#how the fuck do i manage to not look stiff but also have strong (?) moves

[soov-archived]

learning the ‘new thing’ choreo and fhsjfbkaf rage noises screaming howling crying

[peakyblindersxx]

May I request a john smut in which, despite being the cocky beast that he usually is, he manages to get all gentle and intense when, after years of mutual pining, he finally makes love to ada's best friend who's younger and totally inexperienced. Idk I just need this to be fucking intense, like John suffocating his desire for ages and now finally indulging in his worst temptation and showing her what lust is... please i'll burn in hellll

a/n: first of all let me say: this killed me. like, it’s literally all i can think about. god help me. but thank you so fucking much for requesting this bc i liked it sooo much that i decided to make a mini series out of it with the help of my babe @stxdyblr-2k who was sweet enough to offer to ghostwrite on the series 🥰 and to all my other angels who requested fics, don’t worry i will get them done! just wanna give you guys the best quality work i can. my 1st priority are some tommy requests i got, as well as some michael ones after :)

love, abi xxx

whiskey business - john shelby x reader (1 of ?)

warnings: nsfw! eventual smut, slow burn, john being sexy as all hell but also soft

John couldn’t tear his eyes off of you. From the moment you walked into the Garrison, arm loosely linked with Ada’s, clad in a black lace dress that hugged you just right, he couldn’t stop staring. Even Tommy and Arthur had noticed, cracking some joke about him being pussy whipped. The words floated right over his head, his mind on one thing only. The last time he had seen you, you were barely eighteen, cheeks pink as you waved goodbye out the train window to Ada as she sobbed. Ada had always had a flair for the dramatic, but the two of you had practically been attached at the hip your entire lives. So, he consoled her, reminding her that university wasn’t forever, that you would be back soon enough. And back, you were, red-stained lips sipping at a glass of something that Ada had practically shoved in your face. You weren’t a girl anymore, black heels crossed at the ankle as you sat across the room in a booth, laughing as Ada waved her arms, telling some sort of story.

“Just fuckin’ talk to ‘er, John-boy,” Arthur’s voice cut through John’s train of thought like a sharp knife, and he focused his eyes on his two brothers sitting at the booth across from him, clouds of smoke from Tommy’s incessant smoking heavy in the air around them.

“Fuck off,” John returned as he stood, earning a chuckle from Tommy.

“That’s right,” Arthur shouted as John made his way towards the bar, rolling his eyes at his older brothers. “Make sure you show her a real good time, eh?” Arthur’s voice was soon drowned out by the crowd around John, as they parted to let him walk through. He didn’t even see them, his eyes trained on your smile. Fuck, you were pretty.

***

“So, then I fucking kicked him in the balls.” Ada’s eyes sparkled triumphantly as she recalled the time she’d incited a riot, managing to cause great injury to a certain part of a policeman’s body. She did so casually, like it was no big deal. You couldn’t control your laughter as Ada grinned, pleased that she’d been able to make you laugh. “Fuckin’ missed you, Y/N,” she professed, shooting the rest of her gin and gesturing at the bartender to “leave the fuckin’ bottle, already.”

“Missed you too,” you smiled back at her, happy to be back in Birmingham in the company of an old friend. London was beautiful, but lonely. There was something inside you that missed the dirty streets, the crowded pubs bursting with familiar faces.

“Had to come over here myself to make sure it was you,” A deep voice interrupted your reverie and you looked up to see none other than Ada’s older brother John, looking even handsomer than the last time you’d seen him, in a grey-three piece suit, a cigar hanging from his lips. You’d had the hugest crush on him growing up, and the butterflies swimming around in your stomach seemed to confirm that you still found the tallest Shelby brother irresistible.

“Hi, John,” You offered him a shy smile and scooched over as he slid into the booth next to you, leaning in to press a chaste kiss to your cheek. You couldn’t help but drink in the smell of his cologne, the various drinks that Ada had encouraged you to down making you press yourself closer to him.

“M’kay, if you’re going to fuck, at least wait until I’m gone.” Ada’s voice snapped you out of it and you looked away, a pink blush staining your cheeks.

“Says the one who managed to fuck three of my best mates before you left school,” John retorted, causing Ada to roll her eyes, shooting her whiskey and pouring the three of you another glass each.

“I feel like getting drunk, and I’m not doing it alone,” Ada announced, causing both you and John to crack a smile at her forcefulness.

“Good thing we took a cab here,” you returned, before shooting your whiskey. If you were going to have to stare at John all night, you thought, you might as well be drunk doing it. Wasn’t like he was going to be staring back.

***

Ada was shitfaced, dancing in the middle of the pub. Luckily, Isaiah had stepped in as her partner, making sure her stumbling didn’t cause her to trip and fall. Unluckily for you, this left a tipsy you and John alone tucked into a booth in the corner of the room, out of view. The conversation was friendly, and you were trying your best to keep your mind off the way you could see John’s forearms practically bulging out of his suit. It wasn’t fair, you thought to yourself, for him to walk around looking like that. Especially when you knew that he was probably fucking the latest movie star, or something. It was almost impossible for you to keep your head straight, yet you managed to keep it civil. However, you couldn’t help your gaze from drifting to his lips. God, they were so pink and looked so soft, it was unfair. You couldn’t stop yourself from imagining how they’d feel on your mouth, let alone other parts of your body. Jesus, you were fucked.

A third of a bottle of whiskey later, you couldn’t help but let yourself slide closer to him, heart beating fast in your chest as you sat tucked into his side, his arm around you as you laughed at a joke he’d made, something about the stick up Tommy’s ass. Your eyes shone as they met his blue ones, his arm sliding down until his fingers were brushing against your waist, radiating heat into your skin.

“Y’know, I’d tell you how fuckin’ pretty you look tonight, but I think you already know that,” John rumbled into your ear, lips just barely brushing against your neck. Your breath hitched, and he noticed, a small grin spreading across his lips.

“You’re something else, you know that?” You shot back, a small smile threatening to take over your lips.

“M’not just sayin’ that. Couldn’t take my eyes off ‘ya, since you walked in.” John wasn’t kidding. For a second you didn’t know how to reply, staring up at him with a slight look of disbelief. The whiskey, however, had other plans, and had decided to respond for you.

“Can't keep your hands off me now." You smirked, waiting for him to escalate the moment, anticipation and liquor silencing the blaring alarm in your mind. God, you shouldn't want him as badly as you do.

"Can you blame me?" He muttered, dragging his fingers across the lace of your dress, tracing the pattern's loops absentmindedly, watching your jaw tense and lips part to take a gasping breath, your jacket having long vanished into the chaos of the pub. Your arms wound themselves around his neck, fingers twisting into his short hair. "Fucking come 'ere lass."

His strong arms lifted you onto his knee, gripping a thigh to help you balance, the friction of his rough hand against the stiff fabric pushing your dress up slightly. The need for more and the desire to know him completely intoxicated you far more than anything from a bottle; you'd never felt as though you were on fire from your drunk hookups. His fingers found the zip of your dress, tugging it down desperately, gripping the flesh of your exposed shoulder blades. A small groan erupted from your lips as you felt him chuckle below you, pressing a thumb to your lips to quieten you.

"John," you whined, pouting playfully against his thumb.

"I'll sort you out, I swear," He muttered, slipping his thumb between your lips. Instinctively, you sucked, locking eyes with him, his hand straying from your back to roughly grab your jaw, holding your gaze. "But if you're going to scream your 'ead off, we'll get caught."

"You wish you could make me scream, John-lad."

"Come off it, I could ruin you, Y/N." He stated, lifting your jaw, as though memorising the construction of your face, tone brimming with a cocky confidence only John could make attractive. "You want that?"

"More than anything." The words tumbled out of your mouth thoughtlessly, watching how his jaw tightened in response as you attempted to read his expression. He studied you for what must've only been a few seconds, but the moment passed so slowly, you could barely remember what it felt like to not be examined by his dominating blue eyed stare.

His grip guided your face to his, fingers tilting your chin so John's lips could brush against yours, before pulling you into a heated almost aggressive kiss, the straps of your dress barely grazing your shoulders, the hem of your dress bunching around your waist as he reached down your back to grab your bum in a firm squeeze. Your mouth gaped open in a gasp of pleasure, John taking the moment to run his tongue against your lips, gaining access and deepening the kiss. You were so caught up in the thrill of John's seduction that you hadn't noticed his hand suddenly pull away after moving your skimpy underwear to one side. You had instinctively ground your hips against him, he'd broken the kiss to let out a string of curses, complimenting you through his quickening breaths (“Fuckin’ wet for me already, aye?”), gripping your thigh. But as soon as he had pulled the thin silk from your thighs, the atmosphere shifted, his lip curling in frustration as his hands left your skin as though your flesh was suddenly scalding.

"John?" You prompted, resting a hand on his shoulder, noticing the dark shadows under his eyes for the first time.

"It's getting late."

"What?" Your voice sounded high and whiny, you mentally scolded yourself for sounding so needy. It was embarrassing to be rejected by the man you've admired for many years, but even worse to be openly vulnerable and so pathetic in front of your best friend's brother.

Ada.

Oh fuck.

Realisation hit you, it was either that or the unholy quantity of alcohol you'd downed which turned your stomach. You had gone too far this time. It was one thing to flirt with John and desire him from a distance, it was an absolute betrayal to have sex with him, knowing Ada's insecurity about being used to get close to her gangster brothers- sex, power and politics. You had sworn during those tearful walks around the canal that you'd never hurt her. You couldn't do that to her.

Your sudden panic must've been obvious, you tried to stand up from John's lap, stumbling slightly, only regaining balance due to a sudden arm across your back, anchoring you upright.

"No one has to know. It's our secret yeah?" He muttered into your ear, his words comforting.

You nodded silently, the reality of the situation settling in. Your hands are shaking by your sides, John catches them, locking his fingers with yours.

"It's fine, now. Nothing happened yeah?" He stood up in front of you, his muscular physique looming before you, the creases across his torso reminding you that just a few minutes ago his body was under yours, he was breathless, needing your skin against his, desperate and vulnerable. "I'll zip you up. Turn around."

His hands dropped from yours to fumble clumsily with your zip, struggling in the gloom and fog of intoxication, he eventually succeeded, the lace clinging to the curve of your hips, waist, back and chest again. You wished it was him instead that was skimming your figure but you pushed the thought away with a simple, "Thanks."

"I'll walk you home yeah?" He offered, as he straightens your skirt and his tie, allowing you to fix his crumpled shirt collar and the row of shining buttons below his throat which you'd ripped open as he whispered dirty nonsense in your ear, smirking at how you arched your back and swore back at him through your moans.

"Isaiah already said he would, it'd be better for us both that way. You know how people around here talk." You replied, glancing at the mirror on the wall of the booth to quickly smooth your tousled hair. Despite only recently returning to Small Heath, you'd already encountered the rife gossiping and quickly realised your neighbour was incapable of minding his own business. "Nobody has to know, right?"

John nodded, disappointed but appreciating your rationale and quick thinking despite your state, "Right."

"Good night, John," You said politely, ignoring the tension in his tone and the sudden soft sadness of his eyes, turning your back and walking to the door. Back to the sticky dance floor, back to Ada, Isaiah, Finn, Tokyo, back to spilling drinks, ashing cigarettes, back to noise, safety and far from the man who made your morals vanish with the same lines he uses on probably every single one of his conquests. Fuck it. You were going to enjoy it, you sped up your pace in your heels, trying to ignore your shaking legs. You tried to ignore the guilty twang in your gut when Ada screamed your name across the pub and stumbled over, dragging some lad on her arm, pressing drunken kisses to your forehead and cheeks.

You couldn't help but look back to see his shadow sloping away into the darkness of the booths closer to the dance floor, being bullied mercilessly by his brothers you assumed. You watched him fake a smirk, take the knuckles to his brow from Arthur, snap an insult back to Thomas and settle into his rightful seat. You only shifted your gaze to Ada for a moment but when you looked back up, he was staring at you, jaw tense, icy stare burning into yours, arms folded on the table, the gold chains of his sleeve garters barely glinting in the dim light. He looked away but you could see his cheeks were flushed with blood even in the glow of the oil lamps.

Pretending nothing happened was going to be impossible.

***

to be continued!

[samstree]

A Study in Blushing

In which Jaskier makes a surprising discovery and decides to test it out.

(tooth rotting fluff, blushing geralt, soft jaskier, love confessions, kissing, winter at kaer morhen, rated teen, 3000 words)

Also, I know witchers can't blush in canon but seriously we should all know better.

read on AO3

“Gods damn it, bard! I know Geralt tolerates all your shit because he’s in love with you, but you gotta put things back where they belong!”

Lambert grumbles something more all the while putting the training swords back on the shelf, and Jaskier’s mind stops.

The world zeroes in on the words he’s in love with you and suddenly Jaskier can’t form words.

“W...What did you—”

“I said—” Lambert throws down the last one with a clunk. “—the swords go back on the shelf!”

“Geralt...is in love with me?” Jaskier breathes, unbelieving.

Lambert pauses, “Don’t you know?”

“No...?”

“Fuck. Pretty boy can’t get his head out of his ass and now I have to suffer.”

With that, Lambert tries to shoulder past Jaskier but the bard is having none of it. “No!” he puts a hand on Lambert’s chest. “Don’t even think about it. How? Since when? And how do you know?”

Lambert mumbles something unintelligible, before sighing long-sufferingly. “It’s too obvious, Buttercup.”

“How is it obvious? Does Geralt walk around with the words ‘I’m smitten with my bard and all the grumpy face is faked’ written on his forehead? How, pray tell, is it obvious?”

“Yeah, pretty much.” Lambert, the bastard, raises an eyebrow in amusement. “Did you truly not know?”

“No!”

Jaskier is so close to grabbing Lambert by the collar just to shake some answers out of him, and finally, the youngest wolf takes pity on him.

“He looks at you differently when he thinks you are doing something cute. He trips over his words after you call him sweet names. The worst of it all—he blushes any time you are close. Blushes, like a fucking maiden. Urgh, I’m gonna throw up.”

“Oh,” Jaskier deflates, “Witchers blush?”

“See for yourself.” Lambert rolls his eyes, walking past Jaskier with a few long strides. “And put the swords back!”

 ~~

Jaskier decides to test it out, because there’s no way Geralt is in love with him.

Loving him as a friend, sure, why not? Despite what ignorant folks claim about witchers, Jaskier knows by experience that Geralt has a heart bigger and more capable of love than most. But Geralt being in love with Jaskier? Like, he-wants-to-kiss-him in love with him? No way.

Blushing because of him? Ha! More like in Jaskier’s wildest dreams.

Although that would be really cute.

“Pass me the salt, honey?” Jaskier reaches out a hand to the other end of the table, and Geralt passes the salt without thinking.

Hmm.

No tripping over words.

“Thank you, dear heart.”

He’s putting as much sweetness in his voice as possible and Geralt is…normal. His eyebrows are raised to the roof, and there’s a faint smile by the corners of his eyes. But that’s just how Geralt is…right? He’s home and he’s relaxed, he smiles with his eyes rather than his lips, and it’s got nothing to do with Jaskier.

Jaskier chews, staring at Geralt subtly.

Not subtle enough.

“Something on my face?”

“No—” Jaskier chokes, hacking like a fool and tipping sideways. “Just—too much salt.”

Geralt scoffs, the faint smile turning into a brief grin, and hands over a cup of water.

Jaskier wants the ground to swallow him whole.

 ~~

The snow is terrible.

The whole keep is freezing like an ice cube, and Jaskier has to blow on his hands from time to time just to function in the library. He’s the lucky one, in the grand scheme of things. The witchers still need to go outside to fix up the walls and tend to the animals.

Geralt hasn’t been back in a while.

Jaskier puts down the quill he’s been chewing anxiously and rushes out the door—

And bumps right into Geralt’s chest.

“Sweet Melitele, that’s a lot of snow!” Jaskier spits out the snow knocked into his mouth, before looking at Geralt properly. “Oh, you’re hurt.”

The cut on Geralt’s eyebrow is a small one, but Jaskier worries nonetheless. Geralt doesn’t look impressed, only walks straight towards the small medkit sitting on a shelf.

“Repairment has to wait. The wind is bad.” Geralt grunts, trying to touch the wound and missing by a mile.

“Here, let me.”

Jaskier takes the salve from Geralt’s slightly shaking hands and pulls out a handkerchief from his pocket. Geralt is frowning so hard he can crack a walnut with those eyebrows.

“Relax,” Jaskier murmurs, blowing gently at the cut while dabbing at the blood. Upon deeming it clean enough, he applies a scoop of the salve that smells of celandine and mint. “Don’t move. It’ll only hurt a bit.”

Geralt keeps shying away from Jaskier’s ministration so he has no choice but to wrap his other hand around Geralt’s jaw, which manages to still him instantly.

“There,” Jaskier smiles. “Shouldn’t need anything more. Your witcher healing will kick in soon.”

Geralt tilts his head with that soft look in his eyes. “My thanks. Wouldn’t have survived without you.”

“No shit! Who goes out in a storm like this one? If you ask me, Vesemir is too tough on you. Look at you…” Jaskier coos, taking Geralt’s hands. “You are like a popsicle, dear heart.”

He tries to rub some heat back into Geralt’s freezing hands, his skin dry and rough. There’s still some hand cream left in Jaskier’s room. Maybe he can fetch it later. Geralt needs to take care of his hands better when his living depends on them.

Geralt groans, looking away. The frames of his ears are beet red too; he must have been outside without a hat for all this time. Jaskier wants to cover them with his warm palms, only to have his hands batted away.

“No, there’s—I’m fine,” Geralt mumbles. If Jaskier didn’t know better, he’d think the way Geralt avoids his eyes is a result of shyness. The bard can snort at the ridiculous idea and stubbornly presses his hands over Geralt’s ears.

Oh.

His ears are red because they are so warm, not cold

Now that they are standing so close, only a hand’s breadth away, Geralt looks stunned, his eyes dilating, only leaving a ring of gold around those dark pupils. There’s even a layer of pink dusting over his pale cheeks.

A blushing witcher.

Oh, this is interesting.

“Geralt, sweetie?” Jaskier husks, lowering his voice especially on the pet name. “Are you warm enough?”

“Um, sure…not cold.”

And he watches as Geralt’s mind ceases to work in front of his eyes, the blush deepening. It’s still a subtle thing. No wonder Jaskier has missed it all this time. Calloused hands wrap around Jaskier’s wrists, and the bard finally relents, letting go.

If he spends the rest of the day sitting at the desk with a quill in hand, thinking about the way Geralt’s skin feels against his and the warmth of his cheeks, nobody needs to know.

 ~~

Jaskier doesn’t know what to do with this piece of new information.

Geralt does blush.

Because of him.

He tries to repeat the experiment. Just to be sure, he tells himself. And every time it yields the same results. As soon as he gets into Geralt’s space, the witcher either stumbles through his words or gets all flustered all over. The fondness is there too, just in a very Geralt and very unnoticeable manner, soft and almost smiling.

Jaskier is so drunk on power.

The only thing left is to tell Geralt that he loves him too. That he’s also in love in love with him, as in an I-also-want-to-kiss-you kind of way, and then… they can finally kiss!

Oh, just inwardly rehearsing the scene makes Jaskier dizzy, and somehow he ends up smiling to himself when he’s so deep in thoughts planning the conversation, once even in front of company.

Lambert throws him a side-eye and a disgusted grunt, but Jaskier can’t care less.

He finds the perfect night, and even takes a sip of White Gull from Eskel’s cup just to calm his nerves.

And he realizes too late that, perhaps, the strongest witcher brew might be a mistake.

The effect is stronger than he anticipated, and Jaskier is giggling through the fog in his mind within mimutes, somehow ending up on Geralt’s lap, draped over his shoulder in a heap of soft, pliant mess.

He rests his temple against Geralt’s and nearly tips backward if not for the strong arm that catches him by the waist.

“Oops, thank the gods I have my big witcher here!” Jaskier runs the tips of his fingers across Geralt’s stubbles. It tickles, and the blush is back, unmistakably, since Geralt is as sober as the day. “I’d fall over on my butt without you! And falling over doesn’t look good before saying important things, does it?”

Huh, he’s said it out loud.

“Saying what things?”

Well, if it’s out there…

“Where do I start again? Right of course, with how beautiful you look when you’re like this!”

His fingers move to tuck the curtain of white hair behind Geralt’s ears. No matter how much Jaskier loves it when Geralt wears his hair down, he needs to look into those amber eyes without obstruction. The molten gold gleams with surprise and Jaskier wants to drown in it.

“I’m not…” Geralt splutters, before closing his mouth with a pop. The flush is stretching down his neck now, and Jaskier chases it with a hand.

“You are!” he insists petulantly. “You are blushing and it’s beautiful. Adorable too! I wouldn’t know if Lambert hadn’t told me—” he burps. “—um, everything.”

“Told you what?”

The alarm in Geralt’s voice should wake Jaskier up immediately, but alas, the White Gull is no joke.

“Shh!” he stage-whispers, “It’s a secret! Don’t tell Geralt! I need to do it right!”

Jaskier lets out a happy sound and leans into the comforting embrace that he loves so much. Under his fingers, he can feel heat still gather under Geralt’s skin, making him look equally annoyed and fond.

“You are not making sense, Jask.”

“Nothing about you makes sense either, but I’m here. And ready.” Jaskier smiles and presses a chaste kiss on Geralt’s cheekbone, humming another happy sound.

Kissing Geralt is nice, gives Jaskier all the fuzzy feelings.

But somehow, that was also the wrong thing to do, because Geralt has gone stiff under Jaskier’s body. The next thing he knows, the witcher is struggling to untangle their limbs and leaving him empty and cold.

“Don’t…do this,” he murmurs, upset. “Just…don’t.”

The anguish the seeps through Geralt’s voice somehow manages to get through the muddy cloud in Jaskier’s mind.

“Wait, what?” Jaskier rights himself on unsteady feet, but his witcher is long gone. Eskel and Lambert are still nursing their tankards by the fire, and Jaskier wobbles past them without a care. He needs to find Geralt, who apparently charged right out of the great hall and into the cold night.

The heavy wooden doors open and Jaskier is hit with the unrelenting wind. The snow has stopped and partially melted, and frozen all over again. It’s the worst kind. Jaskier takes his steps with caution but still, it’s too slippery.

Okay. Mind. Clear. He needs it to be.

“Geralt?” he calls out, churning with anxiety. “Geralt, where are you?”

Damn his witcher speed. Now Jaskier is walking in the dark and freezing his balls off without an ounce of idea where Geralt might be. Oh, the stalls. Roach must be the first thought Geralt has when he needs to talk. Jaskier shudders, hugging his doublet tighter to fend off the wind and searches for the stalls blindly.

“Geralt, are you—ow!”

He walks right into a pillar and falls on his butt. Before Jaskier can register the pain, a pair of hands are picking him up by the armpits and he stumbles into Geralt’s embrace.

There’s a familiar sizzle of Igni, and the torch by the stalls is roaring with life.

“What are you doing out here?” A coat is tossed over Jaskier’s shoulders and he’s ushered back towards the building.

“Looking for you, you idiot!” Jaskier squawks, albeit grateful for the thick fur coat. A few more minutes he would lose all feelings in his toes. “Running into the night like this, who knows what can happen to you!”

“So you followed me out drunk and with no coat and I’m the idiot? Gods, I don’t know why I even…”

The doors creak open and there’s light and warmth and the smell of mead, but Jaskier’s heart sinks.

“I don’t know why you even bother too,” Jaskier muses, suddenly feeling like a scolded child.

Geralt steers Jaskier past the other wolf witchers and straight into his room, where the heat feels like a furnace on Jaskier’s frozen fingers—Geralt has been secretly tending to Jaskier’s fire for weeks after the human came down with a cold upon arrival at the keep. He’s too good to Jaskier.

“You are too good to me.”

“And you are a pain in the ass.”

Geralt sits Jaskier down in front of the fire rather grumpily, before joining him and pulling the coat even tighter. He’s still mad, just a smidge, but the droop of his eyes speaks more of sadness.

“Hey, talk to me,” Jaskier coaxes, squeezing Geralt’s knee in reassurance. Whatever argument coming their way, he can’t stand Geralt being sad.

“How drunk are you?”

“Not very.” If Geralt walking out hadn’t put Jaskier out of his daze, the wind sure finished the job. “White gull passes quickly. Hmm, who would have thought…”

“I need to tell you something.”

“But I need to tell you something too! It’s important.”

“Let me go first?”

The plead comes out in a whisper, and who is Jaskier to reject Geralt like this, wide-eyed and earnest?

“I never meant for you to know, and certainly not on a night like this, but Jaskier…” Geralt heaves out a breath, determined and so so brave. Jaskier is drawn closer to Geralt’s body like a magnet, ready to soothe, to meet him halfway. “I am in love with you.”

“Geralt.”

“I know you don’t feel the same, and it’s okay. You make a living singing about loving. Hell, you make a living simply by loving. Music, adventures, people, so many people. It’s okay that your heart is too big for me. But, Jask, I can’t take it anymore.”

“I don’t…not…”

“You flirt with people. You…touch them and kiss them and praise them. It’s okay. It’s the way you are. I understand that when you do the same with me it doesn’t mean anything more, but, Jaskier, I need you to stop.”

“Oh,” Jaskier breathes. “Do you hate it? I thought…differently.”

The smile that tugs at Geralt’s lips can only be described as crestfallen.

“The opposite. I love it too much. I’ll always want more. Always. I’m greedy like this.”

The guilt weighing down on Geralt’s shoulders is not a good sight, a personal offense to Jaskier. His hand reaches out on its own volition, tilting Geralt’s chin up so their gazes meet. The blush is back.

What did Jaskier do in his past life to deserve this man?

“That’s what I was going to say.”

“That you are greedy?”

The frown remains on Geralt’s face, and Jaskier smooths it with the pad of his thumb.

“No. That I am in love with you. Gods, for someone who’s not a bard, you sure know how to steal someone’s line from the beginning,” Jaskier chuckles. “I’ve been trying to tell you that I return your feelings. But alas, you know the coward that I am.”

“You are…not,” he protests, blinking.

The way Geralt defends him on instinct only makes Jaskier’s insides melt into a pool of fuzziness.

“In this, yes. How I fucked up so bad is a mystery. That’s just me I guess, trying to love you but ending up hurting you, making you feel like I’m stringing you along like anyone else.”

“I’m not?”

“No, you oaf.” Jaskier bops his nose. “You are the most important person in the world for me. This is the most important thing in the world to me! I love you and I love it when you blush. Also, I’d very much like to kiss you, if you want it too.”

Jaskier bites into his lips and watches as Geralt’s gaze drops to them, the pink of his cheeks spreading into the most gorgeous crimson. “I want to. Kiss you, that is.”

“Good.”

Jaskier wets his lips with a peak of the tongue and watches the same gesture returned. Even if the alcohol has left his system, the intoxication remains, only this time because of Geralt’s slightly dilated pupils and quickened breathing. He leans in, not being able to resist—

“Did you say ‘return my feelings’?” Geralt dodges away, looking incredulous. “Jaskier, did you know? And what was that about blushing?”

“Um…” Now Jaskier is the one to splutter. Luckily, he has a trick up his sleeves or two that can make sure Geralt forgets about every last thought there is.

Jaskier lunges forward and tackles his witcher onto the soft rug and kisses him within an inch of his life, deepening it like there’s no tomorrow. Judging by the dazed look on Geralt’s face as he comes up for air, the method is working.

Cupping Geralt’s rosy cheeks, Jaskier croaks proudly, “Tell you later?”

“We have all the later we need.” Geralt’s smile is blinding, and equally mischievous. Without a moment of pause, Jaskier ends up the one flipped onto his back and being kissed until he shudders with pleasure.

Jaskier has to thank Lambert properly one day, considering Geralt will certainly go after him with a vengeance.

For now, having Geralt on top of him and slowly melting into a contented mess should be enough. If he’s allowed, Jaskier vows silently, he would really like to make Geralt blush for him for the rest of his life.

~~

Jaskier will totally make it his life's mission to tease Geralt endlessly and see his beautiful blush. 🥰🥰

On another note, I challenged myself to write 2000 words exactly, and this ended up, um, 3000 words exactly. I’ll count it as a win anyway ;)

Tagging: @wanderlust-t @rockysstupidity @flowercrown-bard @alllthequeenshorses @mothmanismyuncle @percy-jackson-is-sexy- @constantlytiredpigeon @behonesthowsmysinging @kitcatkim3 @endless-whump @rey-a-nonbinary-bisexual @llamasdumpsterfire @dapandapod

Please feel free to tell me if you want to be removed or added to the list <3

[silversatoru]

Hi love! ❤️

Mkay so like.... Suguru walks in and finds out his gf has a cam acc- and just like straight up ruins her online

This has been on my mind all day but idfk how to write it

a/n: AHAH hey babe!!! this concept is 😌👌 so i hope i did you proud w this. also if ur really into the whole getting-ruined-online concept and you fuck w dabi may i recommended @katslutski ‘s smile for the camera series; it is one of my favs

getou suguru x f!reader

tags/warnings: masturbation, degradation, humiliation, dumbification, filming, facial, mild bondage, mild overstimulation

w/c: 1.4k

you rubbed your clit in rushed circles, projecting a cluster of fake high-pitched moans and arching your back for the camera. it really didn’t feel that great, but you were damn good at pretending it did — and the cash was flowing in as a result. 

you could see the notifications of donations and new patrons popping up on the side of your screen and you let a soft sigh of satisfaction leave your lips. these fuckers were so horny that they’d send you stacks of their income just to see you fondle your cunt — pigs.

between the blood rushing to your ears from your approaching orgasm and the soft music playing through you room you didn’t even notice the sound of your front door opening. you were completely unaware of your boyfriend’s presence in your home until he was standing in your bedroom doorway — a confused but amused expression across his face. 

“am i interrupting something?” he cocked an eyebrow at you. 

“suguru! i thought you were busy today, i-” you scrambled to explain yourself and grab a sheet from your bed to pull over your exposed body. 

