#once again telling you you should post this as fic and tag it with proper fic tags (if you want)

[weaselishmcdiesel]

clears throat this is long as hell uhhhhhhh sorry <333

so.

grian recovers very quickly after the reveal, adjusting to the fact that it’s just a party and starts mingling. as he does yknow. but mumbo absolutely noticed his shock at the reveal, and he can’t believe that he actually managed to hide it that well, so there must be something else going on

he asks grian about it, when they get a moment alone, both nursing drinks in the corner as the others prepare to cut the cake

“i— sorry if i’m reading this wrong,” he begins, stumbling over the words, “but you, uh— were you— you seemed shocked.”

grian tilts his head slightly, “what?”

“uh, sorry,” mumbo is flushed, his face turning beet red as tries to clarify, “at the reveal. of the- the party.”

grian, who had been taking a sip of his drink, chokes on his drink slightly at the words.

“oh gosh, uh— goodness,” mumbo pats his back as he sputters for a few long moments

“are you… you alright, mate?”

grian nods, with a strangled noise of agreement.

“peachy,” he adds.

“right,” mumbo’s hands have begun to sweat, he reaches one to intertwine with grian’s fingers as a comfort, “so..?”

grian squeezes his hand, “i thought— uh. nevermind.”

he looks embarrassed, more than anything, and the pit of nerves that has slowly been knotting in mumbo’s stomach loosens. he watches grian’s humiliated face, the way that his cheeks flush and his nose wrinkles, and he can’t stop a short chuckle passing his lips.

grian glares at him lightheartedly, and mumbo rolls his eyes as he tugs the smaller man towards him with their joined hands. grian slots naturally into his side, body melting until they are fitting together perfectly, as though he was always meant to be there.

he clears his throat, not wanting to drop the subject, since grian seems to be playing at being miffed more than anything.

“what did you think was going on?” he asks again, voice aloof and knowing all at once.

grian simply stares at the cup in his hand, the drink suddenly much more interesting than anything else in the room.

mumbo laughs again, a shaking giggle as he tightens his grip on grian, “c’mon man, you can’t *not* tell me, after all of this.”

their eyes meet, and mumbo observes as the other’s gaze roves over his features, taking in every detail, searching for something, before there is something hardening behind his eyes.

“i thought,” grian says slowly, carefully, “that you were going to— to ask me to marry you.”

“you—“ mumbo’s feels like one of his prototype contraptions, stuttering and buffering, before ceasing to function entirely, “you what?!”

“see?” grian’s face is on fire as he goes to bury it in mumbo’s chest, his next words muffled by mumbo’s party suit, “in my defence, you were being very suspicious.”

“so you jump straight to marriage?” mumbo whines, “gri— grian, please know that i would talk to you about it if i was planning on proposing.”

“are you saying you’re not planning on bagging me officially?” grian questions, a grin clear in his voice.

“well,” mumbo begins, indignantly, “i’d say that i’ve had you ‘bagged officially’ for a long time now.”

“buy me a ring, mumbo.”

the noise that follows somewhat resembles a deflating balloon, and the vampire finds himself wishing he was one with the floor. grian simply chuckles, pressing a kiss to his chest where he has his face buried.

they stand quietly for a second, mumbo desperately trying to recover from such an outlandish idea as they sway slightly, out of time with the blaring music.

grian is the one to break the silence first, “this feels silly.”

mumbo snorts, nodding. “it is a little silly.”

“mhm,” a sly grin creeps onto the avian’s lips, “but we’re a little silly.”

mumbo leans down, resting his head atop his lover’s, and sighs.

“i can’t believe you thought i was going to propose to you…”

“well, i can’t believe that you’re still stuck on that. it was like, ages ago- forget about it, mumby.”

“would you,” mumbo clears his throat, “would you want to marry me?”

grian suddenly pulls himself up, his features softened with fondness as he cradles mumbo’s face in his hands, “this better not be an official proposal, mumbo. you can do better than this, i believe in you—“

“no, you spoon! just… would you want that, eventually?”

grian leans forward, pressing a long kiss to his lips.

“yes,” he mumbles into the kiss, lingering for a moment more before he’s pulling away. “yes. we’ll get married, eventually. after a good proposal, something fancy.”

mumbo simply laughs, a watery smile on his lips, before scar appears in the corner of his vision to drag the pair away for cake.

PART 2/2

I FUCKING LOVE COMMUNICATION AND MATURITY AND TRUST AND VULNERABILITY WAAAAAA THIS IS SO FUCKING GOOD i can hear precisely what deflated balloon sound you mentioned your mumbo is so fucking. correct akshjdfasdj WAAAA MAX THIS IS REALLY REALLY CUUUUUTE OTLLLLLLL HIP HIP HOORAY FOR CERTAIN MARRIAGE !!!!!!!

[boolger]

So long as I'm your favorite toy ☆ COD fanfic

Originally posted on my AO3, where I post all my stuff. Always read the tags of my fanfics. The title is from Jazmin Bean's song favorite toy.

☆fem!reader x Simon "Ghost" Riley ☆ explicit. MDNI ☆ 1,655 words

☆summary: There was something wrong with Simon. You knew that, had a bad feeling whenever you were together with him, felt like he could tear you apart with his teeth whenever you saw him. Yet, here you were, once again. Together with him, with that bad feeling in your stomach, your instincts telling you to run away, telling you that he could hurt you. He sometimes did. You tried ignoring the feeling, tried not to think too much about it, about how he screamed danger. About how he used you like a toy.

☆tags: dead dove do not eat, toxic relationship, abusive relationship, stalker!Simon 'Ghost' Riley, Alternative universe, serialkiller!Simon 'Ghost' Riley or well its hinted at, BAD bdsm etiquette, bdsm, humiliation, degredation, verbal humiliation and abuse, non-con elements, squirting, car sex, semipublic, rough.

☆☆MDNI☆ Dead dove do not eat☆MDNI☆☆

extra warnings / note: This is just straight up an abusive relationship. Reach out for help at the proper resources in your country if you’re in one of these and maybe don’t read this fic. Simon doesn’t r*pe but reader does acknowledge that he probably wouldn’t stop if she asked him to. Also this is not proper and safe BDSM. Bdsm shouldn’t be like this, even if it’s cnc or free use. If you use your safeword, that should be respected and acted on. It is hinted that Simon is a serial killer, but he doesn't actually kill anyone, only mentions it.

There was something wrong with Simon. You knew that, had a bad feeling whenever you were together with him, felt like he could tear you apart with his teeth whenever you saw him. Yet, here you were, once again. Together with him, with that bad feeling in your stomach, your instincts telling you to run away, telling you that he could hurt you. He sometimes did.

You tried ignoring the feeling, tried not to think too much about it, about how he screamed danger. About how he used you like a toy.

He said it was bdsm and to a certain point you agreed. But in proper bdsm both parties respected each other, even when there was degradation involved. No matter how rude one was to the other, in a healthy bdsm relationship there would still be respect, there would still be the knowledge, respect and acceptance that if one party said stop the other would do so immediately.

… you weren’t so sure that Simon would.

Sure, you had a CNC kink, but even when that was practiced, a safeword was in place - and technically you had a safeword, but you doubted Simon would actually stop.

It was a dangerous game. Toxic. Unhealthy. You should really stop, really get out of whatever it was that you had going with him.

Yet, here you were, together with him. Again. He had texted you and you had come running like a desperate, shaking puppy, craving attention, even if it was technically the wrong kind.

Like a toy, ready to be played with.

“Fuck,” he snarled in your ear, “you’re such a fucking whore, yet your pussy is so tight all the time.”

A whimper left you, your eyes fluttering shut as you shook, his cock ruthlessly trying to bully its way deeper into your poor shaking body.

Sometimes, sometimes , he was nice afterwards, after fucking you, after using you however he wanted. His fingers running along your abused skin, littering it with kisses, muttering about keeping you for himself. His own little whore, pretty girlfriend in his house, his wife waiting for him when he got home, homemade food ready for him.

You knew he didn’t mean it. Or at least, you hoped he didn’t. The two of you never talked about it afterwards, he never mentioned wanting something else than the whole fuckbuddies thing you got on. You didn’t even know where he lived, if he actually had a house, hell, you didn’t even know what he did for a living. For all you knew, he could be a monster or a CEO, a cashier behind the counter in a supermarket or a handyman. You had no idea. You tried not to care. It wasn’t like he asked about you either… though he sometimes just seemed to know a little too much. Or he at least hinted at know.

