#i personally don’t like the sensation of having to chew my drink but it still tasted good

[dragonanon]

If you live in the puget sound area or happen to be visiting/passing through, please for the love of god go the 85°C bakery at least once. It’s this Taiwanese bakery cafe chain that makes absolutely LEGENDARY pastries and cakes. I just ate this white chocolate strawberry bun, and that shit tasted like magic.

[delirious-donna]

Best Laid Plans [Part Two]

“Ah. Your timing could not be more perfect, Levi. I assume you heard my offer and felt compelled to interject personally?” Erwin surmised with a knowing smile. Levi wished he could knock his teeth in. 

story summary: Levi isn’t hungry, or so that’s what he claims. A vampire must drink to survive, and his sire refuses to let the man give up without trying every trick up his sleeve. When a new ‘donor’ appears, one who is different from all the rest, will Levi be able to keep resisting?

pairing: Levi Ackerman (vampire) x female reader (human)

warnings: nothing really just vampire antics and allusions to mysteries in both the reader's and Levi's life and backstory, SFW, this is a slow chapter but it is setting up plot points so please bear with me, Erwin is so calculating and I love it...

Part One | Masterlist | Read on AO3 | Part Three

“What does it mean if your blood sings?” 

The question pierced through the oppressive silence like a thorn pricking fresh, unblemished skin. Two sets of eyes fixed on your huddled figure in the back seat of the car, Hange at your side and the driver through the reflection of the rearview mirror.  

You had always wondered why the myth of vampires casting no reflections was so prevalent when it wasn’t true, but now wasn’t the time to dissect the nuances of vampire lore.  

If their expressions alone were not enough to tell you that they were uneasy, then the short sharp gasp from Hange’s throat surely did. 

“Is that… did he say that your blood was singing?” Hange finally asked, humourless and at full alert. 

You chewed at your fingernails, a habit you hadn’t indulged in years, and slowly nodded. The weight of the driver’s eyes felt uncomfortable, forcing you to curl further into yourself to hide from his penetrating stare. Hot fear trickled down your spine, the sense that perhaps you shouldn’t have voiced your question was overwhelming. You felt foolish for speaking at all. It served as a reminder that whilst you had been met with nothing but kindness, these people were not your friends. 

“We have to report this,” the driver said directly to Hange. 

“Hold your horse, Miche! Stop acting so whipped. It might be a simple misunderstanding.” The brunette turned their body towards you, slowly reaching for your hand like you might do to a fearful child. “Can you tell me exactly what Levi said?” 

Their touch was cool, and a tingling sensation spread from your fingertips right through your hand and up your arm. Your mind hushed; the overabundance of noise shooed towards the periphery of your conscious as if soothed by the physical connection. In your right mind, you might have questioned if something else was at play, but the thought was so far removed that all you could think about was the man you had been reluctant to leave behind. 

His stern face was imprinted behind your eyelids so that each time you blinked, he flashed back at you with those grey mercurial eyes swirling ominously. The words were so clear in your memory that it felt like you were still living in that moment, his voice so ragged with rage and what felt like fear that you wanted to run… but in which direction? The shift had been sudden, so completely unexpected and you didn’t know why you had any emotions other than terror when you knew nothing about him. 

“He said… ‘your blood, it’s singing to me.’ I don’t know what he meant but he looked terrified by it. Is that not normal? Is there something wrong with me? With my blood?” 

Panic rose along with bile in your throat. Memories flashed behind your eyes and threatened to consume you. Images of hospital wards along with sensory overload, the smell of antiseptic and death, the sound of constant beeping machines and the harsh glare of fluorescent white strip lighting. It was not the time and place to be succumbing to your worst memories, you were not as safe as they wanted you to feel.  

Your fingertips dug harshly into the meat of your palms, deeper and deeper until you could concentrate on the pain of nails embedding sharply into skin. 

Hange stared at you intently.  

Little did you know that their heart was jumping wildly in their chest from the excitement of what this could mean. Unlike Levi, they recalled the stories of old that Erwin would regale them with and the wistful expression he would wear whilst speaking. If what they remembered was true, this discovery could be monumental, and not just for Levi—though he likely didn’t realise either way—but for every vampire. 

The balance of power would be disrupted, of that they were certain. The scientific part of their brain was loathe to discuss it so soon with Erwin, despite Miche’s immediate inclination to do so. Wouldn’t it be far more intriguing to let events play out just for a smidge longer...? To tease out more information that was very likely being held close to the chest right now. It would be naïve to think that Erwin didn’t already have some inkling, especially when thinking back to just how pleased he had seemed when you walked willingly into their world. Right now, it was important to settle your anxieties. 

“Hey, don’t worry. Your blood is fine. You are fine, more than fine! Let’s get you back to the estate and to your quarters, I’ll even call ahead and have a bath waiting for you. I think a nice hot soak will help you clear your head.” 

Hange was already lifting the phone to their ear, listening to the dial tone whilst you stammered and hiccupped about not wanting to be a bother. Their eyes rolled over and there was a sense of deflation at your meek display. Levi would walk all over you if given half the chance, or at least send you running for the hills if he was feeling magnanimous.  

Where was the strong woman from earlier? The one who had squared their shoulders and walked towards their fate with head held high and not a falter in their heart rate. Ten minutes in the presence of Levi Ackerman had reduced you to the mass of nerves sitting beside them, and they scowled at that fool of a man. 

~ 

He didn’t know what to do with himself. He supposed there wasn’t much he could do, not without crawling back to his master and he was loathe to do so. It would prove that he needed Erwin Smith and there was not a single desire in his body to let that be proved true. 

Levi paced the width of the room, and every pace increased his frustration, confusion and annoyingly, his curiosity. He could still smell you in the room, if he closed his eyes, he could believe you were still here, still sat with that impossibly brave demeanour cloaking your true feelings and those inquisitive eyes. 

There was a vein of trepidation in his wandering mind… could you know more than you let on? Perhaps you were in cahoots with that bastard to bring him to his knees like he wanted but could not achieve on his own. 

No. 

Your expression when he spoke of the song of your blood was truly innocent, or at least, innocent in this particular matter. A fear that mirrored his own reflected back from your eyes and absolved you of the sin of knowledge. Levi couldn’t or wouldn’t admit to why this soothed him. It shouldn’t hold any weight, but it did. It did. 

He pushed a hand, trembling with barely restrained fury, through his hair and growled aloud as he strode back to his desk. The phone he hated to use was in his hand, the number imprinted on his memory punched out without thought and with two short rings, it clicked over to a commanding baritone that sent nails down a chalkboard in his head. 

“I’m surprised it took you this long, Levi. Your restraint is to be marvelled, if not exactly admired.” 

Levi counted silently, biting down hard on his tongue to stop himself from making demands that he might come to regret. If Erwin were to find out that he had exploded at the thought of his sire tasting your blood… well… he would use that information against him and leverage it for Levi’s cooperation and return to the fold. 

“Shall I continue to talk, and you simply listen? Doesn’t sound very fun for me,” Erwin continued. 

“Bullshit. You’ve always loved the sound of your own voice,” Levi countered with a hiss. He couldn’t stand the humour filling Erwin’s words when he felt like his insides were being ripped apart. 

“Come now… there is no need for foul language.” 

The sound of Erwin reclining in his chair painted the image vividly through Levi’s mind down to every minute detail. He may as well be in that office, the one he had been in so many times he couldn’t count. The scent of ink wafted through his nose, followed by traces of cloves and honeysuckle from the gladiolus adorning every windowsill. 

Levi gritted his teeth and exhaled deeply through his nose. “You expected my call, why?” 

“Isn’t it obvious?” Erwin chirped merrily. 

“Answer the fu—” He paused to reel in his temper. “Answer the question.” 

“She’s special, I guess you noticed it too given your reaction. Did she taste as sweet as I thought she might?” Erwin asked with more than a hint of genuine curiosity that had Levi pausing in his tracks. 

Erwin hadn’t tasted her. He wished desperately that the sense of relief flooding his system didn’t toll his own doom, but he could ponder that foreboding thought later. Without realising, he had slumped into his chair. Every muscle eased as the high alert drained out of his body and left behind the hunger that was now so potent he could barely move a finger without the ache snapping to life with a bark. 

“I wouldn’t know,” Levi admitted sullenly. 

There was a clatter on the other side of the line. “You resisted again? Are you out of your mind? I don’t know what the hell to say… Levi, do you know what someone would pay to sample a donor that unique?” 

“Will you shut up? I’ve told you that I don’t want to do this anymore. I’m not some young brat that you need to haul back into line and you of all people should know that.” Silence met him, heavy and meaningful. After a beat, he added a concession. “Not that I really got the chance anyway, she was escorted rather hastily out of my home by your lackeys.” 

At that moment, there was a faint knocking on Erwin’s side of the conversation and Levi held his breath when Hange’s voice drifted into his ear. They gave a very brief rundown of what had transpired, far briefer than Levi deserved given how recklessly he had acted. He was busy wondering what Hange was up to when your voice piped up and his body jolted upright. 

“Did he hurt you, my dear? He can be rather coarse, and I apologise for not warning you thoroughly,” Erwin enthused. Levi wanted to scoff but he had the feeling that no one in the room knew he was listening in except for Erwin. 

“No no! You misunderstand… he didn’t do anything wrong. I-I think maybe he doesn’t like me, that’s all. Perhaps I’m not the match you believed me to be.” 

Levi wanted to grab you by the shoulders and shake you. Why the fuck were you covering for his actions? They were inappropriate and you should be doing everything in your power to be kept away from him and here you were… protecting him. Stupid human. 

“Oh, is that right? Well… I think Levi liked you much more than he expected to and that scared him. I urge you not to hold that against him, he has been trying to starve himself this past month and the hunger can be overpowering, even for us old-timers.” 

“Hm. That makes sense, I guess. May I ask—why is he not feeding? Is he sick?” you asked with a thread of worry in your tone that wound around Levi’s withering heart. It pulled tighter and tighter with every faint thump the dying organ gave. 

Erwin made a noncommittal noise, and Levi could practically envisage the shoulder shrug that more than likely accompanied it. Vampire politics were rarely up for discussion amongst vampires, even less so with donors, no matter how special they might or might not be. 

“That might be a question for the man himself. However, since you seem unsure of his interest, I must ask if you would consider being a donor for someone else in my clan? I would hate to see a good investment go to waste…” 

The bastard! 

Levi shadowstepped without realising. 

His focus on Erwin’s voice would always be enough to tether him to his location and he stopped short of stalking towards the much taller man with murder in his eyes only by the surprised scream that you gave at his sudden appearance. 

“Ah. Your timing could not be more perfect, Levi. I assume you heard my offer and felt compelled to interject personally?” Erwin surmised with a knowing smile. Levi wished he could knock his teeth in. 

“You-you were listening?” you asked, eyes scanning around the room but continually returning to Levi and searching his eyes. 

He turned to face you directly, ignoring the jab at his expense in favour of wrestling his temper into submission. The song of your blood started immediately this time. Unlike the first meeting when it hadn’t been initially apparent, now it resonated in his ears and calmed the worst of his ire.  

You were doing everything in your mortal power to not look scared and that both annoyed and pleased him. He had seen far less foolish humans be eaten alive by the predators he considered his kin, and he doubted you understood how dangerous this situation could be. 

Levi hadn’t dared to mention the blood singing to his sire for fear that the information would be used against him, or worse that it would bring harm to his or your door. He hoped you wouldn’t have mentioned it to anyone either, but he couldn’t know for sure until he had the opportunity to speak with Hange and Miche, who were both surprisingly absent.  

For now, he could only pretend not to hear its sweet melody—a torturous task when all he wanted to do was reach out and pull you into his arms so he could run his nose along the thumping pulse in your neck. 

“I must apologise once more. I thought I had disconnected our phone call but apparently, I was careless,” Erwin lied easily. “Levi called me because he was concerned for your welfare, isn’t that right?” The blond turned to Levi, his artic blue eyes twinkling with the challenge to defy him. 

The desire to choke him out was palpable, his fingers twitching whilst they curled into tight fists and then flexed loose. He hated to be baited like this. Erwin knew this, of course, he did. More than a couple of centuries together would teach you a thing or two even if you weren’t as infamously observant as Erwin Smith. 

Levi swallowed his pride and called out your name, the syllables melding together on his tongue like a lover’s caress. “I should be the one apologising. As you have been informed,” he glanced towards Erwin who had moved back towards his desk to give the two of you the illusion of space, “I haven’t been eating for some time and my emotions got the better of me.” 

“It’s okay… no one got hurt and—” 

“Whether or not someone got hurt is beside the point.” Levi pinched the bridge of his nose. “I acted rashly, and you deserve far better than that. Would you allow me a second chance to get to know you before I decide if you are a good fit as my donor?” 

You paused, mouth forming a perfect oval and the rogue thought of placing his finger inside to feel the warm velvet of your tongue struck across his conscious like a lightning bolt. He wanted you. He didn’t want you. He wanted to push you away so hard that you would never dare to approach him again. He wanted to bring you into the safety of his arms to protect you until your dying day.  

It was too much, and the confusion was the worst of it. 

“I think I’d like that,” you sighed breathlessly, the skin of your décolleté heating from the sudden rush of blood to the surface and that was the final straw. 

“Until then, goodnight.” 

Levi shadowstepped before you or Erwin could think to stop him. He walked the hallways towards his bedroom and thought about that smug bastard’s face with every heavy stomp of his foot against the carpet. Whilst the idea of leaving you there with him made his blood boil, it was for the best. He couldn’t afford another outburst when things were so precarious. 

Inside his bedroom, he went to his private collection of books and pulled out a stack for research. He needed to know everything he possibly could about blood singing before Erwin caught wind of the situation. If there was a way out of this predicament then he needed to know and fast, because he would be damned if his carefully laid plans were going to be destroyed this easily, and yet… 

The best-laid plans of mice and men so often go astray. 

[daryascurse]

𝘎𝘰𝘥 𝘉𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘔𝘦, 𝘐𝘵'𝘴 𝘚𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘦𝘳

Nicholas D. Wolfwood x Reader

“Open up.”

Your lips part. Nick slides the popsicle into your mouth. Your tongue curls, cradling the sudden cold sensation. Nick’s breath is close enough to feel in warm ghosting over your nose, and the moment is frozen for a moment. He drinks you in the same – eyes wavering with each twitch of your lips around the popsicle, the flare of your nostrils as your breath grows thin.

Nick’s grin splits again, too wide for his face. His fingers tense, and he pushes it to the back of your mouth.

Your breath is choked out of you in a moan, your throat cold and closed. The sweet, sticky juice is already beginning to gloss over your lips, threatening to run down your chin.

“You wanna suck? Choke on it?”

ice cream truck driver!Wolfwood for @bastardblvd slimeball town hall event! 🥰 ɴꜱꜰᴡ | ᴍɪɴᴏʀꜱ ᴅɴɪ ✧ pov : second person, AFAB reader, nongendered pronouns ("sweetheart" used as an endearment) ✧ tags: modern au, smut, smoking, choking, love bites, oraI (fem. receiving), fingering, finger sucking, creampie ✧ word count: ~4.7k ✧ ao3 link ✧ recommended mood playlist: raspberry cake

I have a very strict adult-only interaction policy. Ageless, blank, and clearly minor-run blogs that interact will be blocked. If you have questions about what that means, please read the byf in my pinned post.

It had been your first thought – with a wrinkle of your nose shifting the veil of your sunglasses over your eyes; that there’s no way this is sanitary. Maybe the families at the park know it too, with all the laughter and shrieks contained to the playground. You’re the only one on this part of the field. It’s probably because an ice cream truck shouldn’t smell like smoke.

And any smoke coming from a vehicle is bad, but it’s cigarette smoke.

The man inside the ice cream truck rests his elbows on the counter, chewing the end of a cigarette that burns down slowly, bringing the acrid smell of tobacco through the air with it. You slide your sunglasses down as you step into the shade of the truck’s overhang, and squint up at him. “Should you be doing that around food?”

“Quiet,” he says, barely flitting his glazed-over gaze down over you. “You’ll scare away all my customers.”

The smoke drifting away turns blue in the streams of sunlight. The roll of the ground is hard under your feet, the white walls of the ice cream truck blinding and peppered with faded photographs advertising the wares within.

“Anyway,” he says with a slight cough rolling into the first syllable, “most of it’s prepackaged.”

“Most?”

He pulls the cigarette from his mouth, smacks the back of his hand still holding the stub against a paper sign taped to the sliding window. Fresh fruit smoothies! “Strawberries and stuff in the fridge.”

“Then smoking’s definitely not okay. Haven’t you heard of cross-contamination? Don’t they train you on things like that?”

You don’t know why you’re suddenly pretending to be an expert on food safety, but he seems to enjoy it. At the very least, he’s intrigued.

“’S why I’m smoking over here away from the fridge,” he says, just as fast. He flicks the smoldering cigarette butt down by your feet and grins at you. “Who are you to tell me how to do my job, anyway?”

His smile is white, sharp. His dark bangs are forced flat against his forehead under a jaunty white cap that, just like the rest of the uniform, must be one-size-fits-all. The crisp white short-sleeved button-up shirt pinches at his shoulders, falls too boxy below his moving arms as far as you can see. It has a nametag pinned lopsidedly on it, with a square too narrow and handwriting too thick to fit what he had clearly set out to Sharpie in – NICH must suffice. And all in all, it brings a smile to your own face.

The visual scan, the appreciation of his appearance, has somewhat distracted you from the fact that he’s whipped out another cigarette. The hiss of a lighter is sharp. His lips close around it.

“A concerned consumer,” you say. He eyes you, sharp brows furrowed ever so slightly in careful, focused study.

“Well, concerned consumer, what are you consuming? You want a popsicle? Ice cream bar? Sandwich?”

“What do you recommend?”

He exhales white smoke. “For you?”

There’s a soft musicality in the way he asks the question, the two words singing, dancing into each other. For…you? He looks you up and down. You roll your shoulders, straightening your back without thinking. He slides his jaw as he breaks into another smile. The cigarette rolls between his teeth.

“Fuck the smoothies. I’m running a new special,” He says. He suddenly pulls the cigarette out of his mouth, new as it is, and stubs it into the side of the van before tossing it out to land at your feet. “Come round back, if you want something really good.”

He slides the window shut before you can say anything else. A moment later, grunting metal heaves around the corner of the ice cream truck, and the back door unlatches.

“Are you hiding all the good treats back here?” you say, twisting your lips and tracing your finger over the pasted images of ice cream cones on the door as you step up into the truck. There’s a dalmatian print of what you now realize must be other cigarette stubs and burns along the outer handle.

“I have a secret menu for special customers.”

You surreptitiously shut the door, making a decision without consciously thinking of it. When you turn back, he’s looking at your hand on the latch with an amused expression playing across his face.

It’s a small space, made smaller by his frame echoed in every silver, mirrored surface. Even with strewn paper cups and open canisters of whipped cream, it appears cleaner than you would have imagined. He rests broad hands on counters lining either side of the gutted truck, hunched in the narrow aisle between the chrome freezers. He drums his fingers, the sound dull thuds. He’s broad, taller even than the height difference from the window to the grass seemed.

He’s so hot.

He points to his nametag. “Call me Nicholas. Or Nick,” he says.

“What’s on this special, secret menu, Nick?” you ask.

Nick reaches up with a hand, scratches his forehead where the brim of his hat meets skin and bristling, trapped hair. “You like popsicles?”

You raise your eyebrows. “That’s what you called me in for?”

“Well, it’s your choice,” Nick says, and he turns. He heaves open a door, a blast of icy air puffing into the interior. He rummages for a moment, and you watch the flex of muscle moving in his arm, the crosses of veins prominent. “Orange?”

“Sure.”

You take a step closer. It doesn’t take much than a few more to meet him in the small aisle of the van, the tin, patterned floor shaking slightly. The smell of cigarettes is discernable only from the faint motions of his fingers, tense, white half-moons rising under his nails as he concentrates on rooting through the bin.

He closes the door and looks down at you, as you lean back, nestled nearly on the countertop. You watch, first his fingers as he wrests with the squeaky white wrapping, then up to his face – the automatic expression of slight concentration, the relaxing of his features as he succeeds and pops the icy treat free, sliding the wrapper off. He tosses it to the counter behind him; it catches on the air, floats to the ground instead, ignored.

You jerk your chin up. Nick turns the wooden stick in his fingers. You begin to extend your hand for it, but he speaks first, in a voice that comes softer than the banter. Softer, deeper. Dangerous.

“Open up.”

Enticing.

Your lips part. Nick slides the popsicle into your mouth. Your tongue curls, cradling the sudden cold sensation. Nick’s breath is close enough to feel in warm ghosting over your nose, and the moment is frozen for a moment. His fingers curl on the wooden stick. Your eyelids feel heavy as you stare at him. The cracks of smile lines webbing silver under his eyes; the stubborn push of stubble under his chin. He drinks you in the same – eyes wavering with each twitch of your lips around the popsicle, the flare of your nostrils as your breath grows thin.

Nick’s grin splits again, too wide for his face. His fingers tense, and he pushes it to the back of your mouth.

Your breath is choked out of you in a moan, your throat cold and closed. The sweet, sticky juice is already beginning to gloss over your lips, threatening to run down your chin.

“You wanna suck? Choke on it?”

You let out a muffled whimper again.

“Which would you prefer?” Nick asks, and his voice groans. “What’s your choice? You wanna take this little popsicle outside and enjoy the day? Or for me to open you up nice and slow right here on the counter?” He pushes the popsicle on your tongue, rolls it. It gags you and you make that strangled sound again.

Nick pulls it out, leaving your teeth to chatter.

You pause a moment, sucking in air, feeling the sugary tack on your lips. Nick swirls the popsicle, licks away a melting droplet.

So, you think, our first kiss is an indirect one.  

“Say it,” he says with a dare. He takes another step. It brings his knee between yours now, and your throat tightens as you tilt your head up to him. The pulse quickens in your neck.

“Nice and slow?” you say, and your voice cracks into ice. “What if I want it a little rougher?”

“Oh?” Nick asks, and you don’t know where the popsicle goes, you don’t care if he’s thrown it to the ground again, because your eyes are closed and his lips are on yours, dissolving the melting syrup. His hands are on your hips, and your hips are twisting in turn; in the sudden fog of lust, you’re not sure if you’ve boosted yourself on the counter or if he’s lifted you. But he’s on a closer level to you now, your fingernails skating over the stubble of his jaw on your way to throw your hands over his shoulders.

The tart bursts of orange lingering at the inside of your cheeks clashes with the musk of his taste, the earthy tobacco smacking with each kiss. Your knees part wider for his body stepping closer as his tongue slips into your mouth. With your eyes closed, it feels like falling, the oxygen taken straight from your lips to his, your head spinning with the remnant of the smoke, the soft work of his tongue against yours.

“Oh.”

Your thigh muscles tighten and shake. Even in the chill of the truck, something warm begins to settle down through you, and your grasp across Nick is shifting, faster. A hand at his arm before you realized it, the other still pressing through his thick hair to cradle the back of his neck. You’ve knocked that silly cap off, and he grabs at your waist in fervent agreement. As much as Nick holds your tense body into his, you pull him into you, even as the kisses begin to leave your mouth stale and dry with the remnants of smoke.

“I can still taste it,” Nick whispers, his tongue almost licking your still-parted lips with the words laced with nicotine, with orange sugar. He kisses the corner of your mouth and straightens up, pulls away, leaves you breathless as you open your eyes to drink him in again. His hands anchor on the counter, and you swear you can begin to feel it shift backwards with his strength. “But I want to taste something else.”

Nick’s hands move again. The pressure of your clothes, suddenly so palpable, unbearable over eager skin, releases as he unfastens your pants. Your hips roll almost desperately as he slips you nearly bare from the waist down, and the thought comes again as you tremble on the counter with only the thin fabric of your panties keeping you from the cold steel. “This is so unsanitary.”

It’s hard to sound assertive with strong, nimble fingers undressing you, and your sentence breaks into a gasp. Nick raises those thick brows at you as he sinks, barely able to kneel in the narrow aisle as he eases off your shoes, rolls off your pants. “What, are you gonna report me?”

You grin. It’s ruined by the drop of your mouth, the slack of your jaw as your voice keens into another “oh!” as Nick kisses your soft inner thighs, bracing his hands so lightly against your legs as he coaxes slight adjustments of your leg. Saliva cools across your skin, the warmth of his lower lip dragging as his mouth opens wider.

“Ah!”

The bite doesn’t hurt, really, but his teeth run along you lower, closer to the trembling heat below your panties. Nick gives another biting, sucking kiss. His other hand moves up your thigh with a softer touch than his lips.

He reaches the band of your panties and brushes against the fabric. You can feel the turn of his wrist as it allows him a better grab at the cloth, a better touch of your skin below, and you let out a sound closer to a hiss as he spreads his fingers to cup and shape your cunt perfectly through the panties.

“Nick – ”

His name is heavy on your tongue, your skin somehow feeling cool right between his touch, right where the side of his fingers pinch together.

“I like hearing you say my name,” Nick says softly. His breath is hot, closer and closer on your thigh. He rocks his fingers and pushes into you. The nerves sing under your tense muscles. And finally, with another exhale, his mouth sets.

It’s another kiss at first, open-mouthed and heavy over your underpants, but when he moves his tongue over the fabric it’s with a harder urgency. He flattens his tongue, saliva seeping through the cloth to meeting slick and push it back to you. The barrier is so rough, leaving you even more sensitive below it. You moan again when Nick’s tongue retreats, moving higher, harder, up. He flicks right between the groove that’s now so perfectly shaped beneath the damp panties, teasing your clit.

