy,” he gestured behind them, “were referring to.”

“I guess so,” Emma breathed. “I’ll go.” Determination filled her eyes. “I have the most control over my magic. If anything goes wrong, I’ll be more likely to survive it.”

“Like hell you will,” he whispered urgently, not wanting the others to overhear their argument. “I’m the ‘Chosen One.’ The Protector of Henry’s heart. I’m the one who needs to go get it. I’ll be fine, love.” He waggled his eyebrows at her. “If there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s surviving.”

Emma rolled her eyes at him. “But…”

“No buts, Swan,” he interrupted. “I’m going. Besides, Regina said I was the one who had to get it.” He stepped across the threshold before she could stop him. “I’ll be back soon.” He leaned back out to where she stood before him and placed a chaste kiss on her cheek before withdrawing and disappearing down into the darkness.

He descended the stairs until he came to a basin filled with water. On the lip of the basin sat a small paper dixie cup. His eyebrows rose nearly to his hairline as he tried not to laugh. Are you kidding me? He picked up the cup and filled it with the water from the basin. He moved forward until the stairs came to an end. A column that disappeared into the abyss below lay just before him. He looked around, seeing nothing else for him to step on. A ways in the distance he could see something that looked like fire. The only things between him and it, were these columns that he was apparently to use as stepping stones without spilling a drop of water.

“Easy enough,” he whispered to himself. As he took his first step, it suddenly occurred to him that maybe he should check to see how deep the chasm below him was. He fished in his pocket until he pulled out a coin and dropped it. He listened intently for the coin to hit the ground below. When twenty seconds had passed and he still hadn’t heard anything, comprehension dawned. If he fell, he wasn’t coming back. He gulped and took another step. And then another. His next step was a little too quick, and he nearly lost his balance. His other hand joined the one holding the cup in keeping it steady, his heart thundering in his ears. He took a deep breath and continued. On his next step, he caught a flash of movement off to his left. He turned and saw Emma. She was completely naked. His mouth went dry and his breathing hitched as he beheld her beauty. Her mouth hung part way open, her arms reaching for him, lips full and plump as she looked at him with longing in her eyes. He knew that what he was looking at couldn’t possibly be real, but that didn’t stop his body from reacting to the deepest longing in his heart. It didn’t matter that she wasn’t real. He wanted nothing more than to gather her in his arms, and love her as long as she’d let him. He blindly reached for her with his unoccupied hand and nearly lost his balance again. That close call told him all that he needed to know. This darkness was going to tempt him with what he desired most. And what he felt for Emma went far beyond simple desire. If he was going to survive this test, he had to keep his goal in mind. He kept moving forward, each step more difficult than the last because once he turned away, she found her voice. He could hear her breathy sighs and moans as if he really was with her, touching her, loving her. But instead of fading away in the distance as he moved forward, the sounds grew louder, as if she was right behind him. At one point, nearly at his goal, he could have sworn he felt her touch along his shoulders.

He kept his face resolutely away from her, finally making it to the where the dagger hung over leaping flames. The moment he stood before the shrine, he knew she was gone. The ghostly touch disappeared and the sounds she made were cut off as if with a knife. He took a deep breath and focused his attention on the dagger in front of him. Even if the flames weren’t leaping high enough to burn him if he reached for it, he knew the heat of the dagger itself would burn him terribly if he touched it. He thought back to the instruction.

Take the water, but spill not a drop, lest all you desire comes to naught.

If he were to pour the water over the flames, first of all, he would be technically spilling the water. And secondly, there wasn’t nearly enough water in the cup to extinguish these flames. The only thing he could think of was to drink the water. Hoping against hope that he was correct in his expectation, he lifted the cup to his lips. As he did, the flames disappeared. He nearly shouted out his victory, but at the last moment, he held his tongue. It would stand to reason that since this was the Dark One’s dagger, that he would know when someone else touched it. Especially someone who shouldn’t be. He had to get the dagger and get the hell out of here before his enemy showed up.

He reached for the dagger and grasped the hilt. It was an evil looking device. A wavy, wicked sharp edge adorned the side. The name Rumplestiltskin emblazoned on the shaft. His already galloping heartbeat increased even more as he pulled it toward him and pulled a piece of soft sheepskin out of his jacket to wrap it in. He took a deep breath and placed the wrapped dagger into his back waistband under his jacket. Finally, he turned back the way he came, heart pounding, terrified of what he might see. Of what he might have to face on the return journey. Would she still be there, ready to drag him to his death? He let out a sigh of relief when he saw that she was gone and headed back toward where he entered the chamber.

~*~*~

Killian came back into the room pale and shaking. He’d only been gone about fifteen, twenty minutes. But those minutes had to be some of the longest of her life. She could only imagine what he had seen and experienced in the chamber. It was obvious that whatever had happened in there, it affected him deeply. She extended her hand toward him to take. He looked down somewhat dazed and took it in his own.

“Did you get it?”

He looked back up at her. “Aye, lass. I have obtained the object of our desire.” His blue eyes bore into her own, swirling with fear, confusion, and something deeper that she didn’t dare name.

“Then let’s get out of here.”

~*~*~

Emma and Killian somehow made it through customs with the dagger after arriving back in the States. The only thing they could figure was that since the dagger itself was magical, it was magically shielded from anyone but magic wielders. As they exited the arrivals gate, he startled when he spied the man from his dream, the Dark One, coming toward him followed by several Boston police officers. He sauntered towards them, making a show of the gold tipped cane he carried. He was dressed differently than in his dream with a long greatcoat, in what looked like crocodile skin. Killian felt a chill run down his spine. The coat matches his smile, he thought.

“That’s the man. Killian Jones. If he doesn’t return my property, I want him arrested.”

Killian’s heart raced. He drew Emma’s attention to their adversary as his mind furiously tried to figure out how to get out of the coming confrontation. An idea came to him suddenly and he elbowed Emma, whispering to her to let him do the talking.

“Welcome home, Mr. Jones. You have something for me?” he asked, holding out his hand with a smug smile on his face.

Killian stared into the face that he had only seen in a dream. He looked at Emma, naked fear on her face, at the cops behind the Dark One, and then back at the man or demon before him. He couldn’t help the smirk that broke over his face as he anticipated playing the Dark One like a fiddle.

“I’m sorry, Rumple,” he loudly lamented, reaching for the lapels of the man before him. The Dark One stared at him, utterly taken aback. It only took a moment however, before his face grew red with extreme irritation as Killian released him and turned toward the crowded terminal. “Everyone,” he shouted, drawing the attention of all the people hurrying to catch their flights, “I should be punished. I have stolen from my brother, Rumple.” The Dark One’s jaw clenched with annoyance as Killian continued with his theatrics. Emma looked at him as if he’d lost his mind. “Officer,” he continued, pointing at the officers behind the Dark One, “It is your duty to take me in. Please,” he moved toward them holding his wrists out in front of himself, “I am ashamed of myself. I should be arrested.” He walked down the line of officers. “I should be flogged. I don’t deserve to walk among free men.”

Killian repeated his tirade until the Dark One grabbed his arm, motioning toward the officers in a placating manner. “Let me have a word with him, please.”

Killian felt himself being pulled away from the officers, so he turned his attention to Emma and raised his voice once again.

“Emma, I am a swine. You must know what kind of man I am, before we go any further in our dalliance. I am a wretch. I don’t deserve to live.” He winked at her and saw her fear and confusion morph into reluctant amusement. She shook her head as the corner of her mouth lifted in half a smile. He finally turned toward the furious Dark One before him.

“How long do you think you can keep up this miserable masquerade?” he hissed, his eyes blazing with his wrath.

“Well, until I get arrested.” He grinned cockily at him. “Or until you realize the rules of evidence in this country.” The Dark One raised his head slightly and Killian could just see a trace of unease in his eyes. He turned serious. “See, if I get arrested, they take me and put me in a jail cell. And then they take the knife, because it’s a stolen object, and they put that in a little room, and they put ‘Exhibit A,’ a little sticker that says ‘Exhibit A’ on it.” He mimed putting a sticker on something. “And the knife sits in a room and I sit in my room until the trial commences. And that can be anywhere from a month to a year. So if you get me arrested, there’s no telling when you will get your knife.” Killian broke into a wide grin at having the upper hand, thoroughly enjoying himself as he watched a vein pulse in the Dark One’s forehead. He could just imagine what the demon’s blood pressure was at this moment.

“You have no idea who I am, have you?” he sneered.

“Why, yes,” he exclaimed. “You’re my brother Rumple!” He let out an amused chuckle as the Dark One struggled to keep his rage under control. “Look, I know exactly who you are,” Killian’s eyes turned hard and his easy going smile disappeared, “Dark One.” The man before him nearly turned white in fury. Killian’s heart skipped a beat, but he plowed ahead, his own anger coming to the surface. “But, here’s the thing. I. Don’t. Care.” He punctuated each word with a poke to the demon’s chest. “I do care that you kidnapped Henry, though.”

“I could destroy you,” he snapped his fingers in the air, “just like that.”

Killian’s eyebrow raised in bored amusement. “Well, we’ll see about that.” He turned and looked back over at Emma and the officers still waiting off to the side. “Look, I am not going to be giving you this knife. And you do not want to get me arrested. And I will find Henry,” he sneered and snapped his fingers in the Dark One’s face, “just like that.” He patted the demon’s cheek. “See you soon.” He turned back toward the crowd, all smiles and held his arms out as if he wanted to embrace them all. “My brother has forgiven me! Emma, Brother Rumple has forgiven me!” He turned back to the seething Dark One and clapped him on the shoulder in an awkward embrace. “Dear Brother, thank you, thank you, thank you.” He then kissed him loudly on the cheek in a final taunt before releasing him and leading Emma into the crowd.

~*~*~

Emma and Killian found Regina in her study with a great horned owl asleep on one of the larger shelves behind her. Emma’s eyes widened immediately, recognizing Henry’s familiar.

“What’s Bubo doing here?” she asked in alarm. “Is Henry alright?”

“He got here last night,” Regina soothed. “Henry is fine. He’s being held in Boston.”

Killian felt a tug in his heart and cursed under his breath, frustrated that they were so close this afternoon when they landed and had now lost precious hours coming back to Storybrooke. It would be at least tomorrow before they could return and begin searching for the boy. A boy he had never met, but almost felt as if he was his own. A part of his own family. Emma turned to Killian and collapsed into his arms sobbing. He rubbed circles into her back trying to calm her down while whispering assurances that they would find him and he’d be just fine into her ear. She raised her tear stained face to him and grabbed him by the lapels of his jacket.

“We have to go after him.” She was frantic and her fear for her son was overriding everything else.

Killian shook his head at her, sorrow in his eyes. “Swan,” he beseeched her, “we can’t. You haven’t slept more than a few minutes at a time since we left here two days ago. You are not going to be any good to anyone in your current state. You’ve got to sleep before we go after him.” He turned helpless and pleading eyes on Regina.

Regina came around her desk and placed her hand on Emma’s shoulder. “He’s right, Emma. You are dead on your feet and you need to rest before you go after him. You still have until tomorrow evening before my protection spell on him will wear off. Bubo couldn’t tell me exactly where Henry was. He’s going to have to lead you to where he is. And he won’t be going anywhere until the sun sets. There’s also the possibility of the Dark One coming here for the dagger. You need to get some sleep while you can. I can give you a potion that will help you relax.” She waved her hand and a vial with a golden colored liquid appeared in her hand. He may have a little bit of experience with magic now, but it was still quite startling.

Emma nodded, obviously reluctant, but she could see the sense in Killian and Regina’s arguments. She took the vial from her friend and swallowed it down. She looked up into the cerulean gaze that she was rapidly falling for and saw only love and concern in his eyes. A sense of peace and calm came over her that she had never felt in all her born days. She knew that the man before her would save her son, and she also knew that he loved her and would do anything for her. She turned toward the door of Regina’s study, took his hand in her own, and led him from the room.

“Will you stay with me?” she asked, nervous in spite of herself.

Killian nodded slowly. “I’ll do anything you want, Swan,” he murmured. “I’m yours.”

She led him up the stairs to one of Regina’s guest rooms. She lay down on top of the comforter and was instantly asleep, her breath coming out in soft snores. Killian crawled up, lined himself up behind her and drew her back into his arms. He placed a kiss to the crown of her head before burying his face in her golden tresses and inhaling deeply. Who would have thought that he would fall for any woman this hard and this fast. He would follow wherever she led. To the end of the world or time.

“Goodnight, Swan,” he whispered. “I love you.”

~*~*~

It seemed like minutes since Regina had retired when something wretched her from a sound sleep. Her hand flew to her neck as she bolted upright in bed struggling to take a deep breath. Maneuvering herself off the bed and to the French doors leading to her balcony, she concentrated on steadying her breathing as her eyes swept across the expanse of her back lawn. The full moon was shining down. Shadows in between the professional landscaping of her home prevented her from seeing anyone, or anything in particular. But the oppression of dark magic lay heavy on her heart. She turned from the doors and ran to where Emma and Killian were.

The moonlight fell across the bed where they slept. They were on their sides, Emma’s back against Killian’s front, with his arms wrapped securely around her. As much as she hated to wake them, Lord knew they needed the rest, she knew that the Dark One’s arrival was imminent and they needed to be awake and ready to fight. Regina came to the side of the bed and gently shook Killian’s shoulder.

“Huh?” he mumbled, groggily. He sat up, hair sticking up in all directions, with a prodigious yawn and blinking his eyes, trying to get them to focus on his host. “What?”

