#Sylvanas/Jaina | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

redisaid · 14 days ago

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In Dreams 1 of ???

It's never just coffee

Not me starting another Sylvaina project in the cursed year of 2025.

Feel free to guess at what's actually going on here.

NSFW

4024 Words

Read it on Ao3!

Mm, in dreams, I have lain in sin, just to be the cracked and cared for.

“You’re here again?”

The question--almost an accusation, really--caused Jaina’s eyes to focus again, drawing away from the blur of cold darkness and warm lamplight outside the window and toward the familiar voice that spoke it.

Vereesa was here. Of course she was.

“I wanted coffee,” Jaina protested, shaking her nearly empty to-go cup at her friend. The one she’d never actually gone anywhere with, as she was still very much sitting in the same cafe it had come from.'

The very window she’d been looking out of was emblazoned with the same logo as the cup, a cute cartoonish hawkstrider, running away from the words Windrunner Cafe. Running, perhaps, as Jaina should have.

Vereesa was standing by the door, shaking the rain off of her umbrella, the words of her own last name shadowed onto her by the streetlights outside like an unwanted tattoo. She set down her umbrella near Jaina’s vigil, still dripping onto the wooden floor. Her eyes darted, specifically to the counter, then avoiding the woman who stood behind it.

And as for Sylvanas, she was kind enough to all involved to pretend she didn’t see her sister enter her place of business, though Jaina knew that she certainly had noticed.

“It’s never just coffee,” Vereesa muttered as she took a seat on the leather sofa next to Jaina.

Denying that was futile. Vereesa was right. Jaina wasn’t here for coffee. She ignored the comment.

Instead she asked, “Do you still like a macchiato? I was going to get a refill.”

“I don’t want anything,” Vereesa sighed. She seemed to sink deeply into the leather like it was the first time she’d been able to sit down all day. Yet Jaina could sense she was still deeply uncomfortable--her posture stiff and rigid to the bone, unable to relax.

She didn’t blame her. Vereesa almost never spoke to her sister in her own coffee shop when she visited. She always seemed deeply disappointed to find Jaina there, and that seemed to be the sole purpose of those visits--being disappointed. But Jaina was an adult. She could make her own decisions about whether she wanted to frequent her ex’s cafe, even if her best friend and the sister of said ex wasn’t thrilled about it.

Vereesa sat upright from the leather sinkhole she was falling into and blinked against the warm light of the cafe. “I just want you to think hard about all of this, Jaina,” she told her. “Does it seem right to you?”

“Right is a complicated term,” Jaina replied. “Something I think we can both understand.”

“Look around you,” Vereesa implored, sitting up straighter and looking around the cafe herself.

Jaina followed suit. It was no different than it always was. The atmosphere had always been calm and inviting. White walls were covered with murals and hanging art to the point where one hardly knew they were white anymore. Wooden floors were covered with plush rugs by the lounge seating, their finish polished to a dull shine by the tables and the counter. Soft leather couches dominated one side of the cafe, accompanied by patterned fabric armchairs, while the other half was rife with tall bar tables that couples lingered around on late evening coffee dates. And of course the warm smell of that coffee, the richness of it that made the air seem heavy, but in a pleasant way. Like a thick blanket protecting soft skin from the cold.

And Sylvanas, patiently waiting, ignoring them on purpose. She was busy making a drink for a weary-looking student in Kirin Tor purple and gold. The same colors that Jaina had worn when she’d wandered in here the first time, still a student herself.

“I don’t see anything different,” Jaina told her. She no longer wore purple and gold on the daily. Today, it was a sweater the color of cream, much the same as most of her hair. Only a small streak of gold remained to that too.

“That’s the problem,” Vereesa said. She folded in on herself, hunching forward, elbows on her knees. “It’s always the same with you.”

Jaina could only guess at what she really meant, but she didn’t have to guess much. Vereesa likely knew she wasn’t here because she wanted coffee. Well, Sylvanas did still make it like no one else in Dalaran, but Jaina could be honest with herself. That wasn’t the reason. Not this late at night, anyway.