You reach forward, skating your hands through his hair, thick and shining like nylon. His busy hand pinches against you in response. It’s all heavy at your hips, the sensation teasing you just as much as the ministrations of his mouth.

Nick turns closer to the counter, shifting between your spread legs as he pushes his face into you.

“Take them off,” you hear yourself whine. It’s tauntingly warm, each twist of your body and sway of his lips rubbing the fabric on and off your body, settling with teasing whispers in just barely new locations. He shakes his head in a way that may or may not be a response, but brushes his lips over your cunt.

“Said I didn’t want slow,” you say.

“Be a little patient. I can see you so perfectly,” Nick rasps, and his fingers frame you again, pushing the wet fabric back against your body. “What a pretty, plump pussy.”

You push your hips into the counter and curl your fingers against his scalp, at the back of his head. “Nick,” you say again.

A heavy breath, and his fingers slide harder. He peels the elastic away from your skin, away from your already strained and aching thighs. It lifts from you as he forces your panties to the side. It’s so cold in the air for a moment, and then hot when Nick’s tongue forces past to your bare skin.

“Fuck!”

He laps messily over you, letting the jerk of your hands in response guide his head, the direction of his tongue as it twists and flattens. He eats you out sloppily. You jerk, the back of your knees bending hard into the underside of the counter. You’re grinding into Nick’s face without thinking of it, and the moan that escapes him in return is something uninhibited. It’s raw, gasping for breath, full of a desire that should have fallen from your own lips.

Your hips rock up, and his lips break away. Nick’s fingers flatten under the curve of your thigh and reach, a slight cushion drumming the back of your panties as his thumb strokes back up against the gusset. He presses into the wet fabric and teases it over your skin again. He bends and pushes his fingertip carelessly, almost randomly, along the covering of your slit, index finger drumming down around the back of your thigh.

“Oh, please,” you whimper. Your back arches as you try to write into his touch.

Nick’s finger rolls again, flattens, presses harder. You’re throbbing where his fingers touch you, even if it’s just over the coarse fabric that feels rougher and rougher the wetter it gets. The wetter you make it.

“You’re so messy,” Nick says, almost like a quiet observation. The pressure between your legs slips away as he moves. Your legs ache, knees curving instinctively together again as he rises with an involuntary grunt. He looks down on you with gleaming eyes beneath wild brows, and his half-parted lips are wet.

“Even through your panties,” he continues, and he extends his glistening fingers forward. “See?”

Not necessary for him to ask this time. Your mouth is open, you loll your tongue forward. The pressure of his fingers pushes it against her teeth, and you force your tongue up between the V-shape they make to swirl and turn, licking himself clean of you as your eyes roll up to him. Your cheeks hollow with it, the taste not as sweet as the popsicle, but you let your tongue work harder. The way his eyes gleam down at you only spurs you on. You turn your resting foot against his leg to urge him back, closer.

Nick’s thumb turns under your chin in response, and he leans down. Drool slips from the corner of your mouth when he replaces his hand with his lips on yours. You taste yourself even more than the traces on his fingers, entwined with the eternal earthy remnants of smoke. You reach to clumsily press your palms against his stomach. You can feel, almost to your surprise, strong bands of muscle beneath the cheap thin button-up, and you fumble at the buttons to bid the shirt open.

“Not fair if you still have all this on,” you say, breaking the kiss with words and peppers of little, closed-mouth kisses on his cheek, his jaw, blind as your fingers hunt up to his throat. When the shirt hangs open, you trace them down again, tilting your head back with a grin of your own as you feel the warm curve of his pectoral muscles, the softness below his breastbone where air pockets. And when you free the hem from his waistband and feel for the fastening of the dark slacks, Nick moves down to at long last wrap those strong fingers around the band of your panties and pull them from you. You sigh audibly as the damp fabric peels away, letting go of his own clothes for a moment. His bend of limbs knots into your reaching arms as your hips rock away and back to the counter as he undresses you, panties falling to the floor. He keeps a hand on your thigh, pushing your legs open again.

You groan at the muscle stretch, and it catches in your throat. “Nick,” you say again, softly, letting it linger.

His muscles tense beneath the billow of the open shirt as he forces his pants lower with his free hand, finishing your half-started efforts. The zipper clatters at the underside of the counter as he cants in.

The anticipation is trembling practically out of your body. Your shudders and whimpers are almost lost in the hum of the appliances.

“You want rough?” he says, rasping his words.

“Mmhm…god.”

“No,” Nick says, a slight, sudden dryness as his hand flexes, pushes on your leg. Something smoother, thicker, than his fingers, pushes against your inner thigh. His cock curves as he leans closer. “No God here.”

At that, his hips turn. And you writhe as his cock slides into you, so easily spreading and entering your cunt perfectly oiled with saliva and your arousal. You arch, moan a “fuck!” as he leans forward with a strained, satisfied, Cheshire-cat smile, and goes deeper.

He’s big, so big you can feel your body almost go numb, inner muscles beating at the intrusion – and then softening to make space for him. He sucks in a breath, as if he’s feeling the same shaking tightness.

You groan and curve your hips, the best attempt to roll up and meet him just as he pulls out, and then so deep back in that your mouth falls open with the next moaning breath. You reach forward, tugging plaintively at his shirt, grasping at the fabric to pull him close.

“Oh, oh, please – ”

No banter, no witty talk, nothing but pleading for him with your open body. He pushes, and your hand finds his side, wrapping halfway to his back. Your fingers bend, and he groans as your nails drag down the side of his ribs.

The pressure, the heat that his tongue was building in you rises again, and you jerk your hips pathetically forward. It doesn’t do much to interrupt the build of his pace, but it presses your skin close to his, the warm layer of sweat beginning to rise between your limbs. And the energy that rolls in your veins, shit, it has to go somewhere. You strain to pull him close to you, to bring his mouth down to yours again, but his body is stone, and his determined grip is hard.

You whine, letting your hands dance up again just to drag backdown with raking nails.

“Fuck,” Nick groans, and the guttural, raw tone, sends more through you.

His hand is off your thigh, the press so hard you almost expect a large, palm-shaped bruise to rise in its place. And the push is at your clit, his thumb rubbing busy circles that almost make you sob when you look down, hazy vision fixing on the thick expanse of his fingers working you over as his cock forces you open and swollen.

“Ah!”

Your hand still knotted in his shirt rises to your lips, your tongue lapping over your fingers, the curve of your thumb, and you reach an awkward hand down over spread thighs to surround him. You rub, at the inch of cock that can’t quite fit inside you at this angle, circle down to stroke with soft fingertips at his balls.

“Oh, oh,” Nick says in desperation. “Fuck.”

The words are broken, and you barely can lift your eyes up and away in time for his mouth to meet yours again. His lips are soft, fat, hungry, and you whine into his throat as he fucks you harder, harder.

It’s a brief kiss, because he breaks his head away to rest on your shoulder. His body cages over you, and you move your hands again, both scooped under the open shirt to grab at his back with frantic fingers. His hair has fallen forward, rubbing sweaty, rough, in strands at your neck.

“Oh, Nick – right there,” you say, feeling your voice shake higher and higher. Your instinct is to lean back, fuck your hips higher, but instead you pull him closer and try to curve into him. “Please – don’t stop – ”

“No?”

“No, no, touch me, fuck me, please  - ”

He tosses his head back and his throat muscles are tight, jaw pulsing, as he straightens up over you again. “What makes you think I’ll stop, sweetheart?”

He pulls his tormenting hand away and spits on it. You almost scream when it comes back, sliding faster over your suddenly even more sensitive clit, sore and puffy as he makes you bloom like a rose with split folds.

“You have to cum first.”

And you rock on the counter, the freezers groaning with the bumping shift of the van’s movements. Something clatters down as appliances, spoons, napkins, fall. It doesn’t matter if the ice cream melts around you. What matters is the way your muscles jump, the way friction is burning below your skin, moving faster and faster.

“Oh, oh!”

You close your eyes and cling to him. The force of his grunts with each pump vibrates through his chest. Your thighs are arched high, feet desperately pushing at the back of his legs, not quite high enough to cross and not quite enough strength in you to hook around him tighter. But your hands are hard on his back, his shoulder blades flat between the spread of your fingers.

Nick’s hunched over you. He lifts his hand, pulling it away and leaving you beating, shivering, practically gushing with the pumps of his cock. He cups the side of your face as your eyes roll open, gaze to the ceiling as you writhe.

“Does the roof make you cum?” he asks in jagged breath.

“N-no,” you say automatically.

“Is it god? Who’s fucking you?”

“God, no. You – you.”

He jerks your chin to him. His eyes are fixed, brows sharp, lips pulled back and teeth wet in a half-grin. “Then don’t look up; look at me, look at me, when I make you cum.”

It’s the words that are your undoing, the way they spit harsh from his mouth. The harshness is without cruelty, but with a vigor that’s echoed in the kiss when you lean forward to meet him in wanton agreement.

“Nick,” you breathe into his mouth, and bite his lower lip as you withdraw. “Make me cum – please, make me cum.”

“Wanna cum with you, sweetheart,” Nick says in that grating groan as he moves his hand back to rub in furious circles.

You tense your thighs and feel for it, squirming against the countertop as that friction beats harder. It’s something burning beneath your core, even as he splits you, again, and again, in frantic heat. When his hand stills, you can tell – you can tell in his body, in the focus right at his hips as they begin to buck into you harder, in the sucking of his breath, that he’s as close as you are.

“Nick – I’m gonna – ”

“Oh,” he groans, his words crashing into yours, and you pulse as he lets go. You bury your face in his shoulder and stuff your mouth full of shirt to muffle the scream. With each throb of his cock as he cums in you, it urges the shivers of your miniscule muscles wild. You cum without announcement, almost to your own surprise, and Nick’s hands anchor at the small of your back. He practically sings his moans in your ear as you cum on his cock, his rhythm slowing as yours tenses and stutters.

Somehow, the counter stops rocking.

The silence is cut by two lungs raggedly gasping, the hum of the freezers, the groans of the truck. Far off in the distance, the people in the park keep playing and laughing.

“Fuck,” you say, low, and you find your voice shaking.

“’S right,” Nick says.

He pulls out of you, and you whimper in your throat at the slide, at the warmth, at the ache across your legs.

Bam, bam, bam.

You physically startle, heart leaping into your throat, hands automatically flying to your lap as Nick’s seed beats out of you. Someone’s at the front part of the ice cream truck, knocking on the window. A shadowed hand appears at the glass as they try to look inside past the paper taped on the window.

“Hey,” calls a young man’s voice. “Anyone in here? You guys open?”

“Just a second,” Nick shouts back. He grins down at you as he hoists his pants back up. “Just a customer. Don’t worry.”

“Don’t worry?” you hiss quietly.

“Can’t see you from here.”

“Nick, you’re not actually going to serve –”

“Kitchen’s down,” he suddenly yells, interrupting you. “Only got the pre-packaged stuff.”

“That’s alright,” they shout in return.

Nick wipes his forehead, pushing back sweat-slicked hair. “See? Nothing to worry about.”

You suck your teeth and raise your eyebrows, trying to suppress a smile.

“Hold tight,” he says, buttoning his shirt. “Let me find my hat, sell an ice cream sandwich, and I’ll be right back.”

You can’t hide it when he kisses your cheek, hands busy as he rises to his collar. “Not gonna jump out the window and escape?”

“You think I’d fit through that?” Nick raises those thick brows. “I’m not trying to get anywhere. Not without your name and number first.” He reaches down, fumbles on the floor of the van and comes up with his cap.

You edge slowly off the counter, pins and needles aching in your thighs. He’s already crammed his hat on his head and’s turned, moving towards the window.

“Hey, hey,” you say, whispering as quietly as you can. “Do you – Nick, do you see my panties?”

At first, you think you haven’t gotten his attention. But when he hauls the window open, giving that cheeky grin to the spiky blonde-haired man you can barely see standing below with a “what can I get for you?” – you can see the wet, crumpled fabric winking at you from his back pocket.

fin

[thelasttime]

madie I have a date on sunday and he suggested boba because that's what he likes to do while getting to know someone and also because when he mentioned it as an option I said I'd never had it before so he was like oh heck yeah! Let's do this!

HALP I want to be prepared! 😂 Give me a first timer run down?? I'm the kind of person who even looks at the menu of familiar restaurants online before going because I panic when I'm with people, I don't like looking stupid or holding everyone up. Decisions make me anxious!

omg!! congrats on the date and don’t worry about the boba ordering!! it’s much easier than you think

1) first question is - do you like tea? if so, do you want to drink a fruit tea or more of a milk tea? if you don’t like tea, you can go for something simple like a strawberry slush or mango slush (boba shops should have this). if you like fruit tea - i recommend a passionfruit black tea or mango green tea. usually the fruit tea is just fruit + black/green tea. if you want a milk tea, just a plain black milk tea is very good! if you want to be adventurous then i would go for a matcha milk tea or a Thai milk tea (tastes like caramel)

2) do you want boba in the tea? those are the little black balls that make boba boba! you should probably go for this because it’s your first time and it’s good to try (some people don’t like the sensation of chewing something after drinking so it’s okay if you don’t end up liking this)

3) how sweet do you want your tea/drink? usually boba shops let you adjust the sugar level! if you like very sweet things, i would go for 100-120%. those are usually the percentages they offer but sometimes boba shops can differ. they’ll also offer lower sweetness like 50% (which is my fave) or 0% (for the anti-sugar)

4) how much ice do you want? some boba shops might not let you adjust but they usually do and it follows the same logic as the sugar levels so 50% is less ice (my fave) and 100% is regular ice (not my fave)

if you’re still worried, let me know! you can also send me the menu and i can see what looks good

[chienlicencieux]

I realized I don't actually like the coffee I've been drinking every single day for the last 19 years.

(general trigger warnings: ableism, malignant narcissism, gaslighting, self harm. nearer the end is a paragraph completely in italics; these are all direct quotes from my mother. further additional trigger warnings for that paragraph include: homophobia, transphobia, forced heteronormativity, weird ass shit you should never say to your child about sex, eating disorder narratives, etc.)

That's the thing about having a malignant narcissist for a mother; anything you do that she doesn't like isn't allowed, and everything she does you have to love, even if you don't actually like it.

I started drinking coffee when I was about 12 years old - Maxwell House, original roast, brewed a little weaker than average (because it's so very human to make something you like a little shittier so that you can have more of it, after all) with some processed white sugar. I drank my coffee this way for 19 years because it's how I was told coffee was drank. Have I had different, better coffee, many many times in many many places? Absolutely. Did any of that matter to someone that was taught and molded and coerced since birth to be a little copy of their mother? Apparently not.

My life changed last summer. This is a complete understatement in general when you consider that I burnt out so bad I almost died, or when you consider that I quit the job I'd had for the last 12 years straight, but it is an accurate statement to describe the sensation of being on a farm in the middle of nowhere, mostly off the grid, drinking a different brand of coffee, completely black, and instantly having to go hide in the bathroom so no one would see me start crying.

That's another thing about being raised by a malignant narcissist - what other people think of you is not only a reflection on you, but it's a reflection on your mother, after all. If I don't behave absolutely perfectly, then did she even raise me right? If I'm socially awkward, whose fault is it? If I walk on my tiptoes, or chew on my hair, or shut down when I hear a specific noise, then what would people think of her? "No child of mine is going to be autistic," she would insist, changing my behavior until it fit her standards. "When you're a guest in someone's home, don't you dare turn down anything they offer you. If you don't like it, you have to act like you do so that you don't offend them, because then they'll never invite you over again and they'll think I raised an ungrateful little bitch." It sounds like something out of a Los Angeles writers' room full of 50-something year old cishet white men trying to write an edgy character for an HBO spin-off. It doesn't feel real when I write it down, even though I was told it to my face every single time I went to someone else's place.

The fun part about being told you're not autistic when you very much are is that you're forced to simply shove everything down as hard and as deep as you can with every bit of you until you can do no better, and then you can only simply hope that it'll be enough to satisfy the person insisting it to you. You learn to hold every single muscle in your body still and solid and to only move them when it's "right" to do so - am I supposed to make this face in response to that comment? Is gesturing like this with my arms normal, or is it too much? How do I control my body to look as normal as humanly possible when I put a food or drink in my mouth that makes me want to start shaking? How do I control my face to keep myself from frowning when the texture in my mouth makes me want to rip my own skin off?

How the fuck do I swallow without betraying that there's something wrong with me?

The answer? You just practice at home until you learn to do it, because it's not like your mother gives a shit about whether or not you like a food that she likes - you're supposed to like everything she likes! She's the main character, not you! You're just a trophy to show off to her friends for now, until that magic someday when you’ll finally become a servant to her every need, because that's all children are good for, after all. So you sit at the dinner table and swallow the unseasoned soggy steamed broccoli again and again until you learn to hold so still that when you shake it's basically imperceptible. You swallow mouthful after mouthful of baked potato with hardly any butter and maybe some pepper if you're lucky until you figure out how to dig the nails of one of your hands into your skin under the table hard enough to distract you from how bad it feels in your throat but not so hard to attract any sort of attention to the motion.

I really did do my best. I still have people telling me "there's no way you're autistic" even now, simply because I got so good at hiding all of it. But there will always be tastes and textures that I cannot handle, and they will always trip me up. I often struggle with black coffee, but the sugar usually saves me. But when you're in someone else's home not only are you not allowed to turn anything down - you can't ask for anything else either.

So, cut to me, standing in the kitchen of the family farm house that belongs to my partner's father, pouring a cup of black coffee because he was kind enough to make it. Me, checking the fridge and the pantry to see if I could find the sugar without having to ask and being unsuccessful. Me, taking a deep breath and engaging every single part of my body as I took a sip of it so I wouldn't have any sort of visible reaction to the taste, to the brew strength, to the texture of a coffee I'd never had before in my life.

It was the best cup of black coffee I've ever had. I have since switched to the brand at home. I'll never go back.

I didn't know it wasn't supposed to feel bad to drink coffee.

I proceeded to follow this up later that night by silently having a meltdown in the living room because I could smell how much sour cream he was putting in the food and knowing that I was going to have to force myself to eat it even though I can hardly even smell sour cream without almost throwing up. My partner immediately went in and asked him to make a separate dish without any and it wasn't even a problem but of course it wasn't a problem because it was their father and they were allowed to ask for things. But I couldn't ask for it! Because I had it beat into me for years that it was better for me to suffer and force myself through the interaction than to ask for a simple accommodation and risk embarrassing my mother that I'm not even in contact with any more. Than to risk being told to leave and never come back.

Because that's another fun thing about autism... if you're told or taught that something is true, then it is true. It just is. She said it to me so many times, and she was so serious about it. I would get screamed and cussed at once we got home if I didn't clear my plate when we visited a friend's place. If I had the audacity to say something like "oh, thank you, but I'm alright, I don't really like (x) actually," she would treat me like I had personally ruined her friendship with the host, even though we always got invited back.

I have mountains upon mountains of proof over the years that what she taught me wasn't true. That if I say, "oh, actually is it okay if you don't put Ranch on mine?" no one is actually going to tell me to fuck myself and to leave immediately and then call her and tell her what a spoiled little rotten bitch I was and how they never wanted to speak to her again if that's how she raised her children.

Hosts want their guests to be comfortable. Hosts want their guests to feel welcome and be happy.

I am 31 years old and I still can't ask for no onions.

If this is so deeply beaten into me, if this is engraved as a truth in my soul, then what does that mean for everything else?

She spent my whole life beating things into me. Repeating things to me. Gaslighting, manipulating, controlling me.

How much more of my foundation is just based on lies? How much less do I actually need to be suffering?

When you're a guest in someone's home, don't you dare turn down anything they offer you. If you don't like it, you have to act like you do so that you don't offend them, because then they'll never invite you over again and they'll think I raised an ungrateful little bitch. - I don't care if you want to be like your dad. You have to put a shirt on, you're a girl. You'll never be a boy, so you need to stop thinking about it and get over it. - No child of mine is going to be autistic. - Quit that, everyone is looking at us. Everyone thinks you're a fucking freak right now. - Do you know what people are going to say about me when they find out? They're going to think I'm a terrible mother. - This is all my fault. You wouldn't have started trying to date girls if I hadn't gone out of state for work; you're only doing this because you were lacking a mother figure. - Maybe if you took that stick out of your ass and smoked some fucking weed with me you'd calm the fuck down for once in your life. - If you keep behaving like that no man is ever going to want you. - Stop walking on your toes like that, the neighbors are going to think you're autistic. - You just think you're a dyke because you're still a virgin. Once you feel how good it feels to have a hot throbbing cock inside of you you'll stop saying this shit. - I can't believe I let you turn out like this. I should just fucking kill myself. - If you don't eat what's on your plate then you can just fucking starve for all I care. I'll sit here all night and make sure of it myself. - Maybe if you put down the potato chips and ate a fucking salad for once in a while you'd lose a couple pounds. - What the fuck do you have to be depressed about? You have everything you could ever need! You're such an ungrateful, selfish little cunt! - I wish I had never had you. This was a mistake. - We can't afford for you to be sick. Suck it up, you’re going to school.

Actually, let's talk about that. Let's talk about the fucking money.

Let's talk about she and I both worked in the same industry making similar income from ages 21-31. I happen to know for a fact that she actually worked overall even more than I did. Cost of living in general is worse now than it was for her 40 years ago. Somebody please explain to me where all the money went. Where the fuck did all her money go? She couldn't spare the $12 in science class fees for me in middle school. She couldn't spare the extra $20 per each honors society I wanted to be in while in high school, so I was only able to join the one without a fee. She didn't want to pony up the $25 for that honor society's cord for my graduation, so I went out of my way to earn it myself in exchange for volunteer hours. She then proceeded to ask me after I walked why so many of the other kids in my graduating class had more cords than me.

Let's talk about how I used $0.89 shampoo and conditioner until I was 17. She used to yell at me because my hair always looked like shit, and she would tell me to brush my hair about six times a day. When she left for one year for work I started buying my own shampoo and conditioner around the $6 mark and the quality of my hair literally changed overnight. When she asked what I was doing differently when she came home, I showed her the shampoo I was buying instead and she said "Oh. Well, I'm not going to be paying for that." She had me washing my face with the same $1 bar of Dove that I used for my body and then would tell me that the reason I was breaking out all the time was because I wasn't washing my face enough. I didn't know what the point of lotion was until I was 26.

Let's talk about how she loved to tell me that I had no idea what it was like to actually be depressed or that I didn't understand how "hard" life could actually be because her bank balance was only $246. Or $62. Or $125. I have factual evidence that she spent approximately a thousand dollars a month just on weed. I completely stopped asking for things for Christmas when I was 11 but all that did was result in her getting me things she liked instead. When I asked for a $12 hair straightener a few years later she told me "I'm not spending that much money on a piece of shit that you're just going to use to look like one of your fucking anime characters" so I bought it myself a few years after that when she was out of state. The first time I came out of my room with straightened hair in front of her she said my hair looked so nice and wanted to know what I did differently; I eagerly replied, "Oh, I got a hair straightener. This is the reason I asked for one before - so I could do this! So, do you think I look like a fucking anime character now?" I still cherish the face she made. It was absolutely worth the fight it started.

Let's talk about how we couldn't afford insurance or dental or vision or to take me to the hospital when I definitely fucking needed stitches somewhere that would be covered by clothing, but how we could totally figure out how to afford to give me braces so that other people wouldn't think that she "didn't take good enough care of me" because of my crooked teeth. My whole life I've always had sore throats that were insanely painful, but when I said I was too scared at age 10 to get my tonsils removed she said that was fine because we couldn't really afford to remove something that isn't visible from the outside, but god she sure did want to pay for a surgery to align my left foot better so I wouldn't walk so pigeon toed. She threatened me with that surgery enough times that I simply learned to hold my whole body tight enough to always visibly walk straight whenever anyone else was present. My hips and lower back are absolutely fucked now because of it but hey, at least no one thought I was autistic, right?

How I felt never mattered! How I looked was the only thing that mattered! How I appeared to other people, how they perceived me, what they thought of me, and how that reflected on her is the only thing that mattered.

Fuck that. I am worth more than the weird little social points I can score for my mother. None of it even mattered.

I have always mattered. I have always been someone. I have always been here.

I refuse to be afraid to be seen any more.

[folkloreguk]

French Class [6]

A/N: You guys might want to whack out your love song playlist for this one…I cried writing this BYE I'm posting this from my grave!!

genre: optional bias (m) x reader (f), fwb, f2l?, college!au, fuckboy!bias, nerd!reader, ANGST, smut

words: ~ 3.8 k

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taglist (lmk if u wanna be added!): @lovely-ateez, @runaway-fics, @mainexiii, @awfullytiredbuthealing, @erikyoong, @etherealuv, @staysuki, @justcuz-ican, @yeostars, @hyuckthangs, @teenloves, @mexious18-blog, @sunghoonied, @mailobjaeyoon

couldn’t tag: @chorizoek

You: can I come over? I kind of need u

H/N: you need me huh…you’re lucky I’m home alone

It always starts differently. Some other question, or a subtle message of telling him you’re bored, or a flat-out confession of being horny. The ending is always the same. You, naked in his bed. You just had to get there, and things were easy when you were already on his dorm’s doorstep.

The moment he had opened the door, you had fistfuls of his hair between your fingers and attacked his mouth in a feverish kiss. He made a noise between a laugh and surprise but reacted quickly. His lips parted right away, letting you in, and you tasted mint from the chewing gum he liked so much.

“Let me- at least- close the door,” he mumbled. “Jeez, what’s gotten into you today?”