“plans changed,” he shrugged and cut you off, entering your bedroom, “maybe you should start locking your front door when you’re doing shit like this”. 

you stared at him with horrified eyes, worried that he might break up with you for this kind of thing — he didn’t seem mad but he definitely wasn’t happy either. you quickly lunged for your laptop/camera set-up, attempting to end your livestream, but suguru moved quicker. he grasped your wrist in his strong fingers and looked at you with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. 

“leave it on, doll,” he purred at you, releasing your wrist and pushing you back towards the bed, “go ahead and finish the show for them”. 

completely stunned, you fell back onto your elbows and gave him a hesitant look. it’s not like you were embarrassed or anything— shit, you did this like every day, but you were severely confused by his reaction.

he nodded at the computer screen with hazy eyes, “they’re waiting. why are you so shy all of the sudden? you should be used to having an audience”. 

after a final moment of hesitation you leaned back, fingers returning down to your clit to resume where you’d left off. it was a little more awkward with suguru watching, but the way he was ordering you around was kind of hot, so your stiffness quickly faded.

and you knew your body well, what worked and what didn’t, so it was only a matter of minutes before you were rocking your hips into your hand and letting exaggerated whimpers slide between your teeth. the orgasm was mediocre at best, but you had to dress it up and wrap it in a bow for your precious patrons.

at some point during your little show suguru had rid himself of his clothing and was now climbing into the messy sheets with you. 

“let me see your hands,” he stated blankly, his fingers gripped around the belt that had been looped through his pants just a few minutes ago. 

“this is live you know,” you gave him a concerned look — you were confused but not opposed, holding your hands out behind your back.

“oh, i know,” he took care in gently wrapping your wrists together as tight as the belt would go and then helped you onto you knees.

the duskiness of his eyes filled you with a splendid mix of fear and excitement, but before you could even get a good look you were being shoved into the bed.

“put your face in the pillows, doll,” he ordered lazily as you faceplanted into one of the several pillows at the head of your bed.

his strong hands were quickly gripped around your hips, the tip of his rock-hard member brushing teasingly against your entrance. you were already practically dripping, the sticky liquids from your earlier orgasm still glistening around your edges. it made his access easy, his aching cock sliding with little effort.

“let’s show all of your fans how much of a dumb cock-whore you become when i’m inside you,” he thrusted using hard, firm strokes right from the start.

and of course he was absolutely right — you lost any inkling of a coherent thought once you were stuffed full with his length. you moaned, whimpered, and squirmed underneath him like the pathetic little cam girl you were. but with suguru, none of your performance was a façade — he truly knew how to make you melt under his touch. and melted and useless was exactly how he liked you, so he had every intention of fucking you dumb in front of your audience today.

and that’s exactly what he did. it was his own foul way of punishing you; turning you into a drooling cum-slut who had completely forgotten she was being broadcasted live. if you wanted to be a whore for a living, he’d show everyone just how much of a whore you were — but only for him. 

you’re not even sure how long it’s been — all you know is that you’re orgasming for the fourth time; or was it the fifth? sixth? you’d lost count somewhere along the way.

dull waves of pleasure racked through your body and sent quivers under your skin. you whined and wriggled, murmuring incoherent babbles as you rocked your hips back and forth on his cock to milk the most out of your climax.

“that’s five times, baby,” suguru’s voice sounded miles away, “my dick feels good inside you, doesn’t it?”

you thrashed your head up and down against the pillow, mumbling the word yes over and over as your body twitched from overstimulation. glistening mixtures of fluids were squelching out as he continued thrusting into your cunt, some dripping all the way down your legs.

and he didn’t let you take any breaks — nonstop fucking you even while your pussy was throbbing with sensitivity. the overstimulation was excruciating, and you were a complete mess of trembles and whimpers.

“so pitiful,” you heard a dark laugh rumble from his throat, “there’s thousands and thousands of people watching you be my disgusting little fuck-toy right now, and you’re just gonna keep taking it, aren’t you?”

you weren’t even sure what he was saying, honestly. your brain had short circuited a while ago, and you were just absent mindedly nodding your head and mumbling agreements to everything he said. the pillowcase beneath your head was nearly soaked in saliva now too, your feeble mouth hanging open while drool continued to seep from the corners of your lips. 

“i think i want you to finish me with your mouth, doll, how does that sound?” he slowed his pace, pushing lazy thrusts into your hips while you mindlessly nodded your head again. 

“pathetic little baby; you have no idea what i’m even saying to you right now, do you?” you heard suguru laughing from behind you; but all you could manage in response was a few scattered whimpers. 

he abruptly unsheathed himself from inside you, and strangled whines escaped your throat at his sudden absence. no! more, please, please, suguru please, you murmured with an embarrassing lack of control and your boyfriend couldn’t do anything but laugh at you in your shameful state.

“turn around and open those pretty lips,” he reached down and helped you to flip over before straddling your chest and pressing his hot, sticky member against your lips. 

you opened them graciously, too braindead to even notice the bitter taste of his precum mixed with your own fluids. he mouth-fucked you with obscene force, the walls of your throat painfully expanding every time he thrusted in. you choked and sputtered, drool leaking down your lips and all over your chin. 

when suguru’s own orgasm was right on the cusp he removed himself from your mouth and sprayed his seed all over your face. from your forehead to your chest you were coated in sticky globs of semen, and you sucked down the drips that made it into your mouth like they were liquid gold. 

“lets see how many of your precious viewers come back after this — now that they saw you disintegrate into the helpless little cum slut that you are, now that they know you’re mine”. 

[plaid-shirtsandvibranium-arms]

Nemesis: Retribution (4)

Summary: 10 years after the Avengers had left you for dead during a mission gone wrong, you unexpectedly re-enter their lives. Wholly unrecognizable from the person they used to know and now with a new team behind you, they ask for your help to stop a chain of syndicates who were manufacturing and peddling the super soldier serum. You were determined to say no until the chance at the vengeance you had been chasing for years was added to the offer.

Fandoms: Avengers, Marvel, MCU, The Punisher, Daredevil

Pairings: Female Reader x (Frank Castle, Billy Russo, Matt Murdock, Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes, Pietro Maximoff)

Warnings: EXPLICIT SMUT. SHAMELESS SEXUAL BEHAVIOUR (18+ ONLY. I WILL BLOCK YOU), voyeurism, exhibitionism, authority kink, praise kink, spanking, slight dom themes, polyamorous relationships, reverse harem, blatant disregard for canon timelines and events, angst, Punisher canon level of violence and gore, strong language, mentions of trauma, mentions of character death, fluff if you squint, 

A/N: Slowing it down just a bit to move plot along. Freaking out on the reblogs and comments are encouraged and will be rewarded with cookies. Seriously though, I love hearing what you guys think and use some of it to make the next chapters better. I adore you all! Have at it!

No permission is granted to repost, steal, or translate my work. Not even a credit makes it okay. Tumblr is the only place I post my writing. If you see it anywhere else please report it.

Series Masterlist | Full Masterlist

1:4 Apple Crumble

Steve Rogers had kindly offered for you and your team to stay at the Compound. For however long this mission would take, you were all going to start running straight at it early tomorrow. In terms of the mission, he was relieved to have your help. The sooner the serum was out of circulation the better and they truthfully did need your help. This underground world was more your scene now and you could better navigate it.

On a personal level, he was glad that you were sticking around even if it was on a contract. He would take whatever opportunity he can and make the best of it. That's how he's always been and he wasn't going to change that now.

He told himself that it was because he was the Captain that he was at your door this late after you all had agreed to part for the night. It was out of consideration that he carried with him some of his own clothes to offer you in case you needed something to change into. It was out of a need to clear the tension with you now that you were going to work as a team again that he was knocking on your door.

That was all.

You opened the door a moment later wrapped only in a short towel and with your hair still dripping wet from the shower. The smile that rose on your face was sly as you leaned on the doorframe with your arms crossed and your hip cocked to one side. He swallowed.

Maybe that wasn't all.

"What can I do for you, Cap?"

He opened his mouth, but no words came out. He was far too distracted by the little droplet that rolled down from your temple to the valley of your breasts. He shook his head and cleared his throat, forcing himself to focus only on your eyes and not the inappropriate answers that sprung to mind at your question.

"I brought you a change of clothes in case you need it," he managed to say. "And I wanted to talk to you if you're not too tired."

You opened the door wider and took the clothes from him without a word, turning into the room toward the bathroom. You casually dropped your towel to the floor and Steve choked at the sight of your bare back, a small set of black panties the only stitch you wore. The breath in his chest released only when you disappeared into the bathroom, the door cracked open offering him enticing glimpses as you moved around.

Steve hurriedly closed the door behind him and as he made his way further in, he caught sight of an open go bag beside your bed with clothes clearly visible. There was also a shirt and sweats beside it, the design he knew belonged to Pietro. He felt a little embarrassed. Of course Pietro would have already beaten him to it and that your team always came prepared. Still there was a satisfaction that bloomed in him when you stepped out clad in his shirt, the hem barely reaching mid thigh and bare feet soundlessly crossing the carpeted floor until you came to sit with him on the sofa. You tucked your legs under you and rested your head on your hand over the back of the seat.

"Gotta say I like this look, Steve," you grinned at him.

He chuckled, self-consciously rubbing at his beard and pulling at the hair at the back of his collar. The light dusting of red on his cheeks didn't go unnoticed by you.

"What? You don't like the all American apple pie look?"

You hummed and took a leisurely look at him from head to toe. Rugged and imposing as he appeared, the heat on his face intensified at your obvious appreciation and the way you swiped your tongue along your bottom lip. You were biting your lip when your eyes met his again, trying to stop yourself from laughing at how flustered he was getting and how much you were enjoying it. You've always found Steve handsome and he made apple pie look damn good, but this look on him was just so dangerously delicious.

You had a type.

"I'm more of an apple crumble kind of girl. I like the texture better," you winked. "And I don't mind a little beard burn."

"Will your team mind that I'm talking to you without one of them here?"

You raised an eyebrow and held his unsteady gaze, clearly understanding he meant more than just your professional relationship with the three men.

"You're curious."

"It's none of my business. That's not what I came to talk to you about," he stammered, unaccustomed to how forward you were.

"What did you want to talk about then?"

"I wanted to apologize properly and thank you for agreeing to help."

You groaned and threw your whole body back on the seat, causing Steve's shirt to ride up just shy of completely flashing him. You sat back up and pinched the bridge of your nose, letting out a long breath. It was only the fact that it was Steve that you were even entertaining this conversation.

"You have nothing to apologize for, Steve," you firmly dismissed.

"I do, Nem. We all do."

"Fine. List down what you're sorry about. Let's go through it one by one or we can draw lots to make it interesting."

"Nem," he said, low and clear with warning yet imploring you to listen. "Can you take this seriously for one second?"

The ever present smirk on your face dropped as you sighed heavily and ran a hand through your hair. For the first time since he's seen you, your expression softened a fraction and a shadow of the person he used to know passed across your features.

"Listen to me, Steve. I don't blame any of you. I'm not angry at any of you. I honestly have no room for more anger even if I wanted to be."

In the beginning you were. There were days while you were getting tortured that you hated them while you pleaded to the heavens for them to rescue you. It had taken a decade and three incredible men for that inferno of fury to turn into a manageable bitterness.

"Do you know how tiring it is to be so fucking angry all the time?" you chuckled darkly. "It took a while, but I learned to prioritize what I choose to be angry about."

"Salvacion," he muttered and you nodded, your eyes staring blankly forward.

"I've carried that name for a decade, Steve. That asshole has to die by my hands."

Steve saw now how selfish he was for forcing the conversation with the purpose of earning your forgiveness. It was for easing his own guilt that he was doing it when instead he should have just been thanking you for what you did and had to endure.

"Why didn't you ever come back?"

"I tried, Steve. When I was recovered enough I tried to go back. Did you know my sister had a girlfriend?"

He shook his head, throat suddenly closing at the sight of absolute misery in your eyes. He regretted starting this conversation even more.

"Jill. She was amazing to Lily and she was like a sister to me too," you smiled a little, not in your usual sarcastic way but with a hint of gentle fondness before your expression hardened once more.

"I saw her and I just couldn't bring myself to face her. I'm the reason the love of her life is dead. I couldn't, Steve"

It started off with the fear that they might have killed Jill too. You told yourself you had to know, but truthfully you were trying desperately to find a connection to Lily. You found her visiting the graveyard, laying flowers on two stones and spending the afternoon sitting on the ground tearfully talking to the dead. The shame burned through you and from then on you made it your sole purpose to destroy the man who took Lily from you both. Until then you had no right to face her. You had no right to return to the life you once knew.

Steve noticed that you weren't crying although the look in your eyes was swimming with grief. He expected you to cry, but somehow seeing you with dry eyes only made you look more in pain. You only clenched your fists, your shoulders tense and your jaw stiff. Steve decided he would tell the others instead of having you go through this conversation again.

He would do that for you.

You woke up surprisingly refreshed the following morning, strangely lighter than you have felt in the past decade. You didn't expect for that talk with Steve to have such an impact on you. You smiled ruefully, remembering your many counseling sessions with Curtis before and that maybe you were finally seeing his point.

FRIDAY had directed you to the larger conference room for today's briefing session with the rest of the team. You were wearing another one of Steve's shirts paired with your usual cargo pants, a fact that didn't go unnoticed judging by the raised eyebrows and teasing smiles. Billy in particular was leaning in to whisper to Matt what was going on.

"You don't have to tell me. I can smell it," Matt chuckles, crinkles visible at the edges of his dark sunglasses. "His cologne is quite distinct."

You smacked Billy on the arm, but laughed with them as well before throwing a wink at Steve who proceeded to blush a deep red. As you took your seat, a cup of coffee suddenly materialized in front of you accompanied by Pietro's ever bright smile. You smiled gratefully and took a sip, eyes slightly rounding in surprise at the taste.

"You remembered how I took my coffee."

"I've forgotten nothing about you, little star."

You haven't taken your coffee that way in so long. It's been just strong plain black coffee lately, the lack of sugar and cream where you lived with the boys being a factor. It had seemed pointless to eat something sweet when there was a permanent sour taste in your mouth from life. Now though you couldn't seem to help taking one sip after another, licking your lips before going in for more.

Right now this tasted right.

You didn't notice that Billy was smiling adoringly at you and sharing a look of approval with Frank as the briefing began, happy that someone aside from him was spoiling you. You certainly didn't know that Matt was smirking because he heard your heart literally skip a beat at the sweet gesture.

It took hours for the meeting to wrap up, but there was still more to do before you could actually take action. A number of the Avengers were sent out to gather more intel while the rest would stay to make further preparations.

"I only really need to talk to Frank a bit more," Steve said as he approached your group. "Why don't we have Pietro show you guys around the Compound? There are some improvements I think you'll find interesting."

Your tour guide for the afternoon appeared beside you, taking your hand in his and bouncing on the balls of his feet in his excitement. He was just too cute that you couldn't help but let out a small smile. The effect he had on you remained it seems.

"A tour would be really helpful for me," Matt easily agreed.

"And I go wherever the pretty girl goes," Billy added, slinging his arm over your shoulders.

"Great. Surrender your weapons and you should be good to go," Steve asked with a pointed look at both you and Billy who groaned in answer.

Billy was ready with a string of complaints and counter arguments when the clang of metal on the glass conference table stunned him into silence. He watched in complete disbelief as you removed every gun and blade attached to your body, efficiently dismantling them and lining them up on the table.

"Is she?" Matt murmured, leaning closer to Billy.

"Yeah."

"All of them?"

"Yeah."

By the time you stepped back, there was practically a decent sized armory on the table. How and where you managed to fit all of it on your person was a mystery to them.

"You missed one," Billy said, snapping out of his daze.

He stepped in front of you and casually slipped his arm up the front of your shirt and under your sports bra. His fingers grazed unnecessarily close to your now hardened nipples and he simply winked when you raised an eyebrow at him. Billy pulled out two small throwing daggers soon after and placed them alongside your other weapons.

"Oh yeah. I keep forgetting about those," you chuckled.

"Do you always come armed to the teeth?" Bucky snapped, clearly bothered by the display.

"She doesn't want her team to carry extra ammo for her, Sergeant," Billy scowled at him, the obvious animosity surprising Bucky. When he turned back to Pietro, his expression was back to his usual playful one. "So how about that tour?"

Frank turned to Steve when you had exited the room. "You gotta teach me that trick, Cap."

"What trick?"

"First time in 10 years I've seen her take any kind of order without a knife fight first," he said, cracking a smile and shaking his head.

It turns out that coming back was doing some good for you and this made him more comfortable around the Avengers. He wasn't about to braid them friendship bracelets but he was less inclined to pop a cap in their ass. At least for the time being.

Walking around the Compound brought back some of that wonder you felt when you first stepped in, but it recalled everything you had lost. Sensing the sudden tension in you, Billy gripped you by the waist and pulled you into his side. He kissed your temple, a silent reminder of what you had gained.

Pietro had been an absolute sweetheart, specifically describing what was in the area for Matt's benefit and pointing out the changes to you. The training area was your last stop, the place you had spent the most time in during your short stint here. There were loud sounds coming from the area and walking in you saw fresh-faced recruits in paired off sparring sessions.

Your full attention was on Pietro as he happily listed off the new features and answered questions from Matt and Billy, the latter now in businessman mode as he thought of what he could implement for Anvil. You were having an unusually pleasant time until a familiar shrill voice demanded your attention.

"Well look what the street cat dragged in. Y/N?"

You knew that voice. A decade with torture and trauma included apparently couldn't change how much her voice grated at you. The cold smirk made a reappearance on your face as you slowly turned to face her, the three men with you were instantly alarmed at the change in your demeanor.

"Kim," you nodded.

"Thought you were dead."

"Thanks. Can't say I thought about you at all though."

"I see you're still pathetically clinging to Pietro."

"What can I say? He's really cute," you said with a wink at Pietro who seemed to enjoy the compliment.

She sneered at you, her irritation rising when you weren't backing down like you used to do. She couldn't quite put her finger on what had changed about you, but you seemed rougher around the edges and far too cocky for her liking. Luckily, she still remembered a sure-fire way to take you down a few pegs.

"I'm teaching a class on hand to hand combat. How about we show them a demonstration on what a real fight looks like?"

You giggled as your smile grew, a disturbing sight that made even Kim doubt herself for a moment. You nodded your head in easy acceptance and she looked like she was pleased at herself for getting this opportunity. Before you could step forward though, you found Matt's walking stick blocking your path.

"What? It's not assault if it's provoked," you grinned at the frown on his face.

He hated it when you found loopholes, but he relented with a heavy sigh. He was too used to this. He leaned toward Pietro and told him that he should inform the Captain.

"Get some snacks too, roadrunner," Billy chuckled, delightedly watching you strip off your shirt and walking confidently towards Kim on the sparring mats.

Pietro had returned a moment later after completing his task, actually handing Billy a bag of fresh popcorn. The smile on his face froze when he caught sight of your bare skin. So far all he had seen as evidence of your torture was what was visible on your neck and face. He had stupidly brushed that fact aside, too excited to have found you again. Now the vicious marring on your beautiful skin was a cruel reminder of their failure as your team. They had failed you.

He had failed you.

Back in the conference room, the same feelings were shared by two super soldiers. They had pulled up surveillance on the training area after Pietro's message, just in time to see you take off that shirt.

Bucky felt the air leave his lungs at the horrific sight. He was alive and you had paid a heavy price for saving him. He could barely keep his eyes on you, the shame burning through him. He didn't want to imagine the amount of pain you had to endure to sustain those injuries.

"Don't you people dare look at her with pity," Frank warned. "Those scars are a testament to her strength. She's damn beautiful."

Steve agreed. He'd caught a glimpse of your scars last night and jarring as they were, your complete lack of self consciousness to them just made you more alluring. Looking back at the screen though he was concerned that you could hurt yourself. Kim was a top agent now, high enough in the ranks to be training recruits and leading missions. She had proven herself deadly in combat, but the way you were grinning was chilling in itself.

"One question before we start," you said.

"What?" Kim scoffed, flipping her braided hair over her shoulder.

"When's your next mission?"

"2 weeks. Why?" she answered, perfect brow raised in confusion.

"Just calculating your recovery time," you shrugged. "I'm nice that way."

Kim predictably charged at you then, growling and cursing at you under her breath. You smirked, standard SHIELD movements were easy to read for you. You stayed completely still and relaxed in your stance as she lunged at you with her fist. You timed your movement precisely, sidestepping at the absolute last moment. One hand grabbed at the back of her head, forcing it down to ram against your oncoming fist with a sickening crack.

Broken nose.

Kim shrieked in pain as the blood gushed from her nose and she tried to pull away from you. You didn't let her. You pulled her down by the shoulder to bend her over before driving your knee up her midsection. She wheezed at the impact, the mat below her smattered with her blood.

Bruised ribs. Maybe slightly broken.

You unceremoniously threw her aside, letting her fall groaning on her side. You clicked your tongue, watching her struggle and turning to the class she was supposed to be teaching.

"Lesson 1, kids," you waved your hands in Kim's general direction. "Don't end up like that."

Broken ego.

You turned to go back to your boys when the glint of metal caught your eye. You tilted your head just in time for the dagger to zip past your eye line, only thinly scratching at your cheek. Your hands reacted on instinct, reaching for the small hidden pocket along the waistband of you pants. You flicked the thin blade with deft fingers, embedding on the mat and landing it purposely close to Kim's eyes that it cut through her fake lashes.

"Nem!" Steve's unmistakable voice boomed through the speakers. You had forgotten that they had FRIDAY everywhere. "We said no weapons."

You rolled your eyes and smiled cheekily at the cameras. "It's just a nail file. I don't like keeping blood under my nails."

"You call that training?" Steve groaned rubbing his eyes and turning to Frank.

"I call that anger management," Frank said, amused at how unpredictable to handle they already found you when they've barely scratched the surface. He noticed how Bucky looked furious, his metal hand clutching a little too hard onto the table. "Don't like what you see, Sarge?"

Bucky didn't answer. He didn't tell them that he didn't like what he saw because he knew he was a major contributor in what caused it. If only he had been kinder, gentler, more honest. Maybe things would have turned out differently.

He walked down the hallways much later gripping a first aid kit in his metal hand and nervously running the other through his cropped hair. The cut on your face was barely anything, but he needed an excuse to talk to you. He was afraid you would turn him away, but he was terrified that you wouldn't. He didn't know what to say to you. He didn't know how to begin to apologize for everything he's done. His palm grew sweaty and beads were beginning to form on his brow.

He was only a few steps away from your bedroom door and he was sorely tempted to turn back around when he noticed that it was cracked open and he could hear voices from inside. He should have followed his instinct to keep his distance but a high whine that definitely came from you pushed him to peak through the small opening.

What he saw made his already thumping heartbeat grow quicker. His eyes grew wide and his throat went dry. Whatever he was expecting, it definitely wasn't this.

You. Stark naked. Grinding your mound on someone's face.

You looked absolutely glorious as you wound your hips in your chase for release; head thrown, back arched, and lips in a dreamy smile. The view he had of you, facing him and deep into your pleasure, was enough to cause his pants to tighten. He couldn't see which one of your teammates was beneath you, the bedframe blocking his view. Whoever they were, Bucky was jealous. He wanted to taste you too.

He felt that stirring of longing again now as he watched you in the throes of passion with another man. He felt it the moment you stepped back into their lives. He felt it during the 10 years they thought you were dead. And he felt it when you were still in training as a recruit every time you smiled at Pietro and Steve.

You picked up your pace and he could see muscular arms reach up to grip your waist and pull you down harder. You were panting curses, your breathing turning erratic and Bucky could see your thighs begin to shake. The sight of you coming undone has to be the most entrancing thing he's ever seen.

Movement from you and your partner pulled him from the hypnosis caused by your erotic display. His face heated up, deeply embarrassed at having watched you for so long and finding enjoyment in basically violating your privacy. He was about to leave when the man whose face you had been riding, came up to kneel behind you.

He pulled your hips back against his own, sliding his hard length easily into your dripping cunt causing you to moan so deliciously that Bucky felt a shiver run down his spine. You reached your hand up to grip the back of his head, letting him bury his own in your neck as he set a languid pace with his thrusts.

Your head rolled to the side and your eyes opened, locking directly with Bucky's. You smirked and reached down to circle your swollen bud, pressing your back further against the hard body rutting behind you and purposely putting on a show. You winked at him.

He bolted out of there.

"That wasn't very nice, honey," the low voice was thick with lust in your ear. His breathing was growing labored too, finding your heat wrapping around him overwhelming.

"I don't see you stopping, Captain."

"How can I when you're gripping me so tight?" He snapped his hips earning a sharp moan from you. "Did you like that? Torturing my best pal with me balls deep inside you?"

You sighed and closed your eyes. Apple pie Steve wouldn't have whispered such sinful things to you, but this Steve could make you cum with just filthy words alone.

"Yeah, you did. Look at you clenching and soaking my cock from having Bucky watch you. You like being bad to him, honey?"

A sudden smack to your ass had you snapping your eyes open. He chuckled into your neck, biting down hard on the juncture as he felt you gripping him even tighter.

"Answer," he growled, landing a harsher smack to your bottom.

"Yes! Yes, Captain, I did."

"Good. Will you be good for me now, honey? You caused a bit of trouble today." His thrusting was still slow, making sure you felt every ridge and vein with each stroke as he drove you into a stupor. "Will you be a good girl for your Captain now?"

"Yes, Captain."

He smirked against your skin, pleased at your compliance. He was reveling in the power he had over you. Frank had said that you never took orders without a fight, but here you were being so good for him. Pliable. Yielding. He was enjoying it.

He gathered your hair in one hand and pulled, your back arching beautifully and emphasizing where his cock was buried deep inside you. With each thrust his cock came out glistening with your slick. The image made him lose control, abruptly escalating his pace to rail feverishly into you.

He had you gasping and clutching at the sheets instantly, begging for him to go harder and push you over the edge. He bent over you and reached around to rub furiously at your throbbing clit.

"Cum like a good girl, honey. Cum around my cock," he commanded. "I wanna feel you fucking drown me."

You came, lights dancing in your eyes and your head empty of all thoughts aside from the pleasure that racked your body. He followed soon after with a loud grunt, the sensation of you fluttering around him too much to resist.

He fell on top of you, spent and satisfied. Your sweat and heavy breaths mingling together as you both tried to return back to the world. You liked the heavy feel of him on top of you, strangely finding comfort in the weight.

He dragged you with him when he rolled off you, spooning you and planting kisses on the back of your shoulders that had your skin tingling from his beard.

"When are you going to put him out of his misery?"

"When it stops being fun?" you chuckled.

Steve wasn't going to push the issue. He knew that it was up to you whether you forgave Bucky or not and when that would be. It would be on your own terms how things moved. Just like what happened between you two. He wasn't expecting it, but the heated argument about the injuries you inflicted on one of his best agents had somehow escalated into him spanking you and you growing wet from it.

Not that either of you were complaining.

You turned around in his arms to face him, looking up at him with a taunting smirk. "You sure your old heart can take being in a polyamorous relationship?"

He chuckled and pecked your lips before going back in for a much deeper kiss that had you swooning. When he pulled back, he was looking at you lovingly.

"I'm known for waiting too long about things like this. I lost my shot at you 10 years ago. I'm not missing out on you again."

His words were firm and genuine. He honestly thought that he would mind having to share you with several other men. He thought that he would feel jealous and possessive. Instead, he felt reassured. He knew that wherever and whenever he lacked, someone else would pick it up and he would be the same. There was a sense of relief knowing that you would always be taken cared of by people who felt the same for you as he did.

"Well then you have some making up to do for waiting so long," you said nibbling at his lower lip.

He groaned and grabbed your thigh, hitching your leg up on his hip. Your thighs and core were still sticky and slippery from both your releases. His tongue dove into your mouth and he could feel you moan against his lips as he ran the tip of his cock against your still sensitive core. Your nails dug into his back as he sunk in, fitting perfectly inside you.

"You're running with a super soldier now, honey," he said, eyes burning with want. "I can do this all day."

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A/N: Some asked about Jill and Kim so here you go, lovelies. Come freak out with me in the comments and reblogs. Thank you all for the support! More coming soon. 

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[bloodycassian]

COLD NIGHTS - Cassian x Azriel x Reader - Prompt: 

hi i love your work so much!!! I was thinking a cassian x azriel x reader (i just love them sm, why have one when you can have two ) where the reader is sister of a high lord maybe day or winter court, and reader goes missing (kinda angsty) and her brother (a high lord) panics and goes to the night court for help (bc if her two bat boys can’t find her who will)  and az and cassian go full on panic mode and search for the reader, i was also thinking a fluffy cute ending where reader is just cuddling with azriel and cassian while her wounds heal take as much time as you need to write this, don’t pressure yourself. Take care lovely

Kallis would never forget the screams. The terror and panic that rushed through him when he realised that you were gone.  He sent half the city to search for you. He called upon Helion to inspect the magic. He was frantic in finding you. But it was like you had just disappeared out of nowhere. No sign of struggle, not a drop of blood spilled. The offender was sloppy in their ways, but their magic was strong. Helion could sense it.  They had a deathwish from Kallis himself if he ever found them. +  The first thing you saw were your cracked and bloody hands. They were split open from the dry cold wind. Sea air drifted into the cave. The cold brutal howling outside mixed with the roar of waves breaking confirmed your nightmares. Cape Tragedy. 

The islands off the coast of winter were known for their unforgiving nature to ships. Hence their name, Cape Tragedy. Also known as the Tragic coast, no stories were ever heard of any survivors of those crashes. If they had managed to survive the churning water, then the false salvation of the islands would kill them. It happened often enough that there were lighthouses set atop many of the bigger islands for ships to avoid on stormy days.