“I don’t have to justify myself to you,” Jaina told her. “And I don’t think you want me to.”

“I don’t get it,” was all Vereesa had to say to that. She ducked her head down and rubbed at her neck. “You have so much else going on. You’re so smart. This isn’t you.”

Smart didn’t mean Jaina avoided her ex. It didn’t mean that she wasn’t constantly drawn to the coffee scent of her--how it lingered in her platinum blonde hair, or the taste of it on her wicked tongue. They did not work. That had been obvious from the start, but they tried to defy it for years. Too long. Enough that it hurt them both and everyone around them, including Vereesa.

Still, Jaina came here now and then. For coffee, but not for coffee.

“What if it is me?” was a question for herself as much as it was for Vereesa.

Vereesa looked up again, this time pointedly at the counter, as if daring her sister to look back to answer for that. But Sylvanas was busy. She was always busy when Vereesa was here. She was counting change, or grinding beans, or washing dishes, or dealing with a delivery. Always something.

“I have to go. I don’t know how to fix this, how to fix you. I don’t know how I can help anymore,” Vereesa said.

She stood quickly, purposefully, and with such disruption to the slow, quiet richness of the cafe that Jaina didn’t feel she could even catch her. And why should she try? Just to be chastised?

Either way, it wasn’t going to stop the inevitable pull of what brought her here. She and Sylvanas had a gravity to them. They were two objects, orbiting one another slowly until those orbits would eventually decay into one another. They would always crash into each other, part ways just as violently, only to return to those inescapable ellipticals again.

Jaina would have moved on if she could have. She was sure Sylvanas felt the same. If anyone else could make her coffee like this. If anyone else could pull her in so deeply.

But no one else could.

While lost in those thoughts, she missed Vereesa leaving. The only evidence of her ever being there at all was a still dripping umbrella, abandoned and forgotten. Jaina picked it up, leaning it against the low table in front of the couch. Maybe she’d come back for it. Maybe not. What did it matter?

It was getting late anyway.

Jaina didn’t get her refill. Sylvanas was still busy, or pretending to be. She was a good actor, so it was hard to tell. But act or not, she’d keep it up until closing time. That, at least, they could be responsible about. That, at least, Jaina could rely on her for.

People began to slowly filter out of the shop. Those lingering coffee dates lingered on a while longer, one couple even staying a few minutes past nine. They seemed to forget the world around them existed, or that it had rules they needed to follow, places they could and should not be.

Jaina understood what it was like to forget such things, or at least to want to. She waited, reading a book on portal theory she’d brought along, swishing the last bit of coffee in her cup around, and pretending that she was one to judge.

Last to leave, as always, even later than the couple, was that odd regular. The elven woman with her gaudy, jeweled fish purse. She’d always stare Jaina down, as if knowing she was waiting for her, and then smile. It was a polite smile, but odd. Unnerving. Strange.

Strange as the fact that she’d always order a pastry of some kind and leave it untouched. No coffee either.

Today, it was a slice of almond cake, still pristine on the little white dish it had been served to her on. The silver fork was untouched, balanced across the top of the plate from rim to rim, just as Sylvanas would have placed it.

Jaina made herself useful and picked up the uneaten cake, bringing it to the counter.

“She never even touches it,” she noted as she placed it down in front of Sylvanas.

The signal was given. The act was dropped. Sylvanas seemed to come into herself, taking shape behind the elf in the apron and button up shirt beneath it, her sleeves rolled her elbows. A life sparked in her now that she and Jaina were alone. It started, as it had the first time, with a smirk.

Followed by, “She never does.”

Sylvanas’ voice was distinctly more accented than her sister’s. Elven and haughty sounding, her actions were anything but that.

Sylvanas took the plate from Jaina, discarding the cake in a garbage bin, then tossing the dish and fork into a soapy sink.

“So, here we are again,” Sylvanas noted as she came back over to the counter, leaning on the padding of gathered sleeves at her elbows, chin coming to rest in one hand.