You stepped aside and mirrored his grin. He was acting surprised, but the way he instantly locked your lips after he had shut the door told you he was enjoying this as much as you were. You ran your hands down his torso and along the side of his thighs. His happy hum only poured oil into the fire, and you saw no reason as to why you should have kept your clothes on any longer. In minutes, in the middle of heated kisses and clumsy chuckles, your clothes were discarded, and you were left in your underwear. You stumbled into his bedroom in a tangle of arms and legs and heads barely pulling apart.

“Will you tell me about the date you had today or are we skipping over that part?” he asked, as he pushed you down by the shoulders onto his bed. You groaned a little, not even knowing where to start.

“Didn’t go well, huh?” he asked. Only a few nights ago you had consoled him after his failed date, now the roles were reversed.

“That’s one way to put it,” you said. He was climbing on top of you now, and the weight of him between your thighs still did the same things to you it had done the first time. There was one of his random playlists playing quietly from the speakers, but you were both too occupied to even consider switching the music off. You weren’t in the mood for a chat, not when he was biting and sucking bruises into your chest, pushing aside your bra just enough. But you knew he wasn’t going to let it go this easily.

“Tell me about it or I won’t take one more piece of clothing off your body,” he threatened. You shot him an are-you-serious-look while he only blinked at you innocently, like he was awaiting your response.

“Fine,” you groaned. “But hurry, now.”

“That’s my girl,” he said, before unclasping your bra and throwing it to the other side of the room. “Go ahead, I expect a story.”

You had rolled your eyes at him, but when he sucked on your nipple all of a sudden, and his tongue flicked over the sensitive bud ever so perfectly, your eyes moved to the back of your head involuntarily. And, before he could complain, you started to retell today’s events.

“Alright. First of all, he acted all gentleman-y. Pulling back my chair at the restaurant, letting me have a look at the menu first, letting me order first, asking me if I was okay with our seats because they were in the sunshine, or whether he should have requested we get a different in the shade table, blah, blah, blah.”

With the lewd noises he was making, kissing your chest and fumbling with your breasts, you almost wondered whether he was paying attention to you at all.

“I’m waiting for the plot twist,” he chuckled. “If he had been this great, you wouldn’t be in my bed right now, would you?” He was now on his way to your lower regions. Your breaths came out shaky when he gripped your hips with familiar fingertips and placed a few kisses there, right above the material of your underwear. Nonetheless, you had to continue your story.

“Oh, it’s coming,” you said. “Because I suspect, the only reason he was acting that way was to compensate. For the fact that he was an hour late.”

He stifled a laugh, and you slapped his head playfully. “It’s not funny! I stood outside that restaurant on a busy street like an idiot for an hour. During exam season!”

“I wonder, if studying is so special to you- ,” he said. He tugged on your underwear, and you barely cared about his words when you were already imagining his mouth on your pussy. “Why aren’t you at home right now, doing just that?”

“Too frustrated,” you groaned, spreading your legs, practically inviting him in. “You don’t get it. That was only the beginning of the date. It gets worse.”

“Oh, damn,” he laughed, and you were going to slap him again. Harder, this time. But his tongue kitten-licked over your clit and you didn’t dare interrupt him further.

“First of all, he turned out to be boring. An economics major. And look, I’m not generalizing, I’ve met some cool economics majors. But when I said I never really understood the whole thing with inflation and deflation, I wasn’t asking for him to explain it to me. I know what it means, I just meant to say money is the root of all evil,” you said, little moans slipping inbetween your sentences. He laughed whilst sipping on your clit. You couldn’t be mad at his laughing anymore. In fact, at the sound of his chuckles, your own lips curled into a smile, too. God, he was so good with his tongue.

“But turns out he loved money. Like it was the sole reason he was doing anything. When he showed me his gold watch I almost yawned,” you continued.

“Dating a rich guy can have its upsides too, though,” he said, but you knew he was joking. He was running the tips of his fingers over your core, and you whimpered at how badly you wanted him to put them inside of you. You loved watching him, loved feeling his hair tickle the side of your thighs and having his free hand laying on top of your hipbone. The familiarity of it all, his little habits, made your heart heavy, so full of emotion, all of a sudden. But you had to snap out of it.

“Not this guy. He kept saying these lowkey sexist things I won’t repeat now. It’ll only make me mad again. He was one of those who thought money would buy him a girlfriend. And I was really trying to see the good in him…only there was none,” you said.

“Alright, I’m starting to understand why you needed some cheering up,” he said. “Good thing you’re at the right place. I know just the thing.”

At this, he slid his digits into you. You hummed and dropped your head into the plush pillow. Slowly, you exhaled, happy you finally got to relax after being so upset. But of course, he had to interrupt. Again.

“Did I say you could stop? Was that the end of the story?” he said. How did he expect you to form a coherent sentence? He fingered you gently, but the slowness of it all only drove you crazier. You felt every tiny sensation, every new bit of you he touched.

“No,” you sulked. “Fuck, it feels so good.”

“Go on, then,” he encouraged you, grinning because he was proud of your reaction he had caused.

“Fuck- okay. He was super shitty to the waiter. I’m talking about criticizing everything. This man had the audacity to complain about the food. I’m not a food critic, but I swear the food was amazing, there was nothing to fault at all,” you said, and then whined when he switched from licking your clit to sucking it between his teeth. You knew he was doing this on purpose. To make speaking harder for you.

“Oh my god, H/N. Wait, let me finish this. Not only was he horrible to the waiter in person, but he also made fun of the waiter’s appearance behind his back. And all along he expected me to find him funny. I used to think he had a sense of humor but not after today. Blech.”

“At least you got a free dinner?” he said, and without awaiting your answer, went back to work. Your head was spinning in pleasure, and you could only laugh sarcastically at his suggestion.

“Yeah. And after that train wreck of a date, he really thought he’d get to stick his tongue down my throat,” you said.

“Did he at least ask permission?” asked the boy between your legs.

“Mhm…but I told him I don’t do that on the first date,” you said. “Safe to say there won’t be another date, though.”

He looked up now, laughing more than before. You grinned, mainly because the sight of him was so cute. He folded his hands on your belly and put his face down onto your skin to giggle. In no way could you be upset or urge him to keep giving you head. In fact, you had forgotten about all of that for a while, as he seemed to enjoy your misfortune a little too wildly. You should have been hungry, eager to have the half-naked boy inside of you. Yet, you laughed at the way his breaths tickled your stomach and when he finally made eye contact, it was a wholly different sort of hunger which overcame you. Instead of the heat he usually made you feel, it was a comfortable warmth that was in your chest. It reminded you of a bonfire or of drinking your favorite hot drink on a cool autumn day.

“I want to watch you come,” he said, casually. “Were you close?”

You were so lost in his trustworthy, dreamy eyes, you almost forgot to reply. Quickly, you nodded and hummed.

“I would have already come, had you not pestered me to tell you all the details of my date,” you said. The way his cheeks beamed when he smiled made you feel as if your insides were turning into mush.

“I’m sorry. I’m your friend, aren’t I allowed to ask how your day went?” he asked.

“Of course you are,” you said. The word ‘friend’ echoed off every wall in your head until you wished you could have deleted it from the dictionary.

“I’ll make sure it feels extra good now,” he said, kissing your stomach. You shivered as you watched his gentle lips move lower, to your hips and the insides of your thighs. The touch felt like butterfly wings on your skin, and the tardiness of it made you impatient. When his tongue came in contact with your clit again, you sucked in a breath of surprise.

He tried to start slowly, but then you gripped his hair tightly, and carefully pushed him further. It was something you did often, a way to tell him you wanted more without having to use words. After all this time, he understood perfectly. Your clit was between his lips and his tongue flicked over the sensitive bundle of nerves with just the right amount of pleasure. It felt incredible, creating a funny sensation in the pit of your stomach. His fingers grazed over your slit until you were whimpering and shifting your hips, trying to make him hurry.

One of his digits slid into you easily, curling against your sweet spot, and it hit you only now how much you had missed him between your legs since he had stopped a few minutes ago. It made you feel as though you were suddenly overwhelmed with all of him, but you were willing to let the heat crash over you if it meant you could be close to him.

“Am I making it up to you now?” he asked as he pulled away merely for a breath. “I’ll turn your day into a good one after all.”

In a different tone his words would have sounded like the exact thing one would have expected to hear from a fuckboy in the bedroom. He could have boasted and bragged endlessly about how great he was with his tongue and fingers – he would have been right – but he didn’t mean it like that. You could tell from the uprightness and the authenticity in his voice that he really was doing his best because he wanted to make you feel better and turn your day around. Because you were special to him. Or so you desperately hoped.

Your legs wrapped around his shoulders as if you were trapping him between your thighs. But he was right there, and he would gladly stay for so much longer, and to say it puzzled you was an understatement. The boy who belonged to everybody, who was known by all of the campus, was treating you like you were royalty, and not the other way around. You moaned, his name inevitably falling from your lips. He added another finger and the slightest stretch made you lose your mind for a split second.

“That guy could have never made you feel this good, could he?” he suddenly asked. Your initial response was a helpless whine. You had been so close, and his talking had interrupted the otherworldly bliss for a moment.

“No, never,” you then whimpered shortly. ‘No’ was such a tiny word. It could barely encapsule what you truly meant to say. Which was that it would have never even gotten that far. That other guys couldn’t even have you at all. They didn’t get their turn to try and beat him. Not as of lately, at least. That you didn’t so much as dare to think about sleeping with other guys. That even before you had gone on the date, you had known it wouldn’t lead to anything. No guy could let you develop an interest on him in the same way the boy between your legs had done it. No other would be able to kidnap your brain like that. H/N was always there. Even when it was only you and your sex toys, you would automatically pretend it was him getting you off. You were so far gone that it was embarrassing how long it had taken you to admit it to yourself. But it was a colossal thing to confess to him, and you would never do that. Rejection would hurt a billion times more than whatever it was you two had now.

Your heart was racing as you closed your eyes. You had been so lost in thought, it was wondrous you hadn’t fallen yet. But you were right on the edge, making your breaths come out like puffs and a string of moans and swears sound from your lips. He too had stopped talking, concentrating on the task at hand, and judging by the way your back arched he was doing one hell of a good job.

“Oh my god- “ you whimpered. “I’m so close, H/N.”

This time he didn’t reply, which was for the best. Only a few seconds passed until you started to quiver and whine beneath him. You were going to outer space behind your eyelids as your high rushed through you. Your fingers curled and tightened in his locks while your legs clenched around his head. He was quick to pull your thighs apart again, still not being finished. For long seconds you swam in pleasure, with nothing on your mind but bursting stars. He was heaven, knowing precisely how far he could take it until you were too sensitive to take any more.

When you were at that point, he finally pulled away and looked up at your crumpled form. There was a lazy smile playing in the corner of your lips and your vision was hazy after having had your eyes closed for a while. He climbed up your body until his chest was against yours so he could really look at you.

“I get all of this without ever having been on a single date with you? I’m so lucky,” he said. You only smiled at him, at a loss for words. What were you to say? The two of you were clearly past the awkward dating stage already.

“I’m lucky you let me come over all the time,” you said. “I would have expected the campus fuckboy to be busier. To not have an empty spot in his bed every night.”

“Ah, shut up,” he said. “I’d rather have you here than a girl I don’t know at all. Look, I’m really tired so I don’t know how this will go…but can I?” He was on his knees, a tent visible in his boxers. With a questioning look, he was tugging them down his legs now.

“Of course,” you said. As you watched him roll on a condom, your ears perked up. Did that song have to come on shuffle just now? The coziest, most romantic love song you adored so much? You knew if you looked him in the eyes you’d be done for. But there wasn’t anywhere else to look when he settled between your legs and held up his weight with his forearms. His eyes were deep enough for you to get lost within a second. Distracting yourself was impossible. The one last thing you could do was to reach between the two of you and guide his length into you.

The song’s chorus came on, you looked at him once again, and suddenly you were all his. You didn’t need to tell him so. He thrust gently, almost carefully, like he had never done it with you. Your heart hammered against your ribcage so vivaciously, you wondered whether it had turned autonomous and was now trying to jump out of your body, onto his skin and through it, so it could nestle next to his own heart.

Neither of you spoke. Yet, there had never been so much chemistry, such a heavy amount of uncommunicated emotions between the two of you. You were ready to hang on his every word, should he decide to speak up. In your head rampaged a billion sentiments you needed him to know, but there was no option to express them adequately. Perhaps there were simply no words in the English language to declare your feelings for him.

Small whimpers and moans left your lips only for him to hear. Sometimes he moved a little quicker, gifting you with the most perfect sounds he could make. And to know you were the cause for it sent you into overdrive. His mouth was right above yours. If you lifted your head slightly, you could have kissed his sweet, sweet lips. But you were so afraid. What would he think? You had never kissed him during sex. Not softly, like you wanted it so terribly.

Even worse, you craved so much more than that. You wanted to pull him in, envelope his mouth in your own, crawl over the edge of his lips and reside in his chest for safety. Because that’s what he was. Comfort. Reassurance. Home. How foolish you had been, pretending this little fling would lead to nothing more. You really had told yourself this would work. No feelings. Just fun. You couldn’t deny having fun with him. He was the best company you had ever known, and he had become your most precious friend quickly. It was as if you had only been waiting for the silly, flirty boy to sit across from you in the library and make weak advances towards you.

The love song tuned out slowly, replaced by something more sensual and sinful. In accordance with the new background noise, he gripped your hips a little meaner and went faster. You barely noticed how his breathing had sped up as he was getting closer to his orgasm. A trance had overcome you, transfixing you on his godlike features and how much it hurt to know you couldn’t call him yours. In your head you were made for each other. They always said to date your best friend, didn’t they? You could try to turn back time, go back to your first meeting place, at the party. See if things would turn out different. But you knew they wouldn’t. As much as your fear tried to suppress it – you would take the same path again, stumbling head-first into his arms and letting him into your life like a crashing wave of laughter and heart-crushing conversations.

Now you reflected in despair, how he had taken your heart in a storm, without having to try too hard. And worst of all, you were okay with it. Your heart was secure with him, you thought. The feelings yearned to be spoken out loud, but you couldn’t bring yourself to do it.

“You feel so good,” he said. “Always, so fucking good.”

He snapped his hips against yours, burying his cock deep inside of you and all you could muster was a hum of agreement. This is what you got for keeping him at arms-length from the beginning. Wasn’t it you who had challenged him to be friends and only that? Perhaps you would be okay, so long as no one else called him theirs either. You could go on like this, letting him use you for sexual relief and making him laugh when he needed it. Gladly, you would take the pain of not being allowed to love him with your whole being if it meant you could see him whenever you wanted. Exposing those silly emotions would wreck your friendship and you wouldn’t let it happen.

He grunted and only then, when he lowered his head into the crook of your neck and moaned your name, you realized he was reaching his high. Softly, you cradled his head in your hands, as if it was the last time you could hold him like this. When he put his forehead against yours, he had his eyes closed and his chest was moving steadier than before.

“You’re the best,” he whispered. “Stay the night?”

Should you have gone home, and missed him all night? Would you have regretted saying no while you curled up in bed with no Cheshire-cat-grin-boy to hold? Or were you to remain in his bed, and pray you would survive the torture of not speaking your mind? His skin radiated the most wonderful warmth and you wanted to trace his lips with your eyes until you fell asleep. That’s how quickly it was decided.

“Okay,” you answered.

[bubblyhoney]

win for me

warnings: lAnGuAgE, alcohol consumption (both reader and all other characters are of age to drink), marijuana use, Making Out™️, a miniscule Flowers from 1970 reference. PSA: WHEN UR INTOXICATED AND/OR AT A PARTY, TELL UR FRIENDS WHO YOU WILL BE WITH AND WHERE YOU WILL BE AT ALL TIMES. DRINK AND PARTY SAFELY!

tags: sapnap x fem!reader

summary: a collection of moments throughout the beginning of your relationship

words: 5000

A/N: even though this isn’t my most organized or perfect fic this was so incredibly fun to write. and it’s a college!au!! one of my favs. hope you guys like!! let's pretend the pandemic doesn't exist for this one too (please wear ur masks btw)

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Sophomore Year:

Smells like shit in here is your first thought upon entering the laundromat.

It does, in all honesty. What would you expect a place where college students wash three months of dirty clothes and comforters with vomit to smell like? Urine and just a hint of marijuana, incidentally. The door closes noisily behind you and a guy in a black baseball hat turns his head at the noise. Half of his face is hidden underneath the shadow of his scruff and he says nothing, but you still offer an obligatory polite-stranger smile. The place is pretty deserted, what for it being nearly 4 in the morning. And you’re a rare kind of customer; only a few things to wash and you brought your own detergent.

There’s an empty washer next to an old woman in an acid-trip of a parka, and you sweep past the few other patrons with your mesh bag close. The man in the hat nods at you as you pass, looking up from his phone.

Okay. Dark load in one and delicates in the other, you remind yourself. The quarters get pushed through the slot (not without dropping three and having to scramble to pick them up before they disappear between the machines) and you fill the dispensers with a flowery laundry detergent your roommates hates. Oh, and the clothes go in. Done. You relax into a cracked plastic booth around the corner of the machine, pulling a book of crosswords from your bag.

Somebody yelps halfway through filling out a five letter word (“a series of thoughts, images, and sensations occurring in a person's mind during sleep”) and you jump. Baseball Cap rips open the dryer, fumbling around and supplying a pair of gray sweatpants. You can’t help but watch. He digs through both front pockets, pulling out a wad of dollar bills. He sighs, shoves the pants back into the dryer, and starts it with a hard push.

“Gut feeling?” You ask. He looks around for a second and settles his gaze upon you. Nice eyebrows, you think.

“Yeah,” he laughs, slightly nervous. “Yeah. I wore them yesterday and just remembered I put some tip money in my pocket.” Leaning back onto the shelf behind him, he shoves his phone into his pocket and folds his arms tight to his chest.

“I feel you,” you empathize, and set down your pencil. “I washed a parking ticket with my underwear last week.”

He stutters out a laugh, nodding.

“That must’ve sucked,” he adds.

“Yeah.” You shrug. “I wasn’t going to pay it anyways, but would’ve been nice to keep it for memory’s sake.” Rubbing at your knee offhandedly, you just watch him. He’s cute. And easy to make conversation with.

“Hey, um,” he mutters and clears his throat. “Do you by chance know some guy named Karl? Tall, messy brown hair and a horrible laugh?”

You open your mouth, then close it.

“Actually—,” you start but huff out a laugh. “Yeah, he’s uh, he’s dating my roommate. Why’d you ask?”

Reaching a hand to rub at his neck, his face twists into something sheepish.

“I’ve seen you at some parties this semester. I didn’t mean to sound creepy like that— I just—yeah.” His cheeks flush pink and he looks down to the ground.

“No worries,” you say, barely even thinking. “I think I’ve seen you too. You’re in Delta Tau Delta, right?”

“Nah, nah,” he laughs. “Just got some friends in there.”

“Ah.” You nod.

The conversation falls into silence, but not uncomfortable silence. He pulls out his phone again, and you look back to the crossword in front of you. The old woman between you leaves with a humongous load of blankets and a small family leaves with a cart full of bags; now it’s just you two.

When the washer with your delicates ding you nearly jump two feet in the air. Exhaling, you set your work down and open the door.

“Shit,” you curse as two bras fall onto the tile. You reach down to get a hand on a black lace bra and hide it quickly under your elbow. A sneaker squeaks loud in the almost-empty room and you see Baseball Cap’s shoulders.

“Here.” He’s kneeling as he hands you your pink bra and you accept it, biting your lower lip.

“Thanks,” you mumbles, slightly embarrassed, and step back to shove those bras and a couple pairs of your underwear into your bag. He offers you a small smile and backs off to his own machines, humming an off-key version of Unchained Melody to himself. Your other load of laundry gets shoved right on top of your delicates.

It’s when you’re nearly out the door, bell jingling, that you think to look back.

“Hey,” you start, almost stuttering for no reason. “What’s your name?”

He turns, dark eyebrows raised.

“My—uh… My friends call me Sapnap. You can call me that too.” Rosy cheeks once again; you seem to be making him awfully nervous.

“Sapnap.” You try it in your mouth, pursing your lips. “Okay. I’ll see you around Sapnap.”

He nods, affirming your statement.

“See you around Y/N.”

It doesn’t hit you until you’re buckling your seatbelt and starting your car that you realize you didn’t tell him your name.

Perhaps he knew more about you than you thought.

Yeah, you laugh to yourself. Karl’s got a big mouth.

Junior Year:

It takes you a collective twelve minutes to go talk to him.

It’s quiet in the library, students that happen to come here to study or procrastinate few and far between the scattered tables. Your poison today is a 4 page history paper on Normandy that you’d been staring at the instructions for for days. You’d already written a bunch of, frankly, horseshit for the body, but the introduction and conclusion were throwing you for a loop.

The vibes in Ridgeback Hall were also certainly off, today more than any other day; the main help-desk was empty and everybody had to do the tedious task of locating niche textbooks themselves.

Lifting your head from the wood of the table, you squint and focus your vision on the guy in the white tee and denim jacket that had been the focus of your thoughts for minutes. He chews at the end of his pencil, mouth screwed up into a ball, and shoots daggers at the empty notebook in front of him. You’re surprised it hasn’t caught on fire yet just from his gaze.

“Sapnap!” You whisper-shout, stretching your arms across the table as if it would make him any closer. A person with purple hair jumps at your voice but turns back to their laptop. “Sapnap!” you try again, tapping two fingers on the table. His head jerks up, eyebrows furrowed and an angry expression on his face, but softens at the sight of you.

“Y/N,” he counters, equally as loud but with a smile on his face.

“What’re you doing?”

“Calculus.” He sticks his tongue out, making an awfully tortured face. You laugh and wave your fingers at him, gesturing for him to come closer. He just huffs out a sigh, stacks all his papers in one pile, and gets up. The trek over to your table is short but he takes it so slowly you wonder if he always walks like that. Like a varsity basketball player who just got off a horse.

“You’re so slow.”

“Shut up,” he grumbles and settles into a chair across from you. “It’s 2 pm, give me a break. I need a Redbull.”

“Those are bad for you, you know,” you say matter-of-factly and drop your chin onto your hand. He’s even cuter from this angle, you think briefly. He just rolls his eyes.

“Whatever, Miss I’d-like-some-coffee-with-my-sugar-and-cream,” he teases, pointing to your venti iced coffee. It’s about as pale as the color of a band-aid. You just sigh and close your eyes. “You tired?” He flips his pencil in his hand and leans back into the seat, sighing.

“Yeah,” you mumble. “I haven’t slept yet today.”

“Wow, you’re dumb.” He looks scandalized. You just shrug.

“Perhaps. I don’t really know why I did it actually— just for funzies!” You raise an arm but let it drop back down. “I stayed up playing Sims.”

“Feel that. I play Minecraft with my buddies until like 2 am every night too. It’s nice,” he decides and folds his arms across his chest. Your eyes flit over to his strong arms, admiring the way his denim shirt looks around them. Thick.

“Do you have a girlfriend?”

“What?” He says too loudly and it warrants a ‘shush’ from another student. He reddens, but looks back down to you. “I—why do you ask?” You shrug, eyebrows raised.

“Just wondering. You’re too cute to not have one.”

“Right,” he huffs, but his cheeks stay pink. You two fall into easy silence, his eyes trained on the notebook in front of him and yours closed peacefully. “Are you dating anyone?”

They snap open not-so-peacefully.

“Nope. You wanna submit a boyfriend application?” A smile cracks your lips and he grins back.

“Maybe,” he replies and stares at your mouth. “I have to say—,” He stretches into a yawn. “I think I’m qualified.”

“Oh, yeah?” Your eyebrow quirks. “And why are you so qualified?”

“Well, first of all, I work at Ace Hardware. That’s where cool people work.” He presses one finger into his palm. Then two. “And I have a bunch of free time because said job at Ace Hardware only likes scheduling me in the mornings. Plus, I’m hot.” He shrugs.

You nod faux-seriously, considering his list.

“Those are very good qualities, sir. I’ll have to get back to you on that.” You pause. “Okay, I’ll schedule an interview. How’s 7 pm at the Chili’s on Main? Chili’s is the designated interview place.” You wiggle your eyebrows. He just smiles at you, shaking his head in disbelief.

“That was smooth.”

“Yeah, I know.” You carefully study your nails. “I’m pretty impressive.”

“Clearly,” he mutters and chuckles. “But I do like their salsa. And margaritas. We got a deal?” He holds out a large hand. You take it, squeezing tightly.

“Hell yes.”

When you see the man called Sapnap a week later, you are very obviously in a different state of mind.

Same state, same college town, but very different blood alcohol contents.

“Sappy!” You shout, raising your arms above your head with a stupid grin on your face. He turns, that familiar look of surprise evident in his expression.

“Y/N,” he laughs and approaches your group of friends in the kitchen. It’s Greek Wedding night at Delta Tau Delta, and you assume Sapnap came to support Delta’s “groom” Alex. You’d gotten uncharacteristically drunk, trading air for sangria, and you were now in the incredible stage where everyone was both your friend and your favorite person.

Throwing an arm around his shoulders, you mash your face into his bicep and giggle.

“Missed you so much,” you try to manage out of your mouth, but it comes out slurred and stuttered. “So much.” You’d gone to Chili’s two days before and promised another ‘interview’ in the next few days, but it felt like two months away from your beloved. Beloved friend, that is. Only one date.

“Yeah?” He places a hesitant hand on your back and nudges you into a standing position. “How much have you had to drink?”

“Oh, shhhh,” you mumble and close your eyes. “Only— a lot.” Blinking them back open, you zero your gaze in on a bottle of Ciroc half-empty and looking very tempting on the kitchen island across from where you’re leaned up against the kitchen sink. He catches your gaze and steps in front of you, pleasant face filling your vision. You gasp.