You coughed from the dry air, earning a pair of yellow eyes to dart to you. One of the three lesser fae males noticed you were awake and clapped. "She wakes! We've been waiting for you, sweetheart." His green skin was pale in the overcast light streaming in from the mouth of the cave. Snow Bear pelts lay all around. A disgrace in your culture. No citizen of Winter court would do such a thing. You looked to the walls to find weapons, and strange markings along the stone. Sailors from far away lands. 

Not even sailors. Pirates. A chill ran through you.  

"We're going to get your weight in gold, pretty one." The scaled male curled a piece of your hair behind you ear. Your stomach turned, and you tried to scoot away. "My brother will kill you first. And he'll take a long time doing it." You promised, trying to make your voice sound strong. Terror had you by it's grip though, and it was hard to do anything other than panic

. "Your brother? The pretty one that shears the Elk?" The green one asked. You laughed, and then were hissing in pain when the scaled male yanked on your hair. "What's so funny?" 

"You think my brother is an elk herder?" You spat "You must be dumber than you look." The males glanced between each other, then to the one who hadn't said anything yet.

"Who ye think you are then?" The male holding your hair stammered, trying to keep his panic under wraps. 

"Kallis' sister." You said with deadly calm. "And the high lord does not negotiate." 

"If you're so noble why you got such a mouth on ye?" The third male finally spoke.

They laughed.

"Maybe we will see just how much of a mouth-" He started again. He didnt have a chance to finish his disgusting words. You kicked, bending an ice spear straight up from the rocky ice floor and through the third male's body. Then the beating from the other two came. 

They bound your wrists and ankles in rope and tar. Their hands shook when they did it. It gave you a small bit of satisfaction. The potion they gave you to knock you out was just barely strong enough. You fought it as best you could, but it won. You could only hear the faint sounds of arguing then a crash of glass, then the cold winds whipping around you. And when you woke, your body ached.  The cold bit into your limbs. Your fingers were pale. Far too pale to be healthy. You knew frostbite when you saw it. Your body refused to move under your own power. Your blood was frozen to the icy ground. They had used a potion and transported you to a peninsula, and you could only faintly hear the ocean below. You could feel the potion wearing off, but you knew you weren't healing. Not yet. You reached down into your own mind, picking up the fading tendrils of power. Of your bond to the two you knew could save you. And you pulled as hard as you could manage.  --- "Fuck." The roaring thought shook Cassian awake. Bleary eyed, he glanced about the room as if there was someone actually shouting at him.  Then he felt it. The weak tug that had been silent for so long. And he knew it was nothing good. Frenzied, he met Azriel at the dining area. Where they spent the rest of the night planning, deducing a probable reason for you to be calling so weakly. They sent their worries to Rhys, but they were shooed away. "I'm researching. Meet me in the library at dawn." The two males tried to comfort each other. But the worry pulsating through the bond was too much to focus on. So they waited. Kallis appeared that morning. He spat his story and begged for help, practically in tears as he spoke to the three Illyrians. Cassian and Az knew something was wrong the moment you were attacked. Court laws forbade them interfering on Winter Court territory though.  As soon as the approval was given, the brothers winnowed to the border of Winter and started flying. + You were coming to terms that you would die in the cold. You had imagined death differently. Battle was the primary way you thought you'd die. Or at the end of a High Lord's magic for being too much of an advisor. Smiling at the memory of putting Tamlin in his place, you gave another tug down the bonds to your mates. And like a snap, they both tugged back. Almost in unison. It was hard to tell. You closed your eyes, listening to the soft waves below. They lulled you into a cold sleep yet again.  + Despite the cold, the Illyrians flew as fast as they could. They could sense your light fading, and chased it for mile after mile. Their wings cut through the harsh winter winds, fueled by rage and desperation. Then they spotted the dark figure frozen to the snow below. Cassian landed first, a few feet away. The ice cracked beneath him. "Get us out of here." He growled to Azriel.  "We need to make sure she's okay before we move."  Cassian growled, but didn't protest. Azriel understood. He felt the anguish and frustration through the shared bond. Az's hands pressed gently to your neck, checking your pulse. He swore. "Baby, we need you to wake up for us. We're here. We got you." Cassian put a hand to your cheek and fought back the tears that threatened.  You groaned in response. They both sighed in relief, their breath making clouds in front of them. "I'm stuck..." You managed through your stiff jaw.  Cassian stroked a thumb over your cheek. "Stuck? Honey you're-"  "Cas..." Azriel nodded to your side, to the ice that crept its way up your damp clothes. Azriel could have taken a very very long time torturing the beasts that did this to his mate. The rage coiled in his gut at the sight of your injuries. The only reason you hadn't bled out was the blood and water mix turning your wounds to ice.  Cassian pulled at the ice web that encapsulated you. Under the heat of his rage it broke, and broke and broke. Azriel placed small patches of his shield over your frostbitten fingers. "We're gonna get you out of here. Just stay still." Azriel smoothed back your hair, and darkness swirled over you. The change from the harsh overcast light of Winter court to the soft sun of Night court was jarring.  Madja put her hands on you and you were asleep in an instant. Her warm hands were a blessing from the Mother.  +  "She's lucky she has that Winter blood in her or she'd be dead." Madja wiped her hands off and handed both the Illyrians a small vial. "That is the scrap from a poisoned sword that broke off in her shoulder. I got all the pieces out, but the poison lingers. It may heal slowly, but it should get better."  Anguish burned both of their stomachs. Azriel's throat tightened and he looked away, but gripped the vial tightly. Cassian stared at it, his eyes murderous. Madja left without another word. "She was almost killed. And we couldn't do anything." Cassians' voice was low, with violence dripping from it. "We need her here. In Velaris where we can... watch her." He didn't know what he was saying, but the instinct to protect was overriding every other logical thought he had. Anger burned and burned in his stomach, swallowing him with rage. He could feel Az mirroring the same feeling, but with a cold deadliness that begged to simmer out of him.  "You know she wont go for that. She loves her home too much. Her brother." Azriel whispered back. "We're her mates. She should be with us." Cassian was looking for a fight. All the tension and anger of the day had to be worked out. Azriel felt it too. His shadows ran anxiously through the room.

The wind outside howled. It shifted the dark clouds that covered the moon. It seemed to be a cold day in all of Prythian. A cold day in your mates hearts to the pirates that had taken you. They spoke their rage mind to mind, imagining the ways to torture the bastards. 

How to find them would be the first priority. Azriel kept circling back to that part. + The healer cleared his throat at the door. "She's asking for you." He nodded to Rhys' brothers. They left Rhys behind in unison, walking in perfect step with each other. Their minds hummed together over that bond they shared with you. "Protect protect protect." They both seemed to demand.  Azriel knocked softly, his heart flipping when he heard your voice again. "Get in here." You demanded, giving them a broad smile when they practically shoved each other out of the way. 

"Come keep me warm." You weakly folded the blanket back, exposing some of the bruising on your skin. 

They complied with enthusiasm. Azriel's hands were cold at first, but they got better when he reached around you to hold Cassian closer. They worked in tandem to keep you covered, making sure that you weren't too crowded or too warm. Azriel summoned his cool shadows when you got too warm and had to kick the blankets off. Cassian's warm breath would keep you warm when they became too much. You traced Azriel's cheekbones, the sharp edge of his jaw while falling alseep. Cassian's muscled forearms hugging you from behind were like a heavy pillow. 

"Rest now, we can have more fun later." Az winked, making your stomach flutter. Cassian groaned and pulled you further to his lap. You tried not to think of the hardness that pressed to you now.  "Goodnight." The shadowsinger kissed your forehead and like a light, you were out. Finally resting peacefully wrapped between your two mates and their warm bond you all shared. 

[kpop-dungeon-dark]

The Experiment. (Dom!Sehun x You)

•TRIGGER WARNING•

Warning(s): Con-Noncon (you consent to the act for the sake of play), dacryphilia, choking, anal, hair pulling, bondage, fear kink, gagging, slapping, pretend hate sex, puppy kink, orgasm denial, degradation and humiliation. Browse at your own risk.

Y/n gulped as she walked hand-in-hand with her older, much bigger boyfriend and dom, Sehun. A couple of 7 months now, they had soon realised after a few weeks of going out that both of them liked things on the… rougher side.

Today, they were going to try… something, after very careful planning and discussion.

Sehun knew he had to be the responsible one in the relationship always. And so during experiments as well as 'serious' things he didn't play around or let Y/n shy away, sitting her down and planning everything out.

He didn't ever want to hurt her. Not even accidentally.

The couple came to a halt when they reached the trailer placed in the middle of the jungle, Sehun turning to the girl and pushing her closer by the back of her neck before touching his lips to her forehead.

"I love you."

"I love you too… sir." A timid whisper followed the manly voice, her legs in a complete contrast to her scared voice, thighs squeezing against one another to ease the tension between them.

Oh. Her panties were already soaked.

"You know your safe words, pup." The key turned in the lock and Sehun was in character by the time the door to the trailer slowly opened inwards, his grip hardening on the back of her neck as he roughly hauled her in, stepping inside before hitting the lights as she started to whine and struggle.

"Get in here you little whore!" He was amazed by how fast her tears busted out, as if on cue. "Pathetic! Thinking you can fight against your owner! What a bad dog!" Y/n loved the insults as well as the rough grip he had on her hair, moving her before going to close the door. "You, little pup, need lots of training-!"

The man's words were cut short when she grabbed a vase that had been put intentionally there before hitting his arm hard enough with it that his grip on her loosened, aiding the girl in slipping away through the still ajar door.

"I WILL NEVER SLEEP WITH A SICK AND DIRTY MAN LIKE YOU!" The girl shrieked, her bad acting looking like one out of those porn videos as she rushed away from him, Sehun following soon after grunting and cussing. "HELP! SOMEBODY HELP!"

They knew nobody would come as no one could hear them. This was in the middle of nowhere. They knew it. They had planned it. For weeks.

But something about blindly running in the dark followed by a man so strong and of Sehun's kind, made adrenaline rush through Y/n's veins, her core just getting needier and needier. It was a chilly night. But the fire glowing hotter and hotter deep within her ovaries was providing her enough warm to keep running as tears blurred her vision.

This felt so real. So dangerous. So vicious. Cruel. Terrifying, even.

And she loved it.

The thoughts of what was going to follow this made her knees weak, causing them to buckle up as she went tumbling down against the dead leaves, making her groan as she landed on her chest, wanting to be pounded from behind right there.

"Oh no! Oh no!" She cried harder, sounding more aroused with each word, trying to 'weakly' crawl away as Sehun approached her from behind, clicking his tongue which made her struggle harder. "OH NO SOMEONE HELP ME PLEASE!"

"Absolutely pathetic" clicking his tongue, the man effortlessly grabbed her ankle, dragging her against the leaves as she squawked and drooled humiliatingly, trying to 'break free' from her 'captor' as he dragged her back to the trailer. "You could have at least tried to run away, tsk. But you're really eager, huh?" The man didn't know if he was in character or speaking in general.

Because his slut of a cumsock was always ready to be fucked by him.

In the most vile of ways.

"OH NO! LEAVE ME! LEAVE ME YOU VILE DIRTY MAN!" Her heart was thumping in her ears as she struggled to act, going a little wordless from the excitement of what was to come, almost stopping completely when he threw her over his shoulder and entered the trailer before locking it shut and walking to the bed, throwing her on it. "OH GOD! OH PLEASE NO!"

"Hold still!" Slapping one of her breasts harshly, Sehun felt himself slipping deeper into his dominant headspace, in which he wasn't so tolerable to any sort of fussing, tearing her skimpy little outfit off. "Sure you want me to let you go huh slut?" Now hitting her cheek, the male said in a stern voice.

"Because from the hooker shit you wear it appears you want anything with a cock real or fake to fuck all of your pathetic little nasty holes" when she started to cry harder and thrash around, the man grunted and pulled-tore her panties off, taking a quick sniff before pushing them in her mouth, the girl's sensitive tongue picking up the salty taste almost instantly.

"Disgusting little whore lying to my face!" Grabbing a handful of hair from the back of her head, the man pulled her head back to have her look up at him before he slapped her again. "When you are practically dripping! Such a nasty little dog I have here!" Another slap on the same cheek before he let go of her hair and slapped her other cheek with his now free hand, pinching and pulling at her now reddening, tear stained cheeks.

Y/n's struggling died down a bit as her pussy pulsated harder, ovaries feeling like they were flipping in satisfaction from the cruel slaps, pupils dilating.

Sehun chuckled as his thumb grazed over her wet lips, own tongue running over his as he stepped on her feet to restrict movement. He loved to make a mess of that pretty face, inserting his thumbs in either sides of her mouth now before pulling at them, index fingers pushing her top lip out of the way to humiliatingly reveal her teeth and gums like she was some lab rat.

"You've been a bad little dog for Master, pup. And you know what happens to bad little dogs?" He stretched her mouth even more, eyes cold as ice as he felt his stiff cock harden now. "Such a pretty sleeve for Master's cock." He whispered under his breath, admiring her stretched open mouth.

Before her lust clouded mind could even decipher what was happening, Sehun had already pulled her over the bed, placing her face first against the mattress before hurriedly locking her hands in place against the headboard with handcuffs he had pulled out of his pockets, lips brushing the shell of the girl's ear as his breath fanned her skin.

"They are taught a lesson they will remember for a lifetime."

A shiver ran down her spine as she shuddered, crying even harder and loving the intensity of it all. He could be so sweet and kind but also so cold and rough. So contrasting but so good.

"Hnnngg~" she couldn't help but grind her ass against his abdomen as the man was hurriedly stripping himself of his clothes, making him chuckle as he slapped her mildly bruised ass, causing the smaller body to jump in defense.

"You sure you don't want this?" Pumping his cock, Sehun grinned as he rubbed his length before Y/n's ass cheeks, landing a slap on one before squeezing it hard and pulling at it, pushing it away from the other one. "Because it looks like you do~" a surrendered nod came from the girl, causing him to chuckle.

It was no news that the girl wasn't much of a fighter against him, always melting into her Master's control.

But now was the time of the promised surprise Sehun had told her of. The twist.

Fishing the bottle of lube out of the pocket of his discarded jacket, the male easily opened it with one hand and squeezed it hard, aiming for the tiny little fairly unused hole that would always have her thrash and whine if touched.

And it always made Sehun go for it even more.

A loud muffled whine erupted from the girl as realisation dawned upon her. Fuck. He was about to give her some good old anal that always had her penguin walking for days.

Oh no!

Y/n wanted- needed stimulation in her aching pussy and she needed it now!

Sehun, on the other hand was enjoying the now genuine struggle, humming to himself a devilishly sweet tone whilst dripping thick drops of the liquid on his cock now, the thick tip already pushing against the tiny hole now.

Readying it for the deal was one thing, but forcing it to open as it desperately tried to reject his cock and push it out was on a whole different level.

"It never manages to amuse me how you think fucktoys like you have a choice against-" biting his lip, Sehun enjoyed the feeling of her warm and tight ring of muscles encased his fat tip, hands carelessly discarding the almost empty lube. "-their… fuck-" The male grunted as he struggled to fit his impressively huge cock up her tiny ass, both hands squeezing her bruising ass before separating the cheeks to help it open up, hips slowly pushing deeper and deeper as Y/n's mouth formed an 'O', fresh tears escaping her eyes as her whole felt as though it were on fire.

But hell…

It burnt so good.

He always made it hurt so good.

"... against their Masters" Sehun was panting by the time he was able to finish his sentence, halting midway before pulling outwards to drill the entry a bit wider before moving his whole cock in, the upper half of Y/n's body going limp against the bed as she whimpered and moaned to the pain, the lower half raised in the air as it was being thoroughly invaded.

"Fuck! Such a tight little dog!" The male grunted as he felt his hips slowly easing up because of the ring of muscles slowly getting used to his cock, not many loud sounds coming from the girl.

"Come here!" Grabbing her neck, Sehun made her sit up straighter on her knees, causing her ass to slide back on his cock as she whined loudly, drool dripping down her chin as her eyes rolled to the back of her head, making Sehun thrust harder as he watched her from the mirror he had installed right above the headboard to watch her in such positions, other hand squeezing and pinching her sensitive and hard nipples.

"Look at yourself, little pup. Look up!" Pulling at her hair from behind until she was looking at him through the mirror with her lust clouded and tear filled eyes, Sehun sped up mercilessly faster, trying to fit his big balls in the hole too. "This is what you are, just a pathetic little cocksock. This is what delusional little fucktoys like yourself-" slapping one of her cheeks he humiliating pushed her nose back, making her blush even harder in embarrassment.

"-get for thinking they can whine about things. Tch. You should be grateful for whatever I give you. Such a bratty pet I have." Her eyebrows were furrowed in pain and concentration as she felt her tits fly back and forth humiliatingly fast due to the powerful thrysts, this sight alone enough to make her cum.

This mirror was such an embarrassment.

Sehun's body draped over Y/n's back as he chased his orgasm, placing his lips against her neck after pushing her hair out of the way, kissing and licking at the skin before sucking at it, one hand choking it and cutting her air supply as the other one trailed down south.

"Tell me when you're close by nodding." Was a much gentle and soft sound as compared to the loud sound of flesh slapping against flesh as his fingers creeped down and between the girl's wet and squishy pussy lips, making her close close in sweet pleasure.

Oh, good heavens. Finally.

What the poor girl found out soon after was that whenever she'd near her orgasm and nod hazily to let him know, Sehun would devilishly grin in the mirror and stop right away, waiting until the build up was gone before starting the torture all over again, an expert at holding back his own.

Why? Just because he simply could.

It was only a good while after that he painted her walls white with his seed and allowed her to cum, removing the torn underwear from her mouth to have relieved sobs tumble out as the girl collapsed against the bed, going limp as the male slowly eased her out of her restraints, gently rubbing them with the pads of his thumbs while whispering sweet nothings in her ear.

.

[levworship]

Okay but I just read what the other anon requested and that was so good?? I didn’t think I had a thing for receiving oral but wtf 😭🤚could I maybe request smth if you got time?? Could it be a reunion between volleyball teams from miyagi and tokyo? So nekoma, fukorodani, seijoh, Johzenji (terushima’s tongue piercing PLS), karasuno, itachiyama You were the old manager of nekoma and was friends with literally everyone, during the talk kuroo somehow mentioned that in the nekoma reunion like 2 years ago it somehow ended with the main guys all taking turns eating you out and that pisses off the rest of the guys because that was their fantasy?? This ends up with you (with consent ofc) being sat down on kuroo’s lap as the guys also take turns eating you out (inspired by the other anon because 😩) I understand if you obviously can’t mention everyone, but pls mention terurshima, sakusa (who would only let you make a mess on his face) and bokuto if you could <3 ALSO the idea of two people eating you out at the same time, maybe bokuto and terushima?? IM NASTY OKAY BUT PLS DO THAT

Ty in advanceeee

i’m usually pretty fast but this took me a whole two days to write smh i’m sorry anon. hope you enjoy tho <3 i wanted it to be a lil longer but i’m so tired and i rlly wanted to get this out for you.

cw: group sex (like.. big group), hella sub reader, also fem reader, anal lol, oral (fem reviving), kuroo is the ringleader, humiliation ig, reader kinda into it doe, dirty talk, degrading + praise, squirting, overstimulation

summary: basically everyone wants to eat out/fuck y/n. explicitly written in here is kuroo, oikawa, sakusa, bokuto, and terushima. the rest is implied.

word count: about 1.9k

your face was buried into kenma’s stiff shoulder, your whole body feeling hot as your group of friends continued to talk about you as if you weren’t even there. but clearly they hadn’t forgotten about you too much considering the way their eyes burned holes into you from all around so indiscreetly that you couldn’t even sit your ass still.

you weren’t quite sure how the previous conversation had shifted so suddenly, but kuroo seemed more than happy with the subject change as his signature asshole smirk never left his features. “- yeah, ‘bout two years ago i’d say. she was a good fuck too. poor thing was so eager to make us feel good that she passed out.” kuroo continued to drag his story as if to intentionally provoke the others, and the staring at you only got worse. your nerves were shot.

you looked and felt like a precious bunny being stared down by a bunch of wolves. and honestly? it was hot as fuck.

which is why you didn’t bother to argue when you were practically dragged into the locker room of the old gym, daichi hurriedly locking the door behind all of you. you couldn’t help but feel bad for just a second. ‘didnt some of these guys have girlfriends? couldve sworn i saw terushima enter with some girl.’ but how could you possibly focus on that when your clothes were being literally ripped off of you and disregarded to who knows where?

your legs felt weak, both out of shock and nervousness from being handled so roughly. “bring her here, bo. sit her down on my lap.” bokuto (for perhaps the first time in his life) was silent as he dragged you over to the other ex-captain, setting you down in his lap on his spot on the bench just as he’d requested. kuroo snickered and raised a hand to cup your cheeks, squeezing them together like you were a little baby before releasing.

“ease up, will ya? so damn tense i can feel it from here. you know we’ll take good care of you.” he spoke so lowly and reassuringly that you couldn’t help but to nod like a fool as he turned you around in his lap to fit the others. he tapped your thigh once, twice, and you quickly picked up on the hint and opened your legs for their viewing pleasure. you tried to put your face down as you were smothered in shame from just how quickly you got wet from their rough handling, but kuroo gripped onto your face once again and forced you to look up.

“look up, baby. so many big strong men dying to make you cum so fucking hard. be a little more thankful, yeah? say it.” “thank you.” he shook his head with a small laugh before releasing your face, but not before lightly tapping your face twice with soft slaps. still, you remained out of it even as oikawa settled himself between your legs, looking up at you with the same lazy smile you frequently saw him wearing around you.

“smells so damn good. finally gonna let me get a taste, cutie?” he spoke lowly as if he were to himself before diving in and holy shit. you figured he’d be pretty experienced. the guy was a literal chick magnet. but damn, this exceeded your expectations by far. your body threatened to curl over itself if it hadn’t been for kuroo’s sturdy grip on your twitching thighs. the way he sucked vigorously at your clit while swiping his tongue along your folds to capture more of your essence had you drawing nothing but blanks up there.

“haven’t even cum yet for us and already going dumb?” kuroo teased, planting a kiss just behind your ear, a shocking contrast to the way oikawa’s tongue worked against you just right.

the air around you was so thick you felt as if it could be cut with a knife. some of the guys surrounding you couldn’t figure out what to do with themselves, nervously shuffling their feet without taking your eyes off of you. others had clearly overcome any former shame, already slowly pumping their cocks in their hands as they hoped and prayed that they would get a turn soon. the whole scene made you feel so dirty— so wanted. the desire that leaked from their looks on you had your orgasm approaching faster than ever.

oikawa seemed to have noticed this, using his thumbs to spread your folds apart to make sure you felt him deep, muttering a quick “cum on my fucking mouth, princess.” the simple phrase alone made your orgasm crash down on you finally. your fingers tangled in his soft hair, which was now messy and tossed thanks to you.

you nearly passed out right there when he continued to lick you clean even as you violently shook in kuroo’s grasp, the black haired boy having to shove the other away forcefully just to separate his mouth from you. “that’s enough of that. did he make you feel good baby?” your eyes are still shut as you cling onto the leftover bliss, only offering a quiet “mhm.” “good girl. think you can give us another?” the question was clearly rhetorical, which should’ve been clear by the was he was already gesturing someone else forward. but still, you shook your little fucked out head ‘no’ and prayed upon some god that he’d have mercy on your poor quivering cunt.

but you knew better than to expect mercy from kuroo of all people. especially when it came to your body, when he kept whispering to you about how you were such a “perfect little toy,” and his “favorite doll to use.” before you knew it sakusa was diving into your pussy quickly without giving you time to do so much as muster up the energy to open your eyes again. his mouth was quick and desperate to get you off, moving with a sense of urgency as his hands busied themselves palming at his covered dick. he wasn’t nearly as precise or experienced as oikawa was, but his eagerness made up for it as he ate you out like a starved man.

your hips threatened to buck against his face wildly, cries of “please, please, please” falling from your mouth even though you didn’t even know what you were begging for. all you knew was that you needed more than what he was giving you right now. the man above you seemed to have read you like an open book once again as he released one of your thoughts to reach a hand around to your sensitive bud, pressing down on it softly. “see this?” he murmured, only receiving a small “hm.” in acknowledgement as omi continued his assault on your little hole. greedy fuck. “try touching her here. she loves that shit.” you cried out for more again, clenching tightly at the way he spoke of your body as if you weren’t even there.

the second sakusa tore himself away from your folds to wrap his lips around your clit, you were a goner for sure. there was a distant scream that you didn’t even recognize as your own until kuroo muffled them with his hand, body twitching and jerking more than it had the previous time. the room fell to a sudden silence even as you came down from your high, causing you to let out a confused hum.

kuroo’s chuckle broke the quietness, his large hand slapping your wet overstimulated mound and making you yelp. “didn’t know you were a squirter, baby. how come you didn’t do this for us the first time hm?” another rhetorical question. his hand trailed down lower, collecting some of your juices before he began to prod a finger at your other hole. “fuck- gonna let me bury myself in here again? want both of your holes fucked out?” and you couldn’t help but cry out because fuck yes! you couldn’t think of anything you’d want more. you nodded your head and panted like a sex craved mutt, and perhaps you would’ve been as humiliated as you were before if you weren’t so damn thirsty for it. every inch of you was begging to be ravished and destroyed, and you couldn’t help but grow more and more impatient as the time passed.

kuroo didn’t take his eyes off of you as he nodded towards the crowd once again, sakusa taking the hint and reluctantly scurrying off to palm at himself through his sweatpants just as he previously had. kuroo’s command must’ve been unclear though, as both of you were pulled away from your eye contact at the sound of a comical bonk followed by two grunts of “ow.” perhaps you would’ve laughed if the two aforementioned fools weren’t kneeling in front of your drenched pussy, ready to service you eagerly just as the other two had.

a chill ran up your spine as you surveyed each of their features. while both of them shared the same underlying expressions of lust and desperation, you couldn’t help but note how bokuto’s face resembled one of an excited puppy dog that perhaps would’ve been adorable in another circumstance while terushima’s was much more primal. “look at that” kuroo’s voice in your ear dragged you back out of your own head as he slowly sunk another finger into your tight ass. just because he was going to treat you like a whore didn’t mean you didn’t deserve prep. “making a fool out of themselves, all because they’re so desperate to get a taste of that perfect pussy. doesn’t that make you feel filthy?”

kuroo couldn’t do anything but shake his head at your lack of response, finally releasing your thighs for a moment to grab at both of their napes, silently demanding for you to hold them open yourself. “well? since you’re both so impatient, think you two can work together as a team? if i hear her complain even one time, i’m not letting either of you touch again.”

the two of them nodded obediently, and your eyes nearly rolled back at how demanding kuroo was being right now. it was clear that everyone knew who was truly holding the ropes here, and yet no one was complaining about the arrangement. seemingly satisfied with their responses, kuroo released their necks and his hands smacked yours away so he could replace them and hold up your thighs himself once again. “think you’re ready to take my cock now in here, y/n?” he smirked as he lined himself up. “gonna let me fuck this ass while you let both of them eat that slutty pussy? such a dirty girl. so fuckin’ good for us” he continued to spew filth at you as he lined himself up at your entrance, allowing you to sink down slowly.

you hissed at the stretch, but of course didn’t have much time to focus on the sensation because bokuto and terushima had finally decided that they’d been waiting for long enough. they worked diligently, the cool metal of teru’s tongue piercing flicking against your bud while bokuto slurped on your juices so loudly that the sound filled the room in the most embarrassing way possible.

yeah. you were in for it tonight.

sorry for mistakes or inconsistencie. requests for bnha and haikyuu are open.

[palbabor-writes]

Latibule pt. ii

Pairing: Sakusa Kiyoomi x Fem!Reader

Warnings: mentions of anxiety, kinda heavy petting? we still going slow up in this ride, adult language, eventual SMUT, oh & Kiyoomi being a blunt asshole

Words: 12,880

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: me: try to keep it at 7,000 words, also me: what’s a word count?  

i owe my life to @wickedfaerytale & @albinoburrito​ for their edits and suggestions on this monster. i love you both & appreciate you to the moon and back.

Latibule 

pt. ii: Four Set

a high set to the strong side/outside hitter

[ pt. i: an opening ] || 

[ You: 4:35pm ]

Hey! It’s me– from the coffee shop. Wanted to see if you were busy this evening? Maybe we can meet up when I get off?

[ Sakusa: 5:02pm ]

I know. Sure.

[ You: 6:21pm ]

Great! I’m off at 9:30. Want to meet at the shop?

[ Sakusa: 7:10pm ] 

Read at 7:10pm

“Is he coming?” Kane asks, following you out of the coffee shop and pausing under the shallow awning, twisting his head, watching your back as you turn the key in the door. You tug against the handle, testing the hold, your hands heavy against the cool metal. 

“I don’t know,” you sigh, eyes peering into the darkened depths of the cafe lobby. “It says he read the last text, but he didn’t respond. He’s likely busy. I have no idea how long they practice; he’s a professional athlete, and after seeing that game...well, I can only imagine how intense his training schedule is. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone move like that before it was so fluid, like watching quicksilver.”

“Eh? Quicksilver? What is this, a poetry slam? Who describes people like that? Still, I bet he does, like, 20,000 sit-ups a day. You can tell, even under that baggy jacket, that he’s crazy fit,” Kane ruminates, leaning against one of the stacked sets of metal chairs. “Damn. It’s kinda crazy to think about, you know? You and a hot pro athlete going out on a date.”

You huff out a laugh and give him a playful scowl. “Ugh, shut up, you’re so rude, Kane. And I wouldn’t say it’s a ‘date.’ We just exchanged numbers. That’s all.”

“Oh? I’m sorry. You’re totally right. All those googly eyes must have happened with someone else. Definitely not you and that six-foot monster of a man. I mean, usually the guy just sits at his seat and ignores us, watching those videos on his computer and taking his notes, or he gets his coffee and is on his way, but today he was practically sitting on the hand off plane, and staring at you. 

Don’t gimme that face! You know I’m right. And–awe, look at you! So bashful! Oooh, you like him, don’t you? That’s so cute! Come on (Y/N), that’s so––ow!”