The way it squelched as he fucked you made you dizzy, you body already hurting from the position you were in. You were in his car in the backseat, trying to pretend that you weren’t afraid you were going to get caught, your knees over his shoulders, you body bent in half, thighs almost touching your chest. You were crying - you didn’t know when you started doing so, but you couldn’t stop. Besides, Simon didn’t mind it. He just fucked you harder, making the entire car rock to his thrusts, even leaning down to lick off your tears, calling you needy, pathetic, a whore.

You had already come twice. Maybe that was why you always came back, the orgasms were fantastic and plenty. Simon might be a mean bastard but he always made you come at least 3 times every time you saw him.

“Fuuuuuuck, princess,” he moaned, one hand on your neck, squeezing a bit while the other was on the car door, giving him something to hold onto, “you’re so fucking wet - gonna squirt, huh? Squirt all over my fucking car seats? Make it - fuck - make it dirty and all wet, huh?”

You sobbed, trying to shake you head. “No no no pleased down, Simon it’ll - fuck - ah ah ah—“

“Fucking whore,” he continued, “I’ll have to get ir cleaned then, won’t I? Tell the staff how it got so dirty?”

You sobbed, only moans and wails interrupting them. You didn’t want to squirt, he would never let you hear the end of it, you already knew.

“C’mon then, lass,” he moaned, his cock hitting you even harder; it hurt, hurt so badly yet so perfectly as you cried.

“No no no - Simon - Simon - stop, I’m gonna -“ you tried begging him but it was already too late.

Despite Simon’s strength, his cock was forced out by your body as you squirted, but he merely slapped his tick member against your cunt instead, hitting your clit. He forced your body to continue, his hand moved from your throat, instead holding onto your ankle, keeping you open for him, using the other hand to tap his cock against you. It was like it kept coming, making you scream and twist in the cuffs he had forced you into earlier.

It was soaking his entire lower body and the seats, the shame worse than you had expected; you had sprayed your juices all over his thighs and it was dripping from yours too, when your body finally finished. He was moaning, somehow making that degrading and you could barely hear the words that followed, too gone.

He was on you again, forcing you into the same position, your poor, wet and puffy cunt stretched again as he filled you once more, making you squeal. Your sight was blurry and his hand was on your jaw then, grip bruising, as he forced you to look at him. You barely understood the words he said, something about fucking you dumb - but you felt the spit that then hit you cheek, splatting all over your face, making you whimper.

He continued to fuck you, as if he was some fucking machine, growling like a dangerous animal in a rut, unable to stop breeding you.

“I would kill for this pussy,” he moaned, eyes dark as he met yours, fucking grinning, a sight that made your toes curl and stomach twist,  “do you want me to kill for you, huh??”

“Noo,” you whined, shaking your head, making him laugh.

“I fucking would, princess,” he growled, making you cry again. It was getting too much, everything felt overwhelming, your poor pussy almost in pain - but somehow he forced another orgasm from you. It made your entire body shake and finally, fucking finally he came with a loud, primal-like scream, filling you up with his cum.

You panted beneath him, knowing you looked like an absolute mess. Sweaty, drool running from the edge of your mouth, his spit on your face; your own juices running down your lower body and his cum would no doubt drip out the moment he pulled out.

He was softening inside you, yet he still leant down, your poor legs hurting and still bent, kissing you. He kissed like he fucked you. Dominating and controlling, forcefully yet so fucking wonderful. You moaned and gasped into his kiss, making him smile smugly. Simon pulled back, just a tad, your faces so close.

You felt a shiver run along your spine at his words, nausea appearing in your stomach.

“I meant it you know,” he whispered, all lovingly, “I would kill for you, princess.”

You let out a small sound.

“I don’t want you to,” you answered weakly, voice shaking a little. He looked cold just for a second as he replied.

“Then don’t give me a reason to.” 

Simon grinned all happily then, straightening up and pulling out, cum immediately oozing out, giving your ass a hard smack, just to watch you clench and twist for a second as you wailed.

“Get dressed,” he then said, opening the car door behind him, casually stepping out all naked, “I’ll drop you off.” 

He stepped to the front door then, putting on his boxers, his own clothes on the seat all neatly. Then he reached into the small cup holder in the front, picking up the key for your cuffs.

You awkwardly turned around and he moved again, opening the cuffs and your arms hurt from behind beneath you for so long. Your eyes flickered to him as you reached for your clothes. But Simon was quicker than you. Without even looking apologetic, he reached down to pick up your clothes at the car floor, rummaging through it for a second until he found your panties. 

You knew not to argue.

You got dressed quickly, knowing he wasn’t always patient.

You felt his cum seeping into the fabric of your skirt as you sat down at the passenger seat next to him a minute later, hoping it wouldn’t drip onto this seat too.

Simon turned on the car, fully dressed himself, the radio automatically starting to some low rock music. He drove from the forest casually, his hand resting on your thigh whenever he wasn’t changing gears.

“Are you busy this saturday?”

You were. But he never liked it when you were.

“Only in the evening,” you answered carefully.

“Good. I’ll pick you up then.”

That was that. A little while later he dropped you off after a bruising kiss.

You stumbled into your apartment a few minutes later, body sore and dirty, discarded like a used toy that he was done playing with. You knew there was something wrong about him. The words about killing for you made you feel bad as they replayed in your mind again, as you quickly stripped, stumbling towards the shower to clean.

You should stop seeing him. Start dating. Get a partner, a good one, a loving one. Yet… yet you were going to go Saturday when he texted you. Like a good toy should.

[naranjapetrificada]

Time for another Fanfic Friday!

Let's get the obligatory self-promo out of the way: Monday night, just before bedtime, I finally posted Chapter 2 of my bizarre little gay pirates arranged marriage ancient-world-inspired AU From the Firmament. I get if you don't trust WIPs, or don't think it's for you, and I'll be the first to tell you it's unusual. But if you find your curiosity piqued at all, maybe you should give it a whirl? If being in the OFMD fandom has taught me anything, it's that even things that are certifiably Not Your Thing can surprise the hell out of you.

Onto the recs (including one that absolutely wasn't My Thing and a non-OFMD rec)! Here's what I've been reading lately:

1) Of the AUs that should be "definitely Not My Thing", Wanna Fly Away is probably the least My Thing I've encountered. It absolutely, positively should not be something I'd ever consider reading, no matter how much I trust @petrichorca not to lead me astray. Monsterfucking? Nope, absolutely not for me, but blessings upon all who enjoy it. And Animorphs? I mean really, Animorphs???

So anyway I'm on Chapter 9 now, although I'll admit to having skimmed the final chapter many moons ago out of curiosity. I do that sometimes because I'm generally spoiler agnostic and sometimes I need to know ahead of time if a certain story will leave me existentially devastated. Jury's still out tbh! Crucially though, even after skimming the last chapter, I didn't start reading. What actually got me to read the fic proper was this separate one-shot that looked at Stede's character before leaving his life behind. That reminded me in a lot of ways of this pre-canon fic I've long appreciated, and that sealed the deal.

2) Next, for something ENTIRELY in the canon universe, I've been following the gentle, meditative innkeepers-era fic The Waters Around You by eimeo (not sure if they're on tumblr) and it's made for really rewarding reading. There's still plenty of work our boys need to do, but for once they actually have time to do it!

3) I've also been trying to catch up on my OMG THEY'RE ✨BOYFRIENDS✨ fics and one I heartily recommend is Tenderly the Light by the one and only @darcylindbergh, which perfectly captures that effervescent feeling you know they both had during the boyfriends scene while also not forgetting that they have to go out there and escape the British while also just being so full of LIFE. Pitch perfect.

4) Next up is the recently reposted Powder Blue by @scarrletmoon. It's a modern AU which I missed the first time around because I wasn't in the fandom yet (if such a time ever existed). Heed the tags going in, but if you're like me and heard so much about it after it got taken down, you'll absolutely want to check it out now. In particular, I love how like, grounded I feel inside Ed as a character, and how the in-world power dynamics replicate for a reader how Stede's specific brand of inscrutability would have felt to Canon Ed, who doesn't have the benefit of knowing how Stede feels. There's that little bit of distance there that just makes everything a bit more...more, I guess.

5) Lastly, for those of us anxiously awaiting the latest update to @moonyinpisces's phenomenal GO fix-it How Do We Turn On The Light (brb refreshing my email again), I want to recommend Talk to Me of Things to Come by Atsuki, which visits Crowley and Aziraphale on New Years Eve, 1988. It's flirty and sweet (although I definitely would not call it "fluff") and has some S-tier Aziraphale pining if you're into that. Not even sure how I found it tbh but I must have been throwing GO fics at the void where Chapter 16 of HDWTOTL waits to melt our collective minds.