Still with that smirk.

“I can go,” Jaina offered. “If you’d rather we not be here again.”

“That’s up to you,” Sylvanas told her. She fished into the pocket of her apron and handed Jaina a set of keys.

A carved wooden hawkstrider matching the shop’s logo dangled from the end of the keychain. It was always Jaina’s choice: lock up for her, with herself inside, or leave.

Jaina took the keys. She locked the front door, not even fumbling to catch the tricky deadbolt. They were old friends. She knew what to do.

She never just left.

Jaina handed the keys back to Sylvanas, who had finally come out from the protection the counter offered her against the world to turn off the lights.

Now it was only them, decisions made.

The last of the lights flicked off. “I guess I’ll finish cleaning tomorrow,” Sylvanas announced.

“I guess you will.”

It was like a dance. An old routine of steps their bodies knew so well that no one had to say anything. No hands were offered to guide. No excuses were made.

Jaina just followed Sylvanas to the back room. Amidst walls lined with shelves, boxes of napkins and wooden stirrers on the floor, spare aprons hung on hooks, there was room enough for a couch and a desk. The couch used to be out front, before a customer had ripped a hole in one of the cushions somehow. It had been hastily patched, then moved here years ago.

But now it served to catch them when they fell.

Jaina’s lips were on Sylvanas already, drinking in the coffee scent that clung to her skin, like she was the frothed cream that hid decadence and the promises of future energy below. Jaina--ever the caffeine addict--was here for her fix. And what a fix it was.

Strong arms held her to an apron that hadn’t yet had the opportunity to come off, but those same arms still somehow had the time to brace their inevitable fall into the couch. Warmth radiated from her, indulgent and calming. Pale blonde eyelashes tickled against Jaina’s skin as Sylvanas returned her kiss, then swiftly moved for her neck.

She knew what to do. Jaina didn’t have to tell her. She didn’t have to guide. She didn’t have to do anything but feel.

Maybe that was the appeal of it. Maybe that was what kept her coming back. Not the coffee. Not the tinge of shame that blossomed in her belly, but spread into a deep warmth and was so soon forgotten.

No, it was nice to be fucked by someone who knew how to fuck her as easily as if it were breathing.

Teeth grazed her skin, elven fangs only hinting at what they were capable of. For Jaina, the reminder was enough, and Sylvanas knew that well. She didn’t need to be bitten, only to know that she could be.

Communicating that to anyone else in this world seemed so exhausting, so wholly unnecessary. Why would she bother, when she could get it with the best cup of coffee in town?

Sylvanas knew her body like she knew her favorite drink. Hot hands were the espresso, warming and exciting each bit of skin they explored, like liquid as they lifted clothing up and out of the way. Steamed milk followed with gentle kisses along her jawline, over her clavicles and along the tops of her breasts, just brushing the lace of Jaina’s bra. The two mixed as clasps were freed from their hold on one another, and tongue and teeth and hands alike were free to ripple a pattern in the mug of Jaina’s chest. Swirls of pleasure and relief filled Jaina equally, as Sylvanas poured the flat white of her into the dusty couch in the back office.

“What do you want?” was whispered against her ear, with the length of an elven ear in turn pressing itself to Jaina’s cheek.

When Sylvanas asked this question, it wasn’t a draining experience. Jaina knew her words would be heeded, swiftly and expertly. With anyone else, the explanation was lengthy and didn’t yield the results she wanted, or that she desperately needed.

“Your mouth,” was all she had to say.

The couch was hardly enough space for this. The office wasn’t either. They needed a royal suite. A penthouse. A bed whose soft expanse was beyond ridiculous.

But a couch in the back room was all they were getting. And Sylvanas knew how to make do.

In short order, Jaina’s sweater and the soft camisole she’d worn beneath were on the floor. Her bra joined the pile. She could only assume they were there, because her eyes were screwed shut now, not daring to interrupt feeling with sight. Sylvanas was pulling down her leggings and her panties with them, wasting no time.