“The Dark One is coming,” Regina whispered. “I can feel his dark magic pressing in on me from all sides.”

Killian’s eyes widened before he turned back to Emma and shook her awake. “Swan,” he said urgently, “Swan, you have to wake up. He’s coming.”

Emma’s eyes flew open as she sat up fully alert after just a few hours of sleep. Whatever had been in the potion Regina had given her not only helped her relax enough to sleep, but also completely refreshed her on the amount of sleep she got. Her eyes met Regina’s as she scrambled out of bed.

“We’ll go down and wait for him,” she declared. “Regina, you stay in the house and protect the dagger.”

Regina nodded as they all left the room. Emma and Killian descended the stairs with Regina on their heels.

“I could feel him in the back. I couldn’t see anything with all the shadows, but I’m sure that’s where he’ll show up.”

Emma and Killian came to the back door. They looked through the transoms, trying to catch a glimpse of anything out of the ordinary. Emma could feel the same thing Regina described in the center of her own chest. A heaviness, almost a choking sensation, making it very difficult to breathe. She’d never been in the presence of such evil before.

Over her shoulder, she heard Killian take a sharp inhale. His arm appeared in her peripheral vision, pointing out to the yard. “There,” he whispered. As her eyes focused in the dark, she finally saw stealthy movement among the trees that lined the yard. First one figure stepped out from between the trees, then another, and another. They weren’t much more than boys. Younger than their attacker under the cathedral, but still young teens. They emerged onto the patio and watched as the boys slowly advanced. Emma raised her hands up and readied herself for battle.

Regina looked out on the yard from her vantage point in her study. Three of the Dark One’s minions stalked toward Emma and Killian. The moonlight glinted off the weapons the boys held, a dagger, a bow and arrow, and the third held a metal baseball bat. Emma held her hands at the ready, but Killian was too inexperienced, he looked equal parts bewildered and terrified. She knew enough about him to know that he wanted to help, but had no idea how to do so, especially when faced with essentially children. He would feel very reluctant to inflict any kind of harm on them, no matter that they fully intended to do as much damage as they possibly could, up to and including death, if possible.

She didn’t see any sign of her former teacher yet, but she knew that he wasn’t going to be far behind.

Emma let fly her magic at the boy readying his bow and arrow. It was enough to send him skittering to the side to avoid it. He almost looked like a marionette, all jerky movements to get out of the way of the blast. A scream like a banshee ripped out of the boy with the bat as he charged toward them before another blast sent him flying to the edge of the yard, barely missing a huge oak tree. He shook his head, trying to get his bearings when she saw him. The Dark One just under the tree line and using the shadows to get close to where Emma and Killian stood. She couldn’t warn them because of the wards and protection spells she had placed on her home when she bought it, for exactly this purpose. If her former teacher were to ever find her, her home had to be fortified against him. No magic could cross those fortifications.

Regina continued to watch as Emma used her magic against their attackers and Killian moved away from her to confront the boy with the dagger. He held his hands out to the sides in a gesture meant to confuse the lost boy. He feinted left to draw his attention, then grabbed him from the right and twisted until the boy was securely in his arms, his back to Killian’s front. The dagger was held tightly against the boy’s chest as he struggled, trying to escape.

The Dark One kept advancing toward Killian, completely bypassing Emma who was still fighting the other two boys. She turned toward Killian to see their true adversary only a few feet away from him and ready to pounce. Regina’s heart was in her throat as they both made their move at exactly the same time. The Dark One reached toward Killian’s back as Emma threw herself in between them, his hand landing in her chest instead of Killian’s as Regina was sure he intended. She could see from her vantage point the maniacal glee in the face of her former mentor as he pulled his hand out from Emma’s chest, her red heart glowing in his palm.

It had happened so fast, there was no way for her to get to the yard in time to do anything but watch as her dearest friend’s face contorted in agony. She beat the frame around the window with her clenched fists as the Dark One’s own fist closed around the delicate organ.

Regina’s screams echoed Killian’s own.

“Nooooooooooo!!!”

~*~*~

Killian released the boy in his arms as Emma bumped into him with a grunt of pain. He turned just enough to see the Dark One standing before her with a countenance of madness coloring his features. He jerked back and another pain filled gasp reached Killian’s ears. He could see something red glowing in his hand. His eyes widened in horror as he realized exactly what the demon was holding. It was Emma’s heart. She had been on the other side of the yard fighting the other boys. How had she gotten here and in between the Dark One and himself?

He watched as the creature’s fist closed around the organ and squeezed. He couldn’t see Emma’s face, but the stiffness of her body and the choking sound coming from her mouth told him exactly what was happening. Killian turned around fully and caught Emma in his arms as she fell to the ground.

“Noooooooooo!!!”

Emma looked up into his tear filled eyes. He shook his head as she raised her hand to his face, tenderly touching his cheek.

“Thank you for staying with me tonight, Killian,” she whispered. “Please save Henry.”

Emma’s eyes closed and her hand dropped to her side. The tears that Killian struggled to contain finally fell, landing on her rounded cheek. Killian looked up at the demon before him, his teeth bared in a savage growl.

The Dark One opened his fist to reveal nothing but dust where Emma’s heart had just been. He waved his hand and Killian was suddenly frozen. The boys they had been fighting now surrounded their master as he sauntered behind Killian and felt for the dagger that was no longer there. His body may have been frozen, but his mouth, mercifully, was not.

“Ha!” Killian shouted in triumph. “Did you really believe that I would still have the dagger there, Crocodile? You’ve lost! I’ll find Henry before you ever discover where the dagger is.”

At that moment, Regina emerged from the house holding the dagger high. Moonlight caught the blade and nearly blinded him with the reflection.

“Leave this place, Dark One,” Regina cried out. “Leave us in peace.”

The Dark One let out an enraged hiss as he spied his former student. Regina continued to advance toward them as Killian rocked his love in his arms, his tears now flowing freely. The demon and his minions retreated until they disappeared in the trees surrounding the now silent lawn.

~*~*~

Regina lay the dagger on the patio and cast a glamour spell on it so that it couldn’t be seen before she moved toward Killian as he rocked Emma in his arms. She knelt beside him as he looked up at her. She was completely taken aback at the sorrow, despair, but also rage that swirled in his eyes. She barely had time to brace herself before she was hit with a blast of blue magic that came straight out of his heart. She felt herself flying through the air before landing near the back patio. She got to her feet as Killian’s cries again reached her ears. He wasn’t even aware of what had just happened. Her heart nearly broke in two at the profound pain she heard in his lament. He held Emma tightly and continued to rock as his grief poured from the depths of his very soul.

He had never felt such pain. It was as if the Dark One had taken his own heart and crushed it instead of hers. Hers! He had watched as her heart was taken from her body and crushed as if it were nothing! Fresh wails poured from his lips as the scene he had just witnessed played over again in his mind’s eye. Nothing he had ever experienced in his life prepared him for this. His soul was in agony, completely untethered. This woman had come into his life just three days ago, turning it upside down. In more ways than one. She’d burrowed into his heart and made a home there. And now that she was gone, his world was turned on its head yet again. How was he supposed to go on without her? Even to rescue her boy?

He continued to rock her as he caught movement out of the corner of his eye. Regina knelt at his side and placed a hand on his back. He turned his head and buried his face in her shoulder as sobs continued to wrack him. Her pajama top was soon soaked through.

“She asked me to save Henry,” he sobbed, “And I want to. Of course, I want to! But how can I leave her?”

Regina answered, “I’ve cast a preservation spell upon her, Killian. Nothing will touch her until you return. I know that you lo-” she caught herself, “care deeply for her. But her little boy is still in the clutches of that demon. The best way to honor Emma is to bring him home safely.”

Killian nodded, as he wiped his eyes with his sleeve. “You’re right. I have to go after him.” He looked up at her. “Boston, you said? He’s in Boston?”

“Yes,” she replied. She waved her hand toward the trees and Bubo glided down and landed on the ground before them. Killian looked at the creature.

“You can show me where Henry is?” he asked, addressing the bird. Wide eyes stared at him before it slowly nodded. “All right then. Lead the way.” Killian carefully placed Emma on the ground before he bent over her and kissed her on the lips, much as any Disney prince would to wake his princess. He rose and walked to his car as Bubo took to the skies. Regina waved her hand once more over her friend, transporting her to the bed she slept in earlier, waiting for Killian’s return.

~*~*~

Thank you for reading and sharing. Happy ending next chapter! I promise!

#csmm20 #chosen protected & saved #inspired by the golden child #krystal writes #art by krystal

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jupiterjames · 6 years ago

Text

Fic Commissions Open!

Here’s the deal, y’all. Since commissions went so well before, I’m doing it again. I’m in dire need of extra money, but I don’t feel right begging for donations again.

So, as some of you know, but most of you don’t, I’ve been diagnosed with a mystery degenerative neurological disease. My job doesn’t offer health insurance anymore, and they don’t pay me enough do get it on my own. I need a diagnosis to even hope to get better, work more steadily, and regain custody of my daughter. But a CT scan alone plus a trip to a neurologist is going to set me back $5,000 that I don’t have, and will take me forever to save up for.

Therefore, commissions!

DETAILS:

PRICING : $10.00 USD per 1,000 words. Up to 5,000 words. If you want something longer, we can talk about it, but it would take significantly longer to produce.

PAYMENT :

USD through PayPal. I also have a Ko-Fi, but PayPal is better so we can use invoices to protect your purchase.

Once we have worked out your prompt, I will send you a short (300-500 word) sample. If you approve of the direction of the sample, payment will be due at that time.

When you approve your full draft, payment will be final.

PROCESS :

Send me an email to [email protected] requesting a spot. Please do not send me an ask here to request a slot. Messages and asks get lost too easily.

If there is a spot available, I will reply and ask for 1) a prompt, 2) the word count you want, 3) the pairing and rating you want.

Give me those details, and then wait for your preview.

Once approved, pay the invoice I send, and then wait for your rough draft.

Request any changes to the draft, and once those are finished, I will edit and send you a final PDF of your story.

You may post the story anywhere you like, with credit back to me, or keep it for yourself. Alternately, I can post it to Ao3 and gift it to you so that you can link it anywhere you want.

Please keep in mind that I write regularly, but it can take a few weeks for your commission to be completed, depending on your spot in the queue. I will keep you updated regularly on the progress of your commission.

FINE PRINT :

I prefer to write for Supernatural and Mass Effect.

I am not particularly picky about pairings, as I multi-ship.

I write any rating from G to E.

You can read my work [ here on Ao3 ] or [ here on Tumblr ] to get a feel for the scope of what I usually write.

HARD NO :

There are a few things I won’t write:

Incest

Rape/Non-Con

Explicit underage

Certain sexual acts (you can ask if you need details)

Of course, you can always donate to Ko-Fi even if you don’t want a fic, but please don’t feel obligated. I’d appreciate signal boosting, too. Thank you!

SLOTS :

Slots are filled in the order received, and there is also a waiting list :

1) filled

2) filled

3) filled

4) filled

5) filled

6) filled

Waiting List :

#commissions with lime #fics with lime

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mittensmorgul · 7 years ago

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I'm so sorry if this sounds ignorant, and I'm sure you're tired of explaining it, but do views or "hits" on Ao3 mean anything? Because i'll see the posts about authors needing kudos and comments (which i understand completely) but i'll also see the view count and i'm like "but it's got so many hits, just go by that too!" So what goes into an author truly knowing how well they're doing?

Hi there! And yeah, I’ve explained how this works before, but I’m always happy to explain it again. Because it bears repeating. :)

Hits on AO3 mean very little. Someone clicks through to the fic, reads the tags and summary, maybe the first few paragraphs of a novel-length fic, and then nopes out without finishing. It still registers a hit.

Writing a multi-chapter fic posted in weekly installments that has a significant following? Yeah, hits are also meaningless here, because every time you post a new installment and all your dedicated readers click through to read the next chapter? They each register new hits. They’re not UNIQUE viewers to the entire fic, yet it can still look that way in the hit counter. And if it’s a 50 chapter fic that posts over the course of a whole year? The “compound” hits really start to add up, despite each of those unique readers only being able to leave 1 kudos (albeit multiple comments, if they so desire).

If something we post generates a thousand hits but only 100 kudos, it can start to feel like a lot of readers may not have bothered to read to the end, you know? If I make it to the end of a fic, I hit the kudos button. It takes literally one second, and in my mind it’s the equivalent of saying, “Thank you for writing this and posting it for free for my enjoyment.”

I personally don’t have the “false hits equivalency” problem that writers who post WIP’s do, because I always post complete works. Even when I’ve tried to post serially, I end up giving up after a few days and just going ahead and posting the entire thing. I tried to do that with Ultraviolet, posting a chapter a day, and lasted five whole days before just posting the rest all at once. I have no patience for drawing things out unnecessarily. :P

As a result, the hits count on it are artificially inflated:

2269 hits as of today, when I posted it back at the end of June. But heck, there’s more than 10% kudos-to-hits ratio, so even considering that I know a number of people had been reading along as I posted the first five chapters, that’s still a pretty decent average. Believe it or not, that’s considered to be fairly excellent as a hits-to-kudos ratio.

Now on to the thing I just posted a few days ago, Dean’s Days Off. I posted it all at once (note the posting date):

That’s a lot of hits, considering I can assume that most of them are not redundant, with the same readers clicking back through to read a new chapter. Still, even working under the assumption that A LOT of those are unique hits from different people, I’m left with the assumption that less than 20% of them actually read all the way to the end, because of the kudos.