Happy Friday, and happy reading!

[seeingteacupsindragons]

Fic Authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics works that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Let’s spread the self-love❤

Anon, the fact that you crossed out "fic" on this just to send it to me is honestly so sweet. You're adorable and ILY in a very platonic, social media way.

That said, none of my most favorite fiction pieces are currently available publicly for various reasons. So this is going to be, I suppose, "My favorite stuff you can find on my blog."

There's already a "Marr's Favorites" list on my YuuMori Meta list, but it's longer than five, and I have other stuff here. So.

"A Ceiling Fan to the Heart": Probably the only fiction piece on this list! While I have some flash fic pieces floating around that will be hard even for me to find here and some flash written off prompts, this is I think the only full short story I have posted to Tumblr, because I specifically wrote it for Tumblr to share with you all.

"Richard Ranasinghe de Vulpian’s Backstory Is Very Queer: An Essay": A meta piece I was honestly turning over for months before I wrote it up for a dear friend's birthday (she's very into meta). I originally wanted to turn this into a proper lit essay with JSTOR sources and such. It didn't quite turn into that, but I think it's a really good read "Richard Ranasinghe de Vulpian's Backstory Is Very Queer: The Aspec Amendment" is exactly what it says on the tin, and basically a tag onto it, so I'm combining these.

"Seigi's Queer Coming of Age": This has a similar backstory to the other one, and it once again just really fun to talk about queer stuff.

"The Man Who Set Himself On Fire to Keep Others Warm": William's motif meta. I'm proud of it, okay?

"The Man Who Goes Through Hell and High Water": Sherlock's motif essay. These were fun to write, even if this one was written while my apartment was flooded.

Much of my ace and aro education stuff was posted as threads on twitter originally...I should see how much of them I can save before Twitter totally implodes. I'm proud of a lot of them, actually, but most of them aren't here on Tumblr right now.

Anyway, stuff that didn't make the cut that I think is also pretty great include:

"No One Tell Sherlock" / "It Doesn't Hurt at First, Does It?": I like this one a lot because I really wrote it trying to incorporate a lot of fiction story-telling techniques in it to really amp up the emotional punch instead of just being purely analytic. It could probably use a good edit, but it's fun.

God, I was just looking at the "Marr's Favorites" list to pick and choose, and they're all really good and I love all of them. If you're into YuuMori meta, go read those and gimme feedback lol.

[daisydoctor13]

Thank you @pers-books for tagging me in this!

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

23

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

181,794

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Holby city mostly, and then a few of other Jemma Regrave characters - I've written a Frankie fic, and a couple of Doctor Who ones with Kate Stewart

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

The Wrong Side of Fifty Something Old, Something New What lasts forever can't be rushed Hey, Soul Sister Fragments of Eternity

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

I did, but haven't in so long but I'm about to reply to them all now. I always thought if someone was taking the time to comment on my fic I should say thank you, but I've felt bad about not writing so haven't gone on to AO3 to comment in like 2 years. But I still get email notifications whenever someone comments and I read the comment and they make me smile

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

I genuinely don't think I am capable of writing angsty endings hahaha. I've definitely written angsty fics but they've always ended with some sort of happy note or at least hopeful? I think there's a couple of very short fics in the Fragments of Eternity work that are a bit angtsy but no plot just each of the characters thoughts that aren't the happiest

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Right I'm very much discovering I don't have any memory of what I've written, I think of the ones I've finished the happiest at the end with like a proper conclusion is Wrong Side of Fifty

8. Do you get hate on fic?

I did once get a very long comment on fanfic.net about how completely unrealistic one of my fics was which at the time annoyed me because I'd put a lot of time into researching things but had to rely on a *BIT* of suspension of disbelief from the reader because i KNEW it wasn't completely right (and had said so in the notes, but I wanted to tell the story anyway). But otherwise no, but i think the berena fandom are just all so lovely and supportive and my fics don't particularly break containment and i don't think they're that controversial

9. Do you write smut?

Heavily hinted at smut. None of my fics are more than M rated, because it all starts to get a bit too...anatomical when I try to write more explicit stuff. I leave the smut writing to the experts and thoroughly enjoy reading it instead haha

10. Do you write crossovers?

I haven't really, but I've written a Berena AU set in another TV show (Hustle) where the characters are all from Holby but the setting and the plots are adapted from Hustle episodes (I still think about it a lot and have a few unposted chapters written and I REALLY want to finish it)

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I'm aware of

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Again, not that I'm aware of

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

I haven't, although I have bounced ideas off people so it feels like they've written parts haha

14. What’s your all-time favourite ship?

Do I need to answer this one? Berena of course

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but probably won’t?

All of them haha. I don't have any works that I haven't posted anything at all, but I have a few unfininshed ones on AO3. Something Old Something New i know exactly where it would go and what happens but I know I just absolutely will not write it. Another Roll of the Dice has a few unposted chapters, and I might one day actually finish it for my own satisfaction even if noone reads it

16. What are your writing strengths?

I'd like to think that I can get characters voices in the dialogue. Also making the medical parts accurate :P

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

I can be too wordy, and I can't write good poetic metaphors or similes. I'd like to be able to write those sorts of sentences that just punch people in the feels

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

I have done it briefly and sort of explained in the prose rather than directly translating. I am not fluent enough to be confident writing in another language and got a little help from friends to make sure it sounded colloquial and was grammatically correct. I wouldn't do large amounts of dialogue though

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Berena, I'd been reading a lot before that though

20. Favourite fic you’ve written?

This is so hard! I think Hey Soul Sister because it's a bit cringey but makes me laugh a lot to read it and I just love Dom stirring things

[prince-liest]

hello! Your fics are incredible, the imagery in them is stunning and the pacing flawless. Do you have any steps/advice for writers on how to more effectively write prose and any resources that helped you to improve your writing?

Haa, thank you so much, that's incredibly lovely of you to say! I don't have any specific resources - my writing is entirely self-taught via the "oh, the way this person does that looks neat, I'm stealing that" method, hahaha, as well as figuring out what works for me and what I want to see in fiction.

That said, I do have some personal tips! Two main/favorite ones, really:

What I like to shoot for in my writing is being able to write the visceral experience of the POV character. This is my version of "show, don't tell." It's often more impactful to describe the sensation of fear rather than saying "XYZ was scared." And in turn, that lets you use telling over showing when it would hit harder, too - for me, that's as part of a character's internal narration, which I go into more in this post. Even for describing locations, I refer to how a character experiences seeing something. One of my favorite examples of this is Murderbot (from Martha Wells's Murderbot Diaries), who gives so few shits about the minute biological functions of human beings that it describes one of its crewmates as drinking from a mug filled with "a liquid." Like, that's the only degree of specificity it cares to go into. We don't even get a color. I think that's hilarious and says a lot about Murderbot. In comparison, I write Meng Yao as perpetually judging his surroundings and regularly falling into overthinking spirals filled with tangents of all the things he's constantly worrying about, because that's the kind of person he is. This can add a lot of color and entertainment into imagery that is otherwise commonly used, and also builds a lot of characterization!

I just write what I consider to be the interesting bits of a story. This helps with both reader interest and my own writing motivation. Generally-speaking, I don't really have problems with the nebulous "writer's block" - if I'm not writing, it's either because I'm too tired/busy irl, or because I'm not interested in the writing. If I happen to be in the middle of writing a story and I suddenly feel like it's a slog, it's probably because I'm in the middle of some boring exposition that I don't actually care about. Once I realized that, I started just... skipping that stuff. There are a shocking amount of things that can and should be condensed into 2-3 sentence transitions or communicated through context and actions of the characters instead of getting paragraphs and paragraphs of exposition. This is also why I like starting with cold opens pretty often! A lot of fics open without a proper hook and cause me to just scroll down 8-10 paragraphs until I find the first dialogue, because chances are those 8-10 paragraphs are stage-setting that did not add anything to the story (and frankly are often deeply unnecessary in fanfiction especially since we all know the setting already) that I'm not going to be able to figure out from reading the following conversation. (Note: Boring exposition not to be confused with a character's internal narration, which is often quite fun to read.) You just have to find your balance of how to minimize the filler and integrate it into action/dialogue/narration!

I also have a few posts in my writing advice tag, most of which are my own replies to similar questions to this! ^_^ Some of them are a little old, but I think they're mostly still good!