“You are so cute.” Sliding your palms up onto his face, you hold his scruffy cheeks in your hands and smile all dopey at him.

“Is that your brain or the alcohol telling you that?”

“Uh,” you swallow. “Both. And my heart.”

He just shakes his head and his chest moves with a heavy laugh.

“Glad to hear it.”

“Are you having fun?” You ask, all concerned and furrowed eyebrows. You look like you’re genuinely interested and worried about if he’s having a good time or not, and it makes his expression melt.

“I’m having lots of fun,” he passes over his shoulder as he flips on the tap and fills a red solo cup with water. “In fact, I’m gonna have a nice, cold glass of water right now.” He shakes it like an owner offering their dog a treat.

You eye the cup in his hand, having half a thought that this might be some sort of backwards psychology move. The other half wins.

“That sounds so good right now— can I drink some?” Your eyebrows pull together and your bottom lip drops into a pout. It makes him blink for a second. He remembers the little game you’re playing and just hands it over, smug. You gulp it down quickly and crush the empty plastic into your palm with an exaggerated exhale. “Hit the spot,” you sigh, and pat your stomach fondly.

“You hungry?” Sapnap asks you as he steadies you with two hands on your shoulders. Something pops into your head at his words: a set of two McChickens and an Oreo milkshake.

“Oh my God,” you gasp, and mirror him by placing your hands on his shoulders. “Can we go to McDonald’s?”

He just shakes his head, grin wide on his lips, and shrugs. Perfect teeth, you think.

“I haven’t drank anything, so I’m good to drive.” He pulls his keys from his pocket. “I know you’re smashed right now so—do you feel safe with me?” The question falls from his mouth and you truly consider it, pulling your lip between your teeth.

“Yeah. I’ll take this just in case,” you say, and take a large dinner fork from the counter next to you. It has some red liquid on it that you brush off onto the fabric of your jeans.

“That’s actually gross.”

“Yeah.” You grip it tighter in your head. “But it’ll do the job if you try any shit. I’ll put this in your eyeball.” Brandishing it, a smile stretches onto your mouth. He just shakes his head and heads for the back door, jerking a hand in your direction to get you to follow him.

The cool night air explodes on your face when you step onto the porch and it makes you blink rapidly. Sapnap is right at your side, offering a forearm as you slowly make your way down the two back porch steps. A tall blonde smoking half of a blunt makes a grunt noise as you two pass and your knight-in-shining armor looks up.

“Gonna go get some food. Want anything?” Sapnap stops on the rocky path to the sidewalk, tilted up to hear the blonde’s response. The other guy shakes his head but nods to you in passing.

“I’ll tell her friends where she went,” says the blonde, and disappears through the sliding glass doors.

Your hand falls from his forearm to his hand and grasps it tightly, swinging back and forth as you stumble to his car. You flash him a grin that he just chuckles at.

“Watch your step,” he warns as you yank on the handle of the passenger door and nearly fall off of the curb.

“I’m fine,” you huff, and scramble to get yourself upright into the seat and buckled. He closes your door and jogs to the driver’s seat, climbing in and starting the engine quicker than your head comprehends.

The small space fills with the sound of Letters to Cleo as he’s maneuvering out of his parking spot and he slaps a hand at the stereo button almost immediately. His cheeks redden as he glances at you once.

“I love Letters to Cleo,” you admit, and switch it back on. Ah, Co-Pilot. A classic. “Be my co-pilot!” You sing, loud and sharp. He shakes his head but huffs out a reluctant laugh.

“My older sister loved them. Bit old for my taste, but—you know. Can’t deny that I love a little bit of 90’s angst.”

“Absolutely,” you nod vigorously and pick at your nail. “Oh!” The fork magically reappears at your side and you grab at it. “For my McChickens.”

“And for me,” he adds.

“Yup. You too.” But you drop it onto the seat and lean forward, fumbling with the volume dial until you feel the lead singer’s voice thumping into your heart. “I love this lady!” You shout and rock your head to the beat.

Shaking his head, his shoulders move in an easy laugh. The drive-thru line is kind of busy for 2 am, he notes, pulling in right behind a navy BMW sedan. But it moves quickly, especially when you’re moving in your seat, scream-singing the lyrics to I Want You To Want Me.

“Yeah,” he says, loud into the mic. “Two.”

“Alright.” The voice reports from the speaker, a background clicking joining their bored tone. “Two McChickens, a double cheeseburger—ketchup and pickle only— , a medium fry, and an Oreo McFlurry. Anything else, sir?”

Sapnap chews on his lip, and glances at you. You just give an encouraging thumbs up.

“That’ll be all,” he reports.

“Second window, and your total is $9.67.”

He barely has time to call a “thank you so much!” before the line ends with a click. Rude.

“Jesus Christ,” you moan the second you sink your teeth into your first sandwich.

“Agreed,” he mumbles and pushes as much cheeseburger he can fit into his mouth.

“This,” you start, swallowing. “is the sexiest thing I’ve encountered in all of my years. I thank all higher powers when I consume McChickens…” Trailing off for dramatic effect, you stare down the sandwich before mimicking a dinosaur war cry and practically shoving it down your throat. He just nods in agreement.

“It’s so nice out tonight,” Sapnap comments, swinging a look out his rolled-down window. He parked right in front of the Campus Quad, large bubbling fountain the show to your dinner. And some geese fighting each other for half a rotting hot dog.

“Mhm.” You crumple up your wrapper trash and toss it into the empty paper bag. “Could totally go for a swim.”

He turns and gives you a look. You look right back.

“Should we?” It’s barely a question.

“Um, hell yes,” is all it takes for you to say before you’re clambering out of the car and starting for the fountain. He follows closely after, jogging to catch up with your borderline track-star sprints.

“Wait up!” He calls as you reach the border of the fountain.

“Ugh,” you sigh, impatient. “Hurry up.”

“Mouthy,” he grumbles before kicking off his shoes and bending to fold his pants up over his knees. You just climb straight in and brave the cold.

Squealing, you hop from one foot to the other, shoulders tight as you get used to the freezing water. He laughs and climbs in right beside you.

“Shit,” he curses, and shivers. “This sucks.”

“You suck,” you quip right back and splash around. He stares, disgusted, at the water soaking up your jeans all the way up to your knees.

“You’re gross for wearing jeans in a fountain. That’s worse than wet socks.” He starts to move around as feeling comes back into his toes.

“What, would you prefer me taking my pants off?” A sassy look paints your face and he rolls his eyes.

“No, but you could’ve folded them up like a normal person.”

“I think you forget,” you start, and splash a palmful of water his way. “I’m quirky.”

He gasps, face twisting as the water hits his thighs.

“You’re dead.”

If campus police were patrolling the Quad right now, they’d see two college juniors wading around in a fountain, water up to their knees, having a competition to see who can inflict the most damage. He won, it seems, because your shirt is drenched all the way up to your ribs.

“Okay!” You shout, hands spread to brace yourself. The water in his palm falls. “I’m cold and I want my other McChicken.”

“Fine,” he sighs, and with some difficulty manages to get out of the fountain and back into his shoes. You just make your way back over to his car barefoot, braving the mulch and poorly-sanded concrete.

You both finish your food quickly, discussing menial things like how fast food restaurants always skimp on the pickles and how it’s truly a disservice to the world that so many people don’t know it’s Biggie singing the song Kat dances on the table to in the 1999 classic 10 Things I Hate About You.

When Sapnap pulls up to your house, he shifts the car into park and lets loose a heavy sigh. You whip around, hand on your buckle, and sport a very confused look on your face.

“I’m tired,” is all he says. Head falling onto the seat, he rolls over to give you a half-lidded look. You nod empathetically and climb very carefully out of his passenger seat. Your drunk muscles haven't caught up to your mainly sober brain, which is impairing your ability to look like a functioning human being.

“Thank you for tonight,” you chirp, smiling in at him with your arms folded on the open window sill. The half-drank Oreo McFlurry is lukewarm in your hand. He stares at your flushed lips.

“Anytime you want a drunk McChicken let me know.” He winks. “I have a gift card.”

“You spoil me,” you coo, and step up onto the sidewalk. “I’ll see you sometime soon, yeah?”

He nods, pursed lips fighting a grin.

Cute, you both think at the same time.

Sometime soon, somehow, means the very next day.

It’s breezy yet uncharacteristically hot out, and certainly way too bright for a hungover Y/N.

You’re sat on the porch swing, nursing a hot decaf coffee with lots of sugar and cream. Sunglasses sit comfortably on your nose, but you still have to squint. The pills you took have yet to kick in, so all you have to do is wait and try not to vomit into your mug. Suddenly, your phone lights up and buzzes to life. You press the green button and lift to your ear.

“What do you want?” Your voice is awfully froggy, you realize, and clear your throat.

“Good morning to you too.” Sapnap’s voice rings clear yet husky into your ear. The corners of your lips twitch up into a smile. God, you’re whipped just for the sound of his voice.

“It is definitely not a good morning,” you grumble and switch him into speaker phone. You drop the phone into your lap and stretch out further on the swing.

“Good morning for me,” he chirps cheerfully. “Take anything for the headache?”

“Yes,” you report, sounding like a pouting child and rubbing two fingers into your temple. “Some idiot fed me ice cream last night so this morning I woke up having to both shit and throw up.”

“Aww,” he sympathizes, sounding way too entertained. “That sounds like a you problem.” You stuck out your tongue, but upon realizing he can’t see it, make a ‘hmph’ noise into the mic. “Anyways. I called to see if you wanted to go get breakfast with me. Waffle House, specifically.” You make a face but lift yourself up off the swing, wincing.

“I saw a rat eat an entire piece of french toast there once. But—sure. I’ll pay.” He starts to whine, but you scoff. “Let me love you, bitch. You pay for my McDonald’s and I pay for your pancakes. Easy trade.”

“Whatever. See you in five.” He hangs up right as you twist the front door open and drop your phone onto the couch.

“Who’re you talking to?” comes from the kitchen and you jump, pressing a hand to your chest. A shirtless Karl enters the living room with a bowl of fruit loops in his hand.

“Jesus Christ,” you breathe, and duck into the hall closet for your pair of dirty tennis shoes. “I was talking to Sapnap.”

“Oh,” he says around his mouthful of cereal with a grin. “You guys dating yet?”

You pass him a weird look, bending to tie your shoes.

“Gimme like two weeks. I’ll have him at my beck and call,” you laugh and collapse back into the couch.

“I’ll believe it when I see it.” He quirks an eyebrow and exits stage left into your roommate’s room.

The few minutes it takes for Sapnap to come to your house are short but filled with contemplation. Do you really want to date him? He’s certainly cute enough. Nice enough. And smart enough. He seems to like you too—

A honk interrupts your thoughts. Always having to be obnoxious, huh?

“You’re annoying,” you mumble as you buckle your seatbelt. He just shrugs, tiny smile tugging his lips, and shifts into drive. The short trip to Waffle House proves more quiet than lively. He seems awake, actually, so you attribute the silence to your tumultuous thoughts. The music is nice, though. Bikini Kill is perfect for 10 am.

After you two order (three chocolate chip pancakes for him and two regular waffles with a side of hashbrowns for you), he finally breaks the silence.

“Hey, are we dating?”

You pause with your lip on the rim of your orange juice. Your gaze falls from his lips to his fingers wrapped around the coffee mug. Two silver rings adorn both his middle fingers and they glint underneath the fluorescent lights.

“Do you wanna?” You squint back up at him. The tips of his ears flush pink.

“I-uh… Yeah. Yes,” he says simply. You try to hide a smile, but realize there’s no point.

“Okay.” You take a long drink of your orange juice. “I really like you. A lot. A surprising amount, actually; I haven’t really dated seriously since highschool.”

He nods, shuffling his feet on the tile. What else does he have to be nervous about? you wonder.

“I’ve… kindasortamaybelikedyousincesophmoreyear,” he mumbles and you swallow.

“Huh?” Leaning forward, you set your glass down.

“Um,” he starts but doesn’t finish.

“Did you say you’ve liked me since sophomore year?”

“...Maybe.” His coffee becomes the most interesting thing in the world, apparently. “Do you remember that one time during the Summer Carnival where Karl lost his phone?”

“Uh—yes! Yeah, actually. I do remember that. He found it in the porta-potty. What about it?” The waitress sets down both your plates in front of you and you offer her a smile in thanks before she trundles off to the drink station. You pick up your fork and wait for him to continue.

“I left two hours early because you invited Michael from your computer science class.” You pause around your mouthful of potato and he just stares back, trying not to grin. “Yeah. I thought you were hot and left early because you brought another guy.”

“Michael is gay,” you say slowly.

“Yup.” He nods and shoves a forkful of pancake into his mouth. “Isn’t that so stupid?”

“So stupid,” you tease but your cheeks blush pink.

“Anyways. Now I’m dating you, so. Win for me.”

“Ditto,” you murmur, and manage to fit half of your first waffle into your mouth. “This is the easiest it’s ever been to start dating someone.”

“It’s ‘cause we’re cool, I’m pretty sure,” comes from a mouthful of pancake.

“That’s facts.”

The rest of Pancake House is bustling, a few families with young kids and some other hungover college students scarfing down similar breakfast foods and confections. You two barely give any other customers the time of day, too wrapped up in conversation and each other. The waitress gets a heavy tip after an hour and a half of struggling to swallow dough soaked in syrup and chocolate.

Sapnap walks you to your door after breakfast, hand on your waist and pressed to your side. It feels good. Right.

“I’ll see you Wednesday right?” You ask, turning to him with hopeful eyes. How could he resist?

“Definitely. Wouldn’t miss Game Night for the world— I can’t wait to beat your ass at Uno.”

“You’re insufferable, you know that?” You murmur but you’re already slinging an arm around his shoulder and bringing his mouth down to yours.

You taste like sugar, he thinks. His hands find the small of your back easily, pressing you further forward into him. You hum at that, tracking a hand up the back of his neck and into his hair to grip it between your fingers.

He smells both musky and sweet and cool at the same time: heaven. One of his hands slides up to grip at your neck, thumb rubbing at your jaw, and you make a pleased noise into his mouth. There it is.

“Y/N!” Shrieks from inside your house and you jump, pulling away from Sapnap with a smack.

“What?” You yell back, irritated, and he just laughs as he dips to press a kiss to your cheek.

“Stop tonguing your boyfriend and come help me with my photography project.”

“God damn it,” you sigh and drop your hands. His slide down to just rest on your hips, comfortable. “I have to go.” You're annoyed, that’s for sure, and he prays you aren’t too mean to your roommate.

“Alright.” He dips for a quick kiss one last time. Okay, two more times. Maybe three. But he pulls away, grinning. “I’ll see you Wednesday.”

And then he’s stepping off your porch, walking to his car with his hands in his pockets. You watch his back fondly.

God, boyfriend. He’s your boyfriend. Boynap. Sapfriend. You can’t decide on a name, but all sounds perfect.

Perfectly him.

-

A/N: ask or send me some stuff!! requests, rants, anything. :D comments = welcome!

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Hello! Can I request headcanons of Trey, Jade, and Jamil's S/O accidentally burned her mouth when eating their food while the food is still hot? And the S/O replies that it's because she loves their food too much and can't wait to eat it. Thank you!

Curiouser and Curiouser...

Trey can’t even register your compliment because he autopiloted to “concerned mom” mode. He immediately rushes to your side with a slight frown and sets to slowing down the burn.

“Hey now, before you go and flatter me, we’d better treat that burn of yours. If we don’t, it might get worse, and that’s the last thing in the world that I want.”

First thing’s first—Trey fishes out some ice-cubes from the drink that csme with your food and instructs you to suck on them to cool down your mouth. Once you’ve powered through all the ice cubes, Trey upgrades you to a popsicle—orange, cherry, or grape, your choice (which stains your tongue a bright color)!

He doesn’t want you to risk biting your tongue if the burn has numbed your sensations! Trey will take whatever it is that you were about to eat and reduce them into purees to make them easier for you to enjoy without chewing.

Trey offers to feed you to help you laugh off the slight pain from your burn. He pretends to blow on the purees and to check a spoonful for its temperature before guiding it into your mouth.

While you’re recovering, he’ll provide you with flavorless toothpaste and floss. (You can’t use your normal mint ones because those might irritate your burn!)

He asks every now and again how you’re doing, just to check up on you—and once you’re all better, Trey will treat you to a big banquet filled with all your favorite foods (though he’ll remind you to be more careful this time)! He may not be too good at romancing with words, but he sure can romance you through your stomach!

Jade seems to be more amused than genuinely worried. He knows his cooking isn’t hot enough to warrant any severe burning, but he might as well have some fun with this while he can.

“Fufu. While I am pleased to know that you find my dishes to be appetizing, I ask that you not deign to injure yourself while rushing to eat them. We’d best inspect your injury and tend to it as soon as possible.”

Jade has you open your mouth for him while he inspects the severity of your burn. You swear from the dangerous glint in his gaze that Jade is staring a little too intensely into your mouth, and perhaps having a little too much fun poking at your slightly swollen tongue.

After assessing the damage, Jade fetches you a glass of water and tells you to gargle with it. You obey—and almost immediately spit the water back up in shock. He had neglected to warn you that it would be salty. Jade just chuckles and casually informs you that salt water is commonly used as an antiseptic to clean and disinfect burns.

He exchanges your regular meals for dishes served at cooler temperatures—like gazpacho (without tomato to sting the burn), pasta salads, and grain bowls! Those will be sure to help cool off your mouth.

Jade also takes this opportunity to introduce you to the traditional foods of the Coral Sea—raw fish, straight out of a bed of ice chips! (He dresses them up as sushi, sashimi, and poke bowls to make them more palatable to you, so no worries!) These dishes don’t take nearly as much time to prepare as cooked dishes, but you can see how excited and proud Jade is to share a part of his culture with his S/O.

Even long after you’ve recovered from the burn, every so often, Jade will tease you about the incident, tossing out overly sympathetic offers like “Are you certain you can handle the heat of this dish!?” and “Is the temperature of the soup too hot? Shall I blow on it for you?” It eventually becomes an in-joke between the two of you.

Jamil sighs and shakes his head at you. He should have expected as much from you; after all, he’s used to dealing with Kalim, who’s just as excitable and eager to down Jamil’s food as you are.

“Fool. If you burn your tongue, you won’t get to taste anything, let alone the cooking that you enjoy so much. You must be less reckless and more rational in the future.”

Jamil quickly clears the table and passes along milk and yogurt swirled with honey. All three are good for coating the throat preventing further damage—plus, they taste sweet and are easy to keep down!

He makes a mental note to avoid preparing heavily spiced foods until you have fully recovered. Bland, smooth porridges are all you’ll get until further notice. (But hey, Jamil will generously add a few sunny side up eggs and a strip of bacon for flavor.)

He appoints himself as your food tester until you’ve fully recovered. Jamil carefully inspects every dish that he didn’t personally prepare and dismissed them if he deems them to be potentially harmful. This includes citrus fruits and crunchy foods, which he offers alternatives for.

Jamil always keeps some potions and salves on hand, just in case your burn worsens and needs to be treated immediately! It’s important for him to care for you firsthand—he can’t trust anyone else to do it!

When you’re better, Jamil is sure to double and triple check all his dishes before he calls them safe for consumption. This way, you won’t get another burn! Jamil may not outright say it, but the reason he puts forth all this effort and goes to all this trouble is because he worries about your health and safety. He just loves you that much!

[tetsuwhore]

𝐛𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐚𝐧 | 𝐤𝐮𝐫𝐨𝐨 𝐭𝐞𝐭𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐨𝐮

Night Club AU! Series: Vol i.

‘It wasn’t a normal occurrence for him to lose his composure, the collectedness that he worked so hard to maintain. And yet, here you are, shattering it like it was the easiest thing in the world to do.’

Description: having had enough of you teasing him in front of your friends, Kuroo decides to remind you of your place.

Warning: explicit smut - hard dom!Kuroo, daddy kink, degradation/dirty talk, lil bit of brat taming, overstimulation, semi-public sex, accidental exhibitionism, unprotected sex, alcohol consumption

Word Count: 4.3k

Song Rec: What I Want by She Wants Revenge

back to masterlist?

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

He was thinking.

He sees you at the bar, casually leaning against the table. You’ve got an elbow on the bar top, lithe fingers twirling around a loose lock of hair as you lightly sway your head along to the beat of the music. It’s some kind of electropop, but he’s not really paying attention.

He was always thinking. 

Suddenly, you still. Turning your head around, body still facing away from him, your eyes lock on his. Your gaze is intent, as if you were trying to tell him that you knew he was watching you. His eyes trail down your face, captivated by the sight of your thumb nail slightly slipping between your lips. Then, the moment passes, and you turn back away from him. 

Kuroo’s mind was constantly working, like cogs in a well-oiled machine. His thoughts always moved steadily; never rushed. He took in what he could sense around him, chewing it carefully, meticulously picking at the little details before deciding how to act. It wasn’t a normal occurrence for him to lose his composure, the collectedness that he worked so hard to maintain. 

And yet, here you are, shattering it like it was the easiest thing in the world to do. 

You’re walking towards him now, taking slow steps as you playfully sway your hips along to the tune. He finds himself fixated on your face again. His eyes can’t tear away from your pretty, pretty lips, lightly pulled into a mischievous smile as you advance closer to his form. 

“Here you go, babe. Black Russian.”

Accepting the glass from you, he shifts on the leather sofa, giving you space to resume your previous position, nestled into his side. Sipping the drink, he allows the bittersweet taste to dance around his tongue as he vaguely makes out the conversation happening before him. You have an arm loosely looped around his shoulders as you lean into his chest, laughing at something Bokuto is saying. 

(He’s been too preoccupied to focus on the topic of conversation. He hopes Akaashi doesn’t notice.)

“Kuroo-san, are you alright? You’ve been rather quiet.”

(For fucks sake, with how obvious he was being, of course Akaashi would notice.)

“Yeah, baby, you feeling okay?” 

Your voice is so deceptively saccharine when you look at him, lashes fluttering innocently as you join Akaashi in voicing your concern. They have no way of knowing that your hand, currently perched on his shoulder, is lightly pulling at the small hairs on the back of his neck. It’s right where he’s sensitive, and just the way he likes it.

(And you know this. He knows you know, and he knows you’re getting such a kick out of leaving him so agitated.)

Lightly nodding, he brushes it off, saying he was just a little worn out from all the dancing. Shrugging in acceptance, Akaashi and Bokuto continue their conversation. 

And you continue what you’ve been doing all night.

Your lips are so pretty, but so, so dangerous. Especially when they’re right up against his ear, whispering all kinds of filth. They’re in your native tongue, and he can’t understand them - not explicitly at least. 

He doesn’t need to. Not when you’re practically purring them into his ear, words slipping off your tongue in a silky, sultry tone that sends a flaring heat crawling up all the way from deep inside him, to the back of his neck. 

He grips your other hand, stopping it from moving any higher up his thigh, squeezing it in warning. Hearing you huff and pull away, he almost breathes a sigh of relief. Almost, because you immediately follow up with another sentence. 

One that makes him tense up, as he catches the very last word. 

“...daddy.” 

Kuroo was always thinking. He could be bold in his actions, yes, but it was after careful mental consideration of the risks. The things he said or the way he behaved - they were always done consciously, deliberately, strategically. 

Kuroo was not an impulsive person. 

And yet, he finds himself turning to Akaashi and Bokuto, stumbling over some half-assed excuse about how he needed to find a bathroom because he ‘wasn’t feeling very well’. 

He ignores their bewildered expressions as he grabs your hand, pulling you up with him. He ignores the knowing look Akaashi sends Bokuto as he drags you behind him, maneuvering past the sea of dancing bodies, scouring the area for an isolated corner away from the flashing lights and prying eyes.

You groan as he slams you against the wall, melding his lips against yours in a bruising kiss. Before you can get too lost in his hold, you push him away. Curious, you ask, “Why didn’t you just make up some excuse so we could leave altogether? I mean, Akaashi already-”

“You think,” his voice is gruff as he snarls, “that I can wait long enough for us to get home?” His eyes - dark and stoney as they lock on yours in a scorching gaze - make you shudder. He’s breathing heavily, jaw clenched tight, and a visible vein on his forehead, as he glares down at you. 

He looks like a wild animal gone feral. And right now, you’re his prey. 

Glancing warily at the group of people walking just down the empty hallway that he’s pulled you into, you attempt to protest, “Wait, Tetsu, we can’t just- not here-”

“Don’t even try to tell me that the little stunt you’ve been pulling all night wasn’t you begging to get fucked right here. You knew exactly what you were doing.” 

And then he’s on you again, hot mouth pressed hard against yours. The bruising hold he has on your hips makes you moan - from pain, or from arousal, you don’t know. You don’t have time to care either, not when he’s deepening the kiss, making it grow hungrier, more animalistic. The grip you have on his shirt tightens as his tongue darts between your lips, licking against the back of your teeth before melding with yours. 

It’s him who pulls away this time, ignoring your whine at the loss of contact. 

“What, you thought you could just rile me up in front of our friends and I’d let you get away with it?” Clicking his tongue, he continues, “Since you seem to enjoy behaving like a slut, you’re going to get treated like one. On your knees.”

Glancing down at the floor, you grimace at the thought of your naked skin touching the muck and grime collected at the surface. Looking back up at him, you protest, “But, Tetsu, it’s filthy.”

“Dunno why the fuck you care about that. After all, you seemed sure okay with spewing absolute filth in my ear only minutes ago, huh, sweetheart?”

Seeing you attempting to complain again, he sneers, “Would you prefer if I fucked my fist instead? And left you with nothing?” 

Chuckling sardonically at the sight of you frantically shaking your head, he orders, tone firm and commanding, “Yeah, didn’t think so. Then don’t be a brat. On your knees.” 