“Didn’t you say you had a paper to write?” you grumble, shoving your knuckles against his shoulder again. “There was so much whining from you tonight. Way worse than usual. So many, ‘hurry up, (Y/N)! I need to get home. What if this makes me bomb my paper! What if I fail the class because of this?’ What happened to all that? Huh? Suddenly you’ve got time to suss’ me out on the sidewalk?”

“Yow! So touchy! And this is totally workplace harassment, ya’ know! Jeez, that’s a mean right hook you’ve got. You didn’t even warn me! Eee, I’m gonna be bruised tomorrow!”

“Oh, shut up. You completely deserved that. Now go away and go finish your paper, you soon to be fail––”

“You said 9:30, right?”

The sound of Sakusa’s low voice startles you and you spring away from Kane, head whipping around and eyes wide. He’s standing a few feet behind the two of you, his shoulders curved into their usual hunch, eyes dark behind his fringe of curls. Under his golden jacket, a crisp white shirt is stretched across his broad chest, the bottom tucked carefully into the front of his jeans, and his MSBY bag is hanging against his back. His onyx hair looks heavy and you can see some lingering moisture, no doubt from a recent shower, glistening against the raven waves. 

“Hey!” you call, unable to bite back the elated grin that’s suddenly curving the edges of your lips. Kane is right about one thing, you think, stepping closer to Sakusa’s stiff form. This is kinda surreal. “We just finished closing up. Uh, this is Kane,” you wince, gesturing to the smirking face of your coworker. 

Shit. Stop it. You sound like an idiot. He knows who Kane is. You’ve seen them talking at the register before, but the rambling introduction keeps tumbling out of you. “He works here. He’s usually at the register, he’s learning, um, the bar and–uh. I don’t know why I’m telling you this, you’ve seen him before, uh, probably...definitely...ha, but, er–”

“And that’s my cue,” Kane chuckles, shaking his head at your janky attempts to introduce him properly to a man that he’s known, in passing, for over a year. “Nice seeing you Sakusa-sama,” he bows, tossing you a cheeky wink from his polite curve, “you guys have fun.” And with that, he’s gone, leaving you and the impassive Sakusa alone on the empty street.

A hushed quiet falls over the two of you as you adjust the straps of your purse, eyes lowered. Stop freaking out, you chide yourself, taking a deep inhale of air into your lungs, fingers padding aimlessly over the leather slings of your bag. Just talk with him. It’s always easier when you ask the questions first, since he’s not much of a talker. So ask him about something he can answer.

Volleyball. Yeah, ask him about that. It’s not exactly a groundbreaking conversation starter, but it will work.     

Strategy set, confidence mounting, you open your mouth.

“So, how did your practice–” “How was your day–”

He speaks when you do, and the two of you clatter directly into each other, words smattering into nothingness as you both fumble into an uneasy silence again.

Hopeless, you’re both hopeless. It’s kinda funny, in a horrifically awkward way. 

“Uh,” you grin, eyes finally lifting to his. “You first?”

The gentle thud of his heart echoes against his ears and his breath is hot under the cover of his mask. You’re so close. If he wanted to, he could reach out and touch you, could drop his hand from his pocket and let it slip into yours again. That thought makes his palms feel itchy, and he scrapes his nails down the skin, easing the ache.

Not yet.

He watches you as you shake your head, a glowing smile breaking across your lips. You’re not just pretty, he thinks, unconsciously drifting closer, you’re captivating. It’s like you’re some kinda homing beacon. 

He’s a cautious guy, always has been. But something about you makes him want to blindly reach, to be nearer to you. 

“Practice was fine. Where did you want to go?” he murmurs, fingers lifting, tugging his mask down his face. 

He wants to kiss you. 

It’s been on his mind all day, through the training, through the practice games, hovering over him, shrouding him with the foggy remembrance of the pressure of your lips. He’d fucked your first one up and he wants to try again, to do better. But it’s different when you’re expecting it, when he can see your gaze following the downward pull of his hand, your eyes hooded and watchful as he reveals the lower portion of his face to you. When you bite your lip into your mouth, teeth pressing before slowly letting the plump flesh spring free again, he nearly groans aloud.  

He wonders if you’ll let him do it, let him kiss you, and that thought makes him feel lightheaded. You’re so close––No, he gulps, jaw clenching and shoulders straightening, his back arching upward and right foot jerking a step, pulling away from your tempting openness. It’s too much, it’s too soon. 

Just wait, he reminds himself, be patient. Not now, not yet. 

You notice his shift and look up at him curiously, popping your weight onto your other leg, one hand braced against your hip, but you still smile up at him, acknowledging his unspoken cues for distance. “Well, I was going to see if you wanted to get a drink.”

“I don’t like bars,” he blurts.

Your eyes widen and you suck a sharp breath into your lungs, lips falling into a half-formed ‘oh.’  

No. He didn’t mean it like––Damn it. 

Kiyoomi flinches, nose wrinkling and mouth pulling into a thin line. He’s not good at this. 

“Mm, well, this is less of a bar and more like a gastropub. It’s small, laid-back. Plus, it’s a Tuesday night, they’re gonna be slow, and if they’re not, we can leave and try something else...”

“It’s fine,” he rectifies sharply. Again, he sounds too harsh. “I don’t care about any of that. If it’s slow or not. If you want to go, we’ll go. I didn’t...I didn’t mean to be rude.”

“Don’t worry about it. Besides, I didn’t think it was rude.”

Kiyoomi jerks his chin up, his mouth pressing into a pursed frown, peering skeptically at you, eyes narrowed. You let out a laughed exhale and tilt your head, quickly shrugging your shoulders, attempting to mollify his mistrustful stare. “I mean it!” you insist, waving your hand. “I’ll take someone who’s blunt any day of the week. It’s exhausting trying to read people who are good at hiding behind smiles, or false facades. You always know where you stand when someone is straightforward. Seriously,” you continue, grinning up at his abashed expression, “it doesn’t bother me. Be yourself. Besides, I like it. It kinda makes me jealous…”

“Jealous?” Kiyoomi echoes, watching you step past him and down the darkened street. His heart is beating out that uneven tattoo again, and it feels like he can’t catch his breath. What do you mean, ‘you like his bluntness’? No one’s ever told him that. No one’s ever told him to ‘be himself’ either. And, as if that wasn’t enough for him to chew on, now you’re casually saying that you’re jealous of his unapologetic retorts. It doesn’t make any sense.

“Sure,” you nod, slowing your footfalls, letting him catch up with you as you stride down the sidewalk. “I always lean on the polite side of things, likely because I’ve spent too many years in customer service, haha. So it’s refreshing to hear someone just speak their mind. Besides, you don’t strike me as someone who’s careless with what they say to others; you’re candid, but careful, you just don’t mince your words. Nothing wrong with that. Anyway, I’m babbling, again. Looks like you kinda have that effect on me, huh?”

His lips quirk at your admission and he steps a little closer, the fabric of his jacket wicking across your clothed arm as he matches your pace. “Is it far?” he asks after a time, watching as the lights of the main street twinkle between the lumbering edges of the buildings. 

“Not much farther. But you might wanna put your mask up, we’ll go past the cross street and that area is always a little busy this time of night.”

[ Damn. That’s––The fact that that thought would even cross your mind–– ]

His hand is out of his pocket before he can blink, seeking the soft warmth of your curled fingers, cupping over your knuckles as he heeds your advice with his other, tugging his mask up and pinching it securely over the bridge of his nose. He can feel your eyes on him, but he doesn’t pause, doesn’t look down. He likely should have asked. After all, he doesn’t know you that well. But you ease your digits against his, your thumb curling over the joint of his ring finger, and his lips twitch into a smile.

You greet the girl behind the hostess stand with a hug and a few other members of the staff walk up to the table that you select, big grins and booming voices calling out jovial ‘hello’s’ and ‘good to see you’s’.

“You come here a lot?” Kiyoomi inquires, slouching against the cushions of the booth, obsidian eyes peering around the space. The table is off to the side, tucked away from the hustle and bustle of the main dining area and bar, and is half covered by a glass wall that provides the two of you with an extra buffer of privacy. It’s an ideal spot, and he’s inwardly grateful that you’d chosen it. 

“I used to work here,” you answer, lifting your purse onto your lap before fishing around for something within the depths of the leather. “I–ah! Here it is. I always lose stuff in here, it’s like a black hole, no matter how many times I organize it, it goes right back to being a mess. Price you pay when you have a big bag, I guess.” You lift a small bottle of hand sanitizer out and dollop some onto your palm. He blinks, following the rapid motions of your hands as you clean them off with the solution. That’s...nice. Nice feels like a strange word for this observation, but it’s true. You spy his gwaping expression and hold the bottle out, nodding your head at his coiled fingers. “Want some?”

“Thanks,” he rumbles, mimicking your motions as he eases the cold sanitizer against his chapped hands. “So you worked here?”

“Yeah! I did this and the coffee shop for a while. I was behind the bar, mostly. It was a good job, but when things picked up with my degree plan, I had to drop it.”

“Ah,” Kiyoomi hums, pulling his mask off and tucking it carefully into the pocket of his jacket. “That’s why you knew it wouldn’t be busy.”

“Yup! Tuesdays and Wednesdays are always slow. This is likely the busiest it will get. They have food here too, if you’re hungry. Got some good sushi and the agedashi tofu is one of the best in the city.”

“I already ate.” [ Shit. ]

“Ohh-kay. Well, I’m probably going to get something. They’ve got non-alcoholic drinks as well. Should be at the bottom of the menu.”

“I said I don’t like bars, not that I don’t drink.” [ Fuck. ]

“Fair enough,” you shrug, cocking your head at his clenched jaw and averted eyes. “You see anything you want?”

“Sorry,” Kiyoomi sighs, lifting the paper menu and scanning the side that lists the specials.

“I told you,” your voice is soft, and he glances up at you, glad to see that you’re still smiling happily at him, “I don’t mind. Tell you what, if you go too far I’ll let you know, sound good?” You stretch your hand toward him, bunching your fingers, except for your pinky, which is waiting, outstretched, and reaching toward him.

“What?” he asks, chin dipping and heavy brows furrowing as he eyes your hand suspiciously. 

“Whaddya’ mean, ‘what?’ It’s a pinky promise. You’ve never done this before?”

“I’ve never done this before,” he deadpans, blinking slowly. 

You guffaw and the burst of joyous sound makes him snicker too, his shoulders easing from that all too familiar hunch, his head ducking, the faint stain of a blush seeping over his cheeks. It’s just a laugh, he reasons, annoyed by his flushed skin and twitching fingers. Why is he getting worked up? He takes a second to refocus, but when he does, you’re still waiting for him, your pinky wiggling, blithely enticing him. 

“It’s easy,” you promise. “You just hook your smallest finger with mine and we shake once on it and boom, that’s an unbreakable promise. And, well, if it kills you then I guess you’ll go down in a book of world records or something.”                        

Kiyoomi scoffs at your jab and lifts his arm onto the table, holding his pinky out, waiting for you to make the last move, rolling his eyes at your dramatically slow approach.  

Your touch is gentle, finger ghosting over the middle joint of his pinky, curling slowly, teasingly, before it wraps around the width of his digit. Then you give him a quick squeeze, swiftly bobbing your joined fingers in a mock shake. It’s over in an instant, but you maintain the touch, gradually untwining your crooked digits. “Your fingers are long,” you observe, eyes catching his before traveling back to that lingering connection, distractedly easing your fingertip down the line of his hand and pausing against the base of his wrist. 

It feels like his entire arm is electrified and a fine shiver of goose flesh breaks across his warm skin. His mouth is open, lips parted as he sucks in a shallow drag of air and he can’t stop staring, wholly enraptured by your flirtatious strokes. When your eyes rake upwards to playfully find his, that pleased smile soft against your lips, he thinks he might just lurch forward and grab you. 

“There,” you beam before pulling away. “Now that that’s done, what are you gonna’ order?”

He lets you place your drink order first, saying he needs to keep looking, that it has been a while since he’s had a drink, and he’s never been all that sure of his preferences, anyway. 

It’s an unexpected admission. 

If there’s one thing that you’ve been relatively sure of, it’s that Sakusa is a man who doesn’t hesitate. In the two years that you’ve known him, granted from the other side of the counter of a coffee shop, he’s always known what he wants and is confident in his selections. He can rattle them off by rote, by flavor, by taste, by temperature, so seeing him this off balance, a little frazzled and out of his depth, is a bit of a surprise. 

He’s not fidgety, his hands are resting placidly in his lap, feet evenly placed on the floor, but you can tell there’s an underlying thrum of agitation behind all those half ducked glances he keeps giving you, his obsidian eyes sharp, gleaming like flints each time they linger against you. He’d laughed once, before you’d squeezed his pinky with yours, and then promptly fallen back into that sullen silence, answering your questions with one word quips or hushed murmurs. 

It made you feel guilty. 

He said he hated bars, so maybe you should have taken that admission a little more seriously. But out of all the places the two of you could go, this late at night in downtown Osaka, you’d figured that this was likely the quietest, the one where he’d feel the most comfortable. 

“So you’ve played with them for two years?” you ask, giving your server a quick thanks as they sit your drink down. “That’s impressive. But you said you went to school for four? That’s different. I bet most players skip college and go right for the pros, so why didn’t you do that?”

“Volleyball isn’t everything,” he answers, tone clipped, matter of fact, as he watches you take a sip of your drink, waiting for the clink of the ice and the gentle clatter of the glass as you set it back down on the table before he continues. “I’m not invincible. Someday I won’t be able to play. And it makes sense to have a backup, something that I can do later.”

You pop your chin into your upturned palm, lips resting against your curled fingers. “True. You’re very thorough, you know?” 

Sakusa’s forehead creases, and those two perfectly stacked moles lower over his right eyebrow. “I like to do things properly, that’s all. It just feels right. To take things one step at a time. I do that with everything. I guess most see it as something repetitive, or monotonous, all those basic tasks that you do day in, day out, but I like it. And if you think of them as mindful tasks, rather than mindless, then you can get to that point where those little things become pleasure, instead of drudgery. I know that I’m not guaranteed anything, but, if I’m lucky, I’ll be able to go out, to leave volleyball, satisfied. Knowing I did my best.”

It sounds stupid to his ears, pompous, and as soon as he finishes his preamble, he lets out an inaudible sigh, teeth worrying against the soft flesh of the inside of his mouth. Damn it. Why did he say all that? What’s the point? You’d only asked him about college and here he is, rattling off his ideologies and distant thoughts. Why did he–

“That’s...that’s a cool way of looking at it.” 

His jaw is gritted, his face covered by a sheen of impassive blankness. But he looks up when you say that. He wants to see you, even if it’s only to take in your bewildered amusement. But you’re not giving him some piteous smirk, no, you’re looking at him like he’s helped you solve a long awaited puzzle, and your face is filled with the softest, haziest glimmer of ardent happiness that he’s ever seen. Your smile broadens, and he looks away, fingers feeling blindly for the pulse in his lowered wrist. 

His heart’s pounding. 

How do you do that? Then, as he tries to steady his shaking breaths, you lean back, lifting your glass to your parted lips to take a quick sip, a distant look in your eyes.

“You know, I’ve never really thought about it that way, but you’re right. I always have so much trouble explaining that mindset to new hires. Like, how do you tell them that, yeah, while this seems like a stupid thing we have you do, to keep busy during the slow period of the day, it matters in the long run. Take our cleaning routines, if you don’t clean something, and clean it diligently, then the gunk and grime builds up, and it’s harder to get out later. Things harden, become set in their ways, and I guess the same thing can happen to the pros too. It seems like most don’t go to school. They just slip right into the sport–after all, if you’re good enough to make it onto a division ranked team right out of high school, then there you go, that’s your end goal, right? 

But I like that you took the little steps, the ones that people ignore, or try to bypass. It’s another sort of preparedness, really. Others may not see it that way, might think of it as wasted time, but you did what felt right for you and I know it’ll pay off. It’s–oh! Sorry! I’m babbling again! Ha, God, I’m gonna stop, okay?”

“You don’t have to,” Kiyoomi utters, arms lifting from his lap, pressing against the smooth wood of the table, ignoring the racing of his heart. “I liked it. I’m glad that you...I liked it. Keep talking. I like hearing you talk. And, uh, can I try your drink? I know nothing about gin, or whiskey, or whatever that is. I usually just stick to beer and sake.”

You bite your lip, a soft chuckle falling between the two of you, and press two fingers bashfully against your nose, covering your giddy smile and pushing your drink forward, toward his open palms. “It’s kinda nice to know that I’m not the only one who’s flustered. Hmm, but here. If you don’t drink much, then you may not have had this before. Sorry if it’s strong. Also, I go for brown liquor, so it’s got rye for the base.”

“Rye’s a whiskey, right?” he asks, pushing the tiny black straw aside and taking a careful swig from the rim of the glass. It’s got a smooth flavor, almost like the caramel notes of his doppio con panna, but without that cloying sweetness that sometimes sits against the back of his tongue when he’s finished. Instead of the hum of sugar, there is only a shiver of bitterness and then the quick bite of the alcohol is gone, passing over his teeth and down his throat in a single gulp. 

It’s good. 

Better than he expected. And he passes the glass back, his fingers holding against the cool surface, waiting for yours. “I’ll get that,” he tells you, an impish smirk lifting his lips. “It’s perfect.”

After that-and a second round of drinks-the night went a little smoother. He did his best to not lapse into unsociable silences and you did just as he’d asked of you and kept talking. 

You traded the basics, where you were born, talked about your family, your education, degrees, pets, and, slowly, the uncertainty simply faded away. 

You were easy to talk with, impossibly so; always ready with another question, a congenial quip, or an antidote about your own life. Soon he was regaling you about his cousin, Motoya, the latest antics of his teammates, his hopes for the upcoming season, for the 2021 Olympics, for anything that he could think of, anything to keep you in that seat, to keep you chatting with him for just a little longer. 

[ It’s late, but that doesn’t matter. Keep talking, ask her something else. ] 

Is it supposed to feel like this?

He’s never really had a relationship; not when he was in high school or college, and any of his half-formed attractions always fizzled out before they ever really started. He was too busy, too one track minded to notice, [ to care ] to find the time [ to make the time. ] 

It’s certainly not love, [ Tch. Love at first sight, who believes in stuff like that anyway, this isn’t some movie, plus he’s known you for years, so it’s not first sight either ] not yet, but there’s another feeling that’s laced within this humming excitement that keeps bubbling to the surface, that has him hanging onto every word that passes from your lips.

It’s want.

He wants more, greedily so, and he hasn’t experienced that feeling, outside of volleyball, in a long time.

“I’m not too far from here. I’ll just hop on the train and then be back in my district. Easy-peasy.”

Sakusa nods at your jovial reassurances, hoisting his track bag higher against his shoulder, following you toward the lights of the street. It’s late, later than he’s used to, and his eyes feel heavy. The lull of the alcohol isn’t helping either, so he shuffles closer, bumping unevenly against you every few steps. You twist your head toward him, a faint smile on your lips, eyeing his lumbering form skeptically. “Sure I don’t need to walk you to your station, Sakusa? You look dead on your feet. Sorry I kept you out so late.”

“You didn’t,” he sighs, his words rasping past a yawn. “I wanted to stay. I’ll regret it tomorrow. For now, I’m fine.” 

“Pfft, okay, well, I’ll look forward to receiving your annoyed text about me keeping you out past your bedtime in the morning then.”

Huh? Text? You want him to text you in the morning? Can he do that? Be the first person you think of when your notification lights up your dark screen, the first one that you reply to. Shit. What–what does that mean?

Sakusa slows, his hand reaching for you. 

He misses your arm and snags your purse instead, jerking the straps, and by association you, a little harder than he intended. [ Damn it. His coordination’s off. ] You stumble backwards, shoulders bracing against his broad chest, and you blink up at him. You lift your face, looking at him curiously. He’s already peering down, and the glow of the distant street-lamps makes the onyx of his irises morph from jet to a rich blue. For a long breath both of you simply stare, content to watch the other, waiting for some kind of advancement in this stalemate. 

You cave first. “Um, you alright?”

“What are we?” he asks pointedly, large palms running up the sides of your arms, his head tilting, dropping raven curls over his brow. 

“Friends?” you reply, but it feels more like a question than an answer and you let the word hang, unsure what else you can say, what else he wants to hear. You feel a bated breath leave his lungs. It dips you back as his chest falls, slipping you minutely closer even as his hands droop limply from the curve of your shoulders. His eyes shift from yours and his lips fade into a thin line as he steps away, letting you slip from his grasp. The air between you changes, hardening back into that early uncertainty, and by the time you turn to face him fully, his hands are re-tucked into his pockets and his slouch has returned.

“What’s wrong?” 

You know, but you don’t want to assume. You’d warned him after all; you’re not good at being blunt. 

He gives you a frank stare, dark brows creasing, furrowing his expression. “Friends means I can’t kiss you.”

For a moment you can’t feel your heart. You know it’s beating, still diligently pumping blood through your body, but as that declaration leaves his lips it’s like your entire world has narrowed. He wants to...how can he just say that? Just blurt out whatever comes into his head and not care what happens after. Where do you find confidence like that?

You flash your gaze upward and he’s still looking at you, his unmasked face open as he stares, dark eyes watchful, half veiled behind his lashes. 

He waits. He’s good at that, you think, feeling a smile creep across your face as your tongue passes over the swell of your lower lip. He instantly tracks the movement and takes a shallow step forward. You can hear his fingers coiling and uncoiling inside of the slick lining of his pockets, but that simple, near silent admission of his nervousness makes up your mind.

“Well,” you begin, eyes lowering, easing closer, pressing until you can almost feel the heat of him against you. Your hands lift tentatively, passing over the flat, honed planes of his chest until they come to rest against the top of his stomach. His nostrils flare at the tempered stroke but the rest of him remains stock still, wholly rooted to the spot, listening, observing, a glimmer of distant hope cresting against the back of his mind. 

[ Yes. Keep going. Don’t stop. ]

Then, those final, all important words are leaving you, cast into the air. 

“I wouldn’t say that.”

Before you can look up at him, his hands are hovering beside your ears, the ghost of his touch urging you upward as he lowers himself over you. 

His lips meet yours with a gentle tap and you can feel his unsteady exhale pass over your mouth as he allows himself to linger against you. It’s more like a press than a proper kiss, but you indulge him, gripping your impatient hands against the thin material of his jacket, giving him time to adjust. He’s featherlight, his lips scratchy, but the lubrication that your swiped tongue has left behind eases the touch and he gasps when you lift to meet him, your lips gliding over his.  

Then he’s wavering; like he can’t decide. 

He shifts away, only to return moments later, lips never fully leaving yours, caressing until you’re doggedly chasing after him, a poorly concealed groan slipping from your throat. He hums appreciatively at your enthusiasm and steps impossibly closer, his fingertips tapping under your jaw and down your neck. 

On one of his shuddering pulls you slip your tongue over his lips, tracing the seam, wordlessly asking for him to deepen the kiss. The sound he makes in return is garbled, caught against his throat and lost in the shuffle of his hands, his breath, his want. 

His arms are like steel cables as they twine around your waist, holding you to him as he finally opens, his teeth clattering against yours in his rush. You smile against his eagerness and pop onto the tips of your toes, hands releasing his jacket, sliding up his face before you let your fingers coil into his obsidian curls, your teeth nipping against his dampened lip. He lets out another hushed gasp, the flat of his palm warm against your shoulder blades as he urges you upward.  

“You’re — mmm, you’re too tall, Sakusa,” you complain, finally easing away from his greedy kisses, and grinning when he follows. 

“Kiyoomi,” he insists, hands cupping, thumbs tracing the edge of your jaw, dropping another kiss against your upturned lips. “Call me that. I want to hear it.”

You laugh and he huffs impatiently against you, brows folding into that deep crease. “Not joking,” he grumbles, lips and breath hot against yours, “I want to hear you say it.” 

When you manage, at long last, to pull away from him again, your eyes bright, lips kiss shined and swollen, he knows this image of you will be etched into his mind for weeks to come. It’s perfect [ you’re perfect ] and all he can think about is that he wants so much more. 

“Kiyoomi,” you call, head canted at his staggered expression, eyes glittering with fond amusement. “You’re kinda bossy, aren’t you?”

He scowls at your question and tugs you back, kissing you until your laugh fades away and his name comes a little easier.

[ You: 9:18am ]

You sure you want to go there? I don’t care if we do something else instead, your call.

[ Kiyoomi: 10:54am ]

Got the tickets. See you after your shift.

“Bringing your phone onto the court–ballsy move Omi,” Atsumu leers, dropping his bag beside Kiyoomi’s, a troublesome smirk on his face.

“Shut up,” Kiyoomi snaps, darkening the screen with a click and placing the device beside his trainers. “At least I know how to keep it hidden. And you’re the reason we’re banned from bringing them out here at all. You and your stupid snapchat stories.”

“Omi! Ya’ big jerk! Be quiet, ya’ know yer’ not supposed to mention that app where the coaches can–”

“Miya!” a booming voice calls from across the gym, “You better not be doing what I think you’re doing! If I catch you on that phone, you can expect to do a hundred serves at the end of this practice match! Got it?”

Kiyoomi scoffs, a lackadaisical grin ghosting over his lips as he neatly dodges Atsumu’s elbowed jab. “See? I’m not the problem here.”

“Such a jackass. It’s a miracle (Y/N) is even giving you the time of day.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Kiyoomi bristles, heavy brows creasing. 

“Means I don’t know what she sees in ya,’ you big dummy. Where you taking her this week?”

“Why do you care?”

“Damn it. Why do I bother? I mean really, am I some kinda masochistic or something? Yer’ terrible to talk with, but here I am, attempting some harmless small-talk. Cut a guy some slack, would ya’?”

“What are you talking about?” Kiyoomi stares, onyx eyes narrowing at Atusmu’s haggard expression. 

“You! I’m just trying to have a conversation, you know, checking in, seeing how yer’ doing. Making sure you haven’t screwed things up yet. Ya’ know, being polite!” Atsumu glowers, golden hair falling over one umber eye as he flashes Kiyoomi a fixed glare.

“What would I screw up?”

Atsumu lets out a heavy sigh and shakes his head. “Tell you what, ask me that question again when you do, how’s that sound?”

“Miya–”

“Bringing your phone to practice, coming in late, or right before things kick off, yeah, you got it bad, don’t cha’? You better watch yer’self Omi.”

“The hell you talking about?” Kiyoomi sneers, chin lowering, steeling himself for one of Atsumu’s long-winded tangents. 

“God, yer’ so dense, especially with shit that’s not volleyball. Come on, Omi, use your head. The coaches, the managers, they’re all gonna try and make you pick. That’s what they do. She’s a nice girl, and I’d hate to see her get caught up in all of that bullshit. Stop gaping at me like that! Like I’m not making any sense! I’m trying to look out for ya’! Not that you deserve it, being such a prickly asshole, and all...”

Kiyoomi sighs, lips pursing into a sharp point, his shoulders slumping forward, arms hanging limply against his sides. Fine, he’ll engage. Whatever. If it’ll get Atsumu to explain whatever the hell he’s talking about before the practice match, he reasons, then it’ll be worth it. “We’re going to the museum in Tennoji Park.”

Atsumu stares. “Damn. You agreed to go to a public park? In the daytime? That’s real big, if true.”

“I’ll serve every ball directly at the back of your head, don’t think I won’t.”

“Alright, alright,” the setter laughs, propping his hands against his hips. “Shocked yer’ not just staying close to that one restaurant. You seem like a, ‘this is what I like and I’m sticking to it’ kinda guy. Not one to branch out. You know, boring.”

“How do you know about the restaurant?” 

“She told me about it?”

Kiyoomi curls his lip over his teeth. “When did she do that?”

“The other day, went by for a coffee.”

“Ugh,” he huffs, swinging one arm across his chest, stretching out the muscles of his biceps. “What else did she say?”

Atsumu grins, bracing his forearm against Kiyoomi’s shoulder, waggling his brows mischievously. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“Fine. I’ll just ask her.”

“Ughhh, zero fun. That’s what you are. Tell me, ya’ got a mode that’s not: ‘Sakusa Kiyoomi, ‘the world’s most boring man’,” Atsumu groans, head dropping as he lets his body hang limply off of Kiyoomi’s stiffened form.

“Shut up. What we do isn’t your business anyway, so enough with the questions. You’re just poking your nose in shit that doesn’t concern you,” Kiyoomi accuses, shrugging Atsumu’s heavy arm off of his, glaring.

Atsumu straightens, a quiet scoff puffing between his smirked lips. “Fine. So touchy today. And you think this crap ain’t gonna bleed into your playing? Yer’ way–”

“Line up!” the assistant coach booms, silencing Atsumu’s bristled retort. Kiyoomi opts to hold his tongue, letting the setter pace away from him, eyes narrowing while sucking in a steadying breath before he follows. 

Damn it. He got so caught up in––Atsumu never told him what he meant.

It’s early afternoon and the broad concrete pathways of the park are mostly empty. The spring flowers are in bloom and the ginkgo trees sway in the crisp breeze that dips in from the sea. It’s a beautiful day, but Kiyoomi can’t shake himself out of his head.

He’d stared dutifully at the portraits in the museum, read the placards that rested below the painted screens and pottery, and listened when you asked him questions, or answered his own. He shouldn’t be like this, he fumes, adjusting the ear straps of his mask as the two of you step out into the bright sunlight once more. 

Who cares what Atsumu was trying to imply. It was vague and unhelpful; likely meant to get under his skin, something that–

“You alright?” Your voice shakes him out of his thoughts and he looks down at you, brows unknotting, eyes softening as they rake over your curious face. 

“Yeah. Miya said something at practice that I’m having trouble forgetting.”

“Oh? What?”

He tells you, and it feels like some of the tension leaves his shoulders. It’s nice.