I hope this helped, anon! Thanks again for your kind words! I genuinely really appreciate them. <3

[scattered-winter]

So what is your time fuckery au?? I've noticed you mention it a few times in tags but never found a proper 'thing' about it. As in, there's no fic or main art that I can find

(hope your day is going well <3)

ha, yeah, the time fuckery au mostly lives in my brain only at this point. I've written a few scenes here and there, and even posted a few snippets to my blog, but mostly it's just been an ongoing development in my brain only <3 that SAID. i loove talking about it so i'm glad u asked :] (technically "timeline fuckery au" is probably more accurate because that's what I'm messing with: timelines and alternate universes, as opposed to. literal time. but i called it the time fuckery au once and it stuck. so.)

here's the playlist (I'm constantly updating it) :]]

so basically. there are 2 different versions of the call of duty modern warfare franchises: the og, w three games in the mid-2000s, and the reboot with two games between 2019-2022, and a third game in the works. for the most part, the two franchises are fairly aligned w similar events/recurring villains (such as the shepherd betrayal, which happened in both versions, but in the og it resulted in the deaths of ghost and roach, but in the reboot nobody died. in fact, overall in the og games, everyone on the team was dead by the end except one of them.) in this au, the two versions are alternate, adjacent timelines. all the deaths that happen in both* timelines are fundamentally Not Supposed To Happen, and so some Freaky Timeline Shit occurs to try and correct it. the two soaps trade places. og soap ends up in the reboot timeline with the reboot team, and reboot soap ends up in the og timeline with the og team. at this point, reboot soap and ghost are in a relationship, and the 141 is all very close, and so of course it's a big mess when soap wakes up in a universe where everyone looks like his closest friends/boyfriend but they are, fundamentally, different people. and the same goes for og soap, who's suddenly thrown into a room with people he half-recognizes but none of them are Right. and what's more, some of the team is Not There when they should be. (like roach).

*as of the 2022 game, nobody in the main team has died yet, BUT the third game is involving makarov, who was the villain who caused the deaths of several team members in the og, so I'm taking some liberties with the timeline during that period. so in the unchanged reboot timeline, several team members died.

(i would also like to point out that the actual switch happens before all the deaths happen, obviously. HOWEVER, both soaps know exactly how the original, unchanged timelines are gonna turn out if they don't do anything. it's basically just a very fucked up timeloop.)

to make matters worse, the soaps are connected to each other even before the actual switch happens. reboot soap has nightmares of his team dying right in front of him (gaz shot, ghost burned, etc) but they're not his team. they're the og team. but ofc he doesn't know this yet <3 and this ofc happens vice versa, but I haven't figured out specifics for how the reboot team dies yet so I can't tell you anything about it lmao

and the dreams don't stop after the switch!!! because why bother sending them to alternate dimensions if not to remind them what will happen if they fail!!!! and the entire time, they're also racing against time because having two people Cross Realities is throwing the continuum out of whack, and so it's trying to Find Equilibrium Again by merging the two soaps more and more as time goes on. reboot soap wakes up with a scar that he didn't have before, but remembers getting. on a mission he never went on. og soap is talking to ghost (with all the awkwardness of talking to someone who's dating your alternate self) and he calls ghost something that only soap--reboot soap--ever called him. he just. Knew. and so on top of everything else, they also have all the fear of slowly losing themselves <33

and of course they manage to save both teams (and also bring reboot roach into the team godbless <33) and things return to normal but not before there's a LOT of angst and timeloops and timeline fuckery going on. this whole au is basically me just taking both canons and attacking them with scissors and then gluing the little pieces together into a collage. and then rinse and repeat. I'm having soooo much fun with it :]]]] and of course, at the end before the timelines fully go back to normal, the teams get to meet their alternate selves :]] self recognition through the other except it's you from another life :]]] here's a lil snippet :]]]]]]

Simon stood in space. Stars wheeled overhead and below, clustered in colorful nebulas in explosions of color and light.

And across from him stood…himself.

Ghost was holding himself the same way Simon did; weight evenly distributed on each foot, gaze constantly shifting from person to person and window to door. Ready to act at a half second’s notice.

Simon could see the moment Ghost noticed him; a slight stiffening to the shoulders, a straightening of the spine, a subtle slide of the foot to gain a better defensive stance. All miniscule tells, but to Simon, glaringly obvious, a blinking neon sign.

Were Simon’s tells always this clear, or was it simply because he knew to look for them? He could read the other Ghost like a book; the subtle tilt to his head as he sized him up, the tension in his shoulders as he decided if Simon was a threat. He could read the other Ghost and see how he himself was being read; another tilt to Ghost’s head as he clearly came to the same conclusion as Simon.

“You’re the other one.” His voice took Simon off-guard. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but this wasn’t it: soft, rounded at the edges, like a stone worn smooth by a stream. But behind it was that edge, that gentle tone of danger. Even from a different world, that was still the same, with perfect, striking clarity.

Simon wasn’t sure what to say. What was there to be said? Here he stood, before someone who was his double in nearly every way, who likely already knew what he was thinking because he was thinking it, too.

“How’s the team?” was what he said at last, rough, abrasive voice grating against Ghost’s softer tone.

“In one piece. Thanks to your man.” Your man. Did this Ghost know what Johnny meant to him? He must; he was Simon, after all.

“Yours did good work here, too,” Simon said, though they both knew Captain Mactavish wasn’t his.

They fell silent, as they both preferred, simply studying one other. Ghost had sunglasses over his mask to veil his eyes, something that Simon had done himself on occasion. He liked it when nobody could see his eyes, but hated how it limited his field of vision.

It was unnerving, the way he was so very much like himself. The mask, the name, the way Ghost stood. He was a dead man walking, they both were. Had he suffered the same things Simon had suffered? He must have; why else would he wear the mask, and stand like that, like an attack might come from any direction?

For a moment, Simon looked at Ghost and Ghost looked at Simon. A pair of reflections, a pair of echoes. For the first time in his life, Ghost could peer out into the darkness and see his own face looking back at him.

Then Simon broke the silence, voice as haggard and vulnerable as he would allow it to be in the empty space between worlds, where stars flickered under their feet and where there was nobody to hear but himself.

“Were we better off dead?”

Ghost paused for a moment, hesitated, looked Simon up and down, and Simon knew he wasn’t just seeing him standing there. He was seeing the coffin six feet under, the choking dirt, the dead bodies in the flat in London, the rivers of blood staining his hands, so much of it that he could never wash it all off. The nightmares. The kills. The missions, one after another after another, because the war never ended, not really, not for him.

“I don’t know. Maybe we were.”

And there wasn’t anything else to say, not after that. Simon sighed, felt the universe sigh with him, and dipped his head in acknowledgement. A few feet away Ghost did the same, and had Simon been able to see his eyes, he would have seen himself reflected there, just like everywhere else.

And then the stars and the mirrors melted away, and Simon woke up.

[raibebe]

Of needles and seduction

Genre: Fluff and smut Words: 15.2k Prompt: Johnny tattoo shop AU featuring best friends Yangyang and Jaemin Warnings: contains smut, Daddy-kink, size-kink, mentions of mirror-sex

A/N: This is very self-indulgent, I’m sorry. While I do have piercings myself, I know next to nothing about tattoos, so I’m sorry if anything is inaccurate. Also I don’t advise what some characters in this are doing for yourself. Just a quick special thanks to @burtonized​ who has listened to me ramble about this story and Johnny and helped me write this by giving me ideas and support. Thank you darling! This fic is a beast, I have never written anything this long,it’s insane. If smut isn’t for you, you can stop reading after the phone call and still have a pretty decent story. If you feel like, you’ve seen this post before, you might have. I deleted the original one because tumblr decided to delete it from the tags.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” You asked for what you felt was the tenth time in the past five minutes. “It’s going to be fine. The shop is clean and sanitary,” your friend Yangyang groaned while running his hands through his messy, blonde hair. It was getting way too long, hanging low into his eyes. “I’m just saying that this doesn’t seem like a safe place,” you mumbled but followed your hyper friend through a more than dubious looking side street of Itaewon. “Jaemin got his piercings done in the same shop and those healed just fine, stop being a baby,” the blonde said while rolling his eyes. He quickly checked his phone for the address of the (probably illegal) piercing and tattoo shop and took a sharp turn into an even shadier looking street. “I still don’t get while you need me to come with you when you want to get your nipples pierced for god knows what of a stupid reason.” “It’s easy,” Yangyang grinned at you, “Ten said I wouldn’t dare to do it. And I’m going to prove him wrong and you’re going to document the progress.” “Do you ever listen to yourself talk? You’re literally paying someone to stab you into your nipples to shove a piece of metal through it just to prove a point.” “It’s just one nipple though.” “How does that make it any better, Yangyang?” You deadpanned. Your friend groaned again. “I knew I should have taken Guanheng with me. He would have been supportive.” “He would also be supportive of getting ‘I love Tacos’ tattooed on your ass.” “He would,” Yangyang agreed with an exaggerated dreamy look on his face. “What a madlad.”