This theory works FOR NOW, because this is a new story. I doubt many people have had a chance (even if they loved it and intend to read it again someday-- which is just wishful thinking on my part, but whatever) have had a chance to go back and read it again already, you know? So these are largely most probably original hits. But over time, there may be a fair few people who return to read it again and CAN’T leave kudos again. The hits-to-kudos ratio will inevitably drop over time.

Plus there’s also the factor in the other direction-- readers who click through and then download the story (I always do this with fic I love, partly because it’s easier to read on my kindle, but also because I’ve see too much fic I love get taken down by the authors, and I like to make sure I have a copy in case that ever happens). I have fic I’ve reread NUMEROUS times, but the author has no way of knowing how much I adore their writing in that case UNLESS I EXPLICITLY TELL THEM.

AO3 doesn’t keep statistics for downloads. Unless a reader tells me, I have no idea that they may have downloaded my story to read again. It doesn’t even generate another hit in that case, you know?

In any case, kudos, comments, OR hits-- none of them is a perfect gauge for readership. Hits may be meaningless. I think 3 of the hits for T&S were generated by me-- one of which was me noping out within a page or two of starting because there was no way in hell I was gonna keep reading, and two of which were unlabeled links to the effect of, “OMG I JUST READ THIS THING AND I NEED A MOMENT TO RECOVER,” which is an intriguing sort of post where the words “THIS THING” were a link to it... I had no idea, but lo and behold, I generated a “hit” to it. >.>

I’ve clicked on fic recs that from the description in the post sounded right up my alley, only to see something in the tags on AO3 that made me nope out of reading, or got a short way in to the story before realizing it just wasn’t my thing and closing out. All of that generates hits. Meaningless, meaningless hits.

I have opened fic, decided to “Mark For Later” so I can open it again and read it when I’m in the right mood, or when I have time to devote to it, or whatever. I have A LOT of fic Marked For Later. Still, opening it to mark it and add it to my list generates a hit. It’ll generate another hit when I do eventually go back and read it. Possibly generating another hit when I open it yet again trying to remember if I’ve read it...

Or the worst-- I’ve had the thing open in a tab for two weeks hoping to find the time to read it, and every time Chrome refreshes the page (because Chrome does that) it generates a new hit... I kinda feel guilty about that...

Hits are ultimately meaningless.

Kudos at least have SOME meaning. A unique reader read the entire thing, got all the way to the end, and felt good enough about reading it to hit what essentially amounts to the THANK YOU NICE WRITER PERSON button.

Some people are willing to spend a little more time writing a comment. Anything from a “Thank you for writing this” to “Oh gosh I love this story, and xyz was my favorite!” all the way to leaving a running commentary on every chapter or a five paragraph book review at the end. Or heck, just an incoherent keysmash with a bunch of exclamation points.

Or one of my personal favorites, “I just read this again and can’t leave more kudos, so have this

I don’t understand the resistance to clicking the kudos button if you read the entire story and derived any enjoyment from it whatsoever. If you’re embarrassed about it, you can always log out of AO3 and leave kudos anonymously. No one will ever know it was you. :P

But I’ve had people ask me this before, wondering why they should even BOTHER hitting Kudos, and it’s like... you read this entire story, for the low low cost of zero dollars, and can’t be fussed to even click the Instant Thank You Button? That’s... shocking and frustrating as a writer. Some of my longer fic may have taken me HUNDREDS of hours to write, edit, etc. And it doesn’t merit half a second of time to click a button. I mean, sure, Dean’s Days Off is kinda short compared to some of my other work, but it still represents about 80 hours of my life. I spent about 80 hours working on that story. I spent several hundred hours working on Revenge of the Subtext. And even more than that working on Around the World in 24 Days. That’s a lot of hours. Can I get half a second of your time as an acknowledgement that it was worth it?

If I make it to the end of a story of any length, that’s automatically kudos. Job well done, Writer Person. You have suitably entertained me.

I admit that I am still personally weirded out by leaving comments, but I do try and force myself to, especially if it’s a longer work. I get this OH GOSH PLEASE DON’T LOOK AT ME BUT YOU HAVE GIVEN ME FEEEEELINGS mentality about leaving comments. I turn into Dean Winchester and clam up. I TOTALLY GET THAT REACTION to leaving comments. That’s why the kudos button exists in the first place. No embarrassment required. Just a Thank You that writers can acknowledge in a measurable way. Unlike hits, which honestly we have no idea how many of them even read past the introduction let alone the entire story.

I wish there were some more accurate metric for calculating just how well received our works are, but really this is all we have. We don’t have bestseller lists. Our readers don’t have to pay for our work. Leaving kudos or liking our tumblr posts is great, and lets us know at least our followers appreciate what we’ve written. Leaving comments is fantastic because we can share the joy, answer questions, reply to theories y’all have about our stories (heck nothing is better to me than having someone meta-analyze my writing! I LOVE THAT AND WOULD LOVE TO SQUEE WITH JOY AT YOU!). Reblogging our tumblr posts is like the ultimate recommendation. It says not only someone read and enjoyed what we wrote, but wants other people to find the thing too.That’s how we find new readers, especially if the post ends up tagged with stuff like, “OMG THIS WAS SO EXCELLENT!” or whatever. Damn near makes my week. :P

But if we post something, even if it gets tons of hits, if no one bothers to hit the kudos button at the end, it can very quickly start to feel like maybe nobody ever read all the way to the end, so why even bother...

I probably shouldn’t have turned this into an essay, but since that seems to be my trademark, I guess I’ll just go ahead and post it...

#ao3 #adventures in fanfic #this may or may not be completely coherent as the author may or may not still be drinking >.>#Anonymous

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oftenderweapons · 4 years ago

Text

Love Talk - Taehyung

Pairing: Taehyung x reader (nicknamed Lace)

Wordcount: 11k words

Genre: smut, fluff, (Taehyung is moody but no angst I guess) dating au, idol au

Rating: 18+

Finally! I can post this! My inner praise-thirsty brat has been missing y’all’s attention so here I am!

Actually I’ve managed to write the end this afternoon after I finished writing a whole chapter of my dissertation (God, why do I need a degree...)

Anyway, here is Taehyung’s take at love talk. This is clearly smut, so minors please, do not read or interact.

Quick recap/everything you need to know before reading. Taehyung and Lace (in this fic called many many nicknames since “Lace” hasn’t sticked yet) have been dating for a couple months and Tae has been taking it slow, they have done some coupley stuff and have made out, but they haven’t been really physical yet. Until he visits her late at night after coming back from a trip in Paris with Jimin. And he has a gift which might spark up something interesting.

Disclaimer: Personally, I don’t see Lace as the stereotypical slim girl, but there’s a very generic reference to this. Also, Lace has taken bondage and basic domination lessons in a dungeon. Taehyung knows this. Both of them treat this fact as something serious rather than a kinky fun fact, since it comes from one of Lace’s insecurities.

TRIGGER WARNINGS: woah. so. Foreplay, mostly masturbation (male and female receiving), making out and grinding, marking, biting, Oral (male receiving), duality king Kim Taehyung, mental health and depression, body image issues, the characters discuss public sex, food play, oral sex, sensation play and impact play, wax play, tantric massage, BDSM, domination, bondage and submission, sex toys, exhibitionism, dungeons. Both the characters have had same-sex experiences and relationships. There might be a few swearwords here and there.

Wordcount: 11k. This thing is big so I’ll come back and edit it a bit at a time.

Here is my masterlist!

And remember to vote for next prompt :) (link in bio!)

Enjoy <3

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“Hey.”

“Hey.” He replied right back. He was standing in the empty corridor at three a.m., the light coming from your doorway illuminating his chocolate curls, his eyes gleaming darkly. “Can I come in?”

You nodded, opening the door and letting him in.

The low lights of your hallway made him move slowly in the room, since he’d never ventured upstairs before. Reaching your living room, you switched on the small lamp beside the sofa, a gentle yellow warmth diffusing.

“Your house is very pretty.” He said, looking around.

“It’s basic. I’m still trying to buy some pieces as I go.” You commented, your mind still slowed down by sleep.

“I’m sorry. I know it’s late.” He said. He was being extremely scarce with his words. “We arrived in town ten minutes ago.”

“How was our trip?” You asked out of habit. You were still trying to understand what to expect from this.

“Very tiring.” He murmured. “I think I’ll be jetlagged all the way to next week.”

He had been in Paris with Jimin after being in London for group schedule. Of course he’d been conflicted between coming back to you and spending some time with his best friend, but at the same time, he thought you'd been dating for a short time and after all, he should give Jimin the priority.

You smiled. “Eight hours?”

“Seven.” He corrected. “May I?” He gestured to the sofa, a two-seats dark red velvet number dominating the room entirely.

You nodded.

“You look incredible.” His low voice made your insides shake. “Have you just woken up?” He shook his head in disappointment. “I’ve woken you up, haven’t I?” He shook his head, reprimanding himself.

“It’s okay.” You said, sitting beside him at a respectful distance. “What brings you here at three a.m. on a workday?” You asked, mischief tinting your voice.

“I wanted to see you.” He replies dryly.

What’s with the atmosphere?

Something felt off. It wasn’t just your sleep-addled mind. There was tension.

“Okay.” You argued back in his same attitude.

He shook his head, throwing his spine against the pillows, inflating his lungs. As he turned towards you, something lustful and obscure possessed his eyes. “Say yes.”

You furrowed your brow. “To what?”

“Fuck, just say yes, ____.” He begged with a growl.

You bit your lip and nodded.

He was on you in a millisecond, kissing you with an intensity that you didn’t think his lithe figure could muster. Yes, of course he was solid under your touch but his body was sinewy rather than bulky. It was a matter of kinetic force rather than actual strength.

He smothered you under his torso, your lungs constricting with the impact. The kiss wasn’t even an attempt at gentleness. It was a matter of teeth and tongues and sucking straight away. Your hand gripped the hair at his nape, trying to control him, slow him down. If he kept this up, he was going to bruise your lips. Soon he grew breathless and parted from your lips. His body was thrown over the sofa, over your lap, into your arms.

“I’ve been thinking of this single spot for days.” He murmured, diving for the crook of your neck, immediately nibbling on it. One hand already on your hair, he tried to move the other one around you, between your back and the soft burgundy velvet. “And I find you all fuzzy and warm from sleep, skin tender, freshly woken up, wearing this sorry excuse of a nightgown.” He snarled.

“Taehyung.” You murmured.

“Lace looks incredible on you, dove.” He lowered his head and started sucking on the upper curve of your left breast, clearly intending to leave a bruise.

You combed his hair back, looking at him while his eyes stared into yours.

“Tae, baby. Why don’t we get more comfortable? I have a queen size bed in the other room, are you sure you want to stay on the sofa?” You offered gently.

He shook his head, still latched onto you, no intention of letting go whatsoever.

"Taetae, you're gonna get a cramp, darling." You caressed his face with affection, his wide-eyed look making you weak.

He finally parted from you and inspected the bruise. Happy with the result, he kissed the mark, drying it with his cheek, slightly scratching you with his stubble. "I think we should stay on the sofa." He argued with a rumble.

He wouldn't answer for himself if he had you in bed. And it was too early to go all the way anyway. Of course his aim was getting his hands under your clothes — and possibly your hands under his, — but he also knew he wanted to take his time. His will was still strong enough to wait, but he knew, were he to be tempted, he would not hesitate. And he knew he wanted to play it slow, go one base at a time before diving all the way in.

"Were you listening, Tae?" You asked, noticing the absent look on his face.

He shook his head with an innocent look, his curls tickling your bosom.

You giggled, fondness warming your gaze. "You want to stay here?"

He nodded, his hair grazing your skin once more, his expression sparkling with a playful smile.

"Then we'll stay here." You declared. "Do you want something to drink? Something to eat? To you it should be dinner time, right?" You fussed.

"No, I'm okay, I'm trying to adjust." He explained. His expression went blank for a moment before lighting up in an Eureka! moment. "I have a gift for you!" He chimed happily.

"Really?" You replied, incredulous.

"It's a bit artsy and sexy, but it's from Paris, so…" He shrugged.

"Oh, now I'm curious." You combed his hair back, exposing his forehead.

"Let me—" He sat upright, disentangling himself from you. He sat cross-legged on the sofa and dove for his canvas bag. "Here." He said, handing you a paper bag.

"Is it…" It was heavy. Very. You opened the bag and you were met with the heavy scent of printed paper. "A book." You realised, taking the volume in your hand, gently removing it from the bag. It was still covered in a thin layer of plastic. "Oh, God! It's that book! How did you find it?"

He grinned. "A friendly bookseller. A connoisseur." He winked. "I didn't open it. I didn't want to ruin it. And I wanted to open it with you. Do you like it?" He dove into the crook of your neck once more, shaking his shaggy locks against your tender skin.

"Thank you, baby." You kissed his cheek. You were still getting used to his mood swings from dark, charming gentleman to his bubbly tiger cub persona. “Do you mind if I go grab a glass of water and then we leaf through it together?” You asked.

“Yeah. Grab one for me too.” If he had to have you half naked beside him for an hour or so, he’d better have something to keep him cool.

As you did your thing in the kitchen he looked around, wide eyed. The relaxing golden light coming from the lamp illuminated a shelf of fashion books and a series of black and white pictures on the walls. He recognised one as a feather. It looked very classy, still he knew you had bought it in a cheap shop downtown, a vintage parlour the two of you had visited during your fourth date.