You obey him this time, sinking down to your knees so you’re face to face with his clothed crotch. He watches you intently, remaining silent - you know what you have to do without needing further instruction. Making haste, you unzip his pants, moving his boxers down so you can grab a hold of his cock. 

Smearing the moisture pooling at the tip with your thumb, you place wet kisses along its length, lubricating it enough for your hand to begin slowly pumping it at the base. Casting your eyes up at him, you wrap your lips around the tip, mentally patting yourself on the back when you hear him hiss at the sensation.

He watches as you begin moving your head up and down his length, your hand pumping the rest from his base. “C’mon, sweetheart, you can do better than that,” he grunts, saying nothing more. He doesn’t have to - you already know what he means. You take your hands off his cock and place them both on the outside of his thighs to steady yourself. 

Taking a deep breath, you slowly inch yourself forward, taking in as much as you can. You feel tears prick the corners of your eyes as you keep going, willing yourself not to gag when you feel him reach closer to the back of your throat. Opening your eyes, you almost choke in surprise when you realize that he’s barely halfway in. 

He bites his lip as he looks down at you, struggling, but nonetheless forcing yourself to work his entire length into your mouth. You’re so, so pretty, knelt down, with your lips wrapped tight around his dick, stray tears streaming down your face. He can’t help the prick of pride as he watches you work yourself ragged, pushing and fighting to stuff more of his cock into your warm mouth.  

All for his pleasure. 

Taking pity on you, he gently taps your cheek, speaking breathily, “Alright, tha-that’s enough.” You pull away, lips leaving behind a string of saliva still connected to the head of his cock. Wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, you hold on to his forearms and pull yourself back up. 

“Since you were so obedient, I think you deserve a little reward, hmm?” he coos, smirking as he drinks in your current flustered state. It’s such a stark contrast to the seductive temptress from earlier, and he has to hold back an amused laugh.

You’re breathing unevenly, face flushed pink and swollen lips slightly open as you release shallow exhales. Hearing his question, you nod hesitantly. 

“Nuh uh, use your words, baby. What do you want me to do?”  

“I- I want you to fuck me, Tetsu.”

Shaking his head, he tuts, moving his face to your ear before whispering, “Nope, not ‘Tetsu’. I want you to say it exactly like earlier.”

Understanding flickering in your eyes, you sink into his embrace, murmuring, “I want you to fuck me… daddy.”

His reaction is immediate. Pulling you back into his chest, he jerks your chin up to engage you in a needy kiss. Meanwhile, his hands frantically reach under the hem of your skirt, fingers looping into the band of your panties before yanking them down your thighs. Helping him, you rustle around, kicking it down to allow him to pick it and push it into his pocket. 

With his lips still pressed hard against yours, Kuroo nudges your legs apart, giving him space to place his free hand between them. He groans as his fingers lightly trace your slit, feeling the slickness dripping down from your heat. “Fuck,” he grunts against your lips, “you this worked up just from choking on my dick?”

Licking your lips, you glance up at him, murmuring breathily, “Been worked up for a lot longer than that, daddy.” God, that fucking word again. He doesn’t know what it is, but hearing it from your lips has him tensing up, releasing what almost sounds like a growl.

Moving his fingers upwards, he begins rubbing tight circles on your clit, ignoring the sting as you sink your nails into his forearm in an attempt to remain steady. Your form is hunched over slightly - without his arm supporting you, you likely would’ve fallen over, legs too weak to hold you up. 

A shiny sheen of sweat covers your skin as you close your eyes, bottom lip pulled in between your teeth in a pathetic attempt to hide your moans - it’s useless, with how he’s increasing the pace of his fingers against you. You can’t hold back your needy whines as he works faster, amping up the pressure to the point where you can almost feel the knot in your stomach come undone.

“Tet- daddy,” you quickly correct yourself, “W-What if someone hears?”

“Let ‘em. Then they’ll get to hear all the pretty sounds my girl makes,” he grins wickedly before adding, “But, if it bothers you so much, maybe I should gag you with your panties?” Screwing your eyes shut at the humiliating thought, you shake your head quickly, prompting another chuckle from him. 

Right when you think he can’t do any more, Kuroo slips a finger in, nudging it around until he finds the sweet spot inside that has you crying out aloud. And then, just as you’re tethering on the edge of falling apart completely, you suddenly hear an unfamiliar laugh. Your eyes shoot open as the horror quickly sinks in. 

There is a man standing at the end of the hallway. 

There is a man watching as your unsuspecting boyfriend, still knuckle deep in your hot cunt, keeps going, completely oblivious to the unwelcome eyes ogling you. 

And before you can speak up, warn Kuroo of what is happening, you feel your orgasm convulse through you. 

It’s so, so humiliating, feeling your body shudder involuntary as you come to terms with the fact that this stranger had just seen you at your most vulnerable. The smug smirk on his face only makes matters worse as you feel the back of your neck grow scorching hot with embarrassment. Weakly calling out to Kuroo, you nudge his chin to the side with your head, alerting him. 

All it takes is a single sharp glare from Kuroo to send the man running. 

You breathe out a sigh of relief, allowing yourself to relax a bit. That is, until you feel your boyfriend resume the ministrations of his fingers against your sensitive core. Gasping in disbelief, you attempt to push his hand away, a complaint on the tip of your lips as you look up at your grinning boyfriend in shock.  

“B-But he just- he just saw us! What if someone else-”

“Aw, don’t give me that bullshit, angel,” he interrupts, tone mocking, “If it bothered you so much, then why can I feel you getting wetter, hmm?” He smirks as he keeps pumping his finger into your soaking cunt for emphasis, snickering at your embarrassed whine upon hearing the loud squelching sounds of his motions. 

“Mhm, look at how tight your pretty little cunt is, all clenched up around my finger,” he continues, feline eyes fixated on where his digits continue moving between your thighs, “You’re practically swallowing me up. You like the idea of some creep watching as I make you cum?”

Hearing you whine in response, he laughs, “Oh, baby, you’re just so easy to rile up.” 

He’s spewing the filthiest sentences, humiliating you to no end, all while still donning that shit-eating grin. And yet, you know he’s right - you hate how right he is. You hate how easy it is for him to get you so painfully needy and soaked with just his fingers alone. You hate how he could flip all the teasing on to you, using his domineering tone to turn you into a pliant mess. 

And you especially hate how quickly you find yourself giving up control and allowing him to do exactly as he pleases. 

You gasp out in surprise when you feel him pull away and flip you around, positioning you so your back is pressed up against his chest. His fingers move back to you, abandoning the lazy pace from earlier and instead, opting for a quickened tempo that has you crying out in ecstasy.

The movements of his fingers are brutal, rubbing hard against your clit, circling over it again, and again, and again. You’re trying to speak up, tell him that it was too much, that your clit was already too sensitive from your previous orgasm from only minutes ago. But the words remain choked up in your throat, your lips too busy releasing the most whiny noises. 

Noticing your garbled speech, Kuroo moves his face so he’s at your ear, voice laced with mock concern, “Sorry, sweetheart, trying to tell me something?” Hearing you whimper as you try to muster up a response, he lets out a dark laugh, voice taunting as he speaks.

“You were all talk when we were with Akaashi and Bokuto. What’s wrong now, kitten? Cat got your tongue? Or maybe you just needed daddy to put you in your place, hmm?” 

“D-Daddy, it’s too- too much... please...”

Realizing that your weak whisper wouldn’t do anything to stop him, you make the pathetic attempt to close your legs, trapping his hand between them and slowing (but not quite stopping) his movements. 

(God, you should’ve known better.)

“Oh, you really shouldn’t have done that, baby…”

As you feel his free hand move under your thigh, prying it away from the other and lifting it up until it’s pulled taut against your abdomen, you quickly realize what a big mistake you’ve made. 

Not only were you now forced to balance all your weight on a single (very shaky) leg, your core was now fully exposed for his fingers to explore. And explore he does, pushing a second finger inside you while grinding his palm against your clit. Your predicament was only made worse as he pulled your thigh tighter against your chest, opening you up further to his touch.

“Daddy! D-Daddy, please... let my leg down, p-please!”

Humming in amusement, he asks, “Hmm, I don’t know. Do you promise to keep ‘em open for me?” 

“Yes! I-I won’t stop you… I p-promise…”

You gain some semblance of stability now that you’re back on your feet and have his arm wrapped around your midriff again. Just in time too - you feel yourself reaching close to your second orgasm, body squirming and writhing involuntarily in his hold. 

The way his fingers are curling and uncurling inside you is so, so delicious, and you can practically taste the sweetness of your impending climax. The sensation of his hot mouth, licking and biting as it trails along your neck, isn’t helping either. All previous thoughts about oversensitivity abandon your mind as you find yourself growing dizzier with every passing second, desperate for that high. 

And he gives it to you. No. He does more than just give you your orgasm.

Allowing you to dig your nails deep into his forearm, he ruts his palm faster and harder against your clit, giving you more, and more, and more, until he’s practically wrenching your orgasm out of you. It’s much stronger than the previous - more explosive - and you find yourself screaming for him when you finally, finally cum.

Kuroo tightens the grip of his arm when he feels your knees buckle, chuckling as he watches you loll your head back against his chest, your eyes lidded in a heavy daze. But then, as his eyes trail down and catch a glimpse of your lips - swollen and red from how much you had been biting them -  he’s reminded of how painfully hard he is, cock throbbing from having been neglected for so long. 

“C’mon, baby, up against the wall so daddy can fuck you.”

You’re so fucked out, you let him maneuver your body as he likes, allowing him to press your pliant form against the wall. Pulling the fabric of your skirt over your ass, he inches forward, grinding his length along your soaked core in an effort to lubricate himself. Kuroo lets out a sharp hiss at the contact, allowing himself to get lost in the sensation - so much so, that he doesn’t catch you weakly calling out his name. 

“T-Tetsu, wait!” you try again.

This time, he hears. Alarmed by your distressed tone, he makes quick work of turning you back around to face him. Cupping your cheek, he presses, “Hey, talk to me, sweetheart. Is it too much? You wanna stop?” His tone is laced with concern as he worries that he has perhaps pushed you too much. 

Shaking your head lightly, you respond, “No, I don’t want to stop.” Kuroo waits patiently, allowing you to speak at your own pace. “Just, uh… Can we do it,” gesturing down to the front of your body, “like this? Please, I- I need to touch you.”

“Of course we can, sweetheart,” he chuckles, moving your arms to loop them around his neck. Bending slightly, he grips the back of your thighs, lifting you up and shifting so you can comfortably wrap your legs around his waist. 

Kuroo is quick to sense when you’ve burnt out, sharply reading your body language and changing his approach accordingly. So when you’re looking up at him like you are now - eyes practically pleading for him to go softer - how can he deny you?

“Mhm, you’ve been such a good girl for me. Now, how about I take care of you, hmm?” Kuroo murmurs quietly, the gentleness of his voice a stark contrast from the raspiness of earlier. Softly pressing his lips against yours, he lines himself up with your core, swallowing your gasps as he inches forward. 

“Tetsu, you’re so b-big...” you whimper, eyes screwed shut. “I know, baby, but look at how well you’re taking me,” he breathes against your lips, “T-Taking, all of my cock like, uh- like a good girl.” Nodding vigorously, you whine, “Gonna take all of it. Wan- wanna be your good girl.” 

“That’s right, my good girl,” rolling his hips into yours, he grunts, “Mine. All mine.” 

Freeing one of his hands to caress your cheek, Kuroo whispers, “Hold on tight, yeah baby?” You only have time to increase your grip on his shoulders before you feel him move. Digging his fingers into the plush of your thighs, he pulls his hips back. 

And then, in one powerful thrust, he’s completely inside your heat. 

Your eyes widen, mouth falling open in a silent scream as your body reels from the force of his hips colliding into yours. Then, he does it again, And again. And, again. You’re conscious of the ache in your thighs from gripping his hips so tight, but you choose to ignore it, instead reveling in the euphoric sensation of his cock hitting the little spot inside you. 

He’s grimacing at every thrust, groaning, “Fuck, how are you s-still, uh, still so fucking tight?” Your walls cling tightly to his length, making it a struggle to even pull out. Driving himself into you with merciless abandon, he focuses on your sweet moans, incentive enough to push himself to give you more. 

Your breath is hot against his skin, and you’ve reverted back to your foreign tongue as you sob into his ear what he assumes are sweet nothings. Kuroo makes a conscious effort to jut his pelvic bone upwards, grinding it against your clit with every thrust. All his energy is now solely focused on pushing you over the edge one final time. 

And it’s all completely worth it when you do. He bites his lip as he watches the spectacle before him - you’re crying out, head thrown back, eyes tightly shut as you allow the waves of euphoria to course through your veins. You’ve clamped up completely, making him grit his teeth as he fights to reach his own release.

You’re barely coherent, babbling with your face buried in the crook of his neck. “Tetsu, please, I can’t hold on for much longer,” you beg, tears freely streaming down your eyes in response to the overstimulation, “I need you to cum for me. Oh, god, please, daddy, please... Cum for me and fill me up!”

It’s exactly what he needs. With a rumbling growl, he bites on to your shoulder as he releases into you. His cock continues inching in and out of your slopping cunt, painting your walls white with his cum. 

When he finally feels the shocks of pleasure subside, he allows his forehead to rest against your own, feline eyes looking straight into yours.

Your features break out into a soft smile as you tenderly cup his cheeks, tilting your head up to plant a soft kiss on his nose before trailing your lips down to place them on his. 

Pulling away, you chuckle, “God, I can’t believe we just did that. Who knew your nerdy ass was capable of fucking my brains out at some seedy nightclub, huh.”

Rolling his eyes jokingly, he slowly plants you back down on your feet, sniggering at your whimper when he pulls out of your sensitive core, leaving behind a trail of his milky emission. Adopting a more serious tone, Kuroo asks, “It wasn’t too much though, right? I didn’t go too far with the dirty talk?” 

Shaking your head, you reassure, “It was good. A little overwhelming towards the end, but no, I liked it.” A mischievous grin crawls on to your face as you look up at him, tone teasing.

“So… daddy, huh?”

Groaning, he quips back, “Hey, are we not going to talk about how you practically came all over my dick every time I called you a good girl?”

Looking up at him, you grip on to his shirt, murmuring, “I mean... I like being your good girl.”

Biting his lip at your alluring tone, his voice is quiet as he whispers, “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you giggle back. 

Chuckling lightly, he presses a soft kiss against your forehead. “Let’s go find the bathrooms so we can get you cleaned up, hmm?” he murmurs absent-mindedly as he turns his head, peering into the hallway in search of a bathroom. 

In retrospect, he should’ve known. 

He really should’ve realized that you wouldn’t simply let this moment pass without seizing the opportunity to fluster him again, now that he was back to his easy-going self. And so, he feels more than a little foolish when he chokes on air upon hearing your next words.

“Forget the bathrooms. Like you said, you need to teach me my place, right? So what better way to do that than to have me spend the rest of the night walking around with your cum dripping down my thighs?”

[sugako]

sweetness

osamu xf!baker!reader sum: your unrequited crush on the man you sell to is weighing heavily on you until one little party later it isn’t an issue cw: 18+ minors dni, a lil fluff, a lil angst (reader is sad bc they don't think samu feels the same), mentions of drinking/alcohol/party (no one is drunk during), kinda confessions, first time with each other, nipple play, oral (receiving) wc: 3.5k a/n: hi !! uhh i have had this is drafts for months bc i struggled to post it and idk why,, it's def a little longer than usual and little more plot-heavy(ish) but i hope you all enjoy pussy king samu <3

It felt as though you were admiring him from a distance even when he was standing right beside you.

The afternoon that the owner of Onigiri Miya had called up your small bakery to partner with his business you had been overjoyed. Honestly, you were still happy, it was just tinged by something deeper or different now. You were certainly still happy to sell your goods through the business, but your feelings had really gotten the better of you.

The day, actually the moment you met Osamu you told yourself to get over the petty crush you had developed within minutes of meeting him. His big, tall frame made you feel as though he could wrap his arms around you and everything would be okay. His pretty, steely eyes and soft features relaxed you, made you feel at home.

A week later you were groaning into your pillow when he texted a simple, polite compliment about your baked goods. Desperately, you hoped that the fuzzy feeling would melt away any day now.

Every single time you had to see him again and again to drop off your bi-weekly delivery, the feelings didn’t fade. If anything they grew stronger. The quick, comfortable banter you shared made your chest fill with molten gold that always seemed to harden into a tough little peach pit, strangling the words from your throat whenever you got back into your car.

A month later you were crying to yourself at 2 AM about how you couldn’t get over him even though you hadn’t even been close to a relationship. It was impossible. How were you supposed to get closure from someone you were merely business partners with.

You cursed the way your heart sped up when you got a new text from him. Over and over again you had to remind yourself that it was purely business.

Onigiri Miya (Osamu): Hi, do you want to swing by tomorrow? Lunch is on me

Fingers swiped over the keyboard, groaning as you asked what you should bring for the restock, not realizing it had been two weeks already.

Onigiri Miya (Osamu): Everything is selling fast, but I won’t need anything for a bit, just wanted to chat not about business

Without hesitation you agreed. Even if you were sure he didn’t feel the same, it wouldn’t hurt to keep up a personal relationship with a business. The fact that he had texted you deep into the night without prompt didn’t make it into your busy mind.

Those two little texts were how you found yourself taking a deep breath outside the Onigiri Miya a little after the lunch rush. You stepped into the nearly empty building, immediately greeted by Osamu’s soft, low voice.

“I have to run to the back, but I put a plate for you out.” He calls, disappearing just as the door closes behind you.

It’s painful to admit how your heart swells at the gesture. Your favorite onigiri of his is neatly plated in front of a corner seat at the bar. The two other people on the opposite side of the store are quietly chatting, paying no mind while you settle into your seat. Before you can take a bite he’s bustling back in.

“Sorry ‘bout that, got a call.” He says, leaning over the counter in front of you. The way his broad chest is squished by his shoulders.

“No worries.” You say just before biting into the food. He snatches one of the rice balls from your plate, but your mouth is too full and you’re too grateful to protest. “So,” you begin after you swallow, “what did you want to talk about?”

You can’t tell whether the air is thick with awkward tension or if it’s just you.

“I mean, obviously not business.” As you speak, a strangled, little chuckled forces its way out of the back of your throat, but you take another bite of food before it gets out of hand.

He’s silent for a moment, slowly chewing his food. Maybe savoring it or maybe thinking, you can’t quite tell which.

“Can you take nights off from the bakery? I remember you saying ya do a lot of baking and prepping at night.” His expression is impossible to read and you want to tell him that this is, at least for you, business talk, but you hold back and simply answer the question.

“Well, yeah, if I needed to. Uh, why?” You catch how his shoulders tense and lower, his eyes shifting across the windows in the front. Unfortunately, his own anxiety does very little to quell any of your own.

“My brother is having a party and I’m… obligated to go, but I won’t know many people there, they’ll all be his teammates, so I was wondering if you would like to go with me? If you don’t have a… I mean, if you don’t have any plans.” His expression remains still, but there’s a small flush in his cheeks that you catch on immediately. Something in your heart softens with hope.

“You’re twin volleyball brother?” You ask, biting back a smile. “Also, you’ll have to tell me what time the party is and then I’ll let you know if I have plans, but I’m probably free.”

The flush deepens as he recognizes his mistake and slowly blinks, shaking his head. “Yes, ‘Tsumu, the volleyball brother. And the party is next Friday. Around nine.”

Within the limited time you’d spent with him he’d told you about his brother and his old friends. Confidence growing, but not quite steady, you uneasily treaded into your next words.

“Yeah, I’m not working next Friday actually, so that sounds good. Should I text you for the address or…?”

“Meet me here, I can take you. Best to take the train, but it’ll be easier if we go together.”

Deep in the center of the city, standing close enough to smell the soft fragrance of cologne, you still weren’t sure how easily you had ended up here at the house party filled with strangers hosted by your customer’s pro athlete brother. It was a little much to think about if you took too much pause. Before you could slip into your own brain too much your cheek smushed into the thick muscle of Osamu’s solid back that had suddenly stopped moving, and as you sputtered out an apology the door swung open without him even knocking.

“Hey! Did you really not a-” The blonde mirror image of the man standing directly in front of you eats whatever words are about to spill out of his mouth when he notices you peeking out from beside Osamu. Realizing how ridiculously childish you must look tucked away behind him, you clear your throat and step out so you’re by his side instead.

“Hi, I’m y/n.” You say politely, extending a hand for him to shake. Atsumu’s eyes flit between you and his brother, not bothering to hide a smirk.

“Oh, I know.” He finally says when he takes your hand. Out of sheer embarrassment or maybe anxiety, you feel pricks of heat chase out to your fingertips. The sensation is only compounded by Osamu’s feather-light touch that grazes the small of your back as he tries to lead you past his brother.

“Really,” you start, with a sly little smile, “he’s told me about you’re very impressive-”

“Okay.” Osamu says a little too sharply. He’s glad you’re at ease, but less glad that you’ve immediately taken to lightly teasing him with his brother. “Let’s head in.” The warm breath of his whisper jolts through you and you find yourself nodding, letting his touch lead you.

Just as the door is closing behind you and the excruciating reverb of the music seeps into your ears, you barely catch what Atsumu mumbles before he slips into the crowd of people. “Maybe you’ll finally show her how much ya like her.”

Osamu doesn’t respond, and for a second you think maybe he didn’t hear him, but the way his fingers dig into your back tells you otherwise. You simply pretend that you heard nothing, pointing to the drink dispensers lined up on the kitchen counter across the room. After a quick drink of the sweet, burning mystery drink and after Atsumu started to keep his distance - too busy hounding his one teammate with the dark curls whose name you couldn’t quite remember - things went smoothly.

Time passed quickly, helped on by the dozens of new people you were introduced to. The small talk and repetitive questions had you mentally winded, but Osamu’s constant touch whether on your elbow or back or shoulder grounded you. Instead of feeling your heart race as it usually did when he was near, you only felt calm.

It all came crashing down sometime deep into the night when most of the guests had headed home and those left over passed out, scattered everywhere about the house. Well, everywhere aside from the neat guest bedroom tucked away toward the back that Osamu had pulled you back to when the last man (who had drunkenly tried teaching you how to say ‘volleyball’ in Portuguese) had finally passed out.

The single drink you had gulped down hours ago was long gone from your system, but even without it you still found it easy to speak with him, even as his arms inconspicuously wrapped around your torso and brought you down to lie beside him on the bed. Staring up at the ceiling for a moment while the two of you remained in short silence, a thought came to your head, another thing you want to tell him or ask him. You’re not sure which because in the next moment, when you whip your head to face him, he does the same.

If you had been any closer your faces would’ve smashed together. Any farther away and you wouldn’t be brushing lips. Just as soon as the touch begins, it ends with you scrambling away, stopped from falling off the bed by his strong arm wrapping around and pulling you back to his chest. The silence thickens with every second that neither of you speak, but he thankfully breaks it within the minute.

The words fumble around the front of your mouth like your mouth is numb. “I’m so sorry that-!”

“Well, that wasn’t really a proper kiss.” He says plainly, a smile barely etching its way onto the corner of his lips.

“N-no, it was not.” You whisper. It doesn’t quite feel real when he kisses you for real, and for a second you’re worried you’ve deluded yourself. You sigh into his firm touch, finally releasing the tension in your chest and letting your own lightly trembling hands trace up the space between your chests to settle against his. His body is softer than you had thought it would feel, somehow so much more comforting and homey than you could have imagined.

After an endless moment, his mouth strains against yours as he forces himself to pull away with a little huff. Your eyes find his, bright and hopeful, and still a little bit surprised. Between all your personal longing and resignation that he didn’t feel the same, you hadn’t noticed the way he smiled more when you were nearby, the little blush that dusted his cheeks when you complimented his cooking that first time, and so much more.

“Wanted to do that for a long time.” He sighs, leaning his forehead against yours and letting his heavy eyes close. Hiding your grin in his chest, you nod, wrapping your arms around him and snuggling in closer. When your knee glides against his thigh in an attempt to get more comfortable and flush to him, he clears his throat. “We should get changed if we’re going to sleep here. I have extra clothes in the dresser.”

“Okay.” You nod slightly, not wanting to move just yet. He seems to be with you because, despite his own words, he remains exactly in place with his grip just as tight as ever around your waist. “...Samu?” You finally ask, pulling back far enough to look up at him.

“I wanna kiss you again.”

“Okay,” you repeat, “then kiss me again.” The crooked, giddy smile you’re giving him seems to tense him up even more.

He inhales deeply through his nose, eyes darkening as they flicker across the planes of your face. “I wanna, but I don’t want to push this unless you feel the same.”

If your tired heart could vibrate any harder it would probably be bursting out of your chest.

“Well, I feel that we should kiss again,” you press a peck to his cheek hoping it’ll steady your next vulnerable words, “because I’ve thought about you a lot, and I really like this.” You emphasize your words by glancing down at the negative space between your bodies and running your hand up the built expanse of his shoulders.

Humming, he cradles the back of your head, gracefully moving to straddle you and ghost his lips over yours. “In that case, tell me when to stop.” The hot breathy fan of air from his whisper barely hits your cheeks before he’s pressing a deep kiss against your lips.

You slot together like perfect puzzle pieces, limbs finding the just the right spots to fit into. Mouths move desperately, passionately and without thinking your fingers start dancing under the hem of his shirt, brushing against the hot skin beneath. With a tempered groan, he uncouples his lips from yours, kissing along your jaw and quickly moving to trace down your neck. The kitten nips and licks against your collarbone send electricity through your bones, forcing you to flex into him, hips awkwardly jutting forward for something more.