You sighed but couldn’t help smiling at his antics. You had befriended the hyper exchange student when you had been assigned to be partners for a group project for your mandarin class. Yangyang had only taken the class for extra credit and easy good grades while you were struggling like crazy and had seriously questioned all your life choices that had let to you taking the class. (But mostly you regretted listening to Renjun who had convinced you it would be an easy class.) The group project turned out to be rather easy when you had a native speaker as your partner and you had become fond of the younger student, staying in touch with him and helping him find his way around the big campus. If you had known that he was a package deal with a bunch of other equally hyper and questionably crazy exchange students, you might have thought a little longer about keeping in touch after the project was over. But who were you kidding, the other boys and Yangyang were incredibly dear to you and if Kun had his regular morning coffee, the others weren’t even that chaotic.

“That’s it,” Yangyang suddenly exclaimed, pointing at a small beat up looking wooden door that looked like it was ready to fall out of the doorway any second. But a little green neon sign that hang next to it flashed the word “open” onto the street indicating that a shop must be hiding behind it. Your arguably best friend quickly grabbed your hand as if he had been sensing that you were about to complain again and dragged you into the shop. A little bell jingled quietly when Yangyang closed the door behind you two. You took a deep breath to calm your nerves (hell you weren’t even the one to get stabbed with a needle) and took a look around the small room. It was small and poorly lit and every free space on the walls was plastered with drawings and photos of both freshly done and healed tattoos. You had to admit that whoever had done those had done a good job, they looked really neat. You guessed that at least two artists must be working in the shop. A good portion of the art were very neat black and white works (some looking freakishly realistic) while others were very vibrant and artistic.

With a confident bounce in his step, Yangyang went up to the counter to a man with wild bubblegum pink hair wearing a black tank top that showed off the ink on his arms and torso, all kept in black except for a deep red rose on the side of his neck. His eyes were lined with dark eyeliner, making them seem like dark bottomless orbs, and they were fixed to the screen of a laptop that was covered in stickers that were a wild mixture of cute characters and various rock and hip-hop bands. “And what brings you here?” The man asked with a surprisingly deep voice, turning his head towards your friend. “A friend of mine told me I could get pierced here,” Yangyang spoke, his hands fumbling with the loose threads of his sweater. “And if that was the case, what would you want to get pierced?” “My nipple.” At that the other man raised one of his perfectly arched eyebrows. “People usually start off with getting an earring or something.” “Go hard or go home,” Yangyang grinned, making the other man snort. “If you have 70.000 Won in cash, I can look if one of the piercers is free.” When your friend got out his worn wallet and put a couple of bills onto the counter, the other man smiled for the first time. It didn’t quite fit his whole dark punk aesthetic but you couldn’t deny that he was really good looking.

“Don’t run away now kiddo, I’ll see if someone is free,” he grinned, “I’m Taeyong by the way.” When he disappeared behind a curtain made out of pearls into the back, Yangyang turned towards you with the biggest smile on his face. “I told you it was going to be fine.” You just hummed nonchalantly, still not entirely supportive of the whole idea. “One of the guys is ready in a bit,” Taeyong said when he came back to the main room. “Are you getting anything?” He asked, looking at you. “Oh no, she’s a scaredy-cat, just here for moral support and to document that I actually did it,” your friend answered for you. Your face immediately heated up under the intense gaze of the pink haired tattoo artist. “Too bad,” he just shrugged. “So technically you need to sign stuff for legal issues and whatnot. But since this place doesn’t exactly exist on records, we’re skipping that part. You’re not on drugs or any meds, right?” “I’m not,” Yangyang shook his head, making his hair flop back into his face. “Any issues with fainting or other medical conditions?”   “Nope.”   “Great. Had a good meal before coming here?” “I had breakfast,” Yangyang shrugged. “You had a slice of cold pizza from yesterday,” you groaned. “That I ate in the morning, therefore it’s breakfast,” he argued. “Well in that case,” Taeyong interrupted your bickering and threw a granola bar into Yangyang’s hands, “Eat that and let your girlfriend treat you to some proper food afterwards.” Before the blonde could deny anything, you had already opened your mouth to tell the other man that in fact you weren’t dating.

“Sure, sorry for assuming,” he shrugged and sat back behind the counter, taking out an iPad and began drawing something, probably a tattoo design. “Nervous yet?” You asked Yangyang who was uncharacteristically quiet while munching on the granola bar. “Shit, I’m really doing this,” he replied, exhaling shakily. “You don’t actually have to, Yangyang,” you tried to comfort him. “And let Ten just get away like that? No way. I am doing this. I’m not his little baby Yangyang anymore,” he said like the stubborn child he was. You could just sigh and roll your eyes at him. “He might have just been joking, you know?” “One does not simply challenge Liu Yangyang like that and not expect consequences.” “Kun is going to actually flip and pop a vein,” you tried to reason with your friend for a last time. Kun was doing a lot of coordination work for the exchange students with a Chinese background and had taken on almost a fatherly role for the younger students that hadn’t been in Korea for long. And even though Ten wasn’t even that much younger than Kun, he almost lost his otherwise calm composure when the Thai boy had announced that he successfully had pierced his ear by himself yet again after he had convinced a poor med student to smuggle some equipment for him. And from there the situation had somehow escalated into Ten daring Yangyang to get a nipple piercing. “Well he can’t do anything about it once it’s done. We’ll just make sure he’s with someone who can call an ambulance if he ends up having an aneurism.”

“Someone still wants their nipple pierced?” A new voice interrupted your conversation and a tall man with dark inky hair came into the room, making the pearls of the curtain clink against each other. One side of his head was shaved while the longer hair on the other side framed his handsome face beautifully. He was wearing a loose black T-shirt paired with ripped jeans with almost as many holes as there was fabric that hugged his long legs perfectly, showing that he had also ink on his legs. From his lobe dangled a little silver chain and of course his arms were covered in intricate designs, one arm strictly black ink while the other sported some colorful pieces as well. In the center of his plush lower lip sat a black ring and just beneath his left eye two little silver balls were reflecting the low light. You couldn’t deny that the man looked absolutely stunning despite his unusual appearance.

“Yes, me,” Yangyang eagerly answered the man’s question and walked towards him, tugging you with him. “Too bad,” the piercer grinned cheekily and winked in your direction, making your heart flutter in your chest and heat rise to your face, before he extended a big hand to shake Yangyang’s much smaller one. “I’m Johnny,” he introduced himself before leading you both into a smaller room in the back with a simple black padded bench in the middle of the room and a desk tucked into a corner. The walls were plastered with art and photos like the main room, showing that Johnny apparently was able to pull off a bunch of different tattoo styles. He seemed to have a thing for florals and roses though. The only free space was taken up by a full body mirror at the opposite wall. Johnny sat down on the little stool that was standing by the desk and motioned for Yangyang to sit on the bench while you sat down in the only other chair in the room, made of worn looking black leather.

“Let me see your chest before we start this whole thing,” Johnny spoke to your friend after he had grabbed a pair of silver framed glasses that sat low on his elegant nose and slipped on a fresh pair of black gloves. With only slightly trembling hands, Yangyang pulled his sweater over his head, keeping his hands buried in the fabric. “Looks good to me. Left or right one?” “Ehrm, I haven’t really thought about it,” he confessed. Johnny chuckled. “Spontaneous decision to get your nipple pierced?” “He does it to prove a point to a friend,” you supplied before Yangyang had the chance to answer. “Seems like a valid reason,” the tattoo artist grinned, “You play guitar or anything where the strap could irritate the new piercing?” “Just the violin,” Yangyang supplied, demonstrating how he would hold his instrument. “Then I’d suggest we go for the left one,” Johnny concluded, grabbing a bunch of stuff he needed. “Is it going to hurt badly?” “No idea, mine aren’t pierced.” “The first one is fine,” another voice chimed into the conversation and a pink mess of hair appeared in the doorway. “My client is there and Jaehyun isn’t back from his break yet, have an open ear for the door.” Johnny just hummed but it seemed enough to satisfy Taeyong who disappeared just as quickly as he had appeared.