“Here, Tae.” You said, entering the room, putting the glasses on the small tables at each side of the sofa, one of which hosted the lamp.

“Thank you.” He was sitting comfortably, legs slightly parted, his back laying on the sofa, elbows propped on the pillows. You stood in front of him, admiring him a little.

He was used to being watched, but your scrutiny was so fierce and detached that he felt crystallised, as if any movement would send him shattering on the floor like a frozen leaf.

He looked up at you, mesmerised, but also so terribly afraid of your next move. Like you could incinerate him with your eyes. Slowly, he raised his back from his slouching, hands naturally meeting your hips. It was intimate and cold at the same time. You felt afraid of the intensity he could evoke with a simple touch and a glance.

He called your name and it felt like an awakening, like you had never had a name before. His long lashes covered the upper part of his irises, giving you the sultriest, darkest look.

“Taehyung.” You whispered back, in hope you would sound just like he did.

His hands moved from your hips to your waist, bringing you closer, right in front of him. He scooted closer to the edge of the cushion, his nose skimming the soft silk of your nightgown from your sternum to the dip of your navel. “I missed you, darling.” He kissed your belly, propping his chin on your stomach.

Again, you combed his hair back. “I did send you a small gift, though.” You reminded him coolly.

Once again he remembered the picture, the voice text, your breathy moans and needy whines as you whispered how much you were missing him, how dumb you had been to tell him that you could wait one more week before seeing him again. Your relationship wasn't sexual yet, but during his short stay in Paris you realised how quickly it had escalated, feeling the need to simply tell him how he made you feel, how hot it was to listen to his deep, warm voice as he talked about his day. He could have been reading his shopping list and you would get wet anyway.

"You did send it." He replied. "And it was wholeheartedly appreciated." He said with a growl.

You licked your lips as you noticed his legs spreading farther, parting to accommodate your standing figure.

"Are you gonna make me beg for it?" He murmured, a pinch of worry in his voice.

You raised an eyebrow, playing confused.

Shaking his head, he tutted and grabbed your waist, his strong fingers digging into your skin as he turned you with his back to him, making you sit heavily between his thighs. "I won't beg for you tonight, Lace." He huffed minaciously in your ear, one arm coiling around your waist while his other palm dragged possessively from your hip bone to your knee, fingers digging into the soft skin of your inner thighs.

“Let’s look at your kinky, niche art book.” He growled at your ear.

Nodding silently, you bent to the coffee table, lunging for the book, your hair tumbling forward and exposing the naked expanse of your shoulders.

Of course he profited from the moment, lunging forward, drawing the line of your spine with the tip of his nose, from the upper hem of your nightgown to your nape, inhaling the flowery scent of your shampoo.

You almost lost your grip on the heavy book, your body responding to his touch with a deep shiver and a slight loss of balance. He gripped your waist tighter, helping you up. “Did you like that?” He asked.

You let your short breath and stumbling heartbeat speak for you.

“Did you like that, sweetheart?” He asked again.

“Yeah.” You huffed.

He chuckled gruffly. “Open the book.”

You used your nail to open the thin plastic foil, ripping it until you managed to open the cover. The first page was an unmade bed, the title printed in a dark, heavy font.

“Passion portrayed”

The theme was very… French. Your ex-flatmate had recommended you the book, printed by one of her former university classmates.

It didn’t even feign being ordinary or appropriate. From the very title of it, it was unmistakeably an erotic book, meant to expose intimate parts of the subjects’ life, exhibitionism in its most artistic vest.

“How does it work?” Asked Taehyung, his chin settling on your shoulder.

“It’s a book.” You said, matter-of-factly.

“Yeah, but the theme.” He said, taking the book from your hands and turning it around, searching for an abstract.

You shrugged. “From what I’ve been told, some couples asked the photographer for a series of intimate pictures. They loved the results so much that they asked if the author ever thought of publishing them as a collection. The pictures were selected and rearranged to create this book.” You explained, using your forearm to sustain the back of the book, your hand turning the first page.

“I like this.” Taehyung said, the page printed fully offering a wide, light green clearing in the middle of a wood. The straw field was bathed in orange twilight, the light cutting perfectly into the lens, creating small, interference halos in the picture.

You smiled, nodding, your hair brushing against his cheek.

He exhaled, his body relaxing. You felt so soft. Like his personal teddy bear. The skin of your thigh was warm against his palm, if slightly clammy. You were holding the book so to allow his hands to wander and he felt somehow confused and grateful for it, not knowing whether he could take advantage or whether you were just testing him.

“Tell me when you want me to turn.” You said quietly.

“Turn.” He said. The following two pages were only partly printed, hosting a smaller photograph on the center of each page. Both offered the same setting as before with a change of perspective, one lowered to the ground, in a picnic, the traditional chequered blanket laying on the ground, a wicker basket, small glass cups for wine, grapes, cheese and picturesque, cliché sandwiches; the other filtered through the backseat of a pickup. The definition of an American Sixties teenage rendezvous. “I can kind of figure where this is headed.” He murmured.

You snickered. “I can only imagine.”

You turned the page again. Black and flashes of neon pink. Probably a club, empty.

“Wow.” You said. The atmosphere had changed dramatically, contrasting with the previous page. The juxtaposition was somehow interesting.

“Turn?” He asked.

You obeyed. Same disposition of pictures: two, smaller, at the center of the page, same setting — the club — but through a different cut. A gothic black velvet armchair, the seat surrounded by elaborate swirls of sculpted ebony. The glimmering of metal in the darkness, reflecting the neon hot pink.

“It looks like an adult club.” He murmured, his finger exploring the vague shape of chains hanging from the wall in the picture on the right.

“I think so, too.” You agreed. “Have you ever visited one?” You asked, turning slightly to examine his reaction.

He denied with a tut. “I’d like to visit one, though. It would be curious.” He shrugged. “Have you?”

You cocked your head to the side. “Kind of.”

He waited for you to elaborate.

“Call it an occupational hazard of sort for a lingerie retailer. You just get used to a lot of crazy stuff, meet a lot of crazy people, get into a lot of crazy hobbies.” You approximately justified yourself.

“Was it for your… extracurricular?” He asked, a lazy smirk on his face.

“Yeah.” You confirmed, licking your lips.

He nodded delicately, trying not to punch his chin into your collarbone. “Next?” He called and you turned the page.

A bluish bathroom. Maybe a spa room, it had a massage bed. But everything was blue. Entirely blue. Blue tiles, blue floor, blue carpet, blue supplies. Blue. everywhere. Soothing, calm. “So much blue.” He commented.

“I think she’s going through primary colours. Yellow, reddish pink, blue. We’ll see what’s next.” You explained.

Tae stared at the picture. “Do you like it?”

“I’m not sure.” You turned the page. Again, two smaller pictures at the center of each page. The first one was a closeup of the massage bed, with its plush blue cover and a small shelf of products and candles. The other picture contained another detail, a white, thick candle and its burning wick against the dark blue tiles.

You nodded with a knowing huff.

“Want me to turn?” You asked.

Taehyung hummed in approval.

Black. And white. And grey. This is the same setting as the title page: bedroom, silken, glimmering sheets. But now you could figure out the rest of the room. A plain bedroom, the headboard made by a sophisticated tangle of iron swirls and bars, the rest of the scene empty except for a big wardrobe and a drawer. The setting in time is completely anonymous, the black and white chromatism killing any light that could suggest day or night or twilight.

“Turn.”

First detail: the silken sheets appearing through the iron bars at the foot of the bed.

Second detail: some absolutely ordinary, if not cheap and old clothes abandoned on the wooden floor of the room.

This is where it starts.

Taehyung was growing impatient, his hand getting restless on your leg. He started drawing small circles with his short nails on your inner thigh. "So…"

You stopped turning the page, leaving it perfectly standing, pinched between your fingers.

He suddenly shut his mouth, as if he had decided not to speak, however his glance gave him off, his eyes stuck on the page you had just uncovered.

He moved his hand from your belly, catching your wrist and making you turn the page fully.

On the page on the left a dainty, lithe female body occupied most of the picture, picturing the torso and lower body, covered only slightly in a cute, gingham lingerie set with small embroidered cherries. It looked like coquettish demureness, the combination extremely girly and juvenile on the model’s barely-there curves.

You turned to Taehyung as you felt his adam’s apple bob against your neck. He was staring at the picture on the other page, where a wooden honey dipper hovered over the girl’s lower abdomen, dripping the sticky, sweet liquid on her skin, her bent thigh hiding her crotch from the camera. “I like the angle. And the colours.” You commented.

He nodded simply.

You observed the picture for one more second before letting your fingers reach for the corner of the page to turn.

“Would you let me do that to you?” He growled, leaving a soft kiss on your neck.

Let him cover you in honey? “Would you lick it away?” You asked, curious, trying as hard as possible to play it cool. Secretly you were self-combusting.

“Duh. Of course.” He kissed you again.

“Yes.” You replied, without even thinking about it for half a second.

The following page moved back to the club, all black and magenta. This time everything you could see was the silhouette of someone laying on their front, naked, on a flat surface. It was impossible to recognise a male or female anatomy. It made everything more interesting. On the page beside, the picture focused on the dip of their spine, showing a vague outline of the shoulder blades and the frilly tip of a feather barely grazing the skin, as if the person in the room with them was running the… tool? down his or her spine.

“And you, would you let me do this to you?” You asked, curious, looking at him.

His fingers clawed at your lower thigh, making you hiss at his vicious grip. “You want to torture me, sweetie?” He teased, parting your thighs. The cool air licked at your sweaty skin, raising goosebumps in its wake. “Want to make me furious? Get me mad?” His lazy, soft kisses turned into an aggressive nipping, his main intent that of making bruises bloom on your tender skin.

“I want to see you wild.” You replied, still hoping to sound detached, even though at this point it was your own arousal rather than your sweat making your thighs clammy. “I’ve seen your stages. You roar.” You used your free hand to grab and knead his knee, but unfortunately he stopped you.

“Hands on the book.” He reprimanded. “What about my stages?”

Flashbacks of his Singularity performances ran through your mind. “You’re sultry. Seductive. Predatory. And so aggressive.” You explained. “So sinful...” You admitted.

“I know it drives you crazy.” He whispered, nuzzling into the underside of your ear.

“Fucking insane.” You huffed out, leaning into him.

He chuckled. “You’re so weak for me.” He mocked you.

You wiggled a little in his hold, your backside brushing against his lap, a deep, vibratoed moan exiting his mouth. “You’re so weak for me.” You teased back.

And then you squealed. He had just bitten your shoulder. “Turn the page, you menace.”

You did as you were told. This time it was a woman for sure laying on the massage bed, her body covered from chest to knee by a pale fluffy towel. Again, everything felt a bit too blue. You liked that she looked overall fuller, curvier than the previous models, the towel draping around her curved belly, her fleshy thighs. It wasn’t that strategically planned plumpness. It was genuine, showing both the traditionally attractive and the socially unaccepted parts of body fat. It wasn’t all tits and ass. It was arms, calves, belly. And it looked beautiful. Still, you couldn’t see her face.

“You like her?” Taehyung asked.

You shrugged. “Her body's non-canonically beautiful. You can tell that she loves her body. I like that she didn’t let society kill her vibe, that she likes her body so much that she wanted to have this kind of pictures taken. I think she trusts the photographer a lot.” You shook your head. “I’m so dumb. All of them must have trusted the photographer a lot. I don’t know why a curvier person would be more insecure about her body than a slimmer person.”

“I think society kind of taught us that people who don’t adhere to a certain beauty standard should or actually do feel ashamed for it.” Taehyung mumbled. “I don’t see why a curvier girl should be ashamed. And curvy is not just the sexy curve. Curvy is fleshy, handfuls everywhere. I don’t really care. I just want flesh and fullness to grip while I’m fucking.” He continued mumbling with a slightly careless but also complaining tone.

Suddenly the meaning of the hand coming around your middle, gripping the skin on your side and occasionally your love handles changed meaning. “So that’s what you were doing when you gripped me?” You asked. The first time he did it during one of your previous dates, you had felt wary, almost called-out by his action.

“When?”

“The first time we kissed. And then some.” You blushed. “I thought you were pointing out that I’m fat.”

“You’re not fat. You’re beautiful and sexy and yeah, you’re soft, so what? You feel so good. And we all have body fat. You like eating. You eat regularly and healthily. You care for yourself and love yourself. You’re one of the most confident women I’ve ever seen.”

You dipped your head, trying to avoid spilling the tear almost rolling down your cheek. “Thank you.”

“And you make lingerie look like sin.” He added, turning your head and holding you tighter. “I grip you and grab you because you’re sexy and because I need to stop myself from doing dumb, ridiculous stuff. And you’re squishy. It calms down my nerves. It soothes me.” He kissed your cheek. “If you ever decided to lose weight I would support you, of course, but if it were for me, I wouldn’t want you any other way.” He kissed you again. “And look!” he pointed to the following photography. “She seems to like curvy girls too.” He pointed to the other female figure appearing in the picture, standing beside the bed, untucking the towel and revealing the top of the laying woman’s breasts. “I like that they have a same-sex couple. Do you think they’ll have two boys too?” He asked.

“Are you interested?” You asked, no judgement or excitement in your voice, trying to silently communicate that he was safe whatever his reply would be.

“I mean, you have two girls, why not two boys?” He said, raising one shoulder. “Plus, I’m not opposed to it.”