“You… you, ah, are so perfect.” You pant, eyes blinking wide open when the calloused tips of his fingers roughly trail under your shirt, up your sides, stopping just short of your chest to flip your shirt up.

Groaning so quietly you barely hear him, he buries himself between your breasts and sighs against your skin. “Yer even more beautiful up close and without all this,” he pauses for the briefest moment to undo your bra and lift it over your head with the shirt, “extra stuff on.”

Scoffing out a short giggle, you relax back, watching how his eyes drink you in as though they’ve been starved. “By extra stuff you mea-!” The quip is promptly cut off by the feeling of his mouth latching around one breast, the other being tended to by his opposite hand. Not a moment later he pulls away, smiling as you let out a pitchy whine.

“Yer pretty mouthy when yer comfortable, huh?” He mumbles, lips ghosting over your nipple while the one in his hand continues to be teased.

“N-no,” you rush to disagree. Judging by the eye roll he gives you, he doesn’t seem to believe you, but he doesn’t say anything more, simply bringing his attention back to your chest.

The way his suckles tiny, bright purple marks into your skin sends heat pooling into your stomach, hips noticeably grinding up against him now. As the seconds drag on, he doesn’t seem interested in anything other than your tits, enamored with the way they feel in his hand and mouth. It’s almost too much, and you feel your stomach tightening with every moment the teasing continues.

“Samu,” you whine softly, “samu, please, can’t s’too much, really need…” The words are jumbled and garbled. You can’t quite sort your brain to come up with anything coherent, distracted by the wet pooling in your underwear and the weight of his body crowding over yours.

“Sensitive tits?” He coos with a sharp glint in his eyes, gears obviously moving in his head for the future. “That’s okay,” he continues while pressing a soft kiss to each of your breasts, “What do you really need?”

“Need you to touch me.”

For a second, his mouth opens but he doesn’t speak. You fear he’s going to tease you, make you explain in lewd detail how bad you need him and where you want him to touch you, but he doesn’t. He simply nods, truthfully too caught up in the intoxicating feeling of your body and too impatient to feel you for the first time to drag this out.

“Good girl, I’m gonna take these off.” He starts, hooking his fingers under the waistband of your pants and underwear to take them off together. Without hesitation, his eyes travel between your legs. “Such a pretty, little cunt.” He hums already squeezing in between your thighs. Obviously distracted, he peppers little kissed up the sensitive skin on the inside of your thighs, still caught up staring at your soaking mess.

“Samu, please…” You whine. While you know he isn’t purposefully teasing, well you don’t know but you don’t think at least, it’s just as frustrating. Your knees lock around his thick shoulders, pulling him closer to your heat.

“Okay, okay, pretty girl.” He grumbles, lapping right at the crook of your thigh and hip. There’s a split second of tense silence wherein he carefully spread your lips admiring the glisten of your slick under the dim light of the lamp. Your entire body is tense with anticipation, legs shaking as they struggled to spread around his wide frame.

And just like that quiet moment is over - he laps you up so desperately and greedily you’re twitching under his grasp, clawing at the wrinkled bed sheets below you for anything to ground you. He doesn’t stop when he shifts your legs over his shoulders and wraps his hands around the bottom of your tummy to keep your jostling hips in place.

When you finally look back down to grab his hand, keeping a vice grip around his fingers, you also glance down for the first time. His dark, hazy eyes meet yours and you completely relax at last.

The feeling doesn’t last long, not when he pushes his tongue into your tight, unprepared hole, slurping all he can get and pushing in as far as he can go. Osamu’s eyes roll to the back of his head at the sensation, your cum dribbling down his chin and coating up to his nose that keeps brushing against your throbbing clit.

With a solid, squelching pop he tears away from you. “Taste so good,” he heaves, lips coming back even as he’s speaking, ghosting over you. He buries himself in your cunt again, this time focusing solely on your clit, cycling through different motions until he finds the one that makes your hips strain under his sturdy hold.

“Feel so good!” You sigh. “Please, please wanna cum.”

Smirking against you, he takes the hand you’re not clinging to back under your thigh and props it against your ass, slowly teasing a finger in. Absolutely gushing now, it slips in easily. You can feel his smile grow again for a moment before he refocuses on your clit, motions speeding up and increasing the pressure with which he worked. It’s impossible to not shudder under him now, especially with one arm only holding you down.

“C’mon, pretty girl, cum.” He murmurs, easily hooking a second finger into you, pumping and curling them in time with his tongue. As he feels you flutter and cream he can’t help but rut into the mattress, cock swelling from the taste of you. The pressure inside is too much and your want to let go is pushing you closer and closer, although it’s his mouth and fingers that really push you forward.

“C-cu-!” The words get trapped in your throat, overtaken by a hushed moan you struggle to bite back, trying - but very much failing - to be mindful of all the half-sleeping people strewn through the house. He slowly brings you down, fingers winding down and tongue lapping up your swollen clit while you convulse at his touch in time with the fluttering of your cunt.

At last, you have to drag him off, needily tugging up on his hands until he lets go. You try to pull him in to kiss, but he hesitates, his strength far outweighing your weak, blissful one and he hovers above you. There’s no reason to ask because almost immediately his fingers that were inside of you, absolutely drenched, come up to his mouth so he can make a show of sucking them dry for you.

“Taste even better than the stuff you make.” He sighs, letting you drag him down to your face. You can smell and taste yourself so strongly on his damp lips, it clouds your already hazy senses.

“Hmm,” you manage out, when he rests his entire body weight against yours, lips pressed into the side of your head. It’s only when you go to shift that you feel him pressing so incredibly hard and flush to you exposed skin through his soft pants, that you perk up. “Samu,” you begin brushing your fingers through his soft, dark hair, “can I...wanna help you.”

“Mhmm,” he nestles against your neck, kissing over the spots he left behind earlier, “in a minute, pretty girl, we have a lot of time ahead of us.”

[readyplayerhobi]

Jung Hoseok and the Magic to Happiness | 05

; Hufflepuff Teacher!Hoseok x Reader

; Genre: Fluff, angst, future smut

; Word Count: 3.5k

; Synopsis: An unexpected issue with your Ministry of Magic job leads to you taking the role of Transfiguration Professor at Hogwarts. It’s here that you meet your best friend’s younger brother for the first time in years, the Hufflepuff Head of House, Jung Hoseok. While you contend with seeing him once again, Hoseok tries to show you that he’s very much a man and no longer the gangly teenager you once knew.

; A/N: Not as much of an ‘interesting’ chapter as the last one, but hopefully you’ll enjoy it all the same! I know some of you have been hoping to see this character and what their thoughts are all about what’s going on. This chapter is more of one that’s just self-assessing!

Last Chapter ; Next Chapter

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You don’t go to breakfast the next morning. Not because you’re trying to avoid Hoseok or anything, but because you didn’t fall asleep until the early hours of the morning and so slept through the morning meal. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what had kept your mind occupied instead of letting you drift off.

Thankfully, no one questions your absence. It might be because most of the castle is likely sleeping in today or is packing for the Hogwarts Express. You don’t have to be present when the students begin their journey back to London and you feel that’s probably a good thing at the moment. 

The awkwardness between Hoseok and you would be excruciating for anyone to be around, particularly yourself. So you’d burrowed into your duvet when the usual alarm went off and only woke up properly around noon. 

You’re still in bed though, the covers pulled up to your chin and helping you to feel snug and warm against the constant coolness of your stone room. Which means that you’re staring up at the ceiling of your bedroom intently, brows furrowed as you think over the night before once more.

As if you haven’t already replayed every moment in excruciating detail, latching onto the most ridiculous things. For instance, you couldn’t stop thinking of what Hoseok’s lips looked like up close or the heady scent of him that no longer inspired only safety and friendship in you. How hot his hands had felt against you.

It was embarrassing how often that thought morphed into you imagining the same scenario but minus any clothes. Would his hands be warmer? Would they be as gentle as they’d been on your back last night? Would his hands feel soft on your bare skin or would you be able to feel the subtle callouses formed from years of caring for magical animals?

Groaning out loud, you roll onto your side and bury your face into your pillow. How are you meant to face him when all you can think about is the taste of him on your lips? 

A delicate chiming causes you to peek at your bedside cabinet, eyes narrowing as the noise repeats itself. You don’t even need to check to see who it is; you know already. So you reach out and blindly grasp for the magic mirror, eventually feeling your fingertips pressing against the smooth, reflective surface.

Now your grimace is more because you know that you’ve just smeared fingerprints all over. But you don’t get a chance to clean it because as soon as you look at the hand-sized surface, it activates with a gentle tinkling. The silver mirror shimmers slightly and you’re left looking at the image of Jisoo’s pretty face, smiling at you.

For a moment, you forget that you’ve not even bothered to get out of bed yet. You’ve not been able to shower, and the crustiness of your eyes tells you that your makeup wasn’t removed either. You’d obviously been in more of a fugue state than you’d realised when you’d gotten back to your quarters.

Normally it wouldn’t bother you as Jisoo has seen you in much worse states. But this had been caused by Hoseok, her brother. Her little brother. Her little brother who was incredibly attractive, a great kisser and had looked at you like you’d hung the stars when you’d pulled away from him.

As you think that, you immediately remember his annoyance at any topic relating to age and feel like hitting your forehead. Chaeyoung was right; he did like you. Merlin, how stupid were you to miss all those obvious signs he’d been giving? The poor guy had been practically shouting it from the rooftop for weeks now.

“I’m so stupid!” You curse, spitting out a few more severe swear words after that to the surprise of Jisoo. It’s not helped when you notice how similar they look, maturity making the familial genes even more prominent between the two. Just your luck.

“Hi...are you okay?” She asks, her brow furrowing in concern and you sigh deeply. Ignoring her question for a few seconds, you take the time to push yourself up the bed and fluff up the pillows, letting them act as a backrest for you to prop yourself up. A quick spell cleans your face and mouth, studiously ignoring the fact that it’s considered lazy to use magic for these kinds of tasks.

Still, you feel a little more refreshed and not like one of those zombies from muggle television shows.

Taking a deep breath, alongside a few swallows of water from the glass you always keep by your bed, you pick up the mirror once more and smile at Jisoo. It’s pretty obvious that she doesn’t buy it though and you didn’t expect her to. She’s known you too long to let you get away with pretending, so you drop it quickly.

“I’m...okay, I promise. I just...I’m a little confused about something.” You’re not entirely sure that you want to admit the fact that you might fancy her little brother just yet. Jisoo is very open-minded and she’d always thought Hoseok’s obvious feelings when he was younger had been cute. But the unrequited emotions of your teenage brother are very different from the mutual attraction between your adult brother and your adult best friend.

“Oh? Did something happen last night? Hoseok was acting a little strange as well when I talked to him earlier.” The urge to sink under the covers is very strong when you hear that, but you use pure will to remain in place.

Of course, they’d already talked. 

Scanning Jisoo’s face closely, you try to use your own best friend's sixth sense to see if she already knows that you’d kissed him last night. But she’s either a master of acting or she has no idea because there’s only genuine concern in her expression.

You feel the need to talk though and you want to do that with your best friend, even if she is Hoseok’s sister. The feelings you have are confused and you just want to try to sort through them all. 

“I kissed Hoseok last night.” The words rush out in a breath, almost mumbling with how quiet they are. Still, Jisoo hears them perfectly thanks to the spell on the mirror. From the way her eyes widen in shock, you know that Hoseok hasn’t revealed that little tidbit to her. Part of you wonder if that’s to protect your privacy, but you don’t get a chance to consider it further.

“Merlin...so that’s why you’re both being odd! What happened? It was the Winter Solstice Ball, right?” Relaxing back, you nod and make an affirmative noise while chewing on your lips.

“Yeah, it was. It was all going fine, the students were having a good time and all that but then Hoseok finally arrived and-” Pausing, you frown before groaning out and running a hand across your face. “You don’t want to hear this! This is your brother.”

“Ignore that. As long as you don’t give me...descriptive details then it’s fine. This is one time that I have no interest in hearing about how well he kisses or what he’s like in bed, so keep that to yourself. Otherwise, keep talking.” Mortification runs through you at Jisoo’s mischievous smile and she laughs in delight.

“We didn’t do that! I swear.” Muttering, you reach for your glass and take another swig in an attempt to give yourself time to get yourself under control. Partially because you’re embarrassed about Jisoo thinking you’d slept with her brother so quickly but also because you’re feeling a little warm at the thought of sex with him.

A thought that you’d likely come back to at a later time but isn’t something to consider right now.

“I didn’t think you had. Firstly, you’ve never been the kind of person to shag someone on the first date. Or before the first date, I guess, as you’ve not even had a date. Secondly, neither is Hoseok. Don’t ask how I know, I’m surprised he didn’t blurt this news out this morning.” One of your eyes narrows in contemplation at that and you realise that you don’t want to ask.

The idea of Hoseok sleeping with someone else causes an unpleasant sensation to bubble in your stomach. Something else you don’t feel like analysing at the moment.

“Okay...well...firstly, I hate the word ‘shag’ and you know it. Secondly, I’m really confused right now. I mean, objectively I’ve known Hoseok is hot. Like, I’m not stupid. I have eyes and he’s well...yeah. But I think I’d always managed to have some kind of barrier between us, you know? Like...he was your little brother and he was just my friend here. But then last night he came into the hall and Merlin. It was like something switched in my mind, and I finally realised that he’s not just attractive, but he’s...he’s my kind of attractive.” You realise halfway through talking that you’re just telling Jisoo your thought process as you go through it.

She doesn’t respond though, just gives a considerate look with her lips slightly pursed before taking a sip of her drink. You don’t know what she’s drinking as it’s a mug, the image on the front just a generic cat. The fact it’s not moving gives away that it’s a muggle creation.

“And then we just kept talking, all night. Even when we had duties, we kept meeting back up and it felt so natural and normal. It’s like I’ve known him for all my life or something, our conversation is so easy and I don’t feel uncomfortable around him. You ever have that with someone?”

“Once or twice. It’s a good sign though. I know you’ve become pretty good friends over the last few months so maybe that’s why it’s all clicking now. Relationships that start from a solid friendship usually end up being some of the best. Maybe that’s why it’s all feeling a little more natural than normal. You’ve found someone that makes you feel comfortable and safe.” You wonder how many times you’d told Jisoo that her brother inspired those feelings within you since being here at Hogwarts.

As that runs through your mind, you suddenly become distracted with an entirely different thought.

“Hang on, did you suspect that I might like him? You’ve always been very accepting of my friendship with him and if I remember right, you’ve been the one encouraging me to spend time with him. Is that why you’re not surprised at this?” Jisoo’s cheeks blush a pretty pink, so like her brother that you can’t help but smile.

“I may have suspected something. I am your best friend, after all. And his sister. When you’re close to both sides, you notice things.” Her voice is teasing and you wonder if other people have been suspecting this as well. 

Suddenly, all the times your fellow professors had arranged for events and Hoseok had happened to just be attending as well began running through your mind. Was everyone scheming?!

You’d never considered yourself a suspicious person before but you certainly were now. Seokjin and Chaeyoung, in particular, were going to be at the end of a very serious set of questions whenever you next saw them.

“In all seriousness, I didn’t think that you might like him. I just thought you were enjoying having a good friend at Hogwarts as Hoseok is someone you already know, so you at least had a link with him. You finding him nice to look at was expected; I’m not stupid, I know he’s pretty. He’s my brother and I’m gorgeous,” There’s a slight smirk to her smile, and you roll your eyes at her ego, fully recognising that she’s trying to cheer you up. “But you never really gave the inclination that you wanted anything romantic with him, so I didn’t suspect too much with you.”

Humming, your nose wrinkles as you look away from the mirror and contemplate her words. She’s not wrong, mainly because you hadn’t considered that with him until last night. Hoseok had been firmly in the friend box in your mind. It’s only now that you realise he’d been subtly creeping into the romantic box without you noticing.

“That’s because I didn’t realise I wanted that. I feel like I missed something really obvious, and everyone around me knew. I’m pretty sure Chaeyoung and Seokjin knew; there’s no way that they wouldn’t try to interfere. They’re those kinds of people, you know?” Jisoo giggles lightly, running her hand through long, silky black hair.

“Sounds like my kinda folk. Seriously though, don’t stress over it. All you’re going to do by over analysing things is get yourself tied up into knots. I know you and you’ll just talk yourself out of anything that could potentially happen. There’s nothing wrong with going for what you want if it’s going to be good for you. As his big sister, I can safely say that Hoseok will be very good for you and to you. He’s a good guy and I don’t want you to throw away a chance at happiness.” 

You groan yet again, pulling one of your spare pillows to stuff your face into. Even if you’re feeling completely confused about what to think or do, you’re glad that you get to talk it through with Jisoo. She always knows just what to say and how to help you come to decisions that felt right.

Shifting, you sit up straight and look at Jisoo’s image in the mirror, feeling even more thankful that she’s willing to talk about this particular subject. At that thought you frown, knowing that she’s close with her brother.

“Did you suspect anything with Hoseok? You said that you got to notice things from both sides…” Trailing off, your eyes narrow as you watch the way she bites her lip in an almost coy way. It wouldn’t surprise you as she knows her brother far better than she knows you.

“Yes, I did with him. He fancied you so much when he was a teenager and I thought he’d just...grown out of it, you know? Neither of you saw each other for ages so I just assumed his hormones had finally settled down. But then he practically jumped at the chance to help you apply for the job and...well, he’s being very obvious lately. I swear, every conversation has to include you in some way and he gets this look on his face.” Jisoo says, brow creasing as she thinks back.

“What look? Does he get a look? What kind of look?” The questions pepper her but she doesn’t look annoyed by them. Instead, she just smiles before laughing lightly, taking another sip from her mug before taking her time nibbling on a milk chocolate covered digestive biscuit. It makes you scowl, realising you’d given yourself away once more.

“Yes, he gets a look. I don’t know how to describe it to you but it’s like...he gets this smile and I swear his eyes get all shiny. He’d be appalled to know I’d noticed this as he’s never come out and said anything but I know what he looks like when he likes something. Hoseok talks about you the same way he talks about anything else he loves.” The last word makes your eyes widen and you’re thankful Jisoo doesn’t comment on it.

She’s noticed though, you know that she has. 

“Oh, okay. Well...I haven’t noticed.” What a stupid thing to say, but you don’t have anything else.

“Obviously.” Jisoo gives you a droll look, causing you to glare at her. It’s probably not as effective as you’d like given the two of you are hundreds of miles away and only visible through a reflective surface. Still, it makes her laugh at least.

Not the reaction you wanted but you’ll take it.

The conversation between you both falls into a lull, the silence of your room almost deafening. It lets you start to think once more and you don’t think that’s a good idea. Jisoo is right in that you tend to talk yourself out of things that might have a big impact on your life.

You’d taken a whole month to finally apply for the job here at Hogwarts and even then, you’d had to have Jisoo convince you that you should accept the offer when they made it. A good choice now, but you had a constant fear that big change might have negative effects on you.

The possibility of beginning something romantic with Hoseok was perhaps the biggest change you could do and it had the potential for so many repercussions if it went wrong. He was your work colleague, your friend and your best friend’s brother. It wasn’t like if you tried dating him then you could just never see him again.

Hoseok was likely to always be a part of your life in some way.

But he was such a good person and he could be something positive in your life, too. You found him to be charming and kind, funny and thoughtful, intelligent and attractive. There were a lot of reasons against trying a relationship with him, but there were so many more reasons for it.

“Would it not bother you? If anything happened then you’d be stuck between us, and he’s your brother so you’d have to take his side.” Your words are quiet, almost reluctant. Jisoo doesn’t respond immediately though, giving you the benefit of thinking seriously about your question before shaking her head.

“I would be stuck between you both if it ended badly. But I don’t either of you are the kinds of people to make me choose something like that. More importantly, I have high hopes that kind of scenario won’t even happen. I have a good feeling about this, for both of you. You both have to decide what’s right for you but...I don’t have any issue with it. If anything, it’d be great. My best friend and my brother getting together? If you married him then you’d be my sister-in-law and your kids would be my nieces and nephews!” There’s palpable excitement in her voice now, matched by the way she almost vibrates as her imagination runs wild.

You, on the other hand, feel your cheeks going warm with embarrassment as you try to follow where her mind is running. It feels a little overwhelming if you’re being honest, but you just push those thoughts away.

The last thing you needed was to start fantasising about marriage when you’d only kissed the man once.

“Jisoo!” You scold.

“What? I don’t get to live this life of romance so let me have my dreams. I’d rather you marry him than anyone else. Your babies would be so cute.” She wriggles in her seat, hands clapping and you’re reminded once more how similar the siblings are.

“Jisoo,” Whining, you pout at her before rubbing at your temple. “Don’t marry us off before we’ve even talked after last night.”

“Fine, fine, spoilsport. Anyway, it’s your decision. Yours and his. But just know that I think you’d both be good together. Don’t push him away because you’re scared, he’s a good guy. Not saying that just because he’s my brother, either. If you decide no, then don’t be afraid of that either. I know him, he’ll be a gentleman and will accept it.” You know she’s right and it makes you feel a little better as you take a deep breath.

Nodding slowly, you give her a weak smile before wincing when your stomach gurgles almost painfully. A glance at the clock shows that it’s been a very, very long time since you last ate and your stomach is not happy with that. 

“I’ll think it through, I promise. I won’t make any rash decisions. For now, I need to just analyse my feelings and thoughts regarding him before thinking about anything else. But I’ll admit that I’m not opposed to the idea. As much as I’d like to continue this conversation though, I need to go get something to eat or my stomach might eat itself. I’ll talk to you again later, okay?” It’s only a few minutes later before you’re ending the spell on the mirror, watching as it turns into a reflective surface once more.

Placing it onto your bedside table carefully, you let yourself fall back onto the mound of pillows and simply stare up at the ceiling. 

Of all the decisions you’ve made in your life, this one seemed to be the most daunting. Yet just the thought of his bright smile makes your lips quirk automatically, causing you to let out a breathy laugh.

Yes, he’d be good for you.

[seraphdreams]

greengreengreen

warnings : smut, fem!reader, drunk sex, suna being a bit of a jerk at the end, college AU

wc - 2.8k

a/n - this was originally gonna be a football!au but i got lazy and changed it back to volleyball

There’s cheering heard from the end of the hallway in the spacious university. Loud whooping and chants were heard as your classmates ran up to the commotion. You continued walking foreward at your steady pace, avoiding the crowd. “Look! The volleyball team is back!” You hear a student exclaim. You pause in your tracks, throat suddenly dry. You swallow, eyes growing wide as you lock orbs on the tall newbie the volleyball team welcomed. His eyes were like a fox’s, narrow and uninterested.

The way the jersey he has on enunciates his long toned torso, has you in awe. He seemed not to care about the praise and applause he was getting but instead taking out his cloth and wiping his forehead with the towel previously draped around his neck.

Your white haired best friend came up to you from the herd, suddenly looking at you in confusion. waving a hand in front of your face. A trance, is what you’re in. Just a split second of eye contact with what you’d describe as the prettiest man you’ve ever seen had you flustered. His allure was so daunting, leaving you almost speechless.

“Hey, Y/N. Hello? Guess what?” You snap out of your thoughts, looking up at Kita. He was also on the football team. His hair was drenched in sweat and face flushed pink. You cock your head to side, a response to his question. “We won the game, and that new second year is amazing!” He continues. “New second year? The one you were just thinking about? He’s....amazing? Is that why he was getting so much attention?” You think to yourself. Once again you were brought back to reality by Kita, clapping his hand to get your attention.

“Oh! Sorry, i was just wondering, when did he get on the team?” You question, straightening up at the loud clasp of his hands. The team finally got through the hallway, walking past you and Kita. He looks to the side, noticing the slow walking brunette. As soon as the man is in the same radius as Kita, he pulls him by the arm, yanking him into the conversation. He was slightly crouching under the shorter’s grip on his arm.

“He’s been on the team for a few weeks, this is Suna Rintarō. He scored us 12 points at tonight’s game.” Kita announces, Suna straightening up as Kita’s grip loosens. Your heart beats faster, feeling as if it’s going to burst out of your chest. “Hi, i’m Y/N” You say in a soft voice. He raises his eyebrows in affirmation, looking at you deep in your eyes.

Kita observes your body language, the way you held your hands behind your back, squeezed your thighs at the look Rintarō gave you, and licked your lips as you looked up at him with “innocent” eyes. Kita whispers something in his ear, Suna walking away a few seconds later. “It’s kinda late, isn’t it? Want me to walk you to your dorm?” Kita progresses. You nod your head and walk side by side out of the now empty hallway.

“‘Samu, i’m telling you, that’s my shoe!” You hear a loud voice from the outdoor courtyard. You spot Atsumu, obviously fighting with his twin. As you and Kita crept closer on your commute to the dorms, he scolded, “Twins! Cut that out!” Osamu and Atsumu halt then straighten out their clothes, scoffing at one another. “I swear they still act like they’re still in high school” Kita says with a chuckle. Pretty scenery of the campus went by as you and Kita continue to chat on your way to the dorms.

It was your second year of university. Kita’s been your best friend since your first year of highschool when you decided to become the manager of their volleyball team. He was so nice and a great person to talk to about whatever, always listening and giving the best advice. You both grew closer as the years progressed, instantly becoming best friends.

You’re in the same grade as the twins, having been with them since your first year as well. They were your source of entertainment and gossip. That’s why you were a bit confused how they never told you about the rookie. “Looks like we’re here.” You say looking at the room number on your dorm. Warm arms wrap around your shoulders as Kita pulls you in for a sweaty hug, flashing a smile at you before leaving toward his own dorm. “Ugh Shinsuke!” You joke opening the door to your room and carefully stepping in.