“You ready?” Johnny asked one last time. Yangyang took a deep but shaky breath and nodded. “You better film this so Ten knows it’s real,” he said, holding out his phone towards you. Rolling your eyes, you got up from your actually really comfortable chair and took the phone from your best friend’s hands while Johnny disinfected Yangyang’s nipple and drew two little circles where the bar would go through it before grabbing a small mirror to show him. “Let’s do this,” your best friend nodded and you pressed record. “It’ll be quick,” Johnny promised, disinfecting one last time before he grabbed a pair of tongs to hold the nipple in place and freed a needle from a foil package. “I’ll count to three and then I’ll start, alright?” “A-Alright.” “Last time to chicken out.” “No, I’m doing this,” Yangyang gritted out, closing his eyes. After that everything happened really fast: Johnny counted to three and steadily pushed the needle through Yangyang’s nipple, who bit his lip hard. He then let the needle dangle from the nipple while freeing a little barbell from another foil package to insert it through the canal he just had made. “And that’s it,” he announced when he secured the little balls on either side of the barbell. You ended the recording when Yangyang left out the breath he had been holding in. “Now no sports, especially no swimming or sexual activities for a while. Clean it well and don’t worry if it gets sore, that’s normal. It can take a while to heal, so be patient and don’t let it get infected. You can get a smaller barbell or a ring once it’s healed. Just come back to get it changed to be safe.” “Fuck I really did that,” Yangyang cursed and looked down to his chest, “I think I need a minute before I can get up.”

“Take your time, I don’t have any clients for another half an hour,” Johnny reassured him, putting the used materials into the trash. “Just please don’t vomit all over the floor or hit your head while fainting.” “That has happened before?” You asked, eyes wide. “Not on me but it’s not unheard of. You sure you don’t want anything?” he asked, turning towards you. His silver framed glasses had slid down his nose a little and you couldn’t deny that the man looked really hot, looking at you from beneath his lashes. “She’s too scared,” Yangyang teased. He couldn’t feel too bad if he still could do that then. “Too bad, I think you would really suit a little conch or something,” the piercer motioned around his own ear to indicate what piercing he meant. “A conch?” You asked, turning towards the mirror to try to imagine it. “Wait let me show you.” Johnny quickly got up to search through the drawers of his desk before he pulled out a little box with a bunch of jewelry, grabbing a small hoop. He stood behind you in front of the mirror. “Hold still for me,” he breathed and bend down to push your hair behind your ear before he carefully put the fake piercing in place. For a moment you could swear that time had stopped. You felt his breath fanning over your skin gently and could smell the intoxicating smell of his cologne. You were so close to each other, you were sure that if you turned your head, your noses would brush against each other. But before you could do anything stupid, Johnny pulled back and gently turned your head so you could see the little silver ring. “I think I could put an even smaller one if you wanted,” he said, watching you through the mirror with an intense gaze from his dark eyes. “I’ve never thought about getting a piercing,” you admitted shyly. While you did get your lobes pierced when you were a child, you never thought of it much. “It looks good. Not so much like daddy’s good girl anymore,” the piercer grinned. You almost choked on air when the words left his plush lips, feeling the heat rush to your cheeks.

“How much?” “For you I’ll do it for free, darling,” he grinned, running a hand through his thick dark hair, making his muscles shift beneath his inked skin. While your brain was still short-circuiting from the nickname, Yangyang seemed to be back to 100%, destroying whatever the atmosphere between you and the tattoo artist just was. “Are you really going to say no to a free piercing, dude?” You could just groan and roll your eyes at your best friend. “Stop calling me dude, Yangyang.” “Only if you get that piercing.” “That’s blackmailing.” “Just do it, it won’t even hurt right?” “It’s just a bit of pressure,” Johnny assured you, his lips curled into a smile. “I can always take it out if I don’t end up liking it,” you thought out aloud. “The beauty of temporary body modifications,” Johnny sighed before he stepped in front of you to take the fake piercing off again. With his face so close to yours again, your eyes traveled over the little silver balls beneath his left eye, over his elegant nose down to the black ring in his lower lip and you briefly wondered what it would feel like to kiss him. “So what will it be?” You looked over to your best friend who had put his hoodie back on and nodded his head enthusiastically, making his fluffy hair flop into his eyes. He really needed a haircut.

“Alright, let’s do this,” you decided. “That’s what I like to hear,” Johnny grinned and moved to get his stuff ready. “Need me to hold your hand?” Yangyang grinned when you took his place on the bench. “I wouldn’t want to contaminate you with girl germs,” you teased, sticking your tongue out at him. “I’m sure he wouldn’t mind some girl germs if they’re coming from such a pretty girl,” Johnny cut in when he rolled back over on his stool, his glasses pushed back up his nose again. You couldn’t even fight the heat that crept onto your face at his words, he sure could feel it radiating off your cheeks from where his gloved hands were touching your skin. “I’ll do it where I placed the fake one, just with a smaller ring, alright?” He spoke softly when he disinfected your ear. You could just nod, anxiety taking over, making your heart race and skin prickle. When you heard the plastic bag that held the sterile needle rip, you pressed your eyes shut and balled your hands to fists. “Take a deep breath for me, doll,” Johnny mumbled, gently caressing your skin where he had grabbed your face to stabilize you. “In and out.” You shakily did as he asked you, his low voice comforting and calming your anxiety a lot. “Now you breathe in and let me count to three, then you gently release that breath. Can you do that for me, darling?” “Yeah,” you breathed, eyes still closed so you missed the soft smile on Johnny’s face. “Alright, deep breath in. One, two, three,” the pain of the needle piercing through your skin made you clench your fists harder, “And breathe out.” You tried your best to release the breath evenly until the pressure of the needle was just a low thudding. “You’re doing great, darling,” the handsome piercer reassured you, “I’ll just push the ring through and we’re all done here. Take another breath for me.” This time the feeling wasn’t as painful, just a really uncomfortable feeling of pressure. “All done, pretty,” Johnny concluded, clicking the ring closed. “Open your eyes.”

When you did open your eyes again, he held the little hand mirror from before in his still gloved hands so you could see the little ring that sat against your ear now. The skin was a bright red and you could feel your pulse throb around the metal but it actually fit the shape of your ear really nicely. “Thank you,” you smiled at Johnny. “It’s been a pleasure,” he winked before gathering the used needle and tissues to throw them away. “Take good care of it and try to not sleep on that side for a couple of nights and it will be healed in no time.” “Let’s go home, big baby,” Yangyang chirped in, already on his feet to leave the room. “I’m starving.” “There’s a good ramen shop a little up the street, not too expensive either,” Johnny recommended.

“Thanks for the piercings, man,” your best friend thanked the artist when he took you back to the main room. “No big deal,” Johnny shrugged and sat down where Taeyong had sat before, putting his long legs up on the counter. “Well, have a nice day, maybe we’ll come back for more some time,” Yangyang grinned, opening the door to leave the shop. “Oh I’m sure you will,” the artist replied, locking eyes with you before winking. “Take good care of that piercing, doll. You know where you have to come to if you want more.” You nodded shyly before bowing to the man. “Thank you, Johnny.” “I’ll see you again,” it wasn’t a question. Somehow you and him both knew that this wouldn’t be the last time you would step into the shady tattoo shop.

The next time that you found yourself in the shady streets of Itaewon came faster than you had thought. This time you were accompanying Jaemin to his tattoo appointment after Jeno had ditched him because he had to take over a shift at the cat café he worked at. (That poor boy had to take antihistamines before every shift because of his allergies but couldn’t resist the charm of the kittens.)   “You’re a lifesaver seriously,” the hyper boy repeated while jumping up and down excitedly, “Sitting still for hours on end is really so boring if you have no one to talk to.” “Can’t you talk to your artist?” You asked confused. “He threatened to stab me with the tattoo gun the last time when I was trying to talk to him while he worked,” Jaemin pouted. You could only imagine how irritating Jaemin and his moods could be to someone who wasn’t used to him. Ever since he had decided that he wanted to commit to what he had dubbed a soft punk look, he had been going to the shop somewhat regularly to start a collection of tattoos and piercings. It had started a year ago when he first had dyed his hair to a light blue color. Shortly after that he had first gotten his ears and then his nose pierced. The two lip rings in his lower lip were his newest addition as far as piercings went. The tattoos came a little later. After much consideration he had made the decision to start a floral piece on his arm, the center would be a hummingbird, all with black ink for now.