Usually he’s guarded, quiet. Sure, he’ll let others know what he’s thinking with little finesse, but that doesn’t mean they know the truth of what’s on his mind. This is different. With you it’s easy to disassemble, unexpectedly so. It’s only been a month since the two of you started seeing each other, but in that time he’s opened up more to you than he has to anyone, outside of his family, and he’s still not sure if he likes that.

[ That’s a lie. He likes it; he does. He’s just not used to it. ]

“Make you pick?” you ask, skimming your hand over the red railing of the bridge, head cocked thoughtfully to the side. “He actually said that?”

“Mentioned it. Like I said, Miya talks in circles. I usually just tune him out, but this felt...different.”

“Hmm,” you ponder, easily keeping up with his long strides, your body close to his. “Well, maybe he means they, the coaches that is, don’t want you to be distracted? I could see that. I mean, you are playing at an extremely high level and next year is the Olympics. Damn, it feels strange to say that. I know someone who’s playing in the Olympics…”

“I know that. And I’m not distracted,” his tone is clipped and his chin ducks, his side swept curls fanning over his left eye. 

You look over at his tensed expression and puff out an exhale of air. “Well, maybe he’s just messing with you? You said he likes to do that.”

“Told you, this felt different.” The words are sharp, punctuated by his clenched jaw and the forward roll of his shoulders, and you suck your teeth softly, staring across the shimmering surface of the pond as the two of you cross the last stretch of the bridge. You’re on the back foot here, a little unsure of how to reassure him, but you can tell he wants to shake this off, so you press the issue, hoping it’ll help ease that stiff tension that’s building in his shoulders.  

“Okay, it felt different. How so?”

The words come without hesitation. [ This isn’t normal for him, but it’s also so damn nice to know that he can be this comfortable with someone. ] “Miya usually babbles. Goes on and on about the most inane things. But he also loves to chatter about his reasoning, and this time he didn’t. Instead of answering my question, he gave me that shitty smirk and changed the subject to something he knew would distract me––why else would he say he’d gone by the coffee shop?”

“I mean, I don’t know him as well as you do, but he seems like the kinda guy who likes to provoke–to see if he can get a reaction out of you and...I know it’s not much of a reason, but maybe that’s all that it was?”

Kiyoomi gives you a curt nod and picks up his pace, his hands coiling into clenched fists within the confines of his pockets. You follow him, unsure if you should strike up another line of conversation or let him simmer for a bit. You opt for the latter and turn your attention to the scenery of the parklands, quietly studying the picnicking couples and laughing clusters of children that jostle beside a nearby set of monkey bars. No matter his mood, it’s a lovely day and you’re still glad he’d agreed to come with you to the park. 

But when the trail reaches the main street, you pause. “Hey, you wanna call it a day?” you ask, a soft smile on your lips. If he needs time, you rationalize, then you can give him that. 

Kiyoomi jerks to a stop, his heavy brows furrowing as he stares down at you. “What? No,” he grumbles, voice muffled by the fabric of his mask. 

You raise your hands in a gesture of supplication, palms facing his looming form. “It’s just...you seem like you’re upset...”

“I am upset,” Kiyoomi answers frankly, his breath heavy. 

His honesty never fails to catch you off balance, and you laugh cheerfully at his stoic expression. Kiyoomi promptly fixes you with a perturbed stare, his eyes narrowing. “Kiyoomi, if you’re upset, then we should head back. You don’t have to stick around me if you want space, I totally–– ”

“I don’t want space. I want to be here, with you,” he bites, stepping closer, watching as your grin fades into a perplexed gape. 

For a breath you’re flabbergasted, lips parted, eyes wide, but with a shake of head you step forward, your arm twining with his, and dipped forehead pressing against the sleek material of his jacket. “Alright, then stay with me,” you smile, hands squeezing against his coiled muscles, a pleased warmth spreading up your joined arms before flowing downward, into the pit of your stomach.

The contact, as muted as it is by the shell of his track jacket, makes him shiver and he can feel the thump of his heart speed up. It presses against his ribs and makes his chest feel tight and his head light, and when your fingers slip into the warmth of his pocket, your smooth digits tracing the knuckles of his hand, he lets out a contented sigh before lightly brushing his chin over the top of your bent head.

“Come on,” he murmurs, the rich tone of his deep voice dampened by the stretch of his mask, but you can still hear the creep of his smile within the clipped words, “I’ve got an idea.”

You’ve walked past the training facility plenty of times, so many that it’s a blip on your radar now, its jagged silhouette falling into the category of mundane, but never, not in a million years, did you ever see yourself actually passing through those glass doors.

It’s a massive space. 

The blazing down-lights scatter brightness over the finely polished elastic flooring. You’d worn comfortable shoes to the park, but they still scuff loudly against the unfamiliar material so you stop gawping and look toward Kiyoomi’s arched shoulders. 

“Uh, are you sure we can be in here?” you ask, trying to keep your voice down, but it reverberates around the vast space and you wrinkle your nose at the sharpness of the sound. 

“Yes. I work here,” Kiyoomi answers simply, tugging his mask down and stopping just short of one of the white lines, cocking his dark head at your question.

“Okay,” you snicker, rolling your eyes playfully at his static features, “let me rephrase that, are you sure I can be here?”

“Why would you being here be a problem? Practice is done for the day. It’ll be fine. Worst case, Bokuto or Miya might show,” he replies, shrugging his shoulders, a faint smile passing over his lips. “So what do you say, you wanna try to play?”

A full-throated laugh bubbles out of you, and you shake your head frantically. “No way! You’ll either kill me with one of those terrifying spikes, or be bored out of your mind trying to teach me the ropes. Besides, I haven’t played volleyball since middle school, and even then, I’m, uh, not sure a quick rotation in a 40 minute P.E. class counts as playing. It was more like all of us kids screwing around and testing out how many times we could annoy our teacher.”

He snorts at your explanation and strides over to a dark red cart, digging one of his long arms into the depths before straightening and returning with a yellow and blue Mikasa ball that’s perfectly balanced within his broad palm. “Humor me,” he smirks, one brow quirking upward. 

“Tch, I’m not wearing the right clothes...or shoes,” you bemoan jovially, but you’re already letting your purse slip from your shoulders.

“So whiny,” Kiyoomi tuts, stepping away from the cart and tossing the ball rapidly between his spread hands. “That doesn’t matter. Don’t worry, I’ll go easy on you.”

“Oh, you will, will you?” you tease, a beguiling smile lifting your lips. He looks so good in here, you think, admiring the flex and bounce of his hands, the lean coil of his powerful neck that peeks from underneath his track jacket, so different from the stoic man who walked beside you in the park. 

As soon as he touched the ball, his entire demeanor changed. Within the space of a few seconds he’d gone from hunched and brooding to dauntless and firm, all of his early agitation and uncertainty forgotten as he slipped into the comfort of his element. 

“All right, coach,” you sigh with mock dejection, “where do you want me?”

“On the other side of the net. See that line? The first one past the netting? That’s the attack line. Stand there.” 

He’s clear-cut in his instruction, telling you where to plant your feet and how to stand with the correct form. You listen intently, nodding or asking one or two clarifying questions, and he’s patient with your queries, answering you swiftly and thoroughly, obsidian eyes keen as they follow your movements across the net. 

“Alright, that looks good. We’re going to do a simple drill, the catch and throw. Don’t worry about setting the ball, or receiving it with your arms, see how it feels to position yourself under it, just make sure it never gets behind you, and catch it with both hands and toss it back to me. Try and keep it in an easy arc.”

You blink at him, pulling your lips into an exaggerated frown. “Just catch it? That sounds too easy…”

“It’s meant to be. It teaches you how to see the ball. If you’re wanting something harder, I can always up the speed as you get better at it. Now, you ready?”

You nod and the ball lifts from his fingers in a flash, gliding over the net cleanly, and you shift back, arms outstretched, feet planted firmly against the slick flooring. You catch it neatly and mimic his overhand toss, sending it back to Kiyoomi’s half crouched form. But the arc isn’t controlled and the ball paps against the tape of the net, screwing up the trajectory and sending it shuddering toward the gym floor. 

“Shit,” you curse, wincing at your clumsy return, but he’s already moving, his form a blur. He slides under it easily, back curved under his well-muscled legs, all ten fingers spread, as he neatly catches the ball, sending it prettily back to your side. 

You’re so mesmerized by the fluidity of his supple form that you completely ignore the returning ball and it slaps against the floor with a crack. Always the professional, he’s intently watching the ball’s trajectory and doesn’t notice your open stare at first, but once his dark eyes flash back to yours a faint blush seeps across the well-cut apples of his cheeks and he ducks his head, obscuring his flush with a cascade of onyx curls. “That’s one point for me,” he sighs, his voice low, tone gruffly catching over the words as he studiously avoids your awed expression. 

“Points?” you repeat dumbly, snapping your mouth closed before popping your hands on your hips, forcing yourself out of your stupor. “Hey! You didn’t say anything about points.”

“It’s a game,” he counters with a shrug of his broad shoulders, “of course there’s gonna be points.”

“Pfft,” you chortle as you walk toward the discarded volleyball. “What happened to this is just a drill?”

Thirty minutes later your hands are aching and you move sluggishly as your feet squeak over the polished flooring of the court. Kiyoomi, on the other hand, looks perfectly at ease, his eyes hungrily stalking the track of the ball as it flies to his side of the court. When you miss the next lightning quick toss that he sends your way, you drop your head and lift your hands, palms flattened and facing toward him, signaling your defeat as a heaving exhale leaves your straining lungs. “I think that’s it for me. I’m about to collapse onto the floor, like seriously. This is not a joke.” 

Kiyoomi huffs out a bemused laugh and ducks under the netting, pausing beside your half crouched figure. He peers down at you through the lazy waves of his hair. You look staggered from the constant shuffling and overhand tosses, but you smile up at him and he can’t help but return it.

“I may be down for the count, but it looks like you wanna keep going,” you say coyly, eyes shining under the brilliance of the lights. [ You’re so pretty ] He [ wants to kiss you again ] sucks in a shallow breath and mutely nods at your assessment. [ Don’t go. ] 

“Well,” you begin, lips falling into a thoughtful pout, arms twisting behind your back, “In that case, I’ve got some things that I need to finish up, anyway.”

[ No. Don’t go. Not yet. ]

“I left my laptop at the cafe, so I’ll head that way. Maybe I can see you–”

“Use mine.” The words leave him with a sigh, his voice hushed, but you hear him and your head whips up.

“What–I’m sorry, what?”

“Use my laptop. It’s here, in my locker.” [ Should he have said, please? He’ll say it, if that will get you to stay a little longer. ]  

“You don’t...that’s not necessary–– ”

“I know. I want to,” he closes the distance between the two of you, his hand ghosting up the line of your arm. “Stay. If you want to.” 

You contemplate his request, tapping a finger against your bottom lip, the flicker of a grin catching at the corners of your mouth. Finally, you nod.

[ Good. ] 

He can feel his pulse against his eardrums and he feels jittery now but through that excited haze he tells you he’s going to change into his gym clothes and grab it, that there’s an outlet under the scorer’s table that sits at the edge of the court, and that he’ll be right back. He’s not sure why he feels the need to elaborate, that’s not like him, but he’s doing a lot of things that don’t feel like him these days.

He likes you; he thinks as he steps toward the double doors that will take him into the locker room. 

He likes you so much.  

When he returns, he’s wearing a dark pair of shorts and a bright yellow shirt emblazoned with the words Itachiyama VBC across his left pectoral. The laptop is propped under his muscled arm and he walks slowly toward you, dark eyes watching you thoughtfully. But you’re not meeting his gaze. No, your regard falls to the curve of his calves and the sharp jut of his ankles before you track back up to his thighs and linger over the ripple and pull of the corded brawn that peeks from under the line of his shorts, and it takes him clearing his throat to lure your eyes back up to his burning face.  

You’ve seen him in his MSBY uniform, and you’ve seen him in various outfits over the last month, but the way you’re watching him right now makes his skin prickle and the air around the two of you feels charged, like the smallest push could create some kind of reaction. 

He pauses beside the table and waits for you to sit before he leans down, one leg shaking restlessly under him as he clacks his passcode across the black keys. He’s lifting his right hand to click ‘enter,’ when you cup your hand under his jaw. 

Kiyoomi quavers under your touch, a low shiver slipping up his spine as he twists to face you, his heavy brows arched and onyx eyes wide. He’s perfectly level with you and so close he can faintly smell your lavender shampoo. It’s a nice scent, lulling and woodsy and he wants to shift closer, but before he can act on his instinct you’re already leaning upwards and using your fingertips to dip his head forward, your lips pressing a chaste kiss against his topmost mole, breath warm against his heated skin. 

“Thank you,” you purr, delicately resting the tip of your nose against his curled hair. 

It feels like his body is sputtering to a halt, his arms heavy, his head desperately following your touch as you shift back, a half groaned sigh tight against his split lips. His fingers are twitching against the cool surface of the table and he knows he must look like an absolute idiot when he lifts his eyes back to yours, but he doesn’t care. 

He’s glad you’re going to stay.

“Question for you,” you ask from your perch on the scorer’s table, your fingers flying over the computer keys as you clatter out another email. “How the hell do your hands do that?” 

Kiyoomi smirks at your curious amusement and flips his wrists deftly upwards, easing onto his haunches, flicking his fingers out and rolling his newly stretched wrists as he finishes his final cool down routine. “It’s called joint hyper-mobility. Most lose it when they get older, I’ve been lucky.”

The two of you have been at the training facility for hours. You’d dutifully finished up some last-minute work enquiries and partially outlined the basics for your upcoming grant proposal, while Kiyoomi worked on his spin rotation and spikes.  

You’d watched him intermittently, teeth plucking at the swell of your lower lip each time he lept into the air for a jump serve, or dropped low to the ground as he dug another ball up from his hit to the nearby wall, so you’d noticed when he’d finished his first water bottle. He’d set the plastic down, the tap ringing hollowly over the quiet gym, and rose from your folding chair, making your way over, already asking him where a water station was. 

When you’d returned, passing the newly filled bottle back to him, your fingers stroked up his arm and swirled faint patterns against his clammy skin as he steadied the plastic in his grasp. And later, when you’d refilled his second water bottle, you’d pushed some of his raven waves back, lifting onto the balls of your feet to tuck the dampened strands behind the shell of his ear.

He was a sweaty mess, but that didn’t bother you.

Usually he didn’t like for others to touch him when he was like this. Something about the sheen and prickle of the salty perspiration bothered him, [ disgusted him ] so he actively shunned his teammates when they sought high fives during a game, but this was different.

The instant your fingers alighted against his skin he’d felt a jolting lurch of electricity, but instead of pulling from it, he’d leaned into it, draping his broad palm over your tracing digits, or resting his warm cheek against your open hand, eyes half lidded as they watched for your reaction.

He liked this. 

“Hey, Kiyoomi? Uh, hello, Earth to Kiyoomi! You listening?”

The sound of your voice jerks him from his musings, and he glances at you. “Hmm?”

“I said, how do you feel about a low-key dinner?”

“I’d prefer it,” Kiyoomi replies, easing from his haunches to his feet, rolling his long arms over his head as he stands.

“Yeah, but I mean...low-key, low-key.”

He fixes you with a flat stare, his face falling into that well practiced blankness, obsidian eyes dimmed. “What does that mean?”

“Well, I’ve got some things that I’ve been meaning to cook and, uh, I guess what I’m trying to say is...did you want to maybe have dinner at my apartment? I know you’re picky about how your food is prepared, so if you wanna go out instead, that’s fine too. I won’t be offended. I just wanted to– ”

“I’d like that, but...can you cook?” he rumbles, a teasing smile coiling against his lips. 

“Oh, I see. No, you got me. Totally can’t. I just wanted to know if you’d suffer through burnt rice, and then lie and tell me you’d liked it, or some shit,” you threaten, sticking your tongue out and scrunching your face at his blatant leer. 

“Don’t worry, I’d definitely tell you.”

“Pfft. You’re the worst, you know that? Now go shower. If we wait too long, we’ll hit rush hour at the station and I bet that’s pretty high on your list of things to avoid at all costs.”

Your apartment is small.

Well, compared to his. But his place is an empty shell, brittle, almost sterile in its vacant emptiness. He’s not there often, so why fill it with more than the bare essentials? It’s got what he needs, and he’s never been bothered by the Spartan coldness of the tiles and dark wood, that is, until he steps into your space. 

There’s so much color. 

The living room is blanketed in a mix of cheery yellows, warm reds, and deep purples. It’s not displeasing, but it makes him pause within the confines of the genkan, onyx eyes wide under his raised brows. It’s a difference. Now there’s an unexpected worry that’s pricking at the front of his mind.

“You coming?” you ask, poking your head around the cut of the wall that divides your living room from your kitchen, peering curiously at his tense expression.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, easing his trainers off of his feet. This place reminds him that there’s still so much about you he doesn’t know. 

So, to alleviate himself from his lingering trepidations, he peers curiously around the apartment.   

Most of your furniture is Western. And while there is a traditional chabudai beside your kitchen and a familiar kotatsu that rests beneath the glass doors of your balcony, the rest of the room is decorated with cushioned couches, stiff-backed chairs, neatly organized shelving units, a large tv and stand, and several side tables that hold a mixture of lamps, artfully stacked books, picture frames and candles. 

He’s still gazing over the plethora of things when you appear beside his elbow. “I’m going to shower. Make yourself at home. The remote for the tv should be on the kotatsu. You alright with soba stir fry and okonomiyaki for dinner? It’s easy, well, quick...”

“That’s fine,” Kiyoomi breathes, voice muted as his eyes rake over one of your bookshelves. “You could have taken one at the gym, you know...a shower.”

“Oh-ho, sure! Like a shower at your gym doesn’t come with the awful possibility that one of your teammates or, god forbid, coaches could have walked in. Yeah, no thanks,” you chuckle, shaking your head as you pad over to the small hallway that separates your kitchen and living space from the rest of your apartment. “I won’t be long. Please do not rob me, kay’?”

Kiyoomi blatantly scoffs at your remark but doesn’t look up until he hears the click of your bathroom door. Instantly, his feet carry him toward your collection of books and miscellany, one long finger tracing up paper spines. He will not miss this opportunity. 

He’s curious, ravenously so.

There are small bowls that are filled with a mismatch of silver and gold jewelry, peeling bound novels with English titles printed down their spines, and asymmetric jars that carry the weight of seashells that gleam translucent and bright against the dimming sunlight.

Beaming smiles radiate from your collection of pictures. Some are snapshots of you and others who look enough like you he assumes they must be your family, while other images are older, with people dressed in vintage clothing, the photos sheened in dull greys and time blown sepia rather than vibrant, modern colors. 

Then there are the books. The room is littered with them. Most are organized within the confines of the shelves, but a few are stacked on the kotatsu and he flips open one cover, eyes scanning the orderly lines of Japanese that dart down the pages.   

There’s just so much here, so many little pieces of you that are scattered about, and he wants to see...no, he wants to ask you about all of it. 

Dazed, he leaves the open space of the living room and steps toward the kitchen. It’s less cluttered in here, and he can smell the faint tang of bleach and lemon as he moves onto the dark tiles. Clearly, the fastidious habits you’ve displayed at the cafe are ingrained into your daily routines. 

Cleanliness and routine. You’ll always have that in common.

His roving observations falter at your fridge. It’s covered in a scattered array of playful magnets, pinning down lists and newer Polaroids and he steps closer, index finger extended once more as he glides the digit down the faded ink and shine of the photos. Resting atop one of the larger check-lists is a crisp slip of cardstock. It’s clearly been given pride of place and Kiyoomi curves himself downward, somber brows wrinkling as he reads the print.

The departments of Anthropology, History, Languages, and Education invite you to attend:

The Deans Meeting

10th Annual Conference & New Faculty Welcome Event

Thursday, April 23rd

6:30 - 9:30 p.m.

Graduate School of Human Sciences, Osaka University

(Number Attending: ____ *limit of one guest per invitee)

Kiyoomi straightens, raking a hand up through his loose curls. The 23rd? That’s a month...no...almost five weeks away. He slips his cellphone out of his jacket, thumb tapping over to his calendar. It’s a Friday...but good, there’s no game that day–however there is a team meeting. If he asks now, he should be able to be excused from the meeting and maybe the mid-day practice as well. You haven’t mentioned this event to him, he muses, fingers rapidly tapping the date into his reminders, but it looks important and he wants to go with you, if you’ll let him. 

He hears the telltale shudder of your shower’s cut-off valve and he turns, ready to walk back to the neutral safety of your living room when he spies a haphazardly cracked doorway that clearly leads into your bedroom. His feet are carrying him around the low base of the chabudai, and before he can justify his impulsive [ curious, hungry ] reasoning he’s already leaning in, unabashedly looking over the space. 

The room is dark; the dusky light of the sunset is muffled by the curtains that drape over the large window, but Kiyoomi marvels, obsidian eyes whisking over the small space, greedily taking in the neat folds of your downy comforter, the soft pillows that nestle under the headboard, and the fan that sits atop the tatami mats. It smells like you in here; the chilled air holds the gentle scent of rich florals and spice and he wants to step closer, but then his hand is catching against the doorframe and he jerks back, hurriedly gulping down a sharp breath as his black hair slumps over his hooded eyes. 

It’s...it’s not...he shouldn’t have looked. It’s not polite, but damn, he almost doesn’t care.

What would it be like to step past that threshold? To walk into something that’s so saturated with you? He feels like his skin is too close, too heavy, and he wants nothing more than to stretch out on the cool sheets of your bed to ease that simmer that’s thrumming under his heated flesh.

Wait. A bed. You have a bed. 

Shit. 

Kiyoomi’s always been content with his futon, satisfied with the simplicity of it. He’s always considered beds to be a waste of space, unnecessary, after all, he’s just sleeping on it. Why did it matter? 

Unanswered questions whir around his half cocked head. What if you don’t like futons? If you think they’re uncomfortable, or inconvenient? Besides, now he’s picturing laying with you on a bed, [ this bed ] not a futon. Kiyoomi wants to see you stretched out beside him, comfortable and happy, with that tantalizing smile and those playful eyes watching him, waiting for him. What side do you prefer? Right? Left? And then? What happens when you’ve picked your spot and settled in? 

Would you want him to shift closer? Could he run his palms past your arms and down the sloping curves of your hips? Would you do the same for him? What would your nails feel like as they scratched faint lines along his sides, over the muscles of his abdomen, or down his back? You’d be so close. So close that every sigh that passed between your lips would be shared with him and he’d inhale every sound, his lips rough against yours. And if you arched into him, your hands urging him to straddle himself over your intoxicating softness, your thighs spreading as he lowers his hips––  

The bathroom door clicks and the fevered daydream fades, his feet cumbersome and tangled as he lumbers back to the living room, his heart pounding in his ears. He doesn’t like this breathlessness, doesn’t like that his hands are trembling as he stuffs them into his pockets. Any second now you’ll be in front of him and he wants to hold you, to let the pull of your hands and the sleek drag of your lips satiate the feel [ throb ] of his unexpected [ visceral ] arousal.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to take that long, I just–– ” 

The distance between the two of you is closed within a heartbeat, and his outstretched fingertips glide down the smooth line of your neck. You suck in a sharp breath, your body rigid under his hold, [ damn it, too fast ] and he drops his hands, easing you into the suddenness of his movement with lazy kisses against your warm cheek and neck, grinning when you lean into him at last. 

[ Yes. Perfect. ]  

You want him to kiss you properly, and you do your best to chase his lips, your arms folding around his bowed neck as you tap a few impatient kisses against his lowered forehead. But he ignores your temptations, not ready to move away from the intoxicating fragrance of your freshly cleaned skin. That soothing smell of peppermint and fresh lavender is near ambrosial, and he greedily digs his nose against you as his muscular arms drape over your sides, and his broad hands pause against the small of your back.

His sharp exhales against your shower dampened neck make you shiver but he maneuvers you closer, rubbing his lower lip against the dip of your shoulder before lifting to catch his teeth on your pulse. He knows just what you like now; he thinks smugly, tracing the flat of his tongue over a line of gooseflesh that bursts over your slicked skin. 

In the last month he’s gained a steady mastery of your preferences when it came to his kisses. You preferred to start things slowly, to have him cup your face and stoke you up steadily, but once he eases down the intricate line of your neck, well, all that softness and coy sweetness would bleed into something else entirely.

You liked it rougher then; liked for these caresses to be charged with lightning fast pushes and pulls, your fingers alternating between the sides of his jaw or the coiled thickness of his hair as you swayed him closer, and that shift never failed to set his heart racing and often sent his tightly reigned control spiraling. But that’s not what he wants, not right now, so he’s careful to keep you at bay, distracting your breathless twists with a fresh set of nips and unhurried pecks against your throat.

He wants to lose himself in you; to blank out all the other worries. The differences don’t matter, not when he can hold you like this.

“Hey, Kiyoomi,” you gasp and only then does he stop his incessant assault, arms tensing as they clutch you to the broad slope of his chest, his dark waves falling heavily against your kiss glistened shoulder.

“Hmm?” he murmurs, his voice reverberating against your wet skin.

“What...what’s gotten into you?” you falter, distracted by the hum of his low tone and the soothing pass of his hands as they curve along your spine.

“Dunno, just felt like kissing you,” he lies impassively, lifting his head from you, obsidian eyes shielded by his mussed curls, the tops of his cheeks aglow.

You exhale a tight laugh at his serious, but utterly flushed expression. “Okay–so why did you stop?”

“Liked it that much, huh? I’m hungry,” he clarifies, a smirk curling his erubescent lips and you laugh, melting that jaunty grin into his usual straightlaced frown. “Tch,” he tries again, sliding his dark eyes away from your open bemusement, a pink blush staining the bridge of his nose. “It’s not that I...hmph, come on, don’t act like you’re not hungry, too...”

You were an excellent cook. Not that he’d fully meant his droll quip at the gym; after all, why offer to do something if you’re not good at it? But he’s glad he agreed to a home cooked meal. 

Besides, there is something soothing about the whole thing.It was nice, watching you deftly maneuver around your tiny kitchen, turning on burners, setting timers, and arranging the ingredients in simple bowls and plates; it reminded him of the coffee shop. And he’s always liked watching you work. Your movements were always smooth [ elegant ]. You kept your hands close and your elbows in, so confident in the motions of your ingrained routines and the tidiness of your space, that you could easily carry on a conversation with him, your eyes careful to meet his over the top of the espresso machine.

But this is better than watching you in the coffee shop. There’s no divider now. There’s just you and him. It’s comforting and he wants to experience it again and again.  

You let him set the plates out, chop the vegetables, prep the soba, and asked him to pick out some beer from your fridge, saying you trusted his choice and chuckling good-naturedly when he padded back to your side, four cans sticking icily to his palms as he asked a few [ five or six ] clarifying questions about the brews.He enjoys your cheerful teasing; he thinks as the two of you sit at the low chabudai; it makes him feel like he fits in, like he can be part of this side of you. You tuck your legs to one side as you sit, your shoulder gently bumping against his as you ease into a comfortable position on the tatami mats and Kiyoomi leans closer, indulging himself in the press long after you’ve picked up your chopsticks–a shared meal of of cabbage and onion okonomiyaki and salmon stir fry resting between the two of you. 

It’s a simple thing, all of this touch, but Kiyoomi can’t get enough of it. Every time your arm brushes against his, or you ask him to pass you something from his side of the table, he wants to prolong the contact, to keep his fingers beside yours, or feel the warmth of your thigh and the jut of your hip as he shifts nearer.

He didn’t think he enjoyed being touched. 

He always did his utmost to avoid it, shunning the clapped backs and constant high fives that always seemed to be prepackaged and expected in the contact heavy sport of volleyball. Not because he didn’t like his teammates [ sure, sometimes– eh, most of the time ] they were too much, but he genuinely liked playing with them. But he didn’t enjoy the balmy heat of skin on skin contact, or the worry of shared germs. Touching meant weakness. It allowed things to spread from person to person; it created variables, and more variables always meant things could slip out of his control. No, Kiyoomi valued the predictable, the known, the cleanliness and routine, and touch threw most of that out of the equation. 

He doesn’t like touch. 

Yet he’s craving yours.  

It’s another thing that isn’t like him, he contemplates, passing his empty bowl to you, already missing that pleasing closeness you’d shared with him as you walk back into your kitchen and that stark absence makes him stand. It’s an urge, a compulsion, and it’s not something he wants to question so he listens to his instincts, feet planted firmly beneath him as he follows you, his hands lifted, reaching for you. When he tugs you against his chest, his dark head dropping beside yours, jet curls fanning beside your cheek and along your neck, he feels the ache within him settle and he lets himself wallow in the familiarity of crisp peppermint that sits against your skin. [ There. He can worry about the rest later, right now this is all he wants. ] 

“I should go,” he whispers, the tip of his nose cool against you. He locks his forearms around your waist and sighs when you rest your temple against his. 

He [ doesn’t want to ] should go. 

“Yeah,” you echo, cupping your fingers over his crossed arms and stroking them over his goose-fleshed skin. “I work in the morning. So I need to be up early.”

His steady breaths match yours and he pulls you closer, humming contentedly as the curve of your back falls into the hollow of his chest. “I’ll go,” Kiyoomi stalls, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to the slope of your neck. He really should. There are only a few more trains tonight, but he can’t let go.

So he lingers, his heavy body leaning against yours, full lips dragging along your pulse as his arms loop tightly around you. You twist your head and he lets you return his caresses, groaning against the sweet pressure of your lips. You’re gentle with him, your kisses filled with restrained desire, and the gossamer touch makes him reach for more. When you pull away, your eyes shining in the gleam of your kitchen lights, he brings you back, his broad palms turning you to him as his chapped fingers tilt your chin, his arms cupping you so close he can feel the thud of your heart against his.

He [ doesn’t want to ] should go.

notes: @kugutsuu​ made me these lovely lines. aren’t they pretty! (｡•̀ᴗ-)✧     

[gubler-me-up]

Pegging for it

Request: PEGGING SPENCER PEGGING SPENCER PEGGING SPENCER

A/N: Thanks for the prompt, anon! On everything this submission made me gasp, it’s so wild, but very interesting request. Hope you enjoy it and for anyone reading, I hope you’re ready for some S M U T. Yes, the title is a pun. Sue me.

Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader

Category: SMUT (NSFW 18+)

Content warning: Swearing, pegging, female masturbation, mention of anal sex, mention of penetrative sex, fem!dom, male!sub, oral (female and male receiving), slapping, rough play, anal fingering, sex toys  

Word count: 2.3k

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

Finding someone as sexually adventurous as you were was a hard task to succeed in. Countless partners of yours were often turned off by your dominating role in bed. By no means were you dominatrix, but if your partner wasn’t satisfying you, you had no choice but to take the wheel. Men can be oh so boring and stiff when it comes to sexual acts outside the realm of ramming themselves into you for a few seconds before calling it quits.

Not Spencer Reid though. He did everything and anything you both were comfortable with. To be honest you didn’t think your standoffish genius would be into the things you were, but he was. Maybe even more. It also took you as a surprise he was so demanding and dominant when he wanted to be. He knew how to get your blood pumping all the time.

Tonight, however, was your turn to play the dominant role. You both had agreed to let you take the reins this time around. He only requested one specific thing for you to do to him. With your eagerness, you guessed what he wanted. To be handcuffed? No. To be blindfolded? No. What he told you he wanted made you even more excited.

He wanted you to peg him.

He said it with such a nonchalant tone you thought he had it done to him before. When you asked if he had been pegged before he shook his head and shrugged his shoulders. He just thought it would be a thrilling experience.

Well, if he wanted a thrilling time you were willing to give it to him. He had given you so much wild, unforgettable nights. You thought it was only right to show him you were capable of giving him the same satisfaction back by being the over dominating person you are.

You walked up to his apartment door and gave it two firm knocks. You didn’t want him to think you were too eager. It would ruin your cool, calm and collected demeanour. You didn’t want to risk any chance of him seeing you break.

He answered the door, still fully clothed in his work clothes. You saw his eyes wander up and down your exterior. The only thing you were wearing was a brown trench coat, black heels and a black bag. He smirked as he stepped aside to let you in.

“Welcome,” he greeted.

You stepped in, looking at him unamused. He closed the door and looked back at you with his hands in his pockets as if he didn’t know what he did. You crossed your arms as you narrowed your eyes at him.

“Didn’t I tell you to be stripped down to your underwear by the time I got here?” You said.

“I thought-”

“No thinking tonight, doctor. Tonight you only obey,” you said.

You walked towards his bedroom. You looked behind you to see Spencer still standing there. With a curl of your finger telling him to come to you, he started walking your way. Maybe he did listen to instructions better than you thought.

As you both entered his bedroom, you closed the door. He had lit a few candles in his room to create a source of light. How considerate of him. You didn’t want your outfit to be put to waste with the darkness engulfing everything. It was as if he knew you wanted a spotlight to show off. He was such an excellent profiler.

“Strip,” you demanded.

He quickly unbuttoned his shirt and then his pants. You watched as his clothing fell to the floor and he was left with nothing on besides his underwear and socks. For someone so lean, he stood strong. His aura just radiated confidence. You kind of wished he would throw you on the bed and fuck you senseless instead.

He shrugged with an emerging smirk on. “I’m all yours.”

God, could he get any hotter? You placed your bag on the ground and then untied the fabric belt to open up your jacket. As your jacket fell you saw Spencer’s eyes light up as he saw your matching black lace bra and panty set. He licked his lips as his eyes stayed focus on the bottom part of your panty which should have been concealing your desirable lady part. Instead it left it exposed, leaving you ready to jump into action any time.

“You like what you see?” You asked.

He looked back up at you and nodded. You smirked at his silent answer. He already knew he wasn’t supposed to speak unless you told him to. Who said men couldn’t be trained to obey?

“Well, lay on the bed, so you can get a closer look,” you demanded.

He quickly placed himself on the bed, excited to see what you had in store for him. You crawled over him until his eager mouth and your dripping wet part met. Just his breathing on it sent tingles down your spine.

“Now, eat me out like the starving dog you are,” you demanded.

He didn’t waste another second as he plunged his face all in your folds. You felt his tongue glide through from top to bottom. He soon started to hungrily suck on your clit and repeatedly flicked his tongue over it. You moaned heavily as you felt a strong sensation run through your body. He was too good with that tongue of his. You knew right away from all that talking he did his tongue and mouth could do a lot more.

You lifted yourself off of his face before your orgasm hit you. As you looked down at him you could see all your juices covering his mouth and nose. He smiled up at you as he licked some of your juices from his lips.

“Did that satisfy my little pet?” You asked him.

He nodded his head. You smiled at his response, but you didn’t truly believe he was satisfied. You took two of your fingers and stuck them inside yourself. You pumped your fingers in and out of you a few times to get your fingers covered in your juices. When they were soaked enough, you took them out.

“Open,” you said.

He opened his mouth and you stuck your fingers inside.

“Suck them bone dry.”

He did just as you asked, sucking on your fingers as if his life depended on it. You smiled at him enjoying the taste of you. You stroked his long brown hair as you admired his obedience.

“That’s a good boy.”

You removed your fingers from his mouth and inspected his work. He did an amazing job of cleaning your fingers for you. You moved back a bit so you could lean down and kiss him. You only planned to give him a quick peck for doing such a great job, but the force Spencer kissed you back with moved you. It was hot, heavy, almost needy.

You leaned back up and roughly grabbed his face. Your face was unimpressed by the desperate nature of his kiss, but inside you loved it. Whenever he made out with you it was always such a powerful experience. The way his tongue would move in your mouth with such a force and the depth he would with his kiss would nearly floor you.

“Did I tell you to kiss me back?” You asked.

He shook his head.

“Speak up,” you demanded.

“No, ma’am,” he replied.

“Then why did you do it? Is this some sort of act of desperation?” You asked.

“Maybe.”

You smacked his face before grabbing it tightly again. He bit his lip as he looked back up at you, obviously enjoying your extremely dominant nature. You almost broke by smiling at him, but you managed to keep it together, so neither of you left the fantasy.

“It’s a yes or no question. Try again,” you demanded.

“Yes, ma’am, it was an act of desperation.”

You let go of his face and made your way off the bed. You peeled off his underwear and was met with his dick springing up from underneath it. He was extremely hard. It was a shame he wouldn’t be using his dick on you tonight.

You tossed his underwear aside. Taking your hand you started massaging his balls which let out a moan from Spencer. You squeezed them tight and yanked on them when you heard him moan.

“You’ve become too vocal. If you stay quiet for the next minute, I’ll reward you with what you really want,” you said.

He nodded, making sure not to even breathe too loudly. You lowered your head down and wrapped your mouth around his dick. You bobbed your head up and down, viscously sucking him off while still playing with his balls. Taking your other hand you used it to go up and down his shaft. Your saliva dripping down made your hand easily glide on his dick.

The laboured breathing coming from Spencer made your heart pump. You had him right where you wanted him to be before the real fun started. He deserved it after he lasted the full minute of you sucking his dick without a single moan escaping his mouth.

You stopped before he reached his peak. It was time for the main event of the night. You took off your panties and kicked them aside as you walked over to your black bag. You reached in and pulled out the strap-on dildo and then a bottle of lube. Spencer looked at you and you saw the fire spark in him.

You smiled at him. “It’s even in your favourite colour: purple. Now, I want you to get up and lean over the bed. Make sure your legs are apart.”

He hopped off the bed and did what you demanded immediately. You walked over behind him. His ass was so nice and toned for someone who never worked out. You ran your hand over his ass as you admired it. His muscles tightened under your touch which got you even more excited.

“Beg for it,” you said.

“Please, ma’am,” he quietly said.

You slapped his ass. “Please, ma’am, what? I said I want to hear you beg for it.”

“Please, peg me, ma’am,” he said with more bass in his voice.

You slapped his ass a second time. “Again.”

“Please, peg me, ma’am.”

Another slap. “Again.”

“I want you to peg me, please, ma’am. I want it.”

You finally stopped slapping his ass even though you were thoroughly enjoying it. He had begged enough for your liking. You squeezed a bit of lube into your hand and lubed up the dildo. Then you took some lube and lubed up his crack. You stuck a finger in his ass to see his reaction. He let out a moan and you felt his muscles clench. Perfect.

“Are you really ready for this, pet?” You asked.

“I want it so bad, ma’am,” he begged.

You took your finger out and properly positioned yourself behind him. Slowly you eased the dildo into him and a remarkable sound of pleasure left his mouth. It excited you and gave you the reassurance you needed to keep going.

Gently you pumped in and out of him, making sure not to put too much force into it. He continued to let out deep, needy moans. You watched the dildo go in and out of him and thought this must be what it looks like for him all the time when you two engaged in anal or even when you were in doggy. The view was definitely a thrilling experience and the sound of his moans echoing the room made it even better.

“Faster,” Spencer moaned.

“Oh no, you don’t demand. You beg. Try again,” you said.

“Please, go faster, ma’am,” he begged.

He didn’t have to beg you twice for it. You pumped in and out of him faster which made him uncontrollably moan. It made you happy he was enjoying himself. You had a feeling he would want to do this more often after this experience.

He was shaking and quivering which only meant he was about to orgasm. You nearly broke into excitement. You were proud the first time you’ve both done pegging it was going extremely well. You remained collected though because you wanted to say the line he always says to you when you’re about to orgasm.

“Come for me,” you demanded.

With no pause he let out a loud moan as you saw his muscles clench. You slid the dildo out and stepped back to admire the now limp Spencer face down on the bed. It was such a weird perspective to not be the one laying limp on the bed after orgasming, but you loved it.

You quickly took off the strap-on as you excitedly hopped on Spencer’s back. You didn’t care anymore about being a dominant in the moment, you were just overly happy he had enjoyed himself. You gave him a big hug from behind as you kissed his head.

“How was that for you, baby?” You asked.

He turned his head sideways to reveal a smile. “It was a great experience.”

“Does that mean we can do it again sometime?” You asked.

“Definitely,” he said.

You squealed and planted a kiss on his cheek. He laughed as he started to get off the bed with you still on his back. You wrapped your arms around his neck as he fully got off the bed.

“How about we take a shower together?” He suggested as he piggybacked you to the bathroom.

“Only if you promise we can have shower sex,” you said while burying your face into the crook of his neck.

“Promise. I’ll for sure be a better dominant than you. I won’t break character at the end,” he joked.

“Talk is cheap. Why don’t you just prove it to me instead?”

“You don’t have to ask me twice.”

—–

MASTERLIST

[rogue-durin-16]

MISS SLYTHERIN

Summary: Fred meets the perfect girl at the beginning of his seventh year; although he is reluctant to ask her out, the universe keeps throwing her into every place Fred finds himself in, even in the most unexpected one; the Quidditch pitch.

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Slytherin!Reader

Genre: mostly fluff

Tags:

Fred Weasley: @whiskeyn-rain @lumos-solemn

Permanent taglist: @elia-the-bibliophile @randomparanoid @karlthecat15722 @thebutchersdaughtersblog

Warnings: language and a little tiny bit of slut shaming (?) and making out

A/N: I was on the subway listening to Sweet Dreams and my brain went 'hOLd oN— bEAteR ReAdER 👁️👄👁️!' so here we are. Kinda long but worth it. Enjoy this <3

Rogue-durin-16 masterlist

It was the first Saturday of the scholar year, and the first ten days tended to be the definition of chaos, so I had volunteered to help my House's prefects with the first years; I was in sixth year, so my first two weeks were mostly free anyway.

I was on my way to the dungeons to pick up the group of kids the prefects had assigned me when I bumped into my Ravenclaw friends, and I decided to chat a bit with them to catch up.

I had my back against one of the hallway's walls, therefore I saw the pair of towering, lean, redheaded figures jogging towards my friends to give them a jump scare.

"That's about it real— AAH!" My friend jolted at the infamous' twins, bumping them for scaring her. "Idiots!"

"Sorry, love." One of them passed his arms over two of my friends' shoulders, while his twin brother's eyes roamed over the circle, tilting his head in confusion when he reached me. "Hello?"

"Hey." I gave them a subtle wave and crossed my arms over my chest.

"Oh, right!" My friend turned to me and pointed at the boy whose arm rested on her. "This is George and that's—"

"Fred Weasley." He introduced himself, offering me his hand to shake with a half smile that promised everything but boredom.

Giving his hand a firm shake, I responded, "Y/n Y/l/n." Our eyes locked; we didn't even attempt to hide the fact that we were measuring one another, and I knew I would have to endure the teasing on my friends' behalf later, but there was something in Fred's gaze that made me extremely curious about his intentions.

I let go of his hand, only for him to take a couple of steps in my direction to stand closer. "And how is it that I've never seen you before, Y/n Y/l/n?" He inquired, leaning on his shoulder against the wall.

"I reckon you don't look much at the Slytherin table?"

His body tensed. "Oh?"

"Oh." I chuckled at his shock. "Scared much?"

The corner of his lips twitched up again. "Should I?"

"Guess that's on you to decide." We lingered on each other's gaze for a bit too long. "I think I'll get going." I was the one to avert my eyes in order to talk to my friends, who were already giving me that look. "See you lat— Oi!" Fred swooped the bag I was carrying off my shoulder and hung it on his.

"I'll carry this for you."

"I'm heading to my House."

"Where else would you be heading?" I turned to my friends in confusion, but they only shrugged; I didn't even have time to ask them what was he up to. "C'mon, Miss Slytherin!"

My eyes got big at the name and I spun around, rushing to catch up with him. "I can carry my own bag, you know that right?"

"But then I wouldn't have an excuse to walk with you." I quirked a brow at him when the ginger winked. "Tell me something."

"Like what?" I questioned, a confused yet amused grin dancing on my lips.

He shrugged, averting his gaze to nonchalantly look to the front "Dunno," He changed my bag to his other arm so it wouldn't be between us. "What do you think about Umbridge?"

"Well, she's got terrible taste in clothing." He laughed, and so did I. Just like that, we fell in a quite fluid and enjoyable conversation.

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

FRED'S P. O. V.

"—And not only that, she's so smart—" I groaned burying my face in my bed's pillow, very aware that I had been talking about Y/n to George and Lee for at least fifteen minutes. "Yesterday she held my hand and I think my face turned red."

Lee's snort was followed by George's words. "So are you gonna ask her out or...?"

I grimaced. The last couple of weeks, somehow I had managed to bump into Y/n everywhere. It was as if the universe was throwing me towards her, but there was a voice in the back of my head that stopped me from making a move. "What if she says no?"

"Freddie, she blantantly flirts with you every time you see her." George stated with his eyebrows raised. "Just ask her out, mate."

"Aight," I nodded. "I'll do it next time I see her."

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

READER'S P. O. V.

When Adrian Pucey informed me that Crabbe wouldn't be able to play in the upcoming Quidditch match, I instantly regretted accepting my friends' dare of showing up at Quidditch tryouts.

Though I didn't put much effort on it, I got in the team as a reserve, and the moment had come for me to shine. How lovely.

I couldn't really back out of that one, so that's how I ended up in the Slytherin changing room before a match that would be played in the worst conditions. Since I was in deep already, I thought I might as well go for the win with everything I had.

"Oi, Malfoy!" I gestured the kid to come closer, which he did with reluctancy. "Don't give me that look— I don't like you either."

"What."

"You're not half as good as Potter—" Before he started the rant of insults, I spoke again. "Shut it. You're not half as good but you're faster." My words were clear and slow, making sure he would understand. "Keep your eyes on Potter— if he moves, you move."

He seemed to hesitate, weary of my advice, but then he gave me a subtle nod and walked away.

"C'mon, on your feet everyone!" Our captain called us and we obeyed; as we approached our entrance to the pitch, thunders could be heard louder and louder. "We're not only for the win, we're gonna crush them." He shouted, partially so we could hear him over the racket of the storm and the muffled hubbub of the crowd, but also because he wanted us to know how serious he was about it. "Glasses!" I took a deep breath, grasping the bat "Broomsticks!" The gate opened as I mounted my broomstick. "UP!"

"AND HERE COMES SLYTHERIN!!" We heard Lee Jordan's voice as we took off to go around the pitch in formation.

Even before we flew over the Ravenclaw stands, obnoxiously loud cheers of my friends could be heard, and I couldn't help but laugh.

FRED'S P. O. V.

"The hell are they cheering on?" I frowned at the Ravenclaw stands going nuts when our rivals passed over them. "It's bloody Slytherin!"

My brother, who was waiting besides me for the match to start, scanned the stands, and then the opposite team; in an instant, he stood upright and nudged me with his bat. "Oi, look!" George called my attention over the roaring crowd after the Slytherin team had passed over our heads. "The beater! Number 6!"

I looked for their number 6 in the pitch, only finding what George was talking about when they stopped at their starting points. Squinting my eyes, I managed to read through the rain the back of the robe. "Y/l/n— Y/n?!" George laughed loudly, following Angelina's cue and flying to his respective mark in the circle.

"Move!" Katie yelled, flying past me and snapping me out of my awe. Had she always been a beater?

When I reached them, I saw Y/n meticulously making sure she had everything secured.

Our eyes, despite the glasses and the pouring rain, managed to meet seconds before Madam Hooch's blowed her whistle, and I would have sworn she gave me a smile.

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

"FRED PAY ATTENTION!" Not even Angelina's yells were enough to bring my mind back to the match, something I regretted instantly; a bludger had been beaten in her direction and nearly knocked her out of the broom. "FUCK!" The quaffle fell from her arm, only to be picked up by one of the Slytherin chasers. "I'M GOING TO MURDER YOU!"

"Sorry!"

"Freddie what the hell!" George had flown to us, probably in hopes to stop the bludger from clocking Angelina. "Will you focus?!"

"Yeah— Sorry!" I apologised again— well, it was more like a grunt rather than an apology. "Go back to Harry!"

"Defend our bloody chasers!" He scolded me before heading off.

I forced myself to keep my eyes on the bludgers and not on Y/n.

The rain kept getting heavier; not even the Impervious charm seemed to work repelling the water from the glasses anymore.

I was cold, drenched, tired and befuddled; my legs were stiff and my arms numb, so I definitely did not see it coming; for that matter, I thought it was a strong blow of wind at first, so the shock that struck me when I was knocked off my broom was a big one.

I heard loud gasps and a scream or two coming from the stands, followed by Lee commenting something about the beater being beaten; in another situation —one where it wouldn't be fucking pouring and I could climb back up to my broom—, I would probably have laughed at it.

But right now, with the hand I held my bat in slipping off the broomstick, the last thing I wanted to do was laugh.

READER'S P. O. V.

Once I had dodged the bludger away from Pucey, my eyes roamed around looking for the other one. which had just been beaten away by Goyle and, intentionally or not, the bludger went straight to Fred.

My heart skipped a beat as I saw his broom flip due to the hit, leaving him clinging onto it.

My eyes went straight to his brother, who was way to far to help, and then to their captain, who was adamant to score points.

"Fuck." I groaned through gritted teeth as I turned my broomstick and flew towards the Gryffindor beater in distress.

"Y/L/N STRAYS FROM HER POSITION AND— FLIES TO WEASLEY?" Jordan's commentaries reached my ears right when I got to Fred. I stretched my arm and grabbed his hand just in time for him not to slip off the broom. He gripped onto my hold for dear life as I used my broom as a leverage to pull him back up, a groan escaping my lips. "LOOKS LIKE NOT ALL SLYTHERINS ARE ARSES!"

I waited until he was steadily secured to let go of his hand. "Next time let go of the bat!" I advised with a teasing grin before flying off to my previous position.

"WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT, Y/L/N" I knew I was going to get shit for what I had just done, but I was expecting my captain to wait until the match had ended.

"HE WAS GONNA FALL OFF!" I yelled, louder than necessary.

"WELL LET HIM FALL THE FUCK OFF!" The captain retorted, venom dripping off his tongue. "WITH ANY LUCK HE'LL KILL HIMSELF OFF!" I didn't expect those words to come out, not even from that mouth.

"YOU KNOW WHAT?" I beat an incoming bludger away from us before shouting, "SUCK MY METAPHORICAL DICK, YEAH?!" And with that, I flew off to defend Malfoy, who was rushing to Potter. Surprisingly enough, he had followed my advice. I flew on Malfoy's track, dodging a bludger away twice until he gave a final sprint and caught the snitch.

"SLYTHERIN WINS!"

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

The team started to celebrate as soon as we landed, and I thought I would take advantage of that and change into dry clothes, but I didn't have the chance before someone called my name from the entrance.

"Psst— Y/n." I turned around to see Fred standing there.

"Do you have a death wish?" I spoke quietly, though a smile appeared on my gaze as soon as I saw him. "What on earth are you doing here?"

"I just wanted to thank you for helping me out there." His cold fingertips brushed my wet cheek as he tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear and he leaned on to place a kiss there. "Aw you're blushing!"

"I'm not blushing, I'm cold," I excused myself, averting my eyes from him.

Maybe it was his loud snort, or maybe the fact that I was missing, but the changing room fell silent as my team's attention was directed to us.

"Oi!" My captain looked Fred up and down, stepping to where we stood. "You're not welcome here."

"Chill," Fred shrugged, his hand lingering on my forearm. "I was congratulating her on her victory." His tone foreshadowed chaos. "Since, you know, it's obviously her doing." I glared at the ginger my hand going to his forearm, silently warning him to stop. "Can't command your own team, can you?"

his arm folded so his palm would be on my forearm too, giving me a reassuring squeeze.

"She should've let you fall off that hand-me-down broom of yours." Fred's grip on my forearm tightened; by the look on his face and the way his jaw clenched, I could tell my teammate had successfully hit a nerve.

"Shut the hell up, will you?" I snapped. "Can't you enjoy the victory without being an arse?"

"You fucking slut—"

"Imaginative." I cut him off, unbothered. "Want a cookie for the effort?"

"Listen now—" Just as he went to grab my bicep, a large hand pushed my captain away, making him stumble back.

"C'mon, mate, give me a reason to beat the shit out of you." Fred said, pulling me to stand besides him instead of between them. Fred's switch was about to flip, and I was desperate for a professor to step in.

As if I had summoned them, i caught a glimpse of Snape and McGonagall walking in my direction from the stairs of the teachers's tower.

"I'd love to see you try." The boy in front of us scoffed. "There's already too much ginger scum besmearing the pure blood, I'll be glad to send you straight to the hosp—"

It was far from expected it would be me punching that asshole strong enough to make him trip and fall.

"Miss Y/l/n!" Oh, right. McGonagall. "Ten points from Slytherin!"

"And fifty points for Slytherin." Snape added in his usual unimpressed tone. "Due to the comradeship you've shown during the match." I widened my eyes at the statement. "Though I can't ignore this, so Y/l/n, turn up in my class tomorrow morning for your punishment. Now, shall we, Minerva?"

"We're leaving too." I informed Fred in low voice, grabbing my bag before pulling him out of the Slytherin changing room.

"That was one hell of a punch." He observed with a chuckle once we were out. "Remind me not to mess with you."

I breathed out a laugh and we fell silent as we walked under the stands towards the exit, the only noise being the rain ricocheting on its structure.

"Thank you." He whispered, his fingers brushing against mines and consequently sending shivers down my spine. "For sticking up for me."

"I expect a reward at the least." I replied, playfully bumping his shoulder before letting my fingers intertwine with his.

"What would that be?" He inquired, that half smile tugging on the corner of his lips.

I shrugged, looking ahead of us with a grin of my own. "That's up to you."

"Will a kiss do?" He mused.

"Depends on how good the kiss is." I begged for my cheeks not yo turn bright red.

In a swift movement he spun me around and his lips landed on mines. His free hand, initially on my cheek, travelled down to my hips, pulling my flush against him while my own hands tangled on his damp hair.

Probably it wasn't a short kiss, but it felt like it when his mouth left mine, and I couldn't help the sight of displeasure that escaped my vocal cords.

He chuckled, our eyes fluttering open at the same time. "Was it good enough?" He teased with a quirked brow.

"Dunno." I muttered, my eyes falling on his lips again. "I think you'll need to try again—"

"To be sure." He finished, and I could only nod; I wouldn't mind the teasing as long as his lips came back to mines.

This time the kiss was deeper, my hands roaming over his wet robes and his over mines; it was only when my back was met with a post that I realized he was backing me into the darker part of the framework, which I did not oppose to.

Quiet moans began to be breathed into the kiss when he nibbled on my lower lip or my hands tugged on his locks.

We had to pull away when steps and voices where heard coming from both changing rooms.

"I think we should kiss more often." He suggested breathless against my lips.

"Agreed."

"I think you should go out with me too."

I had to bite back a laugh. "Agreed again."

"Well, that was easy." The surprised on his gaze was way too amusing.

"Did you think I'd say no?"

"Duh!"

"You're an idiot, Fred Weasley."

"Aw but you love it." He wiggled his brows at me and I smacked his chest.

[fosermi]

SEMI BACK FROM THE DEAD PEOPLE

That's right! I'm back! And I bring to you CHAPTER 3 OF GUARDIAN MACAQUE AU

WHY?! Well because I couldn't sleep well and it's 5 am fuck my headache I give you content!! Fair warning: Macaque is a soft monkey especially to kids AND YOU CAN PRY THIS HC FROM MY COLD DEAD HANDS ABDJFKCMCM

Some days, Biming would leave to sell the rice cultivated in their field to the neighbouring village. An oddity, Hóu realised. Why sell to another village? He didn't understand… After all, there were other houses in their village. 

"Hóu?" Ai's soft voice called for the demon. Oddly enough, it wasn't her usual tone that came through her call. 

Immediately detecting the shift from her usual beat, the black monkey jumped down from his position on the plum tree that grew in the back garden of the couple's home. The tree upon which the monkey would spend most of his free time on whenever he could. "You called, Mrs. Ai?" 

"Oh! Yes, dear…" her voice dripped with worry - fear even. In her arms a red cloak, outstretched as if allowing him to take it. "Could you please accompany Biming to the town today…?" Her eyes glimmering under the morning sun with worry, begged the black monkey to take on her request. 

Hóu, with an immediate nod, complied as he gently took the cloak from Ai's grasp. Hesitantly, the black monkey built up enough courage to ask the kind lady, her worry affecting his own. 

"Mrs. Ai… is everything alright…?" His hand reached out to Ai’s in an attempt to comfort her as his eyes locked with hers, taking notes of the high level of worry embedded deep within her honey-brown eyes.

Seeing the concern in Hóu's golden eyes, Ai's tense shoulders fell as she let out a shaky breath. "Ling Fa… he warned us that demons moved in close to the rout Biming takes to the other village…" 

Ling Fa… yes…

He was the family's guardian spirit… it was his duty to protect the family, right? Of course he would warn the kind couple.

By late morning, Biming and Hóu had headed out on the road on the small mule-pulled cart with their cargo safely secured. Ling Fa had stayed behind to ensure Ai's safety as he would not have been much help with manual labor. 

Hóu rode on the back of the cart as his mind drifted off to the thoughts of the strange family guardian. They had previously met a couple of times. Ling Fa wasn't a concerning figure, in fact Hóu believed he was incapable of fighting due to his pacifistic tendencies. 

Throughout the journey, Biming and Hóu held up a small lighthearted conversation, a conversation that seemed to have only lasted a couple of minutes was in fact just two hours. 

Soon the duo were at town close to noon, Hóu couldn't believe how lively everything was! Carts and vendors and buyers were everywhere! If he was being honest, Hóu's entire world seemed to start spinning due to the overload of his senses. 

"Welcome to the market, Hóu!" Biming said with a bright smile as he handed Hóu some earplugs. "They might not completely drown out all the new senses but its something at least… if you ever need a breath at all, then tell me and we can go to a more tame part of the town were we can rest for a bit"

Hóu's reply came in the form of a nod. However, even though his senses are over exerting himself, Hóu knew that he had to allow Biming to sell their crops so they could earn the money needed. So, the black monkey decided to sit right behind the cart after putting on the earplugs, mostly hidden from the front view as she observed how Biming bargained and sold his crops. 

Eventually, daylight started diminishing as the sun was starting to head down the horizon, turning the shy a nice shade that reminded the monkey of orange peaches… something about the sunset seems to have upset the demon and he felt a pang of pain in his chest. 

Upon noticing the sadness embedded on the monkey’s face, Biming decided that it was time to head home. "Hóu, let's go home." Came the familiar voice of the young man that got Hóu moving onto the back of the cart, and once again head off back home. "We should be back home just after sunset" Said Biming in an attempt to comfort his companion, which seemed to have worked somewhat. 

The ride back didn't have many complications, it was a smooth ride back with a few conversations every now and again. Once home, Biming and Hóu carried their goods into the home as they announced their return, only to be greeted by the smell of Ai's amazing cooking as they sat down by the table to eat. 

Biming was telling Ai how well Hóu had taken to the city and how well behaved he was. He kept on flattering the black monkey demon which got Hóu to stutter every now and again when he decided to speak up. Soon enough, it was time to head to bed after it was decided that from then on, Hóu would accompany Biming to the market. 

His days spent here in the small farm house by the valley with Ai and Biming went by faster than he expected. And soon, they would have a new addition to their family in the form of a child between the couple. 

The couple at first didn't know how Hóu would react to children, as throughout Ai's pregnancy, he had done his best to avoid her as much as possible without angering her. He however instead spent his time with Biming learning how to trade and sell as well as bargain and buy goods. 

When their daughter was born, the couple found something they never had expected to see. That night they had awoken to the sound of soft cries coming from the adjacent room that Hóu had offered the baby to stay in with him so he could make sure that their daughter was safe from all harm. Surprisingly, Hóu had also swore it as his duty out of the blue one night before she was even born. 

What surprised them however, was what they saw in the room that night. They had found Hóu gently cradling their small daughter in his arms. Biming most of all was surprised at how Hóu could be so delicate with such a small fragile being and yet possess strength strong enough to carry the entire cart filled with supplies. 