“Have you ever had a boy?” You asked, quite blatantly.

He tutted. “It was a quick thing. I prefer girls, I think. The female body is more attractive.” He confessed. “It has way more secrets. It’s more interesting to explore.” He pushed his hips against your backside. “I think that the moment I feel attraction and curiosity, I let myself experience it. I don’t limit myself to something as dumb as gender.”

You loved his eclectic, versatile tastes. He is experimental and seductive, a natural hedonist.

“That sounds good for you.” You admitted.

“Have you had girls?” He asked, curious.

You smiled. “Yeah. I was in a relationship with a girl, in uni. A small thing.” You told him. “And yeah, they’re more interesting.”

“Right, you mentioned.” Taehyung remembered.

“I don’t wanna sound rude or pervy but… how was the sex? I mean, is it different, other than anatomically speaking?” He asked.

You exhaled, thinking about it more accurately, trying to remember. “Every person is different. I never really had male lovers, but the few subs I had all had something special and different — not that I had that many, that is.” You blushed.

He nosed his way through your hair and against your nape.

“It was more… conversational?” You tried finding the right word. “We gave each other a lot of constructive feedback.” You reminisced. “And fuck, I loved how responsive she was.” You scrunched your face. “I do miss fucking a girl every now and then. Wrecking a pretty girl gives me quite a boost of adrenaline and self esteem.” You admitted with a wild, embarrassed laugh.

“I agree to that.” He laughed too, his diaphragm moving with a belly laugh that ricocheted from his stomach into your back. “I can’t wait to wreck you.” He spoke with a dirty, hot, gruff voice.

You arched your neck, offering him the curve of your shoulder as you licked your lower lip. “Why aren’t you inside me already?”

The hand on your thigh, which had lost some pressure, climbed half an inch higher. “Because you couldn’t wait to see this book.”

You shook your head in disagreement.

“And because I’ll put my fingers inside you first.” He said aggressively. “And because I’m waiting. When I’m so desperate that I’ll wake up sweaty and horny in the middle of the night because I was dreaming of your dripping, sweet cunt on my face, then I’ll come fuck you until your entire body is nothing but a pretty toy trained for my pleasure.” His hand shifted from the harsh grip on your side to the devious, light, teasing fingertip tracing your puffy areola and erect nipple which were pushing against the satin of your nightgown. "I need to wake up so fucked out that I can conjure your taste in my mouth, that I can almost feel the wetness of you around my fingers. Your pretty, red lips around my cock.”

You hummed at that, wanting nothing but the stretching feel of his blunt, long erection inside your mouth, warm and salty down your throat. “Fuck my mouth, Tae. Please.”

He snarled and snickered. “Not a chance, darling. Now, turn the page.” He felt dumb for turning you down, but he had plans. He needed to resist. Good boys go to heaven.

Turn the page. The black and white felt soothing after all the coloured shots. “Oh.”

Taehyung breathed out loudly. “Fuck.”

You were too fascinated by the picture to look at him.

“Yes?” He asked.

“Yeah.” You replied.

“You’d let me?” He asked again.

You nodded. “Would you? Let me, I mean...”

“You wanna tie me up?” He asked, raising an eyebrow.

You momentarily put the book on your legs joining your pointer fingers together at the fingertip. “I have taken lessons, so...” You bit your lip, blushing.

He kissed your shoulder. “I can’t wait to try that. With you.” He gave you small bites this time, playful and caring. “And I’d be very happy if you taught me too.” His hand caressed your belly gently, the other one digging in the valley between your joined tights.

“Thank you, baby.” You pressed your shoulders into his chest enjoying the solid feeling of his body supporting yours.

“Anything for you.” He replied politely. “Now, can we move on?” He asked, trying to ignore the picture that had sparked the conversation, where a man wearing only boxers laid in bed, his wrists tied to the bedpost with a sturdy, rough rope.

You nodded, picking up the book and turning the page. Back to the babygirl in the field. This time her lover had his mouth on her; the shot a closeup of his stubbly cheek and chin and his open mouth sucking at her inner thigh. In the matching picture his mouth was on her small breast, sucking her nipple over the fabric of her bra. You clenched your legs slightly, wiggling a little in your seat.

It went maybe unnoticed. Maybe. Taehyung stopped breathing for a second, until you settled and he managed to gain his cool again.

You managed to keep it cool with the second set, the dungeon, where the only thing really happening was for the feather to caress the submissive’s ass, in the picture on the left, only to be substituted by a furred glove on the following photograph.

The third set had Taehyung gasping and moaning. You simply breathed out a small laugh. “Will you do this to me too?” You asked.

“I’m gonna worship you head to toe, dove.” He grinned, observing the pictures. Both involved the standing woman massaging the laying one, with strong, oiled hands kneading the round globes of her ass and thighs, the soft and pale plants of her feet.

“I love your hands.” You murmured, placing yours atop the one on your navel.

He smirked. “Don’t you?” He twisted his wrist to intertwine your fingers.

Nodding, you added: “They look so strong. And big.” You took a deep breath, daydreaming about the feel of them grabbing your breasts, your ass, your neck, pinning your wrists, moving inside you. Your brain had a special gallery dedicated exclusively to his hands.

“I bet you can’t wait to have them inside you.” He teased, the hand on your thigh climbing a little closer to your heat. You were wondering how long it would take for him to find out about your little surprise for him.

Let him live in innocence for now.

“That, yes.” You admitted, not even playing coy. “And also I can’t wait to see them on yourself.” You provoked him, hoping that he would understand.

“You want to see me touch myself?” He asked, his face absolutely impassive.

“Yes.” You replied plainly.

He laughed with a series of quiet exhales. “We’ll see.”

You turned a few pages, observing all the small details of the four different foreplay scenes.

“Would you do it outdoors?” He asked at a certain point, his stare fixed on the coquettish blonde angel sucking off her partner at the picnic.

You raised an eyebrow. “If the setting was right, yes. Though here in Seoul it's quite difficult.”

“We could visit my hometown. There are a lot of empty, remote fields over there.” He said, his arm holding you tight as he made both your bodies scoot back, away from the edge of the sofa.

“I would rather avoid you risking your career for a fuck out in the open air.” You commented pragmatically.

“We’re only risking that if we get caught. And I’m sure we’re smart enough.” He tried to convince you.

“What about insects? Bugs? Safety?” You asked, concerned.

“We’ll think about it in detail if we ever decide to walk down this path, yeah?” He suggested respectfully.

You pouted, nodding in agreement.

“Holy shit, look at this.” You commented, quite shocked. In the dungeon, the dom was sprinkling glitters on the backside of his submissive, which you had discovered being — much to Taehyung’s chagrin — also a man.

“I want that. Oh my God, they're gonna get all over the place.” He replied, frowning at the thought. “You can go through major catastrophes and those bitches would still colonize every nook and cranny of your body.” His brow creased. “But fuck it looks amazing.” Especially since in the second picture the dom was using a leather glove to spank his sub, making all the glitter disperse into the air at the impact, creating a purplish halo around the silhouette of the spankee.

“I’m gonna spank you.” He said, out of the blue. “I hope you’re okay with that.”

Yes, sir, Your slutty brain replied. “We’ll see,” you said out loud.

Ha laughed dryly. "You'll want me to. It's only a matter of time."

You turned around, smirking at him. You tipped his chin back with a finger, kissing him with a cruel tenderness. His eyes closed, initially surprised, but then he became more than eager to deepen the kiss. Still you drew back, while his mouth tried to chase after yours.

"No." You whispered.

"Are you telling me no?" He asked gruffly. "Mh?" The hand between your thighs had kept rising and by now his palm laid on the junction between your hip and thigh, his index tracing your mound. "Is it a no?"

You moaned lasciviously. Was he going to discover your surprise for him?

He finally reached your sex, expecting to meet a wet patch on your underwear. "____. Where are your panties?" He murmured in your ear.

You bit your lip. "Not wearing any." You murmured gently.

"Say it again." He growled.

"I'm not wearing panties, Tae." You mewled tauntingly.

He moved his hand from your navel to your breast, the other one cupping your crotch.

"Naughty girl." He snarled. "Bad, bad girl." His mouth latched at your neck while his hands pushed you further into him, his erection pressing against the small of your back.

"I want you." You whined. "So bad, Tae. Please."

"You're wet for me?" He said, his mouth parting from your skin long enough to interrogate you, only to continue to lick you as soon as he was done talking.

"I'm drenched. I want you. Make me cum, Tae, please."

His chest shook with an evil laugh. "You told me no earlier." He replied.

"I made a mistake. I only wanted to tease you." You cried out, your free hand trying to reach for his between your legs.

"Hands on the book, bad kitty." He said, nibbling your earlobe.

You obeyed with some quiet complaining.

"Why would you tease me?" He asked

"I wanted you to want me." You confessed. "I wanted you to stop resisting me."

"I'm not gonna fuck you." He repeated. "But nothing is stopping me from making you cum with my fingers." He kissed your temple. "Are you okay with that?"

You nodded. "Just make me cum, Tae."

He snickered. "Then keep your hands on the book. Keep watching your kinky pictures. Let's see what makes you even wetter."

You whimpered as his long fingers moved against your folds, and you parted your legs further to grant him better access.

On the following page, the women had moved from a tantric massage to a steamy, slow session of waxplay. The receiving partner was now laying on her back, her breasts exposed for her lover, her skin glistening with oil as the other woman let a droplet fall on her unmarred skin, however you could tell it wasn't the first drop from a stain barely visible in the corner of the picture, out of focus.

Taehyung interrupted your musings with a twitch of his fingers, while he spoke directly in your ear. "What about waxplay, darling? Would you like to try that?"

You exhaled at the movement, your head falling forward as the muscles on your neck went slack.

"Your body would be a work of art, covered in coconut oil, sweat, droplets of wax and my cum."

You felt your soul leave your body. From your seated position your inner organs were positioned so that his fingers perfectly reached your g-spot. "Fuck, Tae, you're fucking perfect."

He kissed the corner of your mouth, the hand on your chest toying with the hem of your nightie until he slipped the strap off your shoulder and uncovered your naked breast. "Oh, you like it." He bent some more trying to reach for your mouth. He thought about using one hand to turn your face but he was content with where they were at the moment.

The black and white bondage scene turned into a submission exercise, the woman standing on her knees over the face of the laying man, using a vibrator to pleasure herself.

And he simply laid there, mouth open, waiting. You almost turned when Taehyung stopped you. "I'd love to try that." His voice was slightly strained, probably from the strange angle he was in. Both his arms were busy and working from a difficult position. Not that you noticed.

Ever since he had started touching you, you had been in a haze, your head feeling extremely light and floaty.

"Anything you want." You replied before your voice broke in a mewl. "I'm close." You were, already, and incredibly so. All you needed was for him to keep talking. "I wanna hear your voice."

"What do you want to hear, Lace? How soft your cunt feels on my fingers? It feels like fucking velvet, darling. Do you want to know how much I wanna eat you?" He moved closer to your ear. “I wanna hear you scream for me, Lace. I want you to be so loud that everyone will know you’re having the best orgasm of your life.” He bit your earlobe. “I’m gonna make you cum so many times you lose count. I’m gonna make you regret teasing me. I’m gonna make you cry in every best way possible.” His fingers moved faster between your legs, his thumb meeting your clit. “I’m gonna fuck you so much you’re gonna hate yourself for complaining I haven’t fucked you yet.”

His dirty words got to your head like liquor, your hips undulating to find the final stimulus you needed to come apart. You felt your backbone roll dangerously and in a few seconds you snapped forward, his forearm on your chest keeping you upright through your climax. “That’s it, Lace. Ride my fingers.” He commanded and you complied, like the needy, desperate animal you are for him. Only for him.

Never in your life had you experienced the need to bend over backwards for anyone, least of all a man; yet, here you were, pliant like putty in his hands, feeling submissive for the first time of your life. “Taehyung.” You whispered, too lost to realise it was barely hearable. Still, he noticed, slowing down his movements.

“Are you okay, dove?” He checked on you, his voice warm and caring.

You shook your head yes. “I need a second.” You said through heavy breath.

He moved away the hand on your breast, bringing it to your cheek, making you ease back against him and cradling your body gently. “It was beautiful, Lace. Beautiful. I can’t wait to see you do that again.” He murmured, comforting you and praising you.

You giggled cutely in reply, turning toward his face and puckering your lips.

He read your cue and pressed his lips to yours chastely. “Need some water, dove?” He asked.

You nodded and for a second he thought how he could possibly grab the closest glass with both his hands busy. Noticing that, you caught his dirty hand and brought it to your face.

“Lace.” He groaned as you observed the slick coating his fingers.

“Tae.” You groaned right back at him, turning to give him a nice view before you put his fingers in your mouth, sucking lewdly.

His hips rolled below you, his eyes fighting to stay open while his forehead met your temple, jaw hanging low in a silent invitation to slide your tongue in his mouth. What you did, your devious will overpowering you, was to free his digits and part them in a V against your lips and chin, lashing your tongue out in the valley between his middle and ring finger to make out with him.

The sound he emitted was something so dirty and lewd that you found yourself turned on again, ready to slip his hand between your thighs once more.

“I cannot fuck you tonight.” He reminded himself once he parted from your tongue — and his hand.

“I still don’t see why.” You teased, always the temptress in a wild attempt to lure him into your bed.

“I need to take my time.” He gave himself the whole talk. “I need to learn you, your language, your tells and cues. Let’s run the bases and then I’ll take it home. Let’s enjoy every little step that takes us there.” He explained, giving you his whole vision.