After a little bit of Instagram stalking you had easily identified the intricate flowers that adored Jaemin’s upper arm as Johnny’s work and the thought of seeing the handsome tattoo artist again had made your heart beat faster in your chest. Not that Jaemin needed to know that you weren’t coming with him for his sake but rather because of your desire to see the dark haired flirty man again.   You had been thinking about his dark eyes behind his silver framed glasses and how he scrunched his eyebrows when he was concentrating a lot for the last weeks. (Not that you had replayed the video of him piercing Yangyang an unhealthy amount of times or anything…) Every time you took care of your new piercing it reminded you of how his fingers felt on your skin and how his deep voice had gently guided you through everything. Not to forget how easily the pet names had rolled from his lips. And oh god his lips… His Instagram account featured a good amount of pictures of himself both casual and while working and the way his plush lips would curl into a confident smirk did things to your heart. His latest update had been the actual death of yours though. It had shown the new tattoo he had gotten recently: It was an intricate eagle that spread over his muscled chest, the feathers of the wings blending seamlessly into the other art covering his strong shoulders and biceps. Did you already mention that he was freaking shirtless in the picture? And that he was hiding a seriously ripped body beneath the wide T-Shirt he wore the last time you were at the shop? So to say that your thoughts had started to spiral after seeing that post was a little understated.

You still felt a little uneasy when you followed Jaemin through the backstreets of Itaewon but when the shabby door with the neon green ‘open’ sign came in sight, you felt the feeling disappear, only for it to be replaced with a mixture of excitement and anxiety. Jaemin grinned widely when he pushed the door open and his good mood was always infectious, a smile creeping on your lips. This time a new man sat at the counter, lazily rocking back and forth on the chair with his phone in his hand. His hair was dark and hung into his eyes and he wore a dark, long sleeved hoodie, so you couldn’t see if he had as many tattoos as his colleagues but if the tattoos on his hands and neck were any indication, he must be pretty covered as well. You recognized the rose on the back of his hand from one of Johnny’s Instagram posts. When the man looked up, you saw that he didn’t only have tattoos but piercings as well: In his lower lip sat two rings right next to each other, a ring dangled from his nose and two little silver balls sat in the hollows of his dimples that showed when he smiled at Jaemin. “Back for more?” He asked with a deep, rumbling voice and got up to greet Jaemin properly, bumping their shoulders together. “Got an appointment with Johnny for my sleeve,” the blue haired boy replied. “I see the snake bites healed well.” “Done by the best piercer of the shop.” “You know it,” the man laughed, throwing an arm around Jaemin. “Brought your girlfriend?” “I’m just a friend,” you quickly corrected the piercer. (Why couldn’t you just platonically join a friend for his tattoo session?) “Alright, just a friend, I’m Jaehyun. Johnny should be ready by now. You know the way?” Jaemin nodded and pulled you with him to Johnny’s room.

When Jaemin pulled the curtain to the room open, you weren’t prepared for what you were seeing: Johnny was standing in front of the full length mirror with his black button up shirt unbuttoned, applying cream to his still tender looking eagle tattoo on his chest, making his beautiful sunkissed skin glisten. “You’re early, Jaem,” he spoke. “Jaehyun said you were already ready,” the blue haired boy shrugged and plopped down onto the black bench. “Oh you brought company,” Johnny turned around when he spotted you and grinned, “I knew you’d come back, doll. How’s your piercing healing?” You had to summon all your strength to rip your eyes from Johnny’s strong and glistening chest to meet his dark eyes. “It’s fine as far as I know, doesn’t hurt anymore,” you stumbled across your words. Couldn’t he just button his shirt back up? “Let me see.” Before you could protest he had made two big steps and was right in front of you, the intoxicating smell of his perfume filling your senses. He gently tucked your hair back to have a look at the piercing and you swore you could feel electricity buzz beneath your skin where he had touched you. “You took great care of it, darling. Not regretting it yet?” “No, I like it.” I like you. The words had laid on your tongue but you managed to swallow them back down.

“Stop flirting with her, I’m the one paying for your attention,” Jaemin whined from where he was sitting. You of course immediately felt all your blood rush to your head but Johnny just chuckled. “I haven’t seen any cash yet, boy.” The tattoo artist gave you a last wink before turning towards his actual client, buttoning his shirt back up but leaving the last two buttons unbuttoned, letting the head of the eagle just barely poke out. Taking a deep breath you sat down in the worn leather chair while Jaemin handed Johnny a bunch of bills that the taller quickly counted. “Alright, I’m all yours for the next five hours or so,” he grinned, “You saw the drafts I sent you?” Jaemin nodded while he took off his jacket and rolled up the sleeve of his T-Shirt to expose the ink on his arm. It was already beautiful even though it wasn’t even halfway done. The hummingbird was still missing its shading and he hung in the air for now, the flowers and leaves stopping above its head. “Yeah, I’m still not sure about the color though. Can’t we just do more flowers instead?” “Sure but the inner arm and near the elbow is going to hurt like a bitch. So it’s either that or you let me color that hummingbird.” Jaemin groaned dramatically, turning his arm to look into the mirror. “He does look weird just half-finished like that.” “So color it is?” Johnny asked while rolling up the sleeves of his shirt a bit, exposing his own tattoos: A snake like dragon curled around his entire right arm, kept in all black ink. “I really liked that green-blue watercolor thing you sent,” Jaemin supplied when he turned to lie down. “Right, then I’ll do some flowers directly surrounding the bird and color that thing.” He snapped his black gloves on and turned to prepare his machine and the colors.

“Come closer with that stupid chair,” Jaemin whined, making grabby hands at you. After Johnny nodded, you pushed the chair closer with great effort. “Are you going to whine for the whole time?” You groaned but smiled fondly at your friend. “Most likely,” Johnny answered instead of Jaemin and rolled over on his little stool, his silver framed glasses back on his nose and a pen between his lips. “I’ll freehand a bunch of flowers first to make sure they fit around that little guy nicely.” “And I thought you liked putting others in pain,” Jaemin joked when Johnny adjusted a little lamp and began to draw flower after flower. It was really fascinating how quick his hand drew delicate petals and leaves, filling up the space around the hummingbird. “Oh if I put others in pain, they usually like it,” he grinned, his voice dropping an octave. You almost choked on plain air and had to try to mask it as coughing but if the way Johnny’s eyes twinkled was any indication, he had seen right through it and dared to be smug about it. “Wow my third appointment and we’re already talking about kinks?” “Sorry Jaem, not interested,” the artist laughed, “I’m more into cute girls.” He leaned back to examine his drawing, throwing you another quick wink. You barely held in a squeak. He really wasn’t even trying to be subtle about his flirting anymore. “Ready for the big gun?” “Oh dick jokes now, nice,” Jaemin chuckled while you were sure your head was about to explode from how much blood was collecting in there. You covered your hot cheeks with your hands in a hopeless attempt to cool them. “Oh look Johnny, she’s getting shy already.” “I haven’t even started yet, baby.” That was it. This man was going to be the death of you. You really didn’t need to know what it sounded like when he spoke those words that were dripping with honey. “Why did I agree to come with you?” You groaned, hiding your face in your hands. “Because you missed me”, Johnny said at the same time as Jaemin said: “Because you’re a good friend.”

After a beat of silence in which Johnny arranged his actual tattoo gun and Jaemin stared at you while his smile grew bigger and bigger, he asked: “Now which one is it?” “I’m not answering that,” you mumbled from beneath your fingers. “No answer is an answer as well,” Jaemin singsang but luckily the low buzzing of the tattoo machine saved you from any further embarrassment… For now…   “Now hold still or I’ll actually stab you,” Johnny warned before he dipped the needle into black ink and began to trace the lines he had just drawn on with a fine needle. “Yessir,” Jaemin joked, wiggling his eyebrows.