How many times had they fucked on this couch? Jaina didn’t know. Perhaps she didn’t want to. It happened before they broke up, and many more times after. It all blurred together, honestly. Time and space and who and when and where and why. What did it matter?

Jaina knew what she wanted. She knew where she could feel alive again. It didn’t matter if she could be proud about it. It didn’t matter that it was all very messy. Life was messy. People were too.

Sylvanas even, with her stuttering breaths hot and wet against Jaina’s bare thigh, wasn’t perfect. If she was, Jaina would have married her. If she was, they wouldn’t be fucking in the back office of a coffee shop, hiding from the world.

Sylvanas’ tongue was messy too, but in all the right ways. The first brush of it made Jaina gasp. She always forgot how good this felt, the electric wave of energy that shot up her spine. And then there was the low groan that would inevitably follow when Sylvanas chuckled softly at her own prowess. The vibrations of that laugh reverberated through Jaina’s core like she was a hollow thing, an instrument ready to be strummed.

And Sylvanas could play her like no one else.

Shoulders still rough with apron straps braced themselves against the back of her thighs. Hands equal parts rough with dishwater and shiny smooth from steam burns found Jaina’s, lacing fingers between her own. They urged her away from tugging at patched leather, and placed their combined might upon bare thighs. Sylvanas stroked across them for both of them, establishing a rhythm she matched with lips and tongue.

Jaina was already drowning in her. The bold intensity of coffee, the soft silk of cream. The knowledge that she would be overwhelmed soon, all doubts banished into nothingness, swirling into liquid dark.

It didn’t take long. It wasn’t too short. It was just enough. Jaina was bucking against her, thighs squeezing ears perked high in arousal. Hands held her hands, pulling their bodies taut together where they connected, unwilling to let even an ounce of precious friction escape in this crucial moment.

It was almost too much, too good, too hot. Sylvanas threatened to burn her each time, scalding, but she never did. She let Jaina go, hands and mouth and skin alike. She let her breathe shallow, shuddering breaths in the inches between them.

Sylvanas knelt up, and wiped smirking lips on the back of her hand.

It felt like a lifetime ago, and Jaina couldn’t exactly recall when, but it was that smirk that had gotten her attention the first time. The light in those soft grey eyes. The quirking lip, playful, inviting, challenging. Too challenging sometimes when it wasn’t silenced like this.

Sylvanas was better this way, drinking Jaina in like she was something to savor, too decadent to swallow quickly. A white chocolate peppermint mocha. A perfectly foamy cappuccino.

But the one thing Jaina could do without was her ruining it, and that was always a service Sylvanas was willing to provide.

“You needed that, huh?” she asked, still smirking, her knees tangled with Jaina’s stripped off leggings.

“Shut up,” Jaina breathed, shooting to her own knees in a way that was probably not wise for the shakiness of them. Still, she managed. “It’s your turn.”

She covered Sylvanas’ lips with her own, pressing her back onto the other end of the couch. She covered the stained canvas of her apron with her bare flesh, still hot and flushed and tingling. Jaina wouldn’t abide by that for long, and found the ties of the cursed thing while her tongue kept Sylvanas’ from ruining this any further. She flung it to the side, not caring if it landed with the other aprons, on the desk, or tangled itself in the shelves.

Jaina skipped the button up entirely, only ghosting her hands across the pane of it. There would be time to strip Sylvanas bare later, and she didn’t need her to gloat over the flat and muscled plane of her abs right now. She needed her to come, and for it to be because Jaina made her.

She pulled the shirt loose from where it was tucked into tight trousers in one motion, and in the next, plunged her hand under the waistband.

Sylvanas was wet and hot and ready. She always liked to get Jaina off first, and that had been just fine. It was a treat to find just how much she’d enjoyed the act later on, the wet warmth of her an extra shot of espresso at the end of a long day.

Jaina sunk two fingers into it, finding little resistance and only a moan of encouragement coming from Sylvanas. A nip against her lip, a groan, a shudder, and finally an arching up and into her until Jaina added the friction of her thumb against where it was being asked for, but not yet begged for.