You nodded. This is what he wanted. To make every single milestone meaningful, important, unique. “You should have said.” You caressed his face. “I wouldn’t have been so bratty, had I know of that.” You kissed his cheekbone.

“It’s cool.” He breathed out, eyes shut, teeth gritted.

“Are you okay?” You asked, fondling him some more.

“I’m just… dealing with something.” He replied, stressed, pressing his hips against your.

And you felt him. He must have been pretty big.

“Would you let me take care of you?” You questioned tentatively.

He shook his head. Then waited a few second. “Would it be okay if I grind against you?”

You raised your eyebrows, only to grin madly after it. “Yeah. Whatever works for you, love. Touch yourself, grind, I don’t care, just… let me be there for you.” You comforted him.

“Water first.” He said, using his clean hand to reach for the glass, mourning the departure from your chest for a quick second. As soon as he brought the glass to your lips, you took it from his grasp and placed his palm back to your chest, taking a small sip and and offering him some. He stretched over your shoulder and you helped him drink, tipping the glass carefully to avoid him choking or spilling. As soon as he was done you moved the glass back to the small table, grabbing the book in the process.

“Okay, back to where we left.” His hand covered in a dried up mixture of your and his spit laid on your navel, hiking up your nightie. The other was cementified to your naked breast, toying with your nipple.

On the pages there was an escalation of foreplay, the American sweethearts moving on to her offering him a blowjob.

“You okay with that?” You asked Taehyung, refusing to assume that all men love blowjobs.

“I think so, yeah. I hope in the near future I’ll be able to feed you my cock multiples time a day, sweetie.” He indulged in your kink, still shocked by your earlier request to suck him off.

You had to stop yourself from asking him to feed you now. He had asked for one step at a time. You owed him that. “All you need to do is ask, Tae.” You simply reminded him.

“Can’t wait to see you on your knees for me.” He mumbled, his hips thrusting up against you.

“What about spanking tools?” He asked as you turned the page, amazed by the riding crop that the dom was sporting.

“I’ve used them in the past, but I’ve never had them used on me.” You confessed. “I tested them on myself first before using them on someone, obviously, but I was never… I’ve never been truly dominated by someone else, so—”

He moaned and caressed your neck with the tip of his nose. “That’s okay. We don’t have to...”

You shook your head. “I want to, though. Just— easy. As you said, one step at a time.”

He ohed at that, nipping at your jutting collarbone.

You went through some more pages, discussing details, objects, feelings.

Of course your fascination with the dungeon scene grew when Taehyung cupped your pubis once more as a flogger appeared in the picture. “I’m close, I just wanna feel your wetness.” He explained. “I’d love to use that—” He indicated the flogger with a gesture of his chin “—to tease you. Drag its soft tips from your toes to your breasts, flick it innocently over your sensitive nipples. Draw lazy circles on your belly. Watch you lick, suck and hump the handle.”

You awed at that. Most importantly you awed at how he was pressing his hard on against your asscheeks through his trousers and your nightie.

“I’m close.” After ten minutes of being on the very edge of it, he gave up and brought his hand to his crotch, just adding more pressure. You felt somehow disappointed that you wouldn’t feel him on you anymore.

The next page was his undoing. In the bedroom scene, the man was still bound, propped up against the pillows, wide eyed, imploring. On the right page you discovered why: the woman was showing him her backside, on her knees, chest to the mattress, fucking herself with a huge dildo. “Fuck” he growled. “Lace, would you?” He asked, needing you to talk, to give him a scenario.

“Yes, I would. I would do it like that but I would also do it with your cock in my mouth, the dildo making me so relaxed that I could easily deepthroat the monster you’re hiding in your pants, mister.” You teased.

He smiled like the devil, barely holding in a snicker. “Fuck that, Lace, you just want my cock in your mouth, don’t you?” He mocked.

“I’ve never been so hungry for a cock, Taehyung. I just want to see you fucked out.” You had never felt so dirty and sexy in your life. You were fighting with your teeth and claws for him. There were so many people out there willing to do anything to get him. Might as well set the bar up high and offer him more than anyone else would ever dare to.

He whimpered, his forehead pressed to your nape.

You turned, grabbing his chin, making him look at you. “Let me see that bliss, Tae. Show me your pretty face when you cum for me.” You spurred him on gently. “Give me your best look. Come on, I wanna save that for the next time I fuck myself with my toy. Please.”

And he crumbled, holding your gaze, precipitating into oblivion. His mouth hung open, releasing a deep cry while his chest fell into your shoulders, pressing into you. He couldn’t care less about cumming in his pants, or messing up his trousers, in that moment he was only looking for a way to let his soul slither under your skin and tangle with yours. He wanted closeness and warmth and to leave his body and feel light.

When you saw his eyelids tremble, you tutted repeatedly, calling for his attention. “Keep looking at me, baby bear.”

He whined at the nickname, fighting the postorgasmic haze threatening to drag him under.

You fumbled with your hold of the book, freeing a hand to caress his wavy hair. “That’s it, baby.” You murmured, finally allowing him to let go of the snippet of control he had left over his body. “Are you okay, Tae?”

He nodded and inhaled against your neck, his mouth opening and laving your skin with heavy, wide and wet licks. He still had his hand between your legs and it looked like he was very happy with it.

"Are you happy, baby?" You asked him, combing his hair back.

He simply offered you an elated smile, nodding and nuzzling into you.

"You look so pretty when you cum, Tae. And so damn sexy." You praised him, being absolutely straightforward about your thoughts.

"I feel so good, ____." He said, his expression completely blissful.

"Do you want to keep leafing through the book?" You asked, still completely focused on him.

He scratched his cheek and nodded, even though he barely hid a yawn.

After making sure that he really wanted to keep going, you took hold of the book again. The couples in the pictures moved on from foreplay to actual intercourse, simply showing the closeness of body parts, but never including genitals in the photographs. It was only possible to identify which belonged to whom because of the light and setting. You appreciated the so-to-say gender neutrality of the shots.

"It's interesting how all the couples feel the same. The positions are slightly different but still there's always the same closeness, intensity, passion and intimacy." He noticed.

You agreed.

"It feels like they're together not just as in doing stuff together but actually exist together. They're one." He said, running his finger along the same possessive pose of the arm — snaking around the lovers back and keeping them close — which was featured on four different pictures put together, side by side, from each of the couples.

And finally it was the open mouths, the hard grips, the arched backs of an orgasm.

"It's so… Natural. The way we feel pleasure." He murmured, his heavy breathing and the movement of his lips teasing the sensitive spot behind your ear. "I mean, I know that there are some people who don't like sex. Or who don't perceive it as a necessity. And that's natural too." He thought about it some more. "But this feels like a universal language. Like music. You can read it in its little signs."

You were growing impatient again. The book was almost over, only a few pages left. What happens now? Does he want to leave? Is he going to stay?

You hesitated before turning the page, but he spurred you on.

This was aftercare. While the other photographs looked like they were made for the observers' aesthetic pleasure, this looked like invading the models' privacy.

"I feel uncomfortable." You spoke gently.

Taehyung worried. "Is it… Do you need space?" He asked, realising that you've been sitting for almost an hour in a very uncomfortable position. He started unraveling his hold on you but you stopped him, blocking his hand between your legs with the muscles of your thighs and blocking his other arm by catching his wrist. "I was talking about the pictures. It feels like I'm seeing something that I'm not supposed to see."

"Yup." He agreed. "But I like the one in the field. The one with the sweethearts." The sun had almost completely set behind the trees and the boy and girl were sitting exhausted in the backseat, her body perched on top of him, his head resting on her breast. "I would stay inside too." Taehyung said. "It's so warm. Intimate. And when you're tired and vulnerable it's so good to feel that emotionally together with someone. To stay sheathed inside." He mused.

You felt his fingers twitch almost imperceptibly on your folds. A wave of wetness oozed out.

"Oh, you're ready for another, doll?" He grinned, brushing against you more pressingly.

"Tae." You cried out.

"Yes, Lace?"

"Let me suck you." You said with a more imposing voice than before.

He made you turn your head and look him in the eye.

"You want that so bad?" He asked mischievously. "I guess you won't have any problem saying it again as you look me in eyes if you're truly so desperate for my dick."

You shook your head briefly. "Please Tae, let me suck your dick. If you don't give that to me I swear I'll go down the street and suck it to the first attractive man I see." You said, growing impatient both to his denying and his teasing.

"How can I say no to that?" He grinned sardonically. "Plus it would be dumb of me to put you at risk, wandering through the streets at this hour of the night wearing that skimpy mess of a nightgown." He parted your hair and moved it to the side, removing the locks that had stuck to your neck because of your sweat and his saliva. "And no panties.” His hand squished your breast aggressively. “You're driving me crazy with all this lace, baby.” He took a small pause, like he was thinking. “Come on, you want my cock in your mouth? Get in position and be ready to take it." He directed you harshly.

You put away the book, only the acknowledgements page left unread, and jumped to your feet, much to his chagrin, kneeling on the floor with the speed of a lightning.

“God, you sure are hungry for my dick, uh?” He kept getting cockier and cockier.

You probably should have played it cool, but you were too into it to fake aloofness. “Undo your trousers, Tae, please.”

He smirked, his eyelids lowered to look at you on the floor. He looked like a sex god, the kind of god that teaches unspeakable, sinful things.

His hands moved slowly and deliberately, so that you had the time to spot a wet patch of fabric where his tip was located. As soon as he undid his belt, you threw your hands at his button, but he stopped you.

“You don’t want me to block your hands, do you?” He warned you.

You raised an eyebrow as if doubting his words.

“I know basic knots, doll. Don’t test me.” He growled.

You pouted and looked at the floor.

He tutted. “Have I offended you, doll?” He questioned.

You rocked your head in a way that meant “so and so”.

He shook his head. “I’m so strict with you. I’m sorry, Lace.” He took a moment, thinking about how to make it up to you. “Would you be happy again if I asked you to pick a toy to play with while I use your mouth, doll?”

Your mouth opened slightly in surprise as you processed his request. You looked up at him. His zipper was undone, his cock partly out, his hand slowly, heavily petting it.

“Is this what you wanted to see, doll?” He threw his head back, licking his lips and giving you quite the show. “Go pick your toy, nymph.”

You sucked your lips in, indecisive between staying and not losing one second of this view or going to get something to relieve yourself.

“Go quick, doll.” He ordered.

Staying with your eyes fixed on him, you stood up and walked backwards to your room, running as soon as he got out of your sight. You quickly fished your favourite dildo from your bedside table, rushing back to the sofa.

“Here already? You chose quickly, doll. Are you sure you chose wisely?” He questioned, his voice caving when his hand reached the tip and circled it slowly but energetically.

“Yes, Taehyung.” You said, showing him your candidate, turning it so he could analyse it.

“It’s a very nice toy.” He commented, “It looks squishy.”

“It’s a special silicone.” You explained. “It was expensive but it feels amazing. And it’s safe, most importantly. No silly, cheap rubber.”

“Excellent, sweetie. Come kneel, doll.” He invited you and you complied obediently. “Such a good girl.” He praised you. “Look at you, all pretty, diligent, cute and wide-eyed. Who would guess that you’re the filthiest nymph ever?” He sat on the edge of the pillow, spreading his legs as far as his trousers allowed.

“May I roll them down?” You asked, leaving the toy stranding on its base on the floor while he nodded, your hands tried to push his linen trousers to his calves and ankles.

“I want you to put the toy inside, doll.” He growled.

You looked at him with an endearing expression. “Will you make it wet for me?”

“Want me to spit on it, doll?” He asked and you nodded neutrally.

He started collecting some saliva in his mouth before ducking to collect the accessory and rolling his tongue out, letting the liquid spread over the thick head.

“The base is important.” You tipped him, “it’s were I need it to be more slippery, since it’s thicker.”

“Okay, dove.” He said, his lips puckering dragging a thick coat of wetness all around the base.

It looked very erotic. Especially with his other hand stroking his shaft

What looked even more erotic was to see him stare at you before sliding his face up, all the way to the tip, his mouth opening and swallowing two thirds of the impressive length. His hand became faster on his hard-on.

“Holy shit, Tae, I— ” Words lost sound and meaning when you saw him bob his head on the toy, closing his eyes and moaning. He played with it for a minute or so before slipping it out of his lips, offering it to your chin.

There is a saying. No sub is truly trained unless they kiss whatever their dom puts before their lips.

And you kissed it.

He grinned with lust-fevered eyes. “Put it in, Lace.”

You took a second, staring at him. Your hands naturally reached the hem of your nightie and dragged it up and away.

“Fuck, doll. Look at those tits, you’re delicious, babe.” He praised you, and you beamed up at him, retrieving your toy and bringing it between your thighs, the tip already at your entrance.

“In, Lace.”

Once more you obeyed.

A moan escaped your throat and echoed from his own lips. He had moaned himself.

“Shit, all the way in nymph. All the way.” He said, replicating your pace on his cock.

When you bottomed out, he gripped his base, slipping his hand down to his balls and squeezing them delicately. With his eyes closed, head thrown back, he rumbled: “leave it there. Don’t move. If you can make me cum before you do, I’ll stay the night. But remember I won’t be fucking you.” He regained his controlled demeanour, staring at you, voice empathetic. “It’s up to you. I’ll still go if you want me to. Just know that there’s a way, if you want to make me stay.”