_________

After a long shower, you work on your school work, still in a towel. You decided to finish a few math problems, chewing at the end of the pen. There was no need to do work now, it was the Friday and the you could relax all weekend, maybe drink some wine. You check your phone. A message from Osamu catches your eyes.

There’s a house party a few minutes away. Wanna come with me?

A party didn’t seem to bad at the moment, you were already showered and hadn’t gotten dressed, having fun won’t hurt. You text him back a “sure”. You weren’t necessarily a party person, only clinging to the people you knew, but maybe you’d step out of your comfort zone. You search through a mess of clothes piled on your chair, stuffed in your drawer, and under your bed, until you found the perfect outfit. Something short. You put on makeup, spraying loads of setting spray to make sure you don’t sweat it off.

You slipped on your shoes and pranced to the door and down the hallway. You look both ways frantically, waiting to see a familiar face. Finally, you see a silhouette of the twins walking towards you. Atsumu held keys in his hand, jingling at every step he made. Once they were visible and in a close enough distance, Osamu cleared his throat. “We have to wait for someone else.” He stated. “Who?” You ask in curiosity, thinking it could be Kita or Aran.

You hear a door unlock from the back of the hall, the man was walking slowly looking down at his phone.

From where you were standing it looked like he was wearing a black t-shirt and black jeans. “Suna! Hurry the fuck up!” Atsumu yells. He looks up from his phone and slowly jogs up to him. You felt your heart pulsate the same way it did before. “Suna was coming? Why didn’t Osamu tell me?” you ask yourself. Once Suna caught up with the group, you all walked out the dorm hall and down the stairs.

It was a long quiet walk from the courtyard to the student parking lot, Suna being on his phone and the twins not speaking.

Atsumu found his car and unlocked the door, him driving with ‘Samu in the passenger seat and you and Suna in backseats. You strapped yourself in, everyone else following suit. Osamu hooks his phone up to aux cord, playing his playlist.

The rod was about 15 minutes long. ‘Tsumu pulls up to a large house on an almost abandoned street. There were lights flashing, seen from the windows and reflecting outside. You could see people outside with drinks in their hands, laughing at whatever nonsense they were talking about.

You look over at an unamused Suna, still looking down at his phone. “Who’s the designated driver?” Osamu questions. Atsumu raises his eyebrows and turns to his twin, eyes lighting up. “No. I don’t trust you” His twin replies, sitting back in the seat, arms folded. “I promise i’ll stay sober ‘Samu!” He pouts childishly. Osamu scoffs in response unbuckling his seatbelt. The group treads out of the car. You fix your outfit as you close the door to Atsumu’s black 2019 Dodge Charger.

You walk behind the group, keeping your eyesight fixated on the broad back of the brunette in front of you. Atsumu opens the door. You’re greeted with loud music, a blend of different bodies, and on your far right, tall stairs with a few people sitting down at the front. Nobody you knew was there except for the company you came with. You walk to the least crowded place, the drink table. You weren’t really a heavy drinker, but a shot or two wouldn’t hurt in helping you loosen up. The air suddenly smelt of a heavy masculine scent.

“Do you know what you’re drinking?” The deep, quiet voice says. You turn your head, meeting his chest then looking into his eyes. It was Suna. You nod and point to the label written on the bottle, “vodka”. He chuckles, a breathy laugh erupting from his throat. You smile at his expression, a little confused.

“What?”. He sets his drink down on the counter and puts his hands in his pockets, rocking back and forth on his heels. “You look a little bit lightweight, and there’s a lot of alcohol in your cup.” You scoff, putting the cup to your lips, inhaling the green apple taste, shuddering at the burning sensation that comes afterwards. The boy you thought was quiet wasn’t as quiet as you thought.

You lock your eyes on the snake tattoo that wrapped around his lower neck then disappeared under his shirt. He caught your examining eyes then looked over your head, a hungry Osamu stuffing his face with hors d’oeuvres. “What does that tattoo mean?” You ask. Rintaro inhales, then takes a sip from his drink. “I forgot. I got it when i was really high” He says, rubbing the back of his neck. You look up at his slit-like eyes, they glowed green, obvious evil intent behind them. You look down at the now empty cup in your hands. “Damn, you finished that fast” He says, eyes wide as he peers at the red cup in your hand. He finished the drink in his hand soon after, as to one-up you.

The conversation went on for what felt like hours. You grew more and more intoxicated as the minutes passed. The bass in the music throbbing in your head. Everything that came out of Suna’s mouth sounded slurred. You nodded at every noise you could comprehend. In the blink of an eye, he was no longer in front of you. You felt a large hand wrap around your waist, tugging on the fabric of your shirt. You felt swaying motions behind you.

The heartbeat of the figure prodding aggressively against your head. The music was slower, sensual even. You try to reach for your phone in your bag, haziness fogging over your mind. A hard grip on your arm knocks you out of your daze. You felt hard pulling, trying to look up at who was dragging you up the stairs. To your surprise, it was Rintarō. As you ascend up the stairs, you pass rooms. Suna checks the locks on each of the doors then opens the door of finally unlocked room in the middle of the hall.

The room was dark with only the pale moonlight shining through the window, insinuating the unholy bright green glint in his eyes. He motions for you to lay on the bed. You do as told, not sure why.

He kneels in front of you, wrapping his rough hands around your thighs and spreading them away, face to face with your cunt. He groans at the sight. “Are you a virgin?” He questions, snapping you out of the lust that was growing in your core. You shyly nod your head. “Do you want me to continue?” He solicits, looking up at you. You nod your head slowly.

He wraps his limber fingers around the waistband of your bottoms, pulling them down along with your underwear, a string of slick connecting your garments with your warm body. Another groan slips from his mouth, “So pretty.”

He attaches his lips to your clit, sucking and licking the bud. You arch your back, fisting the sheets beneath you. His gaze into your eyes like needles piercing your skin, sharp. He uses his skilled tongue to lap around your slit, dipping in and out. The cries you let out are loud, causing him to slow down his pace. He removes his lips from your cunt. They were glossed in your slick. He licks his lips then presses a thick finger into your hole. You yelp in surprise, gasping as he brutally finger fucks you. You tangle your hands in his dark brown locks, crying out words like “please” and “fuck”. He slips in another digit in no remorse for your poor tight cunt. The way he curls his fingers inside you while thumbing your clit has you in pure ecstasy.

You hiccup as you feel your orgasm pooling through you. He sucks the creamy liquid you left on his fingers. A vexatious smile on his face as he stands up and towers over your small frame.

“I want you to take all of me.” He demands. You look down at the growing bulge in his jeans the back up at him. You whimper at the sight, scared for your hole. He leans over to meet your eyes. He places sloppy kisses on your lips, using his tongue to part your lips. You scratch at his back as he deepens the kiss by pressing his tongue against yours. You kiss back letting him take control. He runs his lips down your jaw, meeting your neck.

He sinks his sharp canines into your neck harshly sucking on the flesh. He leaves little love bites all the way down to your chest. He stands back and looks at your abused body, proud of the work he’s done. He slides his shirt over his head and tosses it on the floor next to your bottoms. The snake tattoo you previously seen before looks more prominent now, more dangerous. You lean back, spreading your legs wider as he pulls his cock out from his jeans. He strokes a few times before aligning it with your drooling cunt

He slowly glides the tip in, sucking his teeth at the way you clench around the fat head. You wince at the pain. He tries pushing in once again, you getting tighter at each advance. He reaches his hand over to your thigh, rubbing the skin in small circles. “Breathe.” He whispers in spite to soothe you. You deeply inhale then exhale. Suna pushes halfway through, groaning at the feeling. An image of your smile flashes through his mind, the way you made him feel warm. “Hey?” He questions. You look up at him, confused by the childlike grin on his face.

“What’s red and shaped like a bucket?” Rintarō jokes. You shoot him a confused look. “i don’t know.” You say. “A red bucket.” The laugh you let out was quickly cut off by a sharp inhale. He thrusted his full length inside your cunt. “Sorry” He apologizes apathetically. You mewl at his dangerously fast pace inside you. It hurts but the pain was soon overridden by pleasure. He rubs your clit in harsh circles. You slip your hand under your shirt to play with your nipples.

A soft moan escapes from your core. The bliss was immense, leaving you breathless as he continued to bruise your cervix with his terribly accurate thrusts. You couldn’t take too much of it before you felt your core heat up. The pleasure ran through your whole body, attacking all of your nerves. You felt numb, mumbling and babbling unintelligible words.

“Good girl, you take me so well” He praises, pressing down on the bulge visible in your stomach. You moan at his words, trembling from the orgasm that’s about to crash through you. “Su-“ You try to let out. “I’m gonna cum!” You mewl, trying to sound as audible as possible. You wrap your hands around his wrist while arching your back. Hot liquid splashes his lower abdomen, coating his cock with your cream.

“Fuck, you squirted” He gasps, chasing his own high. The overstimulation leaves you tired and unable to respond to his thrusts. His thighs tense as he nears his orgasm. He sprays his warm seed in your cunt, painting the walls white. You both pant as you catch your breaths.

He tucks his cock back into his pants and grabs his shirt on the floor, putting it on. He tosses you your bottoms. “How does it feel to be bred your first time?” He mocks. The green glow in his eyes came back, more vibrant than ever. He leaves the room, leaving you to clean yourself up. You laid in the bed for a while, a text from Osamu waking you up from almost dozing off.

Come outside, we’re leaving

You trot downstairs, collecting your things and meeting the twins at the car. Atsumu looked to be out of it completely, Suna recording and laughing. It seemed like you and Rintarō became strangers again, he didn’t acknowledge you at all. Osamu was driving this time. You opened the door and sat on the seat, seeing Suna glued to his phone once again. There was complete silence the whole ride back, except Atsumu talking to himself.

You leaned your head back on the seat and fell asleep.

[bode-leone]

revelation

He thinks when Jean-Pierre died, the last of his own will to continue going went with him. The howling, screaming boy, who is a man, who never reached the age Booker did when he first died before the ravages of cancer chewed him up and spit him out, doesn’t live half a week after Booker walked out of that ward. Booker walked and walked out until he found himself in a tavern and the burn of liquor tears itself down his throat and then instantly disappears and this is where it begins. If he can feel the burning sensation of alcohol healing just as quickly as it got there, he is still cursed to live on the plane of existence in a mockery of hell (or maybe purgatory? who’s to say he’s not swinging on that hangman’s noose in the freezing cold still, his clothes stolen from his back and his tongue thick in his mouth) as everything he ever loved disappeared into the ground.

They wait for him like he’s their missing horseman. The horseman of death, he laughs as he climbs on the grey they have for him. And there before me was a pale horse! Its rider was named Death, and Hades was following close behind him, he murmurs and moves away from the newly dug grave of his son, the lingering graves of his wife and other children. His life, his legacy, it all comes back to the dirt.

Fast forward nearly two hundred years and he is still the same, just meaner and more self absorbed. He’s been left to marinate and simmer but they forgot to turn the stove off. He’s not calm or peaceful like Joe or Nick, nor does he believe in the cause like Andy. He just is: bitter and mean and he looks in the mirror and sees Jean-Pierre looking back, lank blond hair in place of black curls. He brought this loneliness on himself but he can’t stop himself railing against it, scoffing at them. Dear Nicky and Joe, tell me more about how you know what I go through now, tell me more about how the grief you almost went through is like a fire through your veins, how maybe now you’ll understand the last two hundred years. Love, Booker.

He drinks himself to death more than once, again, in the same streets of Paris like a freak mockery, round and round he goes, he’s forever coming back to this god forsaken land mourning something. He tries therapy because he figures why the fuck not, he’s tried everything else in the nearly three hundred years he’s been alive and the man asks him, what’s brought you to me today, Sebastien? And Booker, the dumb fuck that he is, buys in full wager and says all my children are dead and there’s not a single moment that goes by that I cannot forget they existed, like people want me to. It makes me do terrible, terrible things. Makes me mean, makes me snap my teeth like a dog that’s been beat.

The psychologist writes all this down on his little tablet and then looks at him, dead in the eye.

Losing a child is a terrible thing, Sebastien, and like all terrible things it can make us terrible, too.

He leans forward in his chair, elbows on his knees.

I think it’s more than that, doc, I think there’s something wrong with me, genuinely. It feels like nothing can ever be right, that I can never do anything right.

Sebastien, every person is capable of terrible things. Things just happen and there’s no rhyme or reason to it, but if you can take yourself back from thinking you are locked in a cycle, that you don’t have to do these terrible things, even just once, you are good. Nothing will ever bring your children back but neither can being a victim to your own innate need to hit back. You say you don’t have the spark to do good but what are you reacting against when you are like this? It’s an injustice, isn’t it?

The clock, frozen for two hundred years, begins to tick on his life.

[rotten-angel-bonez]

Harm reduction for people with BED

I have struggled and am still struggling with a kind of binge eating disorder (mixed with that spicy spicy anorexia) and on tumblr I always see harm reduction for people with EDs being focused on restrictive eating disorders. And while that's nice and all it never helped me with the binging side of my ED.

SO, I did some research and will now provide you with professional tips and personal experience on how to not fucking die from your BED because you fucking can.

Okay, now, what even is a binge ?

[binj] 1. a period of uncontrolled or excessive self-indulgent activity

Important keywords uncontrolled and excessive

Meaning, us people with BED can't exactly control our binge urges and we don't simply stop when we're full. This is quite important because people will sometimes mislabel overeating as a binge and that can be pretty harmful as overeating is rather linked to self control and portrays binges as something everyone should be able to control.

However, there are some things you can do to prevent frequent binge urges. While these may work for some people, they won't for others and that's super duper okay and you're still 1000% valid.

Preventive measures:

- making sure you're hydrated

- regularly taking vitamins (and other mineral supplements if necessary)

- having a balanced diet (aka eating frequently and getting all the nutrients you need, his includes unhealthy snacks too)

- getting enough protein!!

- knowing and trying to avoid triggers (trigger foods, situations etc.)

As I said, these won't always work but they can help.

If you aren't able to basically prevent a binge, you can still make sure you're being safe when you binge.

These "tips" are about reducing the calorie intake during a binge (note: there is not calorie limit that qualifies something as a binge, the thing that's important is HOW these things are consumed -> without control/excessively), improving your overall wellbeing after the binge and reducing guilt.

How to make a binge safer:

(Some of these may be quite obvious but I think they're still important to mention)

- binge on fruit and/or vegetables -> less guilt because healthy; you may feel satisfied faster; your body generally feels better the days after bc vitamins and water in those

- drink something in between foods/bites/during the binge -> uncomfortable fulness feeling that drives you to stop sets in faster but also goes away faster; hydration; helps with digestion

- eat high volume foods (salad etc; foods that are high in volume but low in calories) -> earlier fulness; feeling satisfied earlier

- take small breaks in between foods -> forcing yourself to stop for a few minutes (while telling yourself you're allowed to continue eating after that) may help you "get a grip" of your urges and stop completely (this might not work for everyone)

- try to eat foods that are low carb (may be really difficult bc I know that pasta/bread/pizza craving is one hell of a bitch) -> you will be less bloated the next day (which may be easier to handle mentally)

- decide to binge on something that you have to prepare first -> test your binge's "dedication" and maybe it's either too much work or while you're preparing the food, the urge disappears or flares down

- eat ice -> idk how to explain this but sometimes just the sensation of chewing on something (gum might work too for some people, doesn't for me) helps me and makes the urge to binge go away

The binge happened, what now?

Later that day or the following days, you might feel like shit, physically and mentally.

So how do you work through that feeling?

How to feel better physically after a binge:

- make yourself some hot tea (chamomile, peppermint, green tea or just whatever you like) and sip on that -> helps to be less bloated

- sip on water throughout the day (don't chug it) -> helps digestion and to be less bloated

- go on a walk, get some fresh air, do light exercises like yoga -> get your body moving and burn *some* calories; helps to feel better and less sick; takes away some of the guilt you might be holding onto (DON'T HEAVILY EXCERCISE AS IT MIGHT FUCK YOUR BODY UP EVEN MORE AND MAKE YOU RLY SICK)

- take a nap

- don't frickin fast (might make you binge again), instead have some light meals filled with fiber -> boost metabolism and digestion (I suggest waiting until 24-36 hours after your binge to really fast again -> stomach expanded a lot and you might get so hungry you binge, so wait for your stomach to relax a bit)

How to feel better mentally:

- don't look in the mirror for too long -> you're probably bloated and seeing your body like that will not help

- don't weigh yourself for 2-5 days after your binge -> your weight will have jumped up a whole bunch, it might be mostly water weight but it could still upset you

- don't beat yourself up about it, cut yourself some slack and be kind to yourself

- try to work through your feelings and find out what might have caused your binge -> that way you may be able to avoid such situations in the future

- accept that it happened and that there was no way for you to prevent it, it's not your fault

- remember that you are not any less valid or less loved because you binged, your worth is not defined by this

This is all I can come up with right now,

You are important and loved and deserve recovery♡

Stay safe, everyone

[It would really mean the world to me if you could reblog this even if you have a restrictive eating disorder]

[bisexual-inuyasha]

The Hook

Prompt: “Tell me to stop touching you.” “No.”

Chapter One: Meeting

Ling was supposed to be meeting his future husband. Not right now, but soon. Far too soon.

When he was a child, before his mother had unveiled the curse of his lineage, he had dreamed of love. He had dreamed of sweet arms around his shoulders. He had dreamed of his love’s hair tickling his nose while they laid under the Xing stars and fell asleep.

And now his heart was breaking.

And maybe that was why he was one bottle down on the sweet wine, shirt loose and feet bare in the gardens. His vision blurred, only a little, but that made it easier to pretend the white flowers in the arches were stars. But no amount of drunken stupor could turn alone into not alone.

Inside the palace was a feast. People chattered on without him, somehow not bothering to find him in his own party. So far away but close enough he could still hear the band’s music warbling through the night air. It hadn’t been difficult at all to slip a bottle into his jacket and disappear through the back doors.

He should have grabbed two bottles, he thought. “Maybe I can go back in and leave again.”

“Not a fan of this kind of thing?”

The voice came from somewhere above him. He didn’t feel like turning his head to see who it was. “What?”

“Do you usually make a habit of slipping away and drinking yourself stupid, or is today an exception?” A foot nudged his, the sensation of hard leather unpleasant against his skin. “I don’t think your new husband will approve.”

“Oh, shut up.” Ling closed his eyes. He didn’t recognize the voice. Whoever it was could fuck off. “If you tell on me, I’ll just run away and then what? You’ll look like the guy who ruined the first royal marriage in Xing in almost a hundred years.”

Which was only because the last emperor had married when he was barely more than a child and then not died until he was so decrepit as to be near dust. Still, so few remembered the last wedding that all of Xing was going wild for the chance to celebrate.

“I don’t envy you.” The voice got a lot closer. “Do you have more?”

Ling sighed. The empty bottle waved around, his grip tight on the neck to ensure he didn’t drop it on his head. “No. All empty.”

“Do you want more?” A clinking sounded beside him as the bottle was suddenly gone. “Or do you think you’ll get sick?”

“I am still engaged?”

“Unless the bastard drops dead of a heart attack.”

Ling could see bright blond hair, glowing dully gold in the lamplight. “Well, then. Please, give me more to drink.”

“So polite for an emperor.”

“Politeness is a whole language, and I am fluent.” Ling struggled to push himself up. “I’m only impolite to people I really like.”

“You just told me to shut up.” The blond chuckled.

“And you brought more wine. I obviously have excellent skills of perception.” Ling grabbed the bottle and greedily drank a mouthful.

The stranger only laughed again.

Ling liked the sound of it. He looked at the stranger, struggling to focus. These weren’t exactly small bottles of wine. The man was pretty.

“Thanks, though the last person to call me pretty was a lot smaller than you.” The person took a long, loud drink. Ling hadn’t meant to say it out loud, but he didn’t regret it.

“I’m not going to remember you in the morning, you know.” Ling wiped his arm across his eyes. “In case you’re trying to get some kind of favor.”

The man got quiet, his face suddenly stern. “I’m not trying to get anything from you. You just looked so… scared. When you went outside.”

Ling felt the tears gathering. Why should he care? Why should it matter to him if this stranger saw him cry? An arm wound around his shoulders and Ling cried into a warm chest.

“I’m Edward.” The bottle was pressed back into his hand. “I’m from Xerxes. Or was, I guess.”

Ling thought the name Edward sounded familiar. And if it sounded familiar to him… from Xerxes? He was too drunk to really think it through, but he had a feeling that Edward from Xerxes wasn’t just some guy. “Ed from Xerxes. Do you want to lay down with me?”

“You’re way too drunk for all that.” Ed’s arm swung away from his shoulder. Ling groaned and grabbed the arm again.

“Not like that.” Ling flung himself back, and the stranger Ed followed. “Just lay and look at the stars.”

“Those are flowers,” Ed said but it was too late. Ling was already asleep.

--

He woke up the next morning with a headache that threatened to split his face in two. His mouth was dry. Drool dried on his chin. Someone was moving just outside his view. “Lan Fan?”

“Yes?” His best friend was busy not looking at him.

“How bad did it go last night?”

“Grandfather found you asleep in the garden.” She bit her lip.

“Was I alone?” He had the shape of a memory. Of a person, kind and warm and pretty.

She burned red. She gestured on the chair beside his bed. “You were alone, but.”

A red jacket lay across the back. It was well crafted. Ling got the impression it was also very soft. Bits of grass stuck to the sleeves. “This was covering me?”

“Yes. You were clutching it quite possessively.” She hesitated. “Did… Did anything happen?”

“If I say yes, do I get to not get married?”

“Unfortunately, Sire, I think not.” She reached over and brushed his hair away from his eyes, placing a firm kiss against his forehead. “Though, the fact you didn’t turn into a mess tells me enough.”

Ling rubbed at his eyes. He yawned and tried to ignore the anxiety swelling in his chest. “Well, I guess we best get the day started.”

All his insides felt tangled and wrong. A sour taste permeated his mouth. He swung his feet over the edge of his bed, thumping his feet against the floor. The smooth wood was cold and grounding. He felt a little less wobbly now.

He ran his hand over the jacket, brushing off bits of grass from the sleeves. A lavish dining hall full of people, all there to celebrate his engagement, and only a single person sought him out. He struggled to remember the stranger’s face or his voice or anything. All he could remember was being so alone, and then not, wanting to watch the stars fade into morning. And then nothing.

“Lan Fan, do you know who this belongs to?” Ling picked the jacket up, slid it over his shoulders. It was too small.

“I don’t, Sire.” She chewed on his cheek, a habit she had when she wanted to say something but was too nervous.

“Don’t worry, I’m not. Expecting anything.” He sighed and laid the jacket back onto his chair. “I understand my duty to Xing.”

The words grated against his mouth like nails. He scrubbed the inside of his mouth with a toothbrush. Lan Fan finished fiddling with his breakfast, which he was certainly not touching, and left him to get organized for the day.

He needed to bathe. His hair was filled with small bits of twigs and grass. “Ugh.”

He didn’t have anywhere to be too early this morning. The advisors had assumed he’d be worn out from his party and would need time to recover. They were fully right, of course. Just not for the reason they’d assumed.

He poured perfume and salt into his tub, filling it with the hottest water he could stand. And he spent the next hour scrubbing the sweat and dirt and sick-sweet smell of wine from his body and his hair. Try as he might, he couldn’t scrub himself free of even the vague memories of last night.

“Hm. Red jacket, huh?” He glanced at the chair. It was a nice jacket. Surely whoever was missing it would want it back. And he owed them some kind of thanks for keeping him company. Right? “I’m sure someone knows who you belong to.”

He sat in the bath until it was cool and the bubbles had disappeared. The smell of sandalwood and fire still hung around the room, but his stomach had settled not long after he’d crawled into the water.

Mind made up, Ling pulled a simple white shirt over his head, loose and cool, and shimmied into a simple pair of dark pants. His skin felt raw, everything too sensitive and overstimulated. A dull throbbing ached behind his eyes. Pulling the brush through his hair threatened to throw him into a migraine, so he didn’t risk tying his hair back. He lay back on the bed again for who knows how long, mind drifting through what he was meant to do now and what his options really were.

The late afternoon sun was red, hovering just above setting. Ling had wasted a whole day of his freedom locked away in his room. He’d have to shake himself out of this. He gave himself a full body shake, in each of his limbs and through his hair, imagining all of this feeling falling off his body like water. His mother had taught him that technique, and usually it worked.

Maybe not so well today. Still. He grabbed the jacket from the chair, taking a chance to really look it over. Bright red, finely crafted. Mostly just a rectangle with a long, ruched sleeve holding it together at either end. The fabric was soft, woven. Stitched, very carefully, into the back was the Xerxian lion.

A memory floated up through the haze of last night. It was still soft all around the edges, not quite set, but enough that Ling thought he could at least test it out. Someone had told him they were from Xerxes… or used to be… Someone named Ed. Well, everyone from the party would still be here tonight. A Xingese engagement celebration lasted for a full week. In a usual situation, it would be a week where he and his lover did not see each other, so that they might have a chance to dedicate themselves to their friends and their families, and allow anticipation to grow for the day they saw each other again.

For Ling, the engagement party would end, and he would meet this Amestrian for the first time. From there, he was expected to be united with his husband. And his husband with him.

But already, Ling was getting the shit end of this deal. His husband had chosen him. Ling had been advised that this was a wise match--his future husband’s military strength was impressive, and the man was said to be handsome, if a bit gruff. The advisors had outlined how a marriage of this type would confirm Ling’s rule--no one would be able to challenge his proclamations any more. Not without risking the weight of the Amestrian military crushing them.