She rocked deep within Sylvanas, relishing in the fact that she could do exactly what Sylvanas did for her, to her. She could give her what she wanted without being asked. She could hold her steady just before the peak, as she liked. She could silence any more words that could possibly stand between them by turning them to keens and moans, breaths sucked in and held to heighten the feeling.

Sylvanas found her own whirlpool, gripping at Jaina’s bare back, holding her close as the deep dark of her held Jaina’s fingers within, neither letting go for several long moments. Her body was taut, letting out only a single shaking breath and a curse muffled into Jaina’s neck.

It was over too soon and yet it took too long. Jaina wanted to fuck her forever, but she couldn’t stand her. She loved her, but she wanted to love anything else.

It all felt like a dream, hazy and coffee-stained. It didn’t make sense, but then again, neither did she.

Neither did Sylvans, who only pushed Jaina off her to strip off her own shirt. She reached back for her again just as quickly, drawing skin to skin. She held her as they both liked to be held after sex, as they both knew the other did.

Sylvanas traced patterns on Jaina’s shoulders. She brushed white hair and its streak of gold from pale skin. She kissed a freckle or two. She lingered.

Jaina wanted her not to say anything. It was always too complicated when either of them said anything. But she knew that she would eventually open her mouth.

And Jaina was too tired now, too languid and swimming in silky blonde hair that smelled of sex and sweat and shampoo and coffee.

“I don’t understand it,” was what Sylvanas finally muttered to ruin things this time.

“What’s there to understand?” Jaina asked her.

It was starting to get cold as the flush of sex left her skin. Hot shame might have flooded her instead, long ago. Regret as a cold pit in her stomach was only a memory. No, this had been going on too long for either of those to come for her now.

But Sylvanas’ hand was still warm as it brushed across her back, nails softly scratching along with it.

“Why me?” she asked.

“There’s no one else. You know that,” Jaina told her. “I try and try, and no one else works. No one else understands what I need.”

“I don’t work,” Sylvanas told her. “You don’t even realize how much I don’t work.”

“I know you don’t. I don’t care.”

“So why me?”

They both knew the answer. Well, Jaina was sure she did, but, “you fuck me like no one else ever can and will,” would sound crass, too pointed and correct to be uttered.

“I like your coffee too much,” was what she answered instead.

Sylvanas laughed at that. Jaina always loved that laugh. Too bad she heard it more often than not when Sylvanas was laughing at her own terrible jokes. Her self-confidence had been sexy once. Now she found it grating.

Still, it was nice to have it rumble through her, and for the smirk that followed to press a kiss to her cheek.

Even if Sylvanas told her, “You don’t like my coffee. You don’t even like me. You must fucking hate me. That’s why I don’t get it.”

“So stop trying,” Jaina recommended. She rallied herself, sliding a hand between them to find Sylvanas’ breasts, nipples stiff from the cold of the office, or maybe from a desire for round two.

Well, Jaina could provide either a distraction or what was wanted but not yet asked for. Anything to stop her talking.

“I can’t stop trying,” Sylvanas told her.

She seemed to be trying to sit up and pull Jaina along with her.

Jaina resisted, pressing herself and Sylvanas beneath her into the couch, thumb and fingers pinching away the cold and the thought of anything else. Nails demanding attention to the right things--to what should and should not be.

But Sylvanas was strong. She was determined. She was going to ruin it anyway. She always did.

She sat up, her hands on Jaina’s waist guiding her up, demanding her to follow suit. Grey eyes peered into hers.

For a second, Jaina could swear they flashed red.

“We need you, Jaina. As much as I enjoy these visions of yours, and don’t understand them at all, we still need you. You need to wake up,” Sylvanas pleaded.

Ruined again, the vision swirled into nothing--an ink-dark and swallowing void.

#sylvaina #sylvanas windrunner #jaina proudmoore #fanfic #in dreams #just me coming out of the well to shame mankind with lesbian sex

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