Distracting yourself from the filling sensation, you dragged yourself back to reality, making the best of the moment. As his hand gripped his base, you leaned in and licked the head with the tip of your tongue.

His rumble sounded like an earthquake. “Do what you want to, doll. Remember our game.”

Grinning, you opened your mouth and took him in as far as he would go.

You took maybe one third of him.

God, he was so big, his skin glistening, his veins pulsating so fascinatingly just under the surface.

He caressed your face and hummed. "Beautiful."

You took two more inches, eyes watering, lungs burning, but oh so determined to take all of him.

Backing up a little, you released some of his length to focus on the tip, twirling your tongue around it as you regained your breathing.

When you felt ready, you sinked again, adding one inch to your previous goal.

"Fuck, so tight, doll, you're a crime." His hips jutted forward and you opened your eyes wide, a little surprised by the motion. A single teardrop spilled, not due to discomfort but only to his shaft hitting the back of your throat.

"You okay, doll?" He checked in on you as soon as he felt the droplet hit his thumb. His hand gently tangled in your hair and pushed you back delicately, trying to free your mouth. You whined as his tip slipped out of you with a pop, even though you had tried to suck on him to keep your hold.

"Listen carefully, _____. I need to fuck your mouth, nymph." He said, panting, trying to control himself. "Can I put my hands in your hair? Is it okay if I stroke in?" He asked, worried.

You just nodded. "I want that, Tae. Just use me." You pleaded, caressing his erection, placing small kisses on the thick underside.

"Good. I just thought it was good to warn you. And make sure that you like that, doll." He combed your hair. "Now let's get it, sweetheart."

He showed no mercy. The moment you sucked his tip past your lips, he started pushing in with short, quick jabs. However, when he saw you getting more and more of him inside, he lost all semblance of control.

In the meanwhile you had lost any sensation apart from those coming from your mouth, almost forgetting the toy inside you, of which you were reminded the moment he started thrusting so hard that your whole body began to roll back and forth.

He groaned before murmuring deeply, "I'm gonna cum." At that he zoned out, going completely silent, his thrusts getting sloppy before he spilled into you with a long, raspy hum.

You welcomed his taste in your mouth, as he fussed, whimpering ‘don't swallow’. His first spurt was already down your throat but you focused on the second, the third, the last one a weak series of drops. He stayed still a few second and you admired his form: lush ringlets of hair sticking to his forehead, head tipped back as he filled his lungs hungrily before huffing out, his breathing pattern quick and heavy. His lashes fluttered and his brows knitted together every few second as he tried to get a grip on himself. He licked his lips, which had grown too dry with all the panting, his eyes finally opening and focusing on you.

You slowly pulled him out of your mouth.

"Lemme see." He growled.

You knew what he meant.

"Such a little nymph." He praised you, and you felt your inner walls flutter at that, moving the toy inside you.

"Do you want to swallow it? Drink me?" He asked with a condescending tone.

You nodded, trying not to spill his release from your tongue.

"Do it."

Eagerly, you did, the gulping sound almost too loud in the quiet room.

"Show me." He said, just as you parted your lips to do just that, assuring him that not a drop had gone to waste.

"Come here, doll. Keep the toy inside.” He grumbled, lowering himself to put on his boxers, coming close to you and kissing the top of your hair in the process.

Biting your lip, you stood up, quickly propping one knee on the sofa and straddling him, one hand gripping the base of the dildo.

“Tae.” You whispered.

He kissed your lips delicately, simply pressing his lips to yours. “Want me to do it?” He asked.

You nodded.

He caught your hand on your crotch and substituted it with his, the other one grabbing your ass. “Can I move?”

You nodded, “I just need hard and fast, please.”

Taehyung grinned, kissing your forehead as you lowered your head, looking at his veiny forearm starting to pump the toy inside. “Is it good like this—”

“Faster!” You exclaimed, your hand tugging at the hair of his nape.

In response he placed his lips on your cheek, nibbling at your soft skin. He hammered the toy inside you, teasing you on how nasty, kinky and absolutely divine you were, how incredible you looked, how much he wanted you to cum, how he was going to destroy you the moment he’d get to be inside you.

You felt on the very edge of pleasure, the sensation so disturbing since you felt like something was missing.

“Tae?” You asked with a whiny voice.

He slowed down, trying to let you focus on talking“What is it, doll?” He huffed gently.

“I need to touch myself.” You said with a pout.

He nodded and bent to your mouth. “It’s okay, sweetie. I’ve got you.”

He kept his pattern slow, trying to adapt it to your fingers on your clit. He synced up so nicely that you managed to rub yourself for maybe a minute before the tip of the toy reached the perfect depth, making you come apart in Taehyung’s hold.

“That’s lovely, doll. Lovely.” He whispered in your ear, speaking sweet nothings that you couldn’t quite register from your fucked out state.

After a couple minutes you managed to go back to reality. “Are you okay, Tae?” You asked.

“I should be asking that. You moaned your lungs out, doll.” He kissed your lips, bringing your wrist up from your mound to his mouth, smearing his lower lip with your wetness before licking it sinfully.

“Kim Taehyung.” You said in warning and exasperation.

He looked at you wide eyed, playing innocent. “I believe you earned me as your sleeping buddy tonight.” He joked.

“Indeed.” You said, wincing a little as he extracted the dildo.

“Are you sure it’s okay, you’re okay?” He asked.

You simply nodded. “Let’s just head to bed. It’s four thirty. I’ve got work tomorrow morning.” You explained.

“Can we have have breakfast or will you have to rush out?” He asked, already in tiger cub mode.

Your body deflated in desperation over your lost sleep but you smiled gladly when you looked up at him. “I’ll be happy to wake up early and have breakfast.”

Cleaning up was a bit messy, especially finding sleeping clothes for Taehyung, still you managed to hit the bed at five am, Taehyung managing to stay in his lane for maybe five minutes before cuddling up against you and falling asleep like a toddler.

Of course your head tried to process how you felt about the whole event, but your exhausted body and his gentle embrace cradled you to sleep.

#bts smut #bangtan smut #kim taehyung smut #love talk #taehyung imagine #Taehyung one shot #taehyung reaction #taehyungxreader #taehyung fanfic #bts smut blog

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kmomof4 · 5 years ago

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Ch7 Time and Again

We’re back y’all!!! Thank you so much for your love and support of me and this fic! I hope you enjoy the new chapter!!

Ao3 link

All the love and thanks to my besties and beta/encouraged team of @hollyethecurious and @winterbaby89!!! Love you ladies to the moon and back again!!! *mwah*

Also big shoutout to the CSSNS discord ladies for all their encouragement and help over the last few months!!!

Tagging my peeps: @hollyethecurious @winterbaby89 @snowbellewells @stahlop @resident-of-storybrooke @jennjenn615 @kingofmyheart14 @profdanglaisstuff @branlovestowrite @thisonesatellite @ultraluckycatnd @flslp87 @whimsicallyenchantedrose @let-it-raines @shireness-says @kymbersmith-90 @darkcolinodonorgasm @bethacaciakay @searchingwardrobes @ilovemesomekillianjones @teamhook @aprilqueen84 @qualitycoffeethings @superchocovian @artistic-writer @donteattheappleshook @doodlelolly0910 @seriouslyhooked @tiganasummertree

Please let me know if you’d like to be added or removed

Under the cut unless Tumblr ate it.

A/N I am aware that in some places it is illegal to swim with dolphins in the wild. But this is fan fiction y'all. Just go with it.

Killian cracked the door open to Emma’s bedroom to see the blonde siren still in dreamland. She was on her tummy facing the door with her sunlit hair spread over the pillow and her face. The little whistle she released on her exhale caused the corner of his mouth to lift in an affectionate smile. He crept into the room and made his way to the windows and opened the blinds so the morning light flooded the room. “Rise and shine, sleepy head!” His exuberance obviously didn’t even register with her as all she did was snuggle her head deeper into the pillow and pull the comforter more firmly around her.

He laid down on the bed facing her, tenderly brushing her hair away from her face. “Oh Swan,” he singsonged. She finally cracked an eye open.

“Who’re you?” she slurred, still mostly asleep.

He broke into a full grin. “I’m a new day,” he exclaimed. “New opportunities. New experiences.”

“You’re insane,” she grumbled, turning away from him.

“No, I’m not,” he insisted, getting up from the bed. “Come on Swan, daylight’s a wastin’. Breakfast is ready and we need to get moving.”

“Why?” she questioned, turning back to him. She sent him a side eye as she pushed her hair out of her face and sat up. “Am I making you late for an appointment?”

“Ahh, not an appointment, per se,” he admitted, scratching behind his ear. “More of a rendezvous. Between us. With a specific activity in mind.” His eyes widened along with hers as her mouth fell open when he realized exactly what he just said. Holding his hand out and shaking his head vigorously he nearly shouted, “No, no, no, Swan! That’s not what I meant,” he justified himself, feeling his face flush. “I mean,” he stammered, looking down again, “I had an idea of how we could spend the day.” He looked up and met her skeptical gaze head on. “Deep sea fishing.”

“Deep sea fishing?” she parroted, the incredulous look on her face making him break into a grin.

“Deep sea fishing,” he reiterated. “Have you ever been? Oh, never mind,” he murmured, scratching behind his ear again. “I forgot. You’ve never been to the gulf. And I assume, no other beach as well?”

She sent him another side eye and a smirk. “You assumed correctly.” She climbed off the bed and stood before him. “What is it? A charter? What time is our reservation?”

“Nope, not a charter,” he informed her. “Right behind the pool, on the other side of all that green, is the dock.” He smiled down at her. “The Jolly Roger will be at that dock in,” he checked his watch, “less than an hour.”

Her eyes were nearly comically wide now. “The Jolly Roger?” she choked out, “Are you kidding me? What is it with you and pirates?” She shook her head.

He laughed at her dubious expression. “No, I’m not kidding you, Swan,” he said, shaking his head and waggling his eyebrows at her with a delighted twinkle in his eye. “And, I mean, you were the one who watched Black Sails. I think the name of the ship in the dream, must have been from me.” His gaze turned sheepish. “I’m sorry again for last night, Swan. I…”

“Nope,” she said. “We’re not talking about that. You have a wonderful day planned. Let’s focus on that.”

"You’re right, Swan.” He turned away and retreated to the door of her room. “Like I said, breakfast is ready, so get a move on. I’ll see you up there.” He shut the door gently behind him.

~*~*~

Killian was sitting at the table finishing his coffee when Emma finally made an appearance about thirty minutes later looking much more awake than when he had left her. She wore a red crocheted top with three-quarter sleeves over patterned shorts. Her hair was pulled into a messy braid that lay over her shoulder. The sheepish look she sent him was all kinds of adorable and caused his lips to pull into a smile as he brought his coffee cup up to his lips.

“Uhh,” she worried, “I wasn’t sure what appropriate attire was for deep sea fishing,” she finished, waving her hand vaguely over her body.

“Honestly, Swan,” he began, “your bathing suit and a t-shirt cover-up will be fine. Sunscreen and a sunhat are actually more important. Keep you from getting burned. Do you have rubber soled shoes?”

She nodded as she made her way to the coffee pot. “I brought my tennis shoes.”

“They’ll be fine,” he assured her. “There’s homemade French toast and bacon in the oven. I’ve already eaten. What do you like on it? Powdered sugar? Syrup?” he asked getting up from his chair and coming into the kitchen area.

“Syrup please,” she murmured. He got the syrup out for her and sat it down on the table. She dug in to breakfast with a gusto that surprised him.

“It’s not going anywhere, Swan,” he chuckled. “There’s plenty, and I promise to feed you again at lunch. Speaking of, what would you like me to make for us?”

She grinned around her full mouth. The unintelligible, but entirely adorable mumble that came from her pulled a full laugh out of him. After swallowing, she tried again. “French toast is my favorite. I can’t help digging into it like there’s no tomorrow. What kind of jam is there?”

He made his way to the fridge to search for jam. “We have grape, strawberry, and apple butter.” He straightened back up again. “What did you have in mind?”

“Can we make peanut butter and jelly? With the strawberry jam?” she asked. The almost guilty look on her face made his gut tighten in indignation and made him wonder what or who in her past would make her so hesitant to ask for something as simple as a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

He couldn’t let her know that though, so he smiled at her instead. “Of course we can. Do you like crunchy or smooth peanut butter?”

Her eyes lit up. “Oh smooth, please,” she enthused. Her eagerness waned slightly as she cleared her throat. “I’m sorry. I’m not used to people really caring what I think when it comes to things like that. I mean, Ingrid, my mom, does, but…” she trailed off.

“Wounds made when we’re young tend to linger,” he conceded, nodding. “And I’d imagine that in the foster system, there wasn’t much catering to simple desires and wants. I understand,” he murmured, coming over to her, sitting down next to her, and taking her hand. His eyes met hers and he forced all the sincerity he was feeling into his eyes for her to see. “When it comes to me, Swan,” he continued, “get used to it.”

She nodded slowly, their gaze never breaking. He saw a hesitancy in her eyes that made him want to gather her in his arms and promise that nothing would ever hurt her again. But he knew that love and trust were earned and making rash and ultimately impossible to keep promises would do nothing to move him closer to that goal. So he settled for pouring everything he was thinking and feeling into his eyes and hoping that she would read it. He stood up and went back to the kitchen to prepare their lunch while his Swan finished her breakfast.

~*~*~

“I didn’t even notice this yesterday when we were touring the house,” she enthused, nearly skipping down the dock. Her obvious delight at their excursion thrilled him as well, as he tried, unsuccessfully, to smother his grin and a small chuckle.