Hóu looked over at the couple with worry laced all very his face. "S-sorry… she won't stop crying… she must be hungry!" It surprised Ai how well he knew how to manage a baby and how he could tell what was wrong. She stood there for a moment as she smiled at the panicked monkey before taking her daughter to feed her in the other room, leaving Biming and Hóu together in the room. 

Biming sat down next to Hóu on the bed who seemed a bit anxious. "Is something the matter Hóu?" Came the concerned question from Biming. 

Hóu's tail flicked anxiously like an irritated cat, he lowered his head and talked in barely a whisper "she's just so small Biming… will she really survive?" 

With a comforting hand on Hóu's shoulder, a smile found its way onto Biming's face "with you worrying about her like this… I know she'll be perfectly fine Hóu…" and with that, Ai came back in, carrying their sleeping daughter in her arms. 

Without a second to lose, Hóu was up on his feet to give the bed to the sleeping baby. But instead, Ai gave him the small bundle of joy with a smile. Something within him clicked that night, and for the first time he remembered something from his past. 

A conversation? 

"Hey, [~~~] why so stiff?" 

"Because! They're so small! So defenseless! How can they survive?!" A chuckle rang out throughout what seemed like a cave as the sound echoed. 

"They're children! Of course, they're small! But hey! They seem to like you!" 

"I… I guess they do…" 

"You know… if you're really worried about them so much why not take care of them?" 

"Don't you already do that?" 

"Well, technically, yes? But what I meant was you could watch over the little ones and make sure they're safe?" 

"... alright, I'll do it!" 

Hóu held the small child close to his chest, a stifled sob escaped him as a few tears flowed down his face and onto the blankets that wrapped around the baby. This concerned the couple as they barely see Hóu cry, in fact. This is only the second time they've seen him cry ever since finding him that fateful day. 

Just before they could react, Hóu faced them. Face stained with tears but his eyes held a strong determination. "No matter what, I'll make sure she becomes big and strong. I swear on my life" 

With his sudden declaration, the couple found a sense of peace and comfort. Ever since then, Hóu had appointed himself their daughter's caretaker and would help Ai and Biming with their daughter in whatever way he could. There had been countless times when Ai or Biming would search for their daughter only to find her asleep on Hóu who had her safely asleep on or under his favorite tree in their garden, sometimes asleep himself. 

Such were the peaceful times, the days he wouldn't have to worry about much except for their family's safety. Nothing could happen to them, he used to think. Not until the incident. 

Golden eyes fluttered open as he heard a faint sound of someone calling out to him. "I'm heading off to work dad!! Text you later!!" Followed by a door slamming shut and a soft ringing of a bell. 

With a sigh, the black monkey sat up and combed through his messy black hair before getting up and heading to the bathroom to freshen up. Mi Hóu looked at the mirror and examined himself only to be taken back to see a human face before remembering that his life with Ai, Biming, and their daughter Chu-Hua had ended a couple of hundred years ago. 

He had remembered everything since that time, and his true name is Liu er Mihóu otherwise known as the Six Eared Macaque. And he remembered that at this current time, he has a son. A son that he had to look out for in a world of hidden demons. But here's the catch, he can't let his son know that he himself is a demon even though he already knows about demons. Which is why he uses a human disguise. 

"Another regular day of work I guess…" he mumbled as he heard the ringing of the bell hung at the door indicating that someone had entered their home, or to be more specific, his clinic. Little did he know that this day would be the end of his daily routine of curing demons and teaching at a dojo. 

[just-a-creep-babe]

Kinktober Day 31

Out with a Bang

Holy crap I finally ~finally~ finished it! This was not,,,,,,, the best of ideas I’ve ever had because holy fuck it was a lot

But I really really reALLY wanted to make something for the fellow simps (like yours truly) who just ~cannot~ decide which mans they want because, let’s be real, they’re all Snaccs and they all need that good lovin 😌👌

In hindsight, I wish I would’ve made Toby’s part a little longer, but alas, I think it might be too late to change that by now. Also, there’s a lot happening throughout all of this and it does feel rushed and just generally,, badly paced and stuff, but still, even if it might not be the absolute best, I’m relatively happy with the way it turned out :)

So, ah, anyways, quick warning for just,, more than I usually do for smutfics so read at your own risk!

And for those who do manage to get through this mess, well, I hope you can enjoy 😉💦

~Requests are closed~

Masterlist: x

Any tips are greatly appreciated! 

You squirm and try to suppress a whimper as strong, warm hands caress your front

You’re dizzy, nerves set ablaze with something hot and burning and wholly consuming—like nothing you’ve ever felt before

BEN tugs at your nipples between his thumb and forefinger, a wicked grin on his attractive features at the sound of your choked moan

“You like that, babe? Like being a little slut at the center of attention? Hm?”

His scarlet pupils flare mischievously as his free hand works to evenly pump at his cock

Before you can respond, your attention’s pulled away by Jeff jerking at your face, forcing you to look at him

You can barely react before he smashes his mouth against yours, chapped lips tasting of blood and something sweet

Your hands flutter up to him, fingers tangling into messy raven locks as you try to keep up

He wastes no time cramming his tongue down your throat, and the feeling almost has you forgetting about everyone else in the room watching

Almost

He growls against you, his body like a wall of muscle pushing you down harder against Hoodie’s lap—albeit probably unintentionally

Still, it has the proxy’s hard-on poking your naked thigh through the fabric of his jeans, his cock twitching eagerly in response

They’re all so hungry

Despite all the distractions trying to steal your attention away, you still reciprocate the kiss to the best of your abilities

It leaves you breathless and panting, your thoughts swimming, tugging at dark strands for a grip on something—anything

“Quit fucking hogging her mouth. I want those pretty lips wrapped around my dick”

Jeff grunts, pulling apart, breaking off a faint string of saliva in the process

There’s the sound of a belt unbuckling, and you look up, still dazed, just in time to see Masky undoing his pants and tugging himself free

“Fuck…” he breathes out a cuss, member springing out—just inches from your lips

He’s nice and thick with a prominent vein running along the underside of his shaft, and you can’t help but swallow thickly as he rubs at the precum beading up his tip

Despite still having his mask on, the bottom of it is still tilted up just enough to reveal his amused smirk

“You like what you see, sunshine?” he teases, slowly stroking over his length

When you bite your lip and nod, he takes it as all the permission he needs to wrap his hand into your hair, twirling a makeshift ponytail to use as leverage to bring you towards him

You accept him into your mouth without hesitation, swirling your tongue around the tip and watching as he throws his head back with a cuss, his fingers tightening in your scalp

You prop yourself up as best as you can, despite the others still gripping and groping at your body, to take him in all the way until he’s hitting the very back of your throat

Lifting yourself from Hoodie’s lap meets you with a strong smack! to your ass, followed by a husky chuckle as your hips buckle

Who you can only assume to be EJ, judging by the steadiness of his caress, trails his fingertips down the side of your torso and to the aching spot between your legs

Another pair of hands splits your thighs open, gripping flesh with a loving slap, before letting Jack take the lead and cup your heat, his thumb just barely teasing at your clit

Your eyes squeeze shut, a desperate muffled whimper sounding out from around Masky’s cock, which has him twitching and groaning huskily

Another harsh whap! stings the flesh of your ass and you whine again

“You shouldn’t talk with your mouth full,” Hoodie snickers

You don’t have time to push away and respond—not that Masky would’ve let you at this rate—before someone takes one of your hands and hesitantly presses it to their crotch

“(Y-y/n), can you—can you p-please touch me?”

You wrap your fingers around Toby’s bulge and his hips buckle, an adorable moan spilling from his lips

He’s quick and eager to undo his pants, his dick springing free with a slap to his lower abdomen, before he’s guiding your touch back to his stiff member

Your second hand is brought up to wrap around another erection, and this time you can hear Jeff hiss in a breath as you give him a long, slow stroke

“God, that’s so fucking hot,” BEN groans

He tugs at your nipples again, then leans in to take one between his teeth, watching as your movements stutter and your whole form stiffens

A lewd moan wrenches itself free from the back of your throat before you can catch it

There’s too much stimulation—they’re overwhelming

You don’t know what to focus on; it all just feels so good—you’re absolutely powerless to do anything but let them have their way with you

Jack’s long, elegant finger prods at your entrance before slipping into your sopping cunt

He slowly twists his digit against your fluttering walls and then pushes in a second one

Your whole body trembles, and you choke on a moan as your cunt immediately clenches around him like a vice—all too eager

You’re out of breath, your throat’s raw and your lungs are burning

You’ve no choice but to pull away from Masky’s to cough and splutter, another string of saliva still connecting you to him before finally snapping off

The way their eyes roam over your form, drinking you in, soaking up every detail you have to offer, it’s borderline humiliating

Even the most seasoned sex worker would flush at the attention

“You feel so tight around my fingers” Jack’s voice is thick and husky, hardly above a whisper but you somehow hear him loud and clear

His fingers move slowly and methodically, coaxing a ridiculous amount of slick from your eager opening

It has you squirming, trying to get him to move faster because fuck, you need more, but Masky’s grasp tightens around the crown of your skull and it forces you still

You expect him to cram himself down your throat again, but instead, he just smacks his cock against your cheeks a good few times and it has you whimpering, muscles clenching madly in delight

“Such a good, eager little cockslut, aren’t you?” he chuckles

He releases his grip and instead strokes himself a good few times, using your own saliva as lubricant

“(Y-y/n)...”

Toby’s gaze suddenly catches yours, a light blush dusting his cheeks, his pupils blown wide and clouded with lust

He hesitantly comes closer until you manage to bring his member into your mouth, tongue flattening against the underside of his tip before taking him all in and swallowing him down

It’s difficult to work, to say the least, when BEN’s lavishing your chest with attention, Hoodie’s kneading at the fresh marks on your ass and Jack’s fucking you on his fingers, but you do the best you can

Toby unwinds into a shuddering, moaning mess at the command of your mouth

The way he squirms and gasps as you suck him off hard and slow, gazing up at his reaction through long lashes, is somehow both endearing and horribly sinful at the same time

You can tell he’s starting to get close when Jack hits something blindingly wonderful inside you, and it has you pushing away from Toby, your back arching with a breathless cry as adrenaline races up your system

“Here, (y/n)? That where it feels good?” he murmurs, his voice a low, deep rumble thick with arousal

You nod eagerly, trying to splutter out an affirmation, but the most you can manage are broken moans and pleas as he toys with the spongy spot deep inside your fleshy walls

“J-jack, fuck—s-shit!”

You try to hump against his fingers, your orgasm building way too quickly, and when Hoodie reaches around to jerk at your clit, your whole body buckles, core convulsing tightly and thighs shuddering on top of him

The others pull back, and you’re more than fully aware of how they’re all stroking themselves while watching you, but you’re far too horny to care

Your hands scramble to grip onto Jack and Hoodie’s forearms, feeling their muscles tense beneath smooth skin as they pump and rub your sopping sex until you’re throwing your head back and crying out from the stimulation

Euphoria reverberates throughout your whole body, but just as you’re about to cum, Jack pulls his fingers out and Hoodie quits playing with your clit, only to give a quick, light smack to your cunt and chuckle when you whine in protest

“N-no, fuck—please!”

You try to reach down to alleviate yourself but Masky stops you before you can, forcing your hand back to stroke at his member with a tsk

“Little slut’s getting impatient, aren’t you, baby?” BEN coos, “You want us all to take turns fucking you nice and good, don’t you? I bet your brain‘s turning to mush just thinking about it, isn’t it?“

He gives a good few mocking pats to your cheeks and chuckles

“I bet I can fuck her better than any of you shit-heads can”

Jeff’s gruff promise is all the warning he provides before settling himself between your split legs

He leans in and spits onto your cunt, not that you need the extra lubrication, before then rubbing the head of his member between your ridiculously slick folds

“You gonna be a good bitch at the tip of my dick, (y/n)?”

You nod eagerly, trying to hold back the obscenities threatening to spill

And then all at once, he snaps his hips forwards—shoving himself all in one motion without mercy

His scarred grin twitches at the way you cry out and moan around him

Your head rolls back, chest arching up, allowing different hands to roam over your tits and toy with your nipples, others wrapping around your neck and feeling your breath catch into your throat in response

“That’s a good slut~” Jeff snickers

He pulls out, ever so slowly, and then he slams back into you again

“Jeff—fuck!”

Your whole body’s burning up, tremors of arousal rolling through you with every ounce of attention you’re receiving

Jack snakes his hand back to your front, between you and Jeff, to rub at your throbbing bundle of nerves while Hoodie gathers up your slick between his fingers to envelop around his member

And even though you’re expecting it, it still knocks the breath out of you as he pushes into you from behind—and you’re absolutely stuffed with the both of them

“So fucking tight~” Hoodie groans

He palms up your thighs, gripping your flesh, forcing you to wriggle and grind against his pulsing cock nestled deep inside of you

BEN yanks your chin up to look at him, chuckling at the dazed, glossy look in your eyes and your parted lips

You’re nearly drooling at the feeling, thoughts completely fuzzy and overwhelmed

Your cheeks are squeezed together, the entity toying with your bottom lip with his thumb before he’s bringing his member to your lips and you’ve no choice but to take him into your mouth

You squirm, eyes squeezing shut, swallowing down the taste of his precum as hands—and you don’t even know whose they are at this point—wrap around your thighs and toy with various parts of your body

It’s too much

With every harsh thrust, Jeff forces himself harder and faster into you—practically ramming into you while Hoodie hits deeper inside you

The way they both fuck into you—and Jack’s steady hands rubbing at your clit, you can’t keep up

You’re breathless and shaking and gagging on BEN’s dick, tears blurring your vision, until all at once, you finally cum with a strangled, muffled cry

Your eyes roll back, lids falling shut, back arching and shudders rocking through your whole body

“Fuck—fuck she’s already fucking cuming!”

Jeff throws his head back with a snarl as you clench impossibly tight around him

Hoodie groans behind you as well, hands bruising your thighs as BEN thrusts into your welcoming mouth and his cock hits deeper down your throat

Your muscles seize, pleasure and euphoria rocking through your body in seemingly endless waves

The stimulation’s so overwhelming that it’s nearly painful

Your vision clouds, stars dancing behind your eyelids, until Jack finally moves his hand away from your throbbing clit

But Jeff and Hoodie don’t relent

Their paces only grow more frantic and eager, all the more desperate to fuck into your welcoming holes and feel you tense so wonderfully around them

You try to swallow back your cries but you can hardly control yourself—especially not with BEN twitching between your soft lips wrapped up so nicely around him

The other hands grasping at your form toy with your body like you’re theirs

Fingers wrap into your hair and twist at the roots of your strands, tugging and pulling until you’re forced to take the cock into your mouth even deeper

“God, you’re s-so fucking pretty~”

You can hardly hear Toby’s voice through your own muffled whines and needy pleas

Try as you might, you can’t stop squirming and jerking from the overstimulation

Your throat’s raw from being fucked so thoroughly, especially coupled with the shameless moans that keep spilling free

Everything’s too intense

Your hands are brought up to wrap around their throbbing members, coaxing quiet groans and hushed moans to accompany your own muffled mewls

Hoodie’s pace grows until you know he’s getting close, and already, you can feel your second orgasm just teetering on the verge of crashing into you

A hard smack to your ass has you jerking, skin burning and tingling and no doubt covered in red prints

Jeff then immediately slams into you—either jealous of the attention you’re giving the others or equally close to release

But either way, his relentless pounding is enough to have you cuming again already

And your second orgasm’s blinding

Everything inside you seizes

Your muscles recoil from the shock, adrenaline and ecstasy racing through your bloodstream like it never has before

Your toes curl, legs wrapping tighter around Jeff, who releases a string of filthy cusses and snarls

“God—fuck!”

A couple more mind-melting thrusts and he stutters inside you, hips movingly sloppily until you feel his seed filling you up to the brim

Hands tug at your nipples, stroking and savoring your skin, even as you’re pumped full of cum

Hoodie follows soon after—his strong, calloused palms forcing you down so that your seated on his throbbing dick and he’s as deep as he can get

He grinds up into you as he cums, hands moving up to briefly wrap around your neck before returning to settle at your waist

“Such a—such a good slut!” BEN pants, groaning and moaning, “Fuck! Fuck! I’m gonna cum!”

He throws his head back with a moan, hips jolting into your mouth until the taste of him fills up the back of your throat

You pull away from him, coughing and spluttering, only to notice the others also nearing their end

Toby whimpers, his cock twitching incessantly in his grasp, and when you glance up to look at him, it’s all it takes for him to come undone

He release all over your chest, painting white streaks of his seed, until Masky’s yanking you by the hair and bringing your face to his cock so he can cum all over it

You instinctively squeeze your eyes shut, lips falling open with your tongue out and ready to taste him, though most of it misses and hits your cheek instead

“Such a filthy little morsel~”

Jack’s voice is deep, dark and gravelly, his whole form shuddering from the pleasure raking up his system as he works his cock

You reach over to help him out as well, wrapping your lips around his tip to hollow out your cheeks and suck—hard

It has him making what’s possibly the sexiest sound you’ve ever heard

His hips buckle, pushing his member further down your throat, and the moan you make is finally what it takes to send him over the edge

There’s so much of it

Try as you might to swallow it all down, you can’t, and it ends up dripping down your chin and all over your neck, right down to your chest and between your thighs

You’re a mess

Your whole body’s slick and filthy and you’re absolutely spent

Jeff finally pulls out, leaving more cum dripping out of you, but you’re far too exhausted to care

Just as you’re about to get off of Hoodie, you feel him press you back down

“Ah ah ah, who said we were done with you just yet, Princess?~”

His voice is a low hum at your neck, followed by the soft warmth of his lips pressing to your skin

You squirm, feeling yourself flush even through your exhaustion

The only word you manage to pant out is a dazed and confused, pathetic little “W-what?”

Masky snickers

He rakes his hand through your scalp, tugging gently at the roots of your hair to pull your attention back up towards him

“Don’t worry sunshine, we’ll do all the work for you. You just have to be a good little girl and fucking take it~”

[bunnyofnegativeeuphoria]

Prompt Fill: “Cold”

I’m what they like to call not a clown but the entire circus. I’ve managed to delete one of the asks by accident, but rest assured I did see an anonymous prompter wish for “cold” or something to that effect...

Dear reader, it’s 3,3K words, so here we fucking go, lads.

Islanders

Cleaned up and now also on Ao3

“A room and a bath,” Geralt says without even glancing at the barman, attention fully on the precious cargo in his arms.

“Hang on, Witcher, you can’t just–”

“You’ll get your coin,” he grits through his teeth, “but whether your head is still attached to your neck when you do is for you to decide. Room and a bath. Now.”

A key lands on the countertop. 

“Upstairs and second door on the right.”

 The man shouts to someone behind himself. “Ilde! Hot water for the Witcher, sharpish!” 

“Geralt?” 

His senses turn from the foul stench of old ale and unwashed bodies and funnel inwards towards the shape of Jaskier. His bard moans softly and leans an icy forehead against Geralt’s neck. 

“Hmm?” Geralt murmurs against Jaskier’s hair.

“C-cold.”

He reeks of misery, sharp and undeserved. A great shiver runs through Jaskier, and Geralt tightens his hold around him.

“Cold water will do,” he grunts at the barman.

“But–”

“As fast as you can,” Geralt says, grabbing the key and making for the stairwell.

***

Casting igni in the direction of the hearth, Geralt lays Jaskier out on top of a humble straw mattress and begins to undress him. There’s no cloak, and the fool’s doublet is wet through. It refuses to budge, but Geralt has one ear turned towards Jaskier’s heartbeat and doesn’t hesitate to rip apart the fabric to get to skin. It’s paler than it should be and cold to the touch – cold where on any other day it is warmth itself. His bard gravitates towards sources of heat like a stable cat to an opportune sunbeam, and to exist in his orbit is a blessing greater than any coin Geralt has ever earned. 

The ruined doublet hits the floor with a squelch. Geralt moves to grab Jaskier’s breeches, but a shaking hand stops him.

“I-I r-rather lik-ked that ‘n,” Jaskier says, looking if anything even more unhappy than before. 

His pulse spikes, and worry roils in Geralt’s gut. 

“Doublets are replaceable,” he says. He spares a quick squeeze to Jaskier’s fingers before pulling the breeches and boots off in one desperate, inelegant action.

Jaskier is not a small man, but now, sad and shivering on the cusp of blue-tinged infirmity, he hunches and curls, reducing himself. Geralt misses his all-encompassing business. 

“In here,” comes a voice from the hallway, followed by what looks like the barman and his entire family. Two boys roll a tub in and settle it in front of the fireplace, and the others empty several buckets worth of water into it. 

“More, go on,” Ilde says, and the troop leaves as quick as they come, casting wary glances at Geralt’s swords as they go. 

“W-we’ll h’ve t-to p-pay more,” Jaskier says.

Geralt frowns and throws a threadbare blanket on top of him, inadequate and dusty though it is. 

“If they get the rest of the water within the minute, they can have double.”

“Not double. They’ll ch-cheat you. Always d-do.” Jaskier clasps at the blanket. His hands, normally so clever and expressive, jerk with exhaustion and looming danger. “Not-t worth it.”

“Let me account for what value I keep,” Geralt says. “Not hush. You have to conserve energy.”

Geralt sits down and takes a hold of Jaskier’s hands.

“W-what?”

“Shh.”

He wraps his giant paws around Jaskier’s hands, feeling wiry strength and a lifeline beneath the cold. Pressing his lips to the gap between his own thumbs, he blows warm air into the space between them. When he looks up after the third blow, he finds Jaskier looking at him. He smells less scared now. There’s a thought dancing on the tip of the bard’s tongue, but Geralt gives him a quelling look.  

“Right,” Ilde says from the doorway, and buckets follow with the kind of efficiency born of a strong desire to done and elsewhere. In less than a minute they are alone once more, door closing with a firm press. 

A steady stream of controlled fire erupts from Geralt’s hand, and he guides it across the surface of the tub until steam rises like from Roach’s back when she’s been safely put to bed in a warm stall after a day of cold and damp. The water ripples as he tests the temperature.

“G-Geralt?” Jaskier is sitting up, blanket having dropped to the ground. “C-can I?”

“Hmm,” Geralt says. Jaskier’s heartbeat has yet to settle, but his lips have lost their frosty stiffness. Though dry and cracked, they look pinker and plumper than before. “It’s all for you.” 

Gathering Jaskier in his arms once more, he hurries to the tub. He lowers Jaskier as well he can, but when they break the water’s surface–

“Ow,” Jaskier hisses. “Ow, G-Geralt.”

“I’m sorry, but you have to–”

“Hurts,” Jaskier presses, turning his face into Geralt’s neck with the same blind faith as he had when Geralt had come across him only an hour earlier, sodden and lost on the mucky road to the northern realms. His face, however, is not defiant or proud. This is a quiet pain, and Geralt aches in a place he had long thought broken beyond the repair of all charity. 

“I know. Shhh. Hold on to me,” he says. “All in one go.” 

Hands tighten weakly around his arm, and then he sinks Jaskier into the tub.

He doesn’t yell.

He doesn’t yell, but he does whimper – small and vulnerable and a thousand leagues beneath the surface of what he is entitled. 

Geralt pulls his arms away.

“D-don’t g–”

“I’m not.”

Stripping down with stern efficiency, Geralt gets in the tub himself, taking care to not jostle Jaskier. Water spills over the side as he guides Jaskier against his chest, making sure to move his medallion so the sharp angles of the wolf’s head don’t do him harm. It is cramped, and he settles in to cover as much of Jaskier’s surface area with his own body. They sit with their knees bent and peaking out of the water like make-believe islands – an archipelago of muscle and bone.

“How are you feeling?”

Jaskier breaths deeply and leans his face against Geralt’s shoulder. 

“Like I’m b-being poked by a h-hundred n-needles.” 

Geralt draws an arm around Jaskier’s chest, using his other hand to cover one of Jaskier’s knees. 

“Rest.”

“I-I’m so...I shouldn’t h-hav–”

He shakes his head. Jaskier must feel it for he falls silent again.

“Rest.”

***

Jaskier falls asleep in the tub with Geralt wrapped around him like a giant octopus from out of a Skelligan skald. The rhythm of his heart gradually calms to his regular song – almost bird-like by Geralt’s reckoning. Twice he warms the bathwater, content to let his meditation be guided by the measure of Jaskier’s recovery. He wills his own warmth to seep from his skin and through Jaskier’s, and if something else should flow with it, then he reckons he is far too old to be duplicitous now. 

“You needn’t stay on my account.”

Geralt looks down into the wild blue yonder.

“Do you want me to go?” he asks.

The thought sits awkwardly in him, pinching with the discomfort of new shoes. 

“I want you to do what you want to do.”

“Jaskier–”

“Stay,” Jaskier says on the wave of a quiet exhale. Geralt watches the word’s traces whisk across the water and sends a small flicker of flame after it. Steam rises once more, and Jaskier sighs, and it sounds acceptably content.

“How are you feeling?”

“Much better. On the whole, practically divine.”

There’s a snobbish artfulness to Jaskier’s tone now, and Geralt allows himself the press of a smile against Jaskier’s hairline. 

“Better or worse than a weekend with the Countess de Stael?”

“Darling, must you? I’ve quite reached my limit with humiliation for today.” There’s a tightness to his lips as Jaskier speaks, and Geralt frowns.

“Will you tell me why you were on the road, no cloak or lute to be seen?” 

Jaskier looks down, and his scent turns abruptly with embarrassment, smelling faintly like something is burning. 

“I suppose I’ll have to tell you.” He looks up with a tinge of defiance in his eyes, but it’s no hardship for Geralt to keep looking at him. “But you’ll have to earn it first.”

“Oh?”

“Wash my hair?”

There is life in his cornflower blues again, and that is reward enough for any challenge. Without a word, Geralt gets up and out of the tub. Water drips all over the creaky floorboards as he makes for the saddlebags brought up by one of the boys. His nose guides him to a bottle of oil scented with mild lavender, and he picks up a cup on his way back to Jaskier. 

With pink-tinged cheeks, Jaskier watches him climb back in behind him.

“I didn’t mean–”

Geralt huffs. 

“Yes you did. Hush.”

Cup in hand, Geralt guides Jaskier’s head into a tilt and scoops water over his hair, using his other hand to block the water from running into the bard’s eyes.

“You know, telling me to hush really isn’t as charming as your dour self might imagine.”

“Try sitting quietly in the knowledge of being,” Geralt says, feeling his lip twitch with the sort of maddening lack of control that eases into existence whenever Jaskier is around.

“Unbearable. Take that back.”

“Close your eyes.”

Jaskier closes his eyes immediately, and Geralt finds he has to swallow past all his want at the blatant display of trust. He spills some oil into his palms and wonders if Jaskier would let him do this if he knew the true shape of Geralt’s heart. Whole kingdoms believe it to be nonexistent or at the very least shrivelled and decaying. Jaskier thinks different. If he is to be believed, Geralt’s heart is like a honeyed bun – warm and dripping with a sweetness that Geralt knows was exterminated the second he saw Kaer Morhen rise in front of his too-young eyes. Little does Jaskier know that if you were to open Geralt’s chest and break it open past ribs and sinew and hold his heart, you would find it alternatingly smooth like silk chemises and rough with fingertip callouses, beating a rhythm to whatever tune it pleases. 

“Are you alright, darling?”

Jaskier has tilted his head back even further to look at him nearly upside down.

“Sorry,” Geralt mutters, hurrying to start to run his hands through Jaskier’s hair. It is brown and short and soft to the touch. With every turn of his hands, he washes away the smell of Jaskier’s hurt and replaces it with lavender and his own touch.

“Did I say divine before? I must have lost my wits. This is my religion.”

Geralt feels a chuckle rumble up his throat and into the still bedroom air. Eyes closed again, Jaskier seems to settle in on his own terms, and Geralt is more than happy to let him.

“Did you know there was an inventor from the southern continent – further south even than Nilfgaard – who discovered the measurement for density by sitting in a bathtub?”

Jaskier prattles on about mathematics and science and a man running naked down cobbled streets, and Geralt lets the sound of his voice cleanse him of all worries. He finishes washing Jaskier’s hair, and rinses it with the cup. Afterwards, he gathers more oil and settles his hands across Jaskier’s shoulders. There’s a hitch in Jaskier’s throat as Geralt begins to gentle the oil into soft, pale skin.

“G-Geralt?”

Geralt frowns.

“Are you cold again?”

“No.” Jaskier’s voice sounds small.

“May I continue?”

Jaskier’s chest expands with a visible breath.

“Please,” he says, shoulders gaining a healthy dusting of pinkish glow. He starts talking again when Geralt continues to oil his skin, Jaskier moving on to a fevered and slightly panic-tinged monologue about the Cintran sonnet form.

Jaskier’s body is strong beneath him. His skin bears only a few scars from youthful mishaps and a characteristic refusal to be left behind. There is one running length of his back that he earned as a boy slipping down a rocky hill. Another – much smaller – has nicked his ear from when he did not move fast enough away from a drowner’s grasp. Geralt remembers tending to the wound in a furious silence, and he also remembers the apologetic look of abject misery that trailed him for a full week thereafter. It is the longest he has ever heard Jaskier be quiet, and he is grateful the bard has never again felt cause to curb his words in his presence.

I love him, Geralt thinks. 

It’s not the first time he’s thought it, and he knows it will not be the last. He will carry the knowledge with him for however many centuries he may have left, and he will die with its truth glowing in every part of his body – an idea so well lived and nurtured that when his rotting corpse becomes earth once more around him will grow a ring made of dandelions and buttercups.

They have bathed together many times, but though Jaskier washes him after practically every monster fight, Geralt has until now not had the opportunity to return the favour. In the beginning he had no desire to. After that he had no cause to. Now, as he watches Jaskier’s nervous energy dispel at every gentle touch of Geralt’s hand, he thinks that perhaps he’s never needed more cause than that he wishes to. 