It wasn’t how Ling wanted to rule. A people loyal under threat were not loyal at all. But the clans still fought, day to day. And the people were distrustful of him and his youth. The Amestrian he was meant to be marrying was supposed to be older, experienced. It made Ling’s skin crawl.

He’d gone through hell to get here. He’d rather be miserable than let all the lives he took and all the things Lan Fan had endured go to waste. So he’d agreed. Like a man with his neck in the noose, he’d agreed.

Now, though. Now his fingers buzzed with the feel of the fabric. He hadn’t bothered to put on shoes yet. With any luck he’d be mistaken for one of the many guests around and his guards would leave him alone. If he only kept his face out of view.

He didn’t know why he was so interested in whoever owned this jacket. It wouldn’t matter. And if he was right, it would only make it worse.

He began in the west wing, sidling up behind one of his housekeepers who was nosily dusting a very dustless vase. He assumed her diligence had very little to do with the state of his Palace and several-greats-grandfather’s priceless pottery and everything to do with the very loud and unsavory sounds coming from the room behind the vase. “It’s not unusual for people to pair up at these kinds of shindigs, you know.”

Ling kept his voice low, his presence unassuming. She jumped anyway, tossing the duster in her hand clear over his head. It was quite a feat, considering he was at least a foot and half taller than her. She was mousy and plump, every bit the picture of the nosy old woman. “Sire!”

“Well, hello there. You seem quite,” he glanced pointedly at the gleaming vase, “committed to your duties. Would you mind telling me if you recognize this?”

She took one glance at the red jacket and her face relaxed. “Oh, that’s just the Amestrian alchemist's uniform.”

Ling frowned. He would have noticed that. “Are you sure? Look here, it has this lion on the back of it.”

She barely glanced back at it. “It’s been customized. But I just washed about a dozen of those. You can see here how the sleeves have been taken in, so as not to smudge the chalk.”

Ling frowned. “So, is there a Xerxian alchemist in the Amestrian alchemists program?”

“I’m sorry, Sire. Not that I know of.” She eyed the jacket again. “I can take that for you, if you’d like. It needs a good washing.”

Ling pulled it away just before she was able to grab it. He winked at her. Her lined cheeks turned bright red. The jacket flung casually over his shoulder, and he walked quickly away from her. “No, I’d like to return it myself.”

By the time he found someone else to ask, someone who wasn’t a housekeeper or cook or any other nosy body, the sun was sinking. He was nearly out of time. Dinner was starting soon, and he’d have to be dressed and suitable for addressing the people. So he was less smooth this time, when he finally stopped someone who looked not at all familiar. “Do you know whose this is?”

Immediately, he sensed danger. The person he asked grinned, their eyes way too wide and excited to be a casual reaction. Instinctively he pulled the jacket back to his chest. “Yeah, you know. I do. Hold on.”

The person turned back towards the room they’d been coming out of. “Oh, Ed! Someone has something of yours. He’s handsome, too.”

“Al, I swear to God if you’re fucking with me--”

And Ling suddenly had another memory as the golden haired man stuck his face out the door. “You are pretty.”

And then the door slammed in his face. Like, painfully. He rubbed his nose, feeling underneath for blood. Maybe it would bruise.

The door inched open, and Ling saw a still grinning Al. “Sorry about that. He’s not used to people calling him pretty. I’ll send him right out.”

Ling wasn’t standing around for long before the man returned. He covered his nose and held out the jacket. “You left this.”

“I thought you said you weren’t going to remember me.” The man scowled.

“I assume that’s why you left a clue behind?”

“You were completely shitfaced.” The scowl deepened. “I couldn’t just leave you there, uncovered.”

“I get it, you felt sorry for me. I didn’t become Emperor of Xing by getting embarrassed by stuff like that.” Ling ran his hands through his hair. “Would you like to go to dinner with me? I want to repay you for your kindness.”

Al was watching them both with a grin stretched across their face. “Your kindness, Ed.”

“Do they usually act like this?” He wasn’t sure if he was meant to laugh or if he was being laughed at.

“Yes, they do. When it’s me, at least.” Ed rubbed his hand over his face. “Well, I guess. Let’s go.”

Ling looked down at his clothes. “I’m not wearing shoes.”

“Yeah, you should take care of that.” Ed’s scowl was maybe just permanently fixed there. Was it possible Ling was making a mistake?

He’d just opened his mouth to tell Ed that he wasn’t required to eat dinner with him, if he didn’t want. Sometimes that happened too--people assumed when he asked something, that it wasn’t a real question. So he’d stopped asking for things, usually, unless it was an order. Or he was talking to Lan Fan.

Ed waved him off before he could speak, reaching for his jacket. “So, are you ok?”

Ling’s mouth snapped shut. He hadn’t expected that. “What?”

“Are you ok?” Ed gave him a worried look. “You seemed pretty messed up last night. I mean, by the time I found you.”

“I’m doing better.” Ling lied.

“That’s good to know.” Ed shrugged his jacket back on. “I don’t know how often I can get away with sneaking out to the garden with you and drinking ourselves senseless.”

Ling blushed. “Ok, well, you know. You don’t have to remind me.”

“Apparently you remembered all on your own.” Ed shook his head, his blond braid swinging behind him. “So, are you going to change, or are you planning a soft rebellion?”

A soft rebellion sounded nice. Ling did not consider his bare feet to be a soft rebellion. “I’ll be stopping by my room, briefly. Feel free to follow me if you like.”

Ling had meant it as a teasing, assuming that he’d meet Ed in the dining hall. Yet, when he headed down the hallway that led to his rooms, Ed followed behind, ticking off artifacts and paintings on his fingers. The run of his fingertips against the wall sounded unusual.

“Are you wearing… Metal gloves?” Ling paused, listening more closely.

“No, actually. The opposite.” Ed tapped his fingers purposefully on the wall. It made a loud, satisfying tinking sound “Wanna see?”

Ling quirked a brow. “See your hands?”

“Well, hand.” Ed wiggled his fingers on his right hand, a thin white glove covering whatever was making the metallic sound against Ling’s walls. Carefully, one finger at a time, Ed took the gloves off to reveal a metal hand. “See, I’m wearing cloth gloves. What you heard was me.”

Ling moved closer, nearly touching Ed’s fingertips before he caught himself. “Is it ok if I touch it?”

“I--uh, yeah? Most people just do.” Ed rubbed the back of his head with his other hand. “Thanks for asking.”

The gratitude surprised him. “It’s your hand. I wouldn’t be happy if someone just grabbed my hand without warning.”

Ed’s face split into a grin. “You know, you’re right.”

Ling shook his head, placing his hand gently against the metal. Cool, jagged edges pressed back against his palm. “Can you feel my hand?”

He didn’t look up to see if Ed responded. He brushed the tips of the metal caps with his fingertips. They weren’t sharp, like he’d expected. And the oval plate meant to be the base of the thumb was smooth, polished nearly naked by use. It was art, Ling thought to himself. He pressed his hand against Ed’s once more. Art in a more real way than Ling had ever seen--art of a person to a degree he’d never been able to accomplish. His fingers stretched out beyond the edge of the metal, his palm just a smidge wider. “My hands are bigger than yours.”

Ed coughed and pulled his hand back. “You’re... I didn’t expect you to be that interested. Usually it’s, kind of like a. Like a party trick, you know?”

“Are you nervous?” Ling had gotten too close. He stepped back and turned on his heel. “Your arm is beautiful.”

“People don’t usually have an opinion on it.” Ed frowned. “Well, unless they’re automail mechanics, but then it’s nothing like that.”

Ling laughed. “Then what do people usually say?”

Ed considered for a moment. “Nothing. They usually are surprised that I've got a metal arm, say something about how I’m an inspiration or something, and then we move on. Automail mechanics usually go all gaga and ask me for Winry’s number.”

They’d made their way to Ling’s rooms. “Do you feel like an inspiration?”

“No. Can’t say I do.” Ed tapped his fingers. “I have to say, this is an unusual conversation. Let’s change the subject.”

So Ling did. “Well, I’d best get changed. You’re welcome to come in.”

Ed followed him, quietly. Ling flitted around the room, grabbing the most comfortable, passable clothes he could get away with that night. His room still smelled of sandalwood and soap. It was a pleasant smell but heavy and perfumy in a way that made him self conscious. He glanced back after pulling his shirt off to see Ed rustling through his papers on his desk.

“Did you do these?” Ed didn’t touch Ling’s work. Instead he hovered over them, nose nearly touching the charcoal. “No wonder you called my arm art. You probably see art in a lot of things.”

Ling scrambled over to the papers, quickly placing himself between Ed and the desk. “You are an explorer, aren’t you? Ha.”

Hastily, he stacked the papers and shoved them into a drawer.

“What, you don’t like them?”

Ling groaned and closed his eyes. He didn’t want to get into how he felt about his art. He went to rub his hand over his face but flinched as his hand bumped against his bruised nose. “Ow.”

Ed scowled more harshly than Ling had seen him scowl so far. His non-metal hand reached towards Ling’s face. Ling flinched on instinct. But Ed’s touch was gentle as he traced over the light bruise on Ling’s nose.

“I’m sorry about that. You caught me off guard. I didn’t expect you to remember anything.” His thumb pushed a little too hard on the bridge of Ling’s nose and Ling hissed in pain. “I used to be able to help with stuff like this. Nowadays, I’m useless.”

“It’s just a bruise. Don’t be so dramatic.” Ling covered his nose with his hand. It was a mistake--it just hurt again.

“Jeez, no need to get all embarrassed. I’m the dumbass that slammed a door in your face.”

“You were, weren’t you?” Ling hummed, tapping his finger against his chin. “I guess that means you owe me.”

“I don’t do just any kind of favor.” Ed crossed his arms and stood defiantly straight. The pose reminded Ling of a small bird puffing out its chest. “What do you want me to do?”

“Model for me. Just real quick. Your arm, I’ve never seen anything like it. Not up close anyway.” Ling picked up a charcoal left on his desk. “All the tarnishing in the nooks and crannies, all the smooth polish of well used parts. It’s so unique to you--to the actions you’ve taken and the places you’ve been.”

Ed deflated sheepishly. “Oh, that’s all. Ok, then. I mean, I don’t get it really. It’s just automail.”

Ling grinned. “I’ll show you, after I’ve sketched it out.”

Ed looked uncomfortable at first. Then, Ling nudged his shirt sleeve up until the full bottom half of the automail was exposed. Carefully, Ling arranged Ed’s arm to catch the light, to show off all the worn angles. As he sketched, arranged, sketched, and rearranged, Ed settled down. He held his metal arm perfectly still, and laid his head on his other hand, and closed his eyes. Ling almost thought he was asleep, until suddenly, Ed leapt from his chair.

“Dinner!”

And then they were both jumping, Ed all but dashed out the door while Ling slung his robe on.

It wasn’t until he got to dinner that Ling remembered he wasn’t wearing shoes. “Shit.”

They were very late. Late enough that the dining room was full.

“We should have come in separately.” Ed whispered from the side of his mouth. “This is weird.”

Ling didn’t say anything. Lan Fan sat in her usual spot, his empty seat beside her. A familiar face sat across from her, grinning the same wide grin as when Ling first met them. Alphonse. So, the two of them must have been talking when neither he nor Ed showed up on time for dinner. He wasn’t sure how, but Lan Fan must have made some excuse, since everyone was eating. Even if the guests were still staring at them, at least they hadn’t been waiting to start for all this time.

Ling took his seat, careful to never drop his neutral, most royal expression. “How is the food tonight, Lan Fan?”

“Delicious as always, Sire.” Lan Fan took a large bite off her plate. “Though it would have been better warm.”

Her words bite. She’s upset at him. “I’m sorry, Lan Fan.”

Al laughed. “He’s so quick to apologize. My brother is stubborn to the end. He never says anything outright.”

Ling grinned around a mouthful of rice. “An emperor must have some sense of humility. And besides, I got carried away with him. I should have paid closer attention to the time.”

Ed sputtered. He’d forgotten to put on his gloves, so one metal hand waved around with this others. “You can’t just say--do you know how that sounds? It was just art, ok!”

“Art?” Al tapped their plate. It was already empty. “You’re not usually so appreciative of the creative process, Ed. What kept you?”

“I was modeling,” Ed’s voice got smaller and smaller, until it was difficult to hear the last word. He rubbed at his automail, face tinged red. “Anyway, what business is it of yours?”

“To the contrary, Edward Elric. It is everyone’s business where our engaged Emperor disappears to during his celebrations.” Lan Fan put her fork down. “It is something you should be aware of if you choose to become close to the emperor.”

Ling didn’t feel much like eating. She was right, and right not to sugar coat it. But it still hurt. “Usually there are fewer eyes, though it is no less true.”

“Why on earth would I care?” Ed glared at his food, alternating between chowing down on his rice and glaring at whoever dared watch him. “Al, do you want the rest of this stuff?”

Al gladly accepted the grilled pork from Ed’s plate. The rest of the night the conversation stayed civil, the stream of words flowing easily between all of them.

“You know, he draws a lot of pictures of you,” Ed pointed his fork at Lan Fan. “You do a lot of chores. He should be paying you more.”

“I am the highest paid advisor he has. In all of Xing, only Ling is better compensated.” Lan Fan narrowed her eyes. “I go around in his rooms and helping him because he is my friend.”

Ling put his fork down. “My best friend.”

Ed looked between them. “Oh.”

“Not like that, brother.” Al shook their head. “They really are just best friends. Lan Fan is super gay.”

And for some reason, the rest of the dinner, Ed was all smiles. Not a scowl in sight.

Eventually, the food and the small talk was over. People were heading to their rooms. Some were barely able to stand, some leaned a little to casually into the bodies of their partners, and some were already dozing at their tables. The housekeepers would corral the snoozing partygoers into their rooms. Ling was worn out from the previous nights drinking and the up and down of rolling depression and unacceptable adventure of the day.

Lan Fan had already gone for the night, and Al was hovering around Ed to walk back to their rooms. Ling opened his mouth to say his farewells.

“Can you show me the work you did of my arm? I never got to see the end result.” Ed didn’t look at Al. He didn’t even look at Ling. He stared off somewhere near the door, hands tossed over his head. Ling could recognize a carefully casual pose when he saw one. So could Al.

For the first time since Ling met them, Al’s grin faltered. “Are you sure?”

“Don’t be silly, Al. It’s just some pictures.”

Al paused, their face unnaturally stern. Then, they grinned again. “As long as you're sure. Be careful.”

“I didn’t even respond yet.” Ling scoffed.

“Oh, do you have something to do?”

But now the prospect of showing off his work, possibly drawing more of Ed’s arm, maybe even convincing Ed to let him draw his face, had Ling feeling wired. “Uh, well, no. But still, you should have let me answer at least.”

“I’ll expect you back sometime tonight, Ed.” Al waved and headed off to their own room.

Ed just waved himself on, following Ling as they headed back to their room.

“You got away with wearing no shoes through all of dinner.” Ed chuckled.

“Yeah, well. You can get away with a good bit when you’re emperor. People don’t want to point it out, in case it’s something you’re supposed to be doing.”

This time, the walk back to Ling’s room was heavy. There was an expectation, a shared thought neither of them wanted to voice.

“I didn’t realize you’d gotten that much of a look at my drawings. You really liked the ones I did of Lan Fan?” Ling shrugged his robe off. His room was hot, the smell of sandalwood having finally faded, but the humidity lingering.

“You’re talented. I knew who you were drawing straight away.” Ed stretched.

Ling spread the few pages of preliminary sketches he’d gotten done across the work desk. “They aren’t much. I was still working out shapes and angles when you realized it was dinner.”

“Weird how time got away from us.” Ed laughed. “Didn’t realize my arm was so captivating.”

“You are good company,” Ling tapped his charcoal against the paper. “But, now you’ve seen the pictures. I’m sure Al is expecting you.”

It was a direct challenge. Ling wondered if Ed would meet it.

“If I’m such good company, why’re you kicking me out?” Ed scowled again, and this time Ling laughed.

“You make that face too often. Let’s see if I can get a prettier expression.” Ling sidled up against Ed’s side, his lips still split into a smile. “And then maybe I could draw some more pictures?”

“Hey now, how conceited do you think I am?”

Ling darted around Ed, pushing his golden hair away with one hand while tilting his chin with the other. “I think you are conceited enough to invite yourself to the room of an engaged emperor.”

“Well, you wanted me here.”

Ling did, it was true. “Let’s get you posed then.”

“Posed?”

“Look, if you’re going to be here, I’m going to get some practice in.” Ling tapped his hand against Ed’s cheek, sliding through Ed’s hair until he’d smoothed the blond strands behind a scarred shoulder.

And so Ling took full advantage--he drew. He drew Ed’s long hair and strong jaw. He sketched the scars where the automail connected. Ed told him about nerve connectors, and his automail mechanic, and the podunk town he grew up in.

“What about Xerxes?”

“Xerxes hasn’t had a ruler in a long, long time. Eventually, we were whittled down to nothing and Amestris absorbed us.” Ed frowned, and it marred the image he was sketching. “It was going to happen eventually, but. It didn’t make it better.”

“Amestris is quite a greedy nation, isn’t it?” Ling put down his charcoal. There was something he’d wanted to do, from the moment he’d first touched Ed’s metal hand. “First it takes your home. Then it takes me, reaching its claws into Xing. Offering what we want in exchange for everything we already have.”

He slid his hand along the cool metal, pushing the arm up and away. “Can you feel my hand? Is that how the nerve reactors work?”

“A little. It’s like a pressure.” Ed narrowed his eyes at him, suspicious but not worried. “Not like when you touch my other hand.”

Ling nodded, pulling Ed’s other hand to him. He had almost a memory of Ed’s arm around him. Almost a memory of a moment. “Tell me to stop touching you.”

Ed didn’t look away. “No.”

“Then I’m not going to stop.” Ling cupped his hand against Ed’s face. And there, exactly where he wanted them, Ed’s arms wrapped around him.

Tomorrow's problems would come tomorrow. This was what he wanted now.

[mythicamagic]

“If i asked you to stay, would you?” Please ❤️

Decided to do a continuation of - this drunk Kagome prompt

Also, all prompts have been posted to Ao3, fanfiction.net and Dokuga if anyone wants to read them there ^^

---

Inserting a spare key into the lock, Sesshoumaru casually let himself into Kagome’s apartment the next day around noon after hearing a loud groan answer his knock. 

Stepping over some discarded heels and shedding his human glamour mid-step, he found Kagome messily sprawled over her bed. 

Blue eyes cracked open, and she winced. 

“Sesshoumaru...I think I’m dying.”

“I did tell you to drink water before passing out,” he intoned flatly, lifting a bag of food from Zubway into view. 

Kagome groggily sat up, rubbing her head and sighing. “You did, huh? Was I really bad?”

“The usual amount of drunk, I’d say,” thin lips quirked as he left to grab some water, bringing a full glass back. 

Kagome accepted it, along with a painkiller. “Thank you so much. You’re the absolute best.”

Sesshoumaru’s golden eyes flickered. They strayed away, and he fell quiet as they both dug into their food. Kagome barely had the stomach for it, but forced herself to eat, knowing it would make her feel better in the long run. She managed half of her sandwich, before leaning back against her pillows with a hungover sigh. 

“You know...I think some things are coming back to me,” she mumbled, squinting. 

Sesshoumaru hummed, hardly expecting anything miraculous to be remembered. 

Kagome blanched after a moment, blue eyes widening. “D-did I...say something weird about your butt?”

A wicked smirk came to his lips, delighting in her humiliated whine of defeat. 

“Oh nooo- go on. Lay it on me.”

“This one seems to recall you wanting to bite my ‘cute butt.’”

“Nooooo!” she fell face first into her pillow, the noises coming out muffled. 

“And then you wished to lick me-”

The sounds of embarrassment rose higher. 

His tone dropped into a low whisper, “you also said that you loved me.”

Kagome’s head rose, fumbling with her dishevelled hair, “hm? What was that last one? Your voice was too quiet.”

“I said you wanted to lick honey from my person-”

“Nooooooooo!”

Smirking, Sesshoumaru rose from the bed to dispose of their trash, glancing at her rumpled form furtively from the corner of his eye. 

It was for the best. If she’d really meant it, then surely Kagome would’ve told him by now. The only reason he kept his own silence was because of how fragile it all felt. 

Because this- spending easy time with her- being her companion, all of it was more than enough. The inuyoukai had been alone for so many years, by design of course. Only a select few were permitted close.

Ultimately, his relationship with Kagome Higurashi was too precious to be mishandled. If he confronted her- only for the miko to become awkward around him, he couldn’t...take it. 

Sesshoumaru reached down, hooking his claws under the strap of her tight black dress that had slipped decadently off one shoulder, staring into her eyes- mascara smudged on her lashes. “You should change out of the clothes you wore last night,” he said softly.

Kagome blinked, reddening a little. Eventually she gave a nod, watching him walk to the threshold of her door. 

“Sesshoumaru?”

He paused, “hn?”

“Was there something else? Any other odd things I might’ve said?”

Turning to face her, he couldn’t quite keep the intrigue from his voice. “Such as?”

“...I dunno, but…” Kagome chewed on her bottom lip maddeningly. His chest flared, hunger rising in his throat. Fangs ached. She was such a tease- no- he shook himself firmly. 

“If any stuff I said when I was drunk made you uncomfortable, we could talk about that.”

“None of it made me uncomfortable.”

“I guess you are pretty difficult to embarrass,” she mumbled, bowing slightly. “But still, I’m sorry for any trouble I caused.”

Sesshoumaru smiled slightly, assuring her, before continuing out of the room. A sense of missed opportunity heavily pervaded the air as he let out a slow exhale, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

Foolishness.

---

The next time she got drunk was strangely two nights later, which was very odd in itself. Kagome did not drink so frequently. 

And especially not alone. 

“Come overrr,” she’d slurred down the phone. “We can have a sleepover!”

Sesshoumaru’s claws bit into the leather of his armchair, considering this, “I do not think that wise-”

“I’m gonna run through the halls, naked~”

“I will be right there,” he grunted, hanging up.

---

Her apartment lay on the fifth floor, and when Sesshoumaru reached her door, hearing nothing from inside- a sense of disquiet filled him with dread. 

Kagome was a happy drunk. She was a stupid fool who loved everyone and showered them with affection. 

Finding her inside sitting on the sofa- with the glassy look of unshed tears in her dark eyes, Sesshoumaru stopped and wondered how well he even knew her at all.

She collapsed into his arms the second he offered them. 

Making low noises of comfort, Sesshoumaru lifted the miko onto his lap, combing deadly claws through her hair. 

“What ails you?” he rumbled, kissing her behind the ear. He then winced, reminding himself not to take liberties with her person.

“I-I feel so happy,” Kagome sobbed, clinging tight around his shoulders.

Sesshoumaru blinked, rubbing her back in soothing circles using his large palm. “That is an issue?”

“It is!” she wailed, hiding her face. “B-because, I feel so guilty for it, all the time...all the time,” the words trailed off into a whisper.

“Why, miko?”

“Because I loved Inuyasha…and you’re his brother,” she breathed. “Because I miss my friends, but if someone asked me to give you up in order to see them again- I...I couldn't.”

Her grip tightened around him, shoulders shaking.

“And because -when we’re doing friend stuff, I don’t think of you as a friend- well I do-” she stumbled over her words. “Only I- I can’t help but hope for more. Wishing- and that’s not fair! It’s not fair to you! I never...thought I’d be happy again after the stupid bone well shut, but you fill me with...joy.”

Kagome stared at him suddenly, her face much too close. 

Before Sesshoumaru could react, or do much of anything since he was already rendered speechless by her chatter- she’d pressed her soft lips to his. The action sent him reeling. His attention focused razer sharp on the sensation- of the tight grip she kept on his clothes. How she trembled with want of him. 

Sesshoumaru inwardly purred, feeling a glow light up inside him.  He reached for her hair- before she abruptly pulled away. 

“And I just really think your butt is cute! I wanna grab it so bad that I feel like I’ve turned into Miroku! I-I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he panted, a strange warmth dusting his cheeks. “Is this why you only tell me such things when you’re drunk? You’re too ashamed to say them in the cold light of day?”

“Guess so. You’re so smart,” she slurred, resting her cheek against his shoulder and tiredly booping his nose. “Love you.”

“Hn, so you have mentioned,” Sesshoumaru uttered, casting his frazzled mind back. “Many times.”

But now a sense of understanding filled his rattled senses, and his own fears were swiftly being laid to rest. 

Kagome hugged him tight, and Sesshoumaru returned it, cradling her close.

“If I asked you to stay, would you?” she murmured.

Midsummer eyes slid shut, confessing a very real truth. “I would do anything you asked of me, miko.”

---

When Kagome rose that morning, clinging to his solid body tightly and lifting her head to meet his gaze, Sesshoumaru cupped her cheek. 

“Sesshoumaru, what-? Mmfh?!”

A warm mouth fiercely crashed into hers, arms wrapping around her. She tasted terrible, and the kiss was sloppy- not at all perfect. He adored it anyway the second she tentatively kissed back- touching his hair gingerly.

She’d been like him, he realised, purring with satisfaction as he deepened the kiss, hitching her thigh over his waist. Too afraid to pursue anything, for fear of harming what they had. 

Grabbing Kagome’s hand, Sesshoumaru forced it to the curve of his ass, permitting her to grope it. She could bite it if she wanted, he hardly cared. She squeaked, eliciting a devilish smile against her mouth.

He wanted to reassure her. He wanted her to know that she didn’t need to get drunk anymore to permit herself to love him. She could confess her deepest desires and he’d listen to each and every one.

Kissing her hard, Sesshoumaru inhaled her scent and dragged his lips across her cheek, hissing lowly in her ear;

“I love you too, foolish woman.”