She stopped in front of the luxury boat at the end of the dock. The grin she sent him made his heart soar. “Behold! The Jolly Roger! She’s a World Cat Glacier Bay Edition Catamaran. We could run from here to the Bahamas if we wanted to.” He passed her and climbed on holding his hand out to her to help her aboard. “And this is her Captain, Nemo Dakkar.” He indicated the tall, bald man to the side.

He bowed low as he took her hand and brought her knuckles to his lips. “Welcome to the Jolly Roger, milady. We will be heading south from the island about forty miles before we weigh anchor and spend a few hours fishing the depths. We also have snorkeling equipment aboard if you’d like to get in the water.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Captain Dakkar,” she replied, with a slight blush.

“Oh please,” he waved away her formality, “call me Nemo. Have to take advantage of a name like that,” he continued, with a twinkle in his eye.

She let out a laugh that completely relaxed the tension that he could see in her shoulders when she met Nemo. He was so good at putting people at ease, Killian was pleased to see him work his charms on his Swan.

Nemo took the small cooler that held their lunch and turned from the couple to head to the cabin. After settling himself and Emma comfortably on the bench seats behind where Nemo was seated, Killian nodded to him to start the engines.

As they pulled away from the dock, Killian watched Emma closely. She had changed clothes as he suggested into her bathing suit with a sleeveless button up top and shorts over it and tennis shoes. The straw hat on her head and sunglasses on her face did nothing to hide the joy in her wide smile. “You didn’t notice the boat yesterday because it wasn’t here, Swan,” he informed her, shouting above the roar of the twin Yamaha engines. “She’s docked on South Padre Island. I called Nemo last night and asked him to be here at ten this morning.”

“I see,” she shouted back laughing, as the wind tried to whip her hat off her head. Watching her smile and laugh as their temporary home got smaller and smaller behind them, Killian hoped that everything they experienced today would make for a day to remember.

~*~*~

“Tell me a favorite memory of you and Liam,” she asked, smiling.

“Oh, are we playing twenty questions again, Swan?” he joked, with a smirk and raised eyebrow. They had finally reached their destination in the middle of the Gulf of Mexico and had set their rods. Now they just had to wait. Emma had taken off her outer clothes and was sunning herself on the seats at the stern of the boat. The bright blue bikini left little to the imagination and Killian was having a lot of trouble keeping his thoughts from straying into uncomfortable territory. Uncomfortable territory with their audience nearby anyway. So he was thankful when Emma asked him the question.

“Hmmmm,” he pondered. “My favorite memory with Liam.” A grin broke out on his face. “You’re gonna think I’m awful for saying this, but you remember asking if I was competitive?” Emma nodded. “So, March 2004, Liam and I were skiing in Aspen. I was on spring break before I graduated.” Emma’s eyes lit up. “A pretty lass had caught Liam’s eye and he was trying to impress her, so he was being entirely too foolhardy in challenging me to a race. He should have known that I wasn’t going to take it easy on him just so he could impress his lovely lady.” He chuckled, looking down. “Once again, I handed his ass to him. And not only did I beat him, but he took a tumble as well breaking his ankle. I mean, he was fine, eventually. No lasting effects, but it certainly makes for a funny memory for a younger brother.” He looked back up with a wide grin on his face.

“March 2004?” she asked, her eyes dancing, “Do you remember exactly when? I was supposed to be on a senior trip during our spring break in Aspen.”

“Really?” he exclaimed, surprised. “I don’t remember exactly when we were there, but there was a big jazz festival going on that week.”

“Yes!” she laughed, “That’s when we were going. For the jazz festival! I didn’t get to go because I sprained my ankle the week before at a softball game.” Her face fell then. “I cried the entire week they were gone. I don’t know why. I wasn’t even that excited for the trip. I mean,” she amended, holding her hand out to him, “I was looking forward to it, don’t get me wrong,” she shrugged, “but not enough to warrant all the crying I did that week. I just couldn’t shake the feeling that I was missing something. Something important.”

Killian could feel the blood draining from his face. He suddenly remembered that week, with perfect clarity, hovering in that in between state between waking and sleeping, hearing a girl cry as if her heart would break. When he would wake up fully, the crying was gone. He had forgotten about it until this very moment.

“Wait a minute,” he speculated, with a frown on his face, “I remember a group of kids there that week with these obnoxious tie dye lime green and turquoise t-shirts and yellow baseball caps. I remember them because they kept singing this NSYNC song, Bye Bye Bye, but with different words.”

“Oh my god,” she exclaimed, “Those were my friends! And I wrote those lyrics! Oh that is hysterical! That you were there the same week I would have been.” She looked over at him as realization dawned. “I should have been there when you were there.”

Before he married Milah. Before losing who, at the time, he thought, was the love of his life. Would he have met her back then? If so, would that have stopped him from marrying Milah? Sparing him that heartache that was to come? He’d never know. But he couldn’t help but think that if he had met her back then, his life would have been different. He sent her a despondent smile before shaking off his melancholy. “Ok, my turn,” he said, determined to take their conversation into a happier direction. “What was the first movie you saw in a theater?”

She laughed. “You may not believe this, but I remember seeing Aladdin in the theater. My first grade class took a field trip to see it before Christmas break. What about you?”

“My first movie was Honey, I Shrunk the Kids. Favorite movie of all time?”

“The Princess Bride.” She looked down with a slight blush to her cheeks.

“What?” he inquired, as she lifted her face towards him again. “There’s no reason to be embarrassed about loving The Princess Bride. It’s one of my favorites, too.”

“Really?” The amazed hope in her eyes made him catch his breath.

“Are you kidding? Fencing, fighting, torture, revenge, giants, monsters, chases, escapes, true love, miracles… how could it not be?”

She sent him a bemused smirk. “Saw what you did there,” she murmured. Now it was his turn to blush and look down. “What about your favorite movie?”

“Star Wars, the original trilogy,” he answered definitively, with no hesitation whatsoever. “Uhhh… favorite book.”

“My book of fairy tales.” The enhanced blush on her cheeks made his heart stutter in his chest. While the blush may have given away her nervousness at revealing something so personal, she held her head high, refusing to back down from the intimacy engendered by such a revelation. “One of the few good families I had growing up gave it to me for Christmas. I was seven.” She looked down then. “All the stories in the book started with hope. Reading them over the years, helped me keep my hope alive that there was a family out there for me. Someone to love me.” She looked up again with a tremulous smile before nodding toward him for his answer. But he couldn’t. Not until he held her in his arms and assured her of his love for her. Without words of course. He rose to cross over to her when a jingle to his left caught his attention.

“I think you may have caught something, Swan,” he informed her, looking towards her rod and reel.

Emma scrambled up from where she was lounging on the padded seat to where her rod was secured on the edge of the boat.

“Oh my god,” she exclaimed. “What do I do, what do I do, what do I do?” Her excitement and trepidation were hilarious and Killian couldn’t hold back his laugh.

“Reel it in, Swan,” he encouraged. She took the rod in her hands and was nearly pulled overboard, unprepared as she was for the weight of her catch, before Killian grabbed her around her middle and pulled her in to him, securing her back to his front so she’d have the leverage to reel it in. He murmured encouragement in her ear as she leaned against him and did battle with whatever was on the other end of her line.

About ten yards from the gunwale of the boat, the fish made a mighty leap into the air, trying to free itself from Emma’s line. “Swan,” he shouted, “That’s a king mackerel! And a good size too!” Nemo had been standing by waiting for the fish to make an appearance. As Emma finished reeling it in, he pulled the fish over into the boat and unhooked it from the line.

Emma turned around and threw herself into Killian’s arms. “I did it, I did it, I did it!” she shouted. The smile that split her face made his heart soar.

He spun with her in his arms, laughing with her. “That you did, Swan. Well done!” He placed her on her feet, but continued to hug her in celebration of her success.

“Oh this is gross, Killian. We’re sticking together,” she mock complained, pulling out of his arms. She looked up into his face as he went very still. “What’s wrong?”

“That’s the first time you’ve called me Killian,” he murmured.

“Is it?” she asked, with a furrowed brow.

“Yes, Emma, it is.” His azure gaze penetrated the confusion that swirled in her jade depths. The only time he had ever called her Emma, was when she’d called him after the last dream. It was always Swan or Miss Swan in their interactions before and since. Just as it had always been Mr. Jones, Jones, or sir. With her use of his first name, he felt the need to use her first name as well. He pulled her closer again, wanting to impress upon her the importance of the moment when he was interrupted by a series of trills, clicks, and whistles off the port side.

Emma turned wide eyes toward the pod of dolphins that were frolicking and chirping in the water only a couple of feet from the boat. “Dolphins,” she exclaimed, delighted. She turned back to him and Nemo, eyes the size of saucers. “Can we get in the water with them?” she asked, a hesitant hope in her eyes.

“Of course you can, my dear,” the captain laughed. “Leave your hat and sunglasses here. I’ll get out the camera and take pictures.” Emma needed no other encouragement. As she took off her shoes and accessories, Killian got out the snorkel equipment for them both. When they were both properly outfitted, they jumped into the water.

There were ten dolphins in the water including a couple of much smaller ones. The mamas were protective of the little ones, not letting the humans get too close, but the others were eager to play. Killian was in awe of the creatures and watching Emma interact with them brought tears to his eyes and laughter to his heart. He thought his heart would burst when Emma placed a kiss to the nose of one of them. They were both taken for a ride, holding on to the dorsal fin of one of the more adventurous creatures. The animals would often look at the boat and seem to pose for Nemo with the camera. Killian was delighted that Nemo not only took pictures of him and Emma swimming and playing with them, but got pictures of just the dolphins when they were jumping out of the water. After about forty-five minutes of frolicking with the animals, the pod moved away from the boat and Killian and Emma made their way back to it.

~*~*~

Nemo helped Emma back into the boat as Killian came up right behind her. The stunned disbelief on her face melted into pure joy as she laughed at the marvelous adventure they’d had that afternoon. “I still can’t believe it,” she sighed, “I’ve never,” she shook her head, “even been that close to a wild animal before, outside the zoo. And to actually touch one…” she trailed away with a sense of wonder that she knew was all over her face.

She looked at Killian as he came up behind her. “Aye, Swan,” he agreed. “It’s something we’ll never forget.” The moment was too poignant and emotional. She stepped into his open arms and let him hold her. She held the tears she could feel gathering at the corners of her eyes back only by sheer force of will. The emotions on a rampage inside of her demanded an outlet and finally found that release in a barking sob.

“It was so beautiful,” she cried into his shoulder, “and perfect. And I’m so happy. And I’m so sad it’s over. And I’ll never forget it. As long as I live.”

“That’s right, Swan,” he murmured, “let it out. Let it all out. I’ve got you.” He continued to hold her, whispering assurances and what comfort he could in their shared experience. When her sobs finally started to taper off, he reluctantly released her and turned to Nemo. “So let’s see those pics, shall we?”

Emma wiped her eyes and hiccuped as the captain strode forward with the camera. “We also have to get a picture of Emma with her mackerel.”

“Yes, we do,” Killian agreed, smiling down at her and taking the camera. “Ready lass?” he asked. Nemo approached again with her catch and a bright smile broke through the tears at last.

“I weighed it, and this bad boy weighs 47lbs,” the captain exclaimed, his eyes lit up in approval. “Well done!”

Emma let out a watery laugh. “Thank you,” she marveled, taking her fish from Nemo. He took the camera back from Killian and took pictures of the fish, Emma holding it up, and then Emma holding it between her and Killian.

“Now, before we head for home,” he informed them, “I’ll clean it and put it in the fridge. And y’all can have king mackerel for dinner tonight.”

While they waited for Nemo to finish the arduous undertaking of cleaning the huge fish, Emma and Killian sat side by side and scrolled through the pictures of their dolphin adventure. There were also pictures of Emma reeling in her catch. She was near tears again as she looked at the images. There was one that Nemo had caught of one of the dolphins fully jumping out of the water.

“Oh, now I’m getting that one made into a canvas and putting it on the wall,” Killian promised. “Now whether it’s in my office or here or at home will remain to be seen.” He smiled widely at her.

Smiling back, she asked him, “Why not all three? I know I wouldn’t mind seeing that picture wherever I was.”

“You know, you’re right,” he agreed. “Why can’t I have that picture at all three places. Thank you Emma,” he breathed, awareness sparking in his gaze. Slowly he lowered his lips to hers. She smiled into the kiss and opened for him when his tongue requested entrance. She struggled to maintain some semblance of awareness of where they were and who was nearby as he deepened the kiss. She moaned as he lit a fire in her blood when one of his hands reached her breast. She clutched his shoulders as he pulled her closer until she was nearly sitting in his lap. Their tongues continued to duel and their hands continued to roam until they heard a loud clearing of a throat just before the engines roared to life. Breaking apart with a guilty glance back at the captain, who only smirked at them in return, they tried to bring their breathing and heart rates back under control. Killian stood up, rather awkwardly in her opinion, and began to reel in his rod. In all the excitement, they had completely forgotten about it. Once he had it stored, he gave the signal to Nemo and they were off.

Once Killian sat back down, Emma settled herself in between his spread legs and leaned back onto his chest with her head resting on his shoulder. Content just to be there and be held by him, she felt herself start to drift off, safe in the arms of the man she loved after one of the best days of her life.

#Time and Again #ch7 #krystal writes #art by krystal

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