Geralt may not have as much experience as Jaskier when it comes to bathing another person, but he finds it comes easy when he thinks of how Jaskier bathes him. He thinks of Jaskier’s hands on him, soothing touches on bruised skin – careful even when minor wounds have long healed. He thinks of clever fingers massaging his neck and back. He thinks of timid motions turning methodical with confidence for every evening spent plucking endrega entrails out of white hair. At Jaskier’s waist, Geralt’s hands still. He thinks of – he thinks of how he himself has only ever given impersonal washes to his brothers, cleaning the necessary wounds and skirting quickly past the groin to everyone’s better happiness. He thinks of two nights ago – on the cusp of their yearly parting – how Jaskier had cleaned his thighs, his hips, the vee of his abdomen… 

He thinks of Jaskier with a washcloth, strong with tender caress between Geralt’s fingers – between Geralt’s toes. 

He thinks of the care and acceptance that saturates every action. 

He thinks Jaskier certainly deserves it. He deserves to have the same love – for love he now realises it is – reflected back at himself with as much willingness and devotion. And for that reason alone he shall have it.

Jaskier’s left knee has a thick scar on it from when he tried to ride Roach without permission and she dumped him in a field.

“Darling? Your face looks very Geralt-y.”

He looks to see Jaskier’s face inches from his own.

“What the fuck’s that supposed to mean?”

“Brooding? Plotting? Dreaming? I haven’t the foggiest. What are you thinking about?”

“I think our knees look like islands.”

Silence falls save for the occasional sound of a drop of water hitting the now tepid bath and the comforting crackle of the fireplace. Geralt feels Jaskier’s toe twitch next to his own before he shifts, leaning back against Geralt’s chest, and raises his leg straight up into the air.

“I suppose that makes our leg hairs the islanders,” Jaskier says in such perfect sincerity. 

Geralt swallows.

“Where is your lute?”

He feels rather than hears Jaskier’s sigh as he puts his leg back into the water.

“Hopefully still back at the Squealing Pig.”

For a second, Geralt is stunned.

“Wh–”

“I left it–”

“On purpose?” 

Geralt doesn’t think his eyebrows could rise any higher if he willed them to.

“Of course not! Well, perhaps. Not really, though. It’s hard to explain.”

“Explain.”

“You left.”

As if in agreement, they both pause to let that short truth hang in the air like a brightly coloured flag. 

“I left because it’s winter. We always part for winter.”

“I know.”

“You even hugged me goodbye and waved me off.”

“I know.”

“You–”

“I know.” Jaskier digs his forehead into Geralt’s clavicle so hard it hurts, but Geralt finds he has no intention to ever ask him to move. “I know I did, and then I woke the next day, and you were gone, and I felt like something was missing, and then I forgot my lute and my bag and my cloak, and I set off after you.”

There’s a warmth brewing beneath Geralt’s skin, and it ignites at every touchpoint shared between them. 

“And then it snowed,” he says.

“And then it snowed,” Jaskier says, “and it was too late to go back, but I didn’t have my cloak, and I didn’t have my lute so I could play my way to a room. So I kept walking, but it was so cold, and I got lost, and then…”

I love him, Geralt thinks.

“And then you fell asleep in the woods,” Geralt says.

Jaskier rests his hand over Geralt’s heart.

“And then you found me,” he says.

“And you scared me half to death,” Geralt says. 

“And here we are.”

“Hmmm,” Geralt sounds and does not know what to say. Words leap out of Jaskier like pufflballs in a summer breeze, scattering dandelion seeded meaningfulness all across the northern continent. He doesn’t know what to say, and so he gentles his hand down Jaskier’s side, curls his legs up more, and brings Jaskier even closer to him. Jaskier gasps into his neck as Geralt settles him in his lap, and then – slowly, tentatively, achingly – arms come around Geralt’s shoulders. Geralt turns his head and nudges Jaskier’s nose with his own, their foreheads resting together in a pleasure so perfect that where he to die in the morning he would do so with the knoweldge that he knew the touch of happiness. 

Hands caress through his hair and cup the side of his face, a thumb stroking back and forth over his cheek, and he can feel it’s well pruned from the water. Jaskier gasps again, almost as if on a sob, but no tears come.

“Geralt, I–” he croaks, faltering as he draws the knuckles of his right hand up and down Geralt’s neck. “Geralt, I think you’re the most magnificent…” 

He tightens his arms around Jaskier and feels his every breath dance across his lips. 

“I think you’re the most magnificent person I’ve ever met. You’re–” Jaskier laughs and shakes his head so their foreheads rub together. “Geralt, I don’t even have the words, I–”

“I do,” Geralt says.

Jaskier blinks.

“Y–you do?”

I love him, Geralt thinks.

“I love you,” Geralt says, not for a second looking away from Jaskier’s face so that he may see the hope, the surprise, and the happiness write themselves across him like an open book. And here they come, and there they go, and here love is to stay. 

Jaskier makes a noise – relief and desperation all in one – and then cracked lips are on his own, and Geralt kisses back. He kisses soft, he kisses gentle, and he kisses joy. 

“You really did know what to say,” Jaskier laughs.

“Mmm,” Geralt says, kissing him again. 

Jaskier cups his face between both hands. 

“Dear heart, I love you. I love you, I love you, I love you,” he says and draws breath as if to continue on forever and ever. 

Geralt kisses him one more time, feeling Jaskier’s lips curve up into a helpless smile.

“Not the most complicated rhyme scheme you’ve ever come up with, my lark,” he murmurs. 

“Darling,” Jaskier laughs, “I’ll write you so many songs.”

Liked it? Prompt me!

[babayagakeanu]

How Will I Know? -part one

Pairing: Jethro Gibbs/reader 

Summary: in which the reader is hopelessly in love with her boss, who is completely oblivious.

Warnings: none for now

Word count: 1397

A/N: This is my first chapter fic/Gibbs fic ever so pls be nice 🥺

Your boss was known for his elusiveness to technology. He still didn’t know how to properly search the internet on his phone, nor send a comprehendible text. The team and you had teased him for months about his typo on “Caesar salad” in which he actually typed “sexual salad”. You all were confused as to how he managed to type that bad of a typo, but nevertheless, teasing ensued. Tony was doing the most of it while you and Kate were giggling into your paperwork. Gibbs had managed to crack a smile while also getting up to smack  Tony in the head. You were just finishing up the case that the team just solved, and you were looking forward to having a few drinks with your co-workers. You were going to Kate’s after you finished up at your desk to get ready with her before carpooling to the pub that McGee and Abby picked out. 

“Gibbs, are you coming to the pub with us?” Abby asked Gibbs, sitting down in McGee’s lap as he typed some things into the computer. Gibbs grunted, looking up from his papers, stopping to sip his coffee before answering. “Uh, yeah. Sure, why not?” Your stomach sank, knowing that Gibbs was going to be there tonight worried you. Now, you really had to figure out what to wear and how to style your hair. “I might even bring the red-head I met while on the job last week.” You couldn’t stand to hear another word of this so you moved from your desk, setting the file down on Gibbs’ desk, and walking out of the office without a word. Gibbs noticed this, and watched as you left, a pang leaving his gut feeling empty. 

Kate’s apartment was cute, decorated well and felt homey. You had entered with a large duffle bag stuffed with different outfit options and all the makeup you had. 

“Jeez, Y/n, are you going away for a week?” Kate snorts, leading you into the large bedroom in which you two would get ready in. “How are you feeling after today?” You sighed, knowing full well that she would bring what happened between you and Gibbs up when you were to get ready together. “I don’t really know, Kate. I’m disappointed because for once, I thought we were finally getting closer to each other. I mean, he told me about his first wife!”

“Wait! He did?” Kate’s eyes almost bulge out of her head and your response to her is nodding while finishing the final touch of your makeup. Gibbs had opened up to you about his first wife while out on lunch with you. Part of you hoped he was taking you on a date, but then he didn’t ride back home with you after, instead he hopped into a Mercedes with some red-headed chick and sped off. 

“Yep. Then he got up after we finished and left with some other girl.”

“Ouch, wrong move, Gibbs.” You nod, sighing as you looked down at her bed, her sheets forgotten under the mile-high pile of clothing. You opted for some bell bottoms that hugged your curves, and a tube top that tied at your waist and shined under the moonlight. You looked as good as you felt, and were ready to show up Gibbs female toy. You paired the looks with chunky earrings and heels and you and Kate called a cab to make your way to the pub, letting Dinozzo know in the process. 

——

“Gibbs!” Tony called out, watching as his boss lugged beers back to the table in preparation for the others to come. “Y/N and Kate are on their way here!” Gibbs nods and Tony doesn’t know if it’s nerves or Gibbs just hates going out, but he looked worried, like he was hoping for someone to be there. It wasn’t any longer than 10 minutes of awkward silence between Dinozzo and Gibbs before you guys showed up, ironically saving the day. You two looked around the room before you spotted Tony and Gibbs.

“Wow, Y/N looks sex-”

“Wanna finish that sentence, Dinozzo?” Gibbs shoots him a hard glare, a mechanism he can’t control all that well. Tony was right tho, you did look sexy. Your skin glowed even under the dim lighting of the bar and Gibbs eyes gave you an inspection as you walked to the table. He looked on as your hips swayed, your navel looking absolutely sinful. You reached the table and Gibbs cleared his throat, greeting the two of you with a small smirk and a nod. You were relieved to find that Gibbs’ lady friend was there, so you could get tipsy without being so uptight about her being in your general vicinity. You look at your beer, before shaking your head and returning it to the bartender, asking for something else.

“A glass of Bernheim. Neat.” You tell the bartender, and you feel a presence slide in next to you. Hoping it’s not some random, you look to your left to be meet with Gibbs. 

“Didn’t take you for a bourbon girl.” He notes, ordering himself a glass. 

“Correction, bourbon woman.” You point a finger at him, laughing as he rolls his eyes. “My mistake, y/n.” He adds, and there’s a subtle warmth to his tone, like your name was meant to roll off his tongue. There’s a moment of silence before you speak. “Where’s your little lady friend?” His head turns to you and you shrug. “I thought she was coming.” You sip your glass, eyes not moving to glance at him as you finish your sentence. There’s an edge to your voice, and you’re pretty sure Gibbs notices this, but he doesn’t seem to say anything. 

“I’m not seeing her anymore.” he says, signaling the bartender for another round, which you gladly accept, gulping down the amber liquid, not even realizing the agonizing burn in your throat. 

“Oh,” was all you said, and you were glad because while you knew she was Gibbs type, she was uptight and needy, as if she wasn’t her own person without Gibbs. You knew Gibbs’ type. Laidback, easy on the eyes, independent and strong. All things you knew you were yet he still never made a move, insert rule number twelve. 

———————————————————————————————————-

You were on your fourth bourbon and you were edging drunk, but still managed to have your coordination and your voice never slurred. Your arms brushed against Gibbs’ a little, and he got a hint of your perfume; smoky, with a singe of vanilla at the end. You smelled like a warm campfire, and God help him if he didn’t get a little stiff in his pants. 

You stared at him, looking deep into his steely blue eyes and you think back to all the missed lunch dates with him, the flirtatious glances and remarks, his hand brushing against your lower back as he passes you in the office, everything single thing he does, it bothers you because you can’t tell him how you feel because of that fucking rule #12. 

“You know, Gibbs...” You start, “I have to get something off my chest.”

His head turns to you, “Okay.” 

You took a deep breath, letting it out as you spoke. “For a while, I was quiet and apprehensive towards you. It wasn’t because I feared you, but because I respected your work ethic and your boundaries. It wasn’t until we started to go out to lunch together, talking about our daily lives and getting to know each other as more than boss and employee.” You look at him, and find him gazing intently at you. You clear your throat again. “I’m in love with you. All of you, Jethro. You make me feel things that I haven’t felt since my junior year in college. I know about rule number twelve, and if that’s something you can’t break, then consider me gone from this team and you won’t see me again.” A tear slips from your eye, and you quickly wipe it away. 

“How long have you felt this way?” he asks, and you knew you were screwed once you tell him. You were silent, but begrudgingly answer. “Ever since I joined.”

It’s painfully silent, you could hear a pin drop. Your heart breaks when Gibbs gets up from the table, and leaves you to sulk in your bourbon.

[justnerdthings]

New Beginnings Ch. 3

Female reader x Liu Kang/Kung Lao (Not sure which yet)

Wow, guys. Thanks so much for all your kind words, favorites, reblogs, and follows! I didn't think this fic would do well. But I'm glad I was wrong!

Someone had asked about being added to a tag list for updates. I'm certainly willing to add one! Let me know if you'd like to be tagged for future updates. I'll try and make sure I get everyone.

Without further ado, here's the much requested chapter 3!

You didn't sleep worth a damn that night. Not only was your anxiety running wild, but it gave you nightmares of being killed in fights your subconscious conjured up by remembering what Raiden told you about Mortal Kombat.

That… And this wasn't your bed.

You managed to fall asleep early into the morning.

A harsh knock banged on your door. You nearly jumped out of your skin as it woke you. Wide-eyed, you sat straight up in your bed and watched the door as if it was about to attack you.

Another harsh knock startled you. Quickly you got to your feet and answered the door. Kung Lao stood in front of you, an impatient look on his face. A large black, brimmed hat was on his head… was it made of metal? "Put on a gi," he ordered.

Your brows bunched.

One of his brows rose quizzically.

"What?" You said. You could feel how dry your throat was. God, you needed a drink.

Lao inhaled sharply. With a nod he gestured vaguely for you to step back. You did, and he stepped past you to the wooden chest at the foot of your bed. With a swift kick the top swung open. You stepped over to look inside and saw a small selection of clothes, very plain, but similar to Lao's and Liu's that you remembered. There was also a long, simple gown that you guessed was for sleeping. That would have been nice to know about last night. Lao reached in and pulled out a gi. He tossed it on your bed. "That is a gi," he told you, turning his attention back to you. "Put this on, then step outside into the hall. I'm training you this morning."

You brushed a hand through your hair and realized it was a mess. Bed head. Your fingers tried combing out the knots as you looked at him. "When's breakfast?" You asked. Really. Food sounded good. You hardly ate last night.

"After your morning training," Lao said.

"Why after?"

"Because it is. Wake up. Train first. Then breakfast. Then train again. Lunch. Train. Dinner," he listed off. "After dinner you can do whatever you like, but you'd be wise to rest up. You're going to be sore."

Your jaw hurt as it clenched. "Everyday?"

"Everyday."

"Even weekends?"

"Everyday," he repeated sternly.

You almost groaned.

"Unless you'd rather give up and go home?" He mocked.

God, would you. Home sounded great.

But you were needed here. Raiden needed your help to fight Shang Tsung. Sure, you were useless right now. And sure, he gave you a choice to not be involved, but Raiden had been able to paint a very real picture of what Earth would be like if Shang won Mortal Kombat just one more time… Earth would be destroyed. Everything gone. You. Your home. Everyone.

"No," you said. "No, Raiden wants my help… Can't exactly tell a god ‘no.’" Was that defeat in your tone?

"Good. Now change," Lao said as he turned and stepped out of your room, closing the door behind him.

It only took you a minute to get changed. The gi felt strange. You weren’t used to such loose clothing, but you did like that it let your body breathe. Stepping out into the hall, you saw Lao leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. He looked you up and down, then nodded in approval before turning and walking down the hall. You followed, but kept your distance.

“Can I get something to drink?” You decided to ask after a moment of silence.

“We’ll have water there,” He said, glancing back at you.

“Is Liu going to be there?” You asked.

“Already don’t like me?” Lao asked.

“He’s just not an asshole to me,” you quipped, and immediately regretted it as Lao stopped in his tracks. Goosebumps covered your arms and neck.

“I’ve been called worse,” He simply said and continued walking.

A relieved breath escaped you. You saw that going differently in your head. You expected some shouting. But he just… accepted it.

The rest of the walk was in silence as he led you to an open area, sand covering the ground, pillars to the left and right. An array of training dummies and tools were placed around the sand. This was a fighting arena, you realized. And it had a view...

You slowed your pace. Oh no. Not a view. And this one didn’t have any sort of railing. It just dropped off! Oooh fuck this, you thought and stepped back even though the ledge was about a hundred feet away.

“Come here!” Lao called over as he stood in the center of the arena.

You didn’t move. Moving to him would put you closer to the ledge. No way.

But he grew impatient again. His voice raised and it echoed through the ravine. "COME. HERE!"

Those goosebumps came back. Hesitating, you slowly made your way over to him.

"Good. Sit."

You did. Right in the sand. Lao took his hat off and swung it down. You jumped as he made a deep line in the sand not even an inch from you. The sound of metal grating the sand sent a shiver through you.

"This is Lord Raiden’s arena. Each day you will step closer to that ledge," he said, not having to point to it. "You will learn to meditate and control your fear until you can sit on that edge comfortably."

Oh no.

"Are you ready?” He asked.

“No…”

“Good.” It was like he heard you say ‘yes’ instead. You groaned and he slipped his hat back on his head and secured the strap under his chin. “Sit with your legs crossed. Like Buddah.”

You moved your legs, sitting as you knew ‘criss-cross applesauce,’ but Buddah style did sound more mature.

“Close your eyes, straighten your back, and rest your hands on your knees.”

You did, but felt him close in on you, then his hand on your shoulder. Goosebumps again. A knot in your stomach. Grip firm, he pulled you back slightly, straightening you out more. You opened one eye to glance up at him, seeing a focused look to his eyes as he critiqued your posture silently. His eyes then shifted to your open one.

“Close your eyes,” he repeated. That impatient tone returned.

You did. You felt him step away.

“What do you see?”

“What?” Your eyes were closed. You saw nothing! What kind of question was—

“What do you see?”

“Nothing,” You said in annoyance.

“Do you see the ledge?”

You hesitated. “No.”

“It’s about seventy feet away from you.”

Your jaw stiffened.

“The drop is miles deep.”

Your fingers curled into your knees.

“If you'd fall off, you’d die.”

You took a shaky breath as panic began building in the pit of your stomach. That’s when you remembered you didn’t have your anxiety medication here… wherever here was.

“These are facts. There is nothing you can do about them.”

Now came that helpless feeling.

“Relax.”

You couldn’t. The images of the ravine, the ledge, and you falling to your death were flashing in your mind.

“Relax,” Lao repeated and you could feel him come closer again.

“I can’t,” You admitted.

“You can.”

“No, I can’t.”

“Stop thinking about it.”

“I can’t.”

“You can.”

“I can’t.” Your tone became defiant. You could feel a presence circle you slowly.

“Focus on the sand under you. The wind as it blows around you. My voice. You are not falling. You are sitting on the ground. Safe.”

You tried. You really did. But the ledge had its grip on your attention.

“What are you doing?”

“Freaking out…”

“What are you doing?”

You hesitated. “Sitting in the sand.”

“Are you falling?”

“No.”

“Are you going to fall?”

“No.”

“Breathe.”

You took a hard, deep breath.

“Feel the air fill your lungs then leave as you slowly exhale. Feel your chest expand and contract. Focus on what’s real.”

You took another breath, and did your best to breathe out slowly. It still shook.

“Keep going until I tell you to stop.”

You took another breath. You kept taking breaths. You kept trying to focus on the air and your chest, and not the death trap this arena was with an open ledge into the ravine. Would you even feel it when you hit the bottom? Or would you die in mid-fall?

Lao tapped your shoulder. “Focus.” He must have noticed. You weren’t sure how long it’d been. You’d gotten tapped, reminded, and straightened several times. But by now, your breath wasn’t shaking anymore. You could swear your lungs had grown. Your breaths were deeper as you fought to focus. You could even feel the heat of the rising sun kiss your face and arms. Eventually, the ledge faded away from your mind and Kung Lao told you to stop.

“Open your eyes.”

You did. A blue-ish hue tinted the world as your eyes adjusted to the light.

“Relax.”

You let your back slouch again and stretched your fingers out.

“How do you feel?”

“Stiff.” You cracked your knuckles and rolled your shoulders and neck.

“Get up. Stretch.”

You rose to your feet and rubbed your face. Turning around to face him, you stretched your arms behind your head. He was sitting on the steps leading to the sand pit, leaning back against a pillar, very much relaxed as he watched you. You had been out here in the middle of the arena all by yourself. For how long, you weren’t sure. Turning back around, you looked out at the ravine.

“Scared?” Lao asked, not moving from the steps.

Weirdly, not so much. “Not as much…”

“Good. Tomorrow morning you will be a step closer. We’ll do this again.”

“Until I’m out there…” You looked at the very edge and imagined sitting there, knees almost hanging off the ledge, alone… What if a strong wind blew you over? What if he tried to straighten you up but accidentally pushed you? Oh, there was that panic again. You turned away, breath starting to shake again as you hurried towards the safety of the steps.

Lao had watched you. He noticed your breath shake again even from several feet away. You’d almost thrown yourself into another panic. “Breathe,” he coached. “You got a while before you’re there.”

You nodded. He was right. He’d said you were about seventy feet from the edge. If you only took a step closer each day, that meant it was about sixty days away. Give or take. Okay. Two months. Two months sounded do-able. You pulled your shoulders back tight. Your upper spine cracked and popped with tension. You’d feel better once you got away from here.

“Thirsty?”

You looked over to him and he pointed up the stairs. Following his gesture, you found a clay pitcher and cups on a table. You’d forgotten just how thirsty you were, and now your throat felt sore.

After climbing the steps, you poured yourself some water and felt it rush all the way down to your empty stomach.

“You’re horrible at meditation,” Lao said, breaking the silence.

You looked back at him.

He just grinned at you.

You rolled your eyes and turned away. Of course you were horrible at it. It was your first time and you were in the middle of a panic attack. Breakfast. Finally. Lao sat in his usual spot at the table. You sat across from him and looked at the array of food already set out. It was mostly vegetables and proteins… though no actual meat. Right, you thought. Monks. Monks were vegetarians weren’t they? Well… At least there were some eggs. You reached for the simple white rice to start off your plate.

“Take it easy on the rice,” Lao ordered, which made you look up to him with confusion. “Focus on vegetables and protein. You need to get into shape.”

Did he just call you fat? You glared at him, but it did nothing to move the critical look from his face. With an annoyed sigh, you slid some of the rice off your plate and back into the bowl. You looked back to him, as if to ask for some much unwanted approval. He nodded. You then filled your plate with vegetables and poached eggs. You didn’t care much for tofu or beans, so you ignored them.

“I’d kill for some pancakes,” you unknowingly whispered under your breath.

“If you kill Shang Tsung, I’ll get you all the pancakes you want,” Lao said, jarring you.

“Oh... Didn’t mean to say that out loud,” You admitted sheepishly.

“Offer still stands.”

You glanced to him and couldn’t help the grin that pulled your lips. Hearing the door open, your smile faded and you turned to look behind you. Liu Kang had walked in, flushed, face and arms glistening with sweat. He offered you a smile before sitting next to you.

“Good morning,” He said, not wasting time in filling his plate.

“‘Morning,” You greeted and watched him fill his plate with rice and beans. A bit of vegetables.

You looked back to Lao with furrowed brows. How come Liu could eat all the carbs?

Lao noticed your fuss. He pointed his chopsticks at Liu, but looked at you. “He needs the energy.”

Liu, lost, looked up, then to you, then back to Lao.

“I told her to take it easy on the rice,” Lao explained.

“Ah,” Liu nodded. The gentleman that he was, he didn’t comment on your weight, but you felt it. Okay, you weren’t in the best shape. You didn’t have the six or eight packs you figured they had. But you weren’t fat… Right?

You looked down at your stomach, hidden under the baggy gi, and folded an arm over it tightly in a futile effort to hide it.

“Being a nurse, I’d think you’d know about nutrition,” Lao judged, mouth full.

You huffed. You got it. You were fat. Okay. Shut up, Lao. “Being a nurse, I hardly have the time to cook for myself,” You defended.

“Lucky for you, you don’t have to cook here. The monks will. Shouldn’t be an issue anymore. No excuses,” Lao said.

“Yeah… Lucky me,” You said, still annoyed. You began to eat, starting with the vegetables.

Liu, again being the saint he was, had decided to change the subject. “How was morning meditation?”

When you didn’t say anything, Lao answered for you. “Fine.”

That caught you off guard. Fine? He told you you were horrible!

“Really?” Liu’s interest was piqued.

“Her posture needs work, and her mind isn’t yet disciplined enough. But she did fine.”

“That’s great.” Liu looked to you.

You bit your tongue, but couldn’t hold it. “You said I was horrible,” you said to Lao.

Lao grinned and filled his mouth with food.

What was this? A give and take? Or take and give? Tell you you’re horrible, then say you were fine?

“I’m sure he was only kidding,” Liu suggested.

“Was I?” Lao questioned with an inflection, which earned him a stern look from Liu. Lao’s grin only grew.

Liu sighed in accepted defeat. “How did you sleep, Y/N?”

“Awful,” you answered quickly.

“Oh?” Liu frowned.

“Yeah.”

“Anxiety?” Liu asked.

You nodded. “And nightmares. And it wasn’t my bed. Always takes me a while to get used to a new bed.”

“Well, yesterday must have been stressful enough,” Liu reasoned.

“Bit of an understatement,” You mumbled before filling your mouth.

“Did you decide if you were going to stay?”

Lao answered before you could swallow. “She’s staying.”

Liu looked so relieved to hear that, but looked back to you for confirmation. “Is that true?”

You nodded.

A smile came to his face, the smile you liked. So sincere. So real. “Thank you.”

You looked to your food. You didn't feel much like talking anymore as thoughts raced through your mind. Now it was concrete. You were staying. You were crazy, but you were staying. Liu was training you now. This was a different arena. It had a view, but the walls were high enough that you didn’t mind. Still sand on the ground, it looked like a smaller version of the colosseum… but without the thousands of seats surrounding you, and more oblong. A huge statue of Raiden sat off to the side, just outside the arena, in a fighting stance seeming to watch your every move. On the other side, some other statue, ready to fight Raiden. You quickly realised they were two parts of a monument. Some fight that had happened. Who won, you wondered.

“Time to test your might,” Liu said.

“What?” you turned away from the statues to look at him.

“Have you ever had lessons in self defense?”

“Uh. No. Not really. Remember? No experience.”

He nodded and walked over to you. So you were starting at square one. He could handle that. “Try and hit me,” He told you.

“What? No.” You stared at him as if he was crazy.

“The best way to learn is to practice. And the best way for me to gauge just what you can do is for you to try and hit me.”

“I’m not going to hit you, Liu.”

“And what do you intend to do when Mortal Kombat begins?”

Okay. You had to admit. He had you there. You wouldn’t be much use if you couldn’t fight. You sighed in your defeat and looked him over. He took no particular stance. He just stood there, eyes locked on you.

Okay. You could do this. Not like you could hurt him. You doubted you could hit that hard anyway. Without much warning, you swung a fist. Unsurprising, he dodged it easily. You swung again. He dodged. You tried a kick. He blocked. You still weren’t surprised, but after a few more attempts, you were getting annoyed.

“I can’t hit you if you keep moving,” You hissed.

“Do you expect Shang Tsung’s fighters to just stand still and let you hit them?”

Again, he had a point. You kept trying. You kept failing.

“Keep going,” Liu coached gently as he gracefully dodged your futile attacks.

You took turns pushing each other across the sand pit. You would push him to one end, then he would take the offensive, and you would dodge, backing you up to the other end. You knew he wasn’t really trying, he hadn’t even broken a sweat while you were sure you dripping. Eventually you stopped. You walked away and gave him a ‘time-out’ sign as you leaned back against a wall. Heavy breath after heavy breath came out of you. You really were out of shape. Fuck it. You gestured your forfeit vaguely as Liu walked towards you.

“Not bad,” He offered.

A single, exhausted, “Ha!” escaped you. Yeah right. You were awful.

“You’ll get better.”

“Maybe in a hundred years,” you only half joked.

“If you stay determined,” He joked back. It earned him another laugh from you and he smiled in that small victory. “Between myself and Lao, you’ll be in shape within a few months.”

“If you two don’t kill me in the process.” Again, only a half joke.

“I assure you, we will not kill you,” He said, that sincerity in his voice. “However, you may feel as though we have.” That wasn’t a joke.

You groaned. You already felt that. “Can I just go back to meditating? I can handle that.”

“I think you deserve a small rest. We can meditate until your breathing comes down,” He’d accepted and gracefully fell to the sand. His legs went into the Buddah-like position, but instead of his hands on his knees, he held one up as if to pray and the other gripped the prayer beads that hung from his wrist.

You slid down the wall and positioned your legs. Your hands went to your knees, and you leaned on them. Liu didn’t seem to mind that your posture wasn’t correct, and you were thankful for it. You just allowed yourself to relax and closed your eyes.

Alright, you thought. You remembered what Lao had told you only a few hours earlier. Focus on what’s real. The sand. The wind. The air in your lungs. Breathe. And you did. You focused on all of it… Which quickly backfired.

Okay. Focus on one thing. You focused on the air. It was so dry. It was dry earlier too, but you’d forgotten during breakfast. Were you in a desert? The Sahara? Would explain the quietness of the place. And come to think of it, you hadn’t even seen a plane in the sky since you got here. Where did the water you’d been drinking come from? It had to come from somewhere. The ground? Maybe there was a well here. Where? But wait, you had a bathroom in your room. It didn’t have a tub or shower, but the toilet and sink did work. Was there plumbing? There had to be if the sink and toilet worked.

“Your mind is wandering,” Liu said softly, bringing you out of your thoughts.

“Yeah,” You answered, keeping your eyes closed. You straightened up. “Sorry.”

“What were you thinking about?” He asked curiously.

“Nothing. It’s fine. Sorry.”

“Tell me,” he pushed gently.

You breathed a laugh nervously. Well, if he insisted... “Just wondering if there was plumbing in this place.”

Liu didn’t say anything for a good minute, which prompted a knot to build in your stomach. God, you were stupid.

Then you heard a soft laugh. You opened your eyes to see Liu chuckling to himself. That knot melted away along with some tension in your shoulders. You smiled, then shared in the laugh. @miss-nori85