Johnny was unusually quiet while he worked, completely tuning out the chatter of you and Jaemin about shitty professors and assignments. You were absolutely fascinated by the confidence he radiated while dragging the needle over his client’s skin. He went back and forth between two different tattoo guns and rubbed Jaemin’s skin every now and then to get rid of excess ink. Soon Jaemin’s whole upper arm was decorated with delicate flowers and leaves and Johnny leaned back to both take a deep breath while stretching his back and to look at his work. “Let’s take a break before I do the color,” he proposed, wiping down the skin. “It looks great,” you complimented his work, taking a picture for Jaemin so he could see it himself. “Damn that pain really pays off,” your friend grinned, zooming in and out of the picture before posting it to his Instagram. “Does it hurt badly?” “You get used to it,” he shrugged, not taking his eyes from his feed, “It’s more like someone continuously scratching you.” “I can show you if you want,” Johnny chimed in from where he was cleaning his tattoo gun from the black ink. “I don’t think I’m spontaneous enough for a sudden tattoo.” “Not even if I offer it for free again?” He laughed. “I’m not mentally prepared for that,” you tried to reason. “I can still show you how it feels though. Without ink.” You shyly nodded and held out your arm for him that he quickly wiped down with disinfectant when he was done putting a fresh needle into the gun. “Just don’t flinch, darling,” he softly spoke before the buzzing of his tattoo gun filled the silence. You expected it to hurt a lot more when the needle touched your skin but it really wasn’t that bad. It was an odd kind of pain you couldn’t really describe. “It’s not that bad,” you told him, looking into his beautiful brown eyes behind his glasses. “It hurts more when it’s directly on the bone or at a more tender area,” Johnny explained and turned the gun off again, bending down to look at the slightly reddened skin of your arm before chucking the used needle into the nearby trashcan. “Let’s patch that up real quick, just treat it like any other scratch.” You nodded and let the handsome man put a band-aid over it. But before you could pull your arm back again, he leaned down to press a kiss on the cloth “For a good and quick healing,” he breathed and grinned smugly when you quickly turned your head away to hide your heated face.

“When you’re done flirting, will you finally put some color into me?” Jaemin interrupted, grinning widely. “That’s what she said,” you mumbled under your breath, making Johnny chuckle. “All you need to do is ask, darling.” Before you could even wrap your mind around what the tattoo artist had just implied, he had already rolled back over to your blue haired friend to take a look at the hummingbird. “Alright let’s do this,” he grinned before wiping down the skin once more. The buzzing of a new machine filled the room and Jaemin scrunched his eyes shut when the needle dipped in turquoise ink met his skin. “This is nasty,” he complained. “Don’t be a baby,” Johnny murmured, dragging the needle over your friend’s skin that accepted the ink quickly. “You want to hold my hand?” You giggled. What you didn’t expect was for Jaemin to actually reach out to you with his unoccupied arm, making a grabby hand. “Jeno always holds my hand,” he whined. “You’re such a big baby, Nana,” you sighed but still laced your fingers together, yelping loudly when Jaemin squeezed down hard. “You said it didn’t even hurt, you big liar,” you squeezed out between gritted teeth. “You’re not the one getting stabbed,” Jaemin argued, “That shit hurts different than the black.” “It’s a different needle,” Johnny explained, “People usually say it hurts less than outlines though.” “It’s not more or less, it’s just different.” “Well it’s going to hurt more if you keep seizing up like that, relax.” “You’re one to fucking talk,” Jaemin sounded upset. “Don’t curse at me for giving you a pretty tattoo,” Johnny just said, dipping his needle into the little pot that held the color again. “Talk him through it,” the artist said to you, looking up from behind his glasses that had slipped down his nose again.

“Hey, remember that time when Donghyuck was so drunk he wanted to jump from the roof into the pool at that frat house?” You quickly said, the silly story coming to mind first. The memory made Jaemin giggle. “Jeno and Mark had so much trouble holding him back once he managed to climb out of the window,” the blue haired boy chuckled. “They were lucky they didn’t fall off.” “That would have made for an even better story though,” Jaemin laughed. “They could have hurt themselves,” you said, scandalized, “You’re hanging out with Renjun too much.” Jaemin didn’t answer, instead he just hummed and wiggled his dark eyebrows.

“Did you ever go to college?” You asked Johnny out of curiosity even though Jaemin had said that the artist preferred to keep quiet and concentrate on his work. “Do I look like I went?” He just laughed, cocking one of his stupidly perfect eyebrows at you when he looked up. “Well, I didn’t want to assume,” you shied away under his gaze. “I dropped out of high school to learn tattooing,” Johnny shared while painting Jaemin’s skin as blue as his hair, “I wasn’t good in school anyways. So art school or something wasn’t an option either. Not that I would have had any money for that.” “What made you want to pick up tattooing then?” You asked curiously. “Art usually is very temporarily and if you make a mistake, you can just erase it or paint over it with another color. Not so much with tattoos. I like that. It’s immortal as long as you don’t start shooting lasers at it.” “I’ve never thought about it like that,” you confessed. Tattooing had never seemed like art to you but that was exactly what it was. Just not on a canvas but under your skin. “Thinking about getting one now?” Jaemin teased, squeezing your hand that he still held. “I haven’t even told my parents about the piercing,” you scoffed, “They would disown me.” “Well too bad, I know a pretty good tattoo artist,” he joked and poked his tongue out. “Do you now?” Johnny asked, a grin on his lips, wiping down Jaemin’s arm before going in with a lighter color. “Yeah, he works in this shady ass shop in Itaewon and I am pretty sure you can buy drugs there as well.” “Those are not for sale,” the artist chuckled when he saw your scandalized expression. “It’s just anesthetics for certain piercing procedures, calm down doll.” “So sadly, it turns out you can’t buy drugs at their shop but it still looks shady and I’m pretty sure they’re paying part of the mafia so the police won’t come to investigate.” “I know nothing of transactions of this sort,” Johnny commented before you could get an actual heart attack. Illegally tattooing and piercing was one thing but mingling with the mafia was a whole other thing. “Anyways, he does pretty cool tattoos and pierces as well,” Jaemin continued, a grin on his lips, “Also talking male to male here, he’s pretty ripped.” At that Johnny started grinning as well. “Wanna know his name?” Jaemin asked you when Johnny turned to clean his needle and you just rolled your eyes but nodded, wondering what he was getting out of all of this. “It’s Jaehyun.” “Excuse me?” Johnny exclaimed with wide eyes when both you and your blue haired friend started laughed at his stupid joke. “This kid,” he mumbled and shook his head before putting the needle back to Jaemin’s skin who seemed to have forgotten to whine about the pain.

The rest of the appointment was spend with you and Jaemin chatting about this and that and a short video call from a red eyed Jeno who had finished his shift at the cat café and wanted to apologize and promised to buy you two dinner after you were done. “I think that’s all I can do for today,” Johnny said after he had stared at the little hummingbird for a while, “Your skin took the color well but if I do any more, I’ll stress the skin too much. I can go in another time if I need to fix anything.” Jaemin nodded, sitting up so he could inspect the colorful hummingbird in the mirror. “Wow that looks sick,” he commented, his eyes going wide, “Totally worth the pain.” “That’s what I wanna hear,” the artist grinned, grabbing some paper towels to rub the tattoo down once more. “Let me snap a picture to post.”

After both men had taken about 20 photos each, Johnny quickly wrapped Jaemin’s arm in plastic wrap, reminding him how to take care of it. “Text me for the next session, I think we could fit some pretty roses at the bottom. Maybe add a dash of color here and there or other animals,” the artist smiled, slipping the glasses off his nose, gently placing them on the table. “I’ll think about it but first I gotta slave away behind the bar to make more money,” Jaemin sighed, shrugging his jacket back on. “And you darling?” Johnny asked, putting on his confident smile again. “When will I see you again?” You just stared at him, at a loss for an answer. Did he really want to see you again? But before you could even open your mouth, Jaemin had already pulled your phone from your grasp, unlocked it and shoved it towards Johnny. “Put your number in already,” he sighed and rolled his eyes dramatically. Laughing, Johnny did as your friend had said. “Very smooth, Jaem.” “I- I guess I’ll text you,” you stuttered when Johnny gave your phone back, your fingers tingling where his touched yours. “I’ll be waiting, darling,” he winked, raking a hand through his inky strands. “Alright, time to leave, before you start drooling,” Jaemin destroyed the intense atmosphere and grabbed your arm to pull you back to the main room and out of the parlor, leaving a laughing Johnny behind in his room.

“I wasn’t even drooling, what the fuck Jaemin,” you argued when you were outside, your phone clutched to your chest. “Stop complaining, I got you his number, you should be thankful,” he just grinned, absolutely shameless, tugging you along through the little street. “I will not thank you for embarrassing me in front of him,” you pouted, unlocking your phone to confirm that Johnny had indeed put his number into the contacts with a little black heart behind his name.

“Is it too early to text him?” You asked when you and Jaemin sat in the subway on the way to his and Jeno’s dorm to take him up on his offer for food. Your friend just laughed at you, making an elderly man scowl at the two of you, who shook his head in disapproval. Well, Jaemin’s visuals didn’t help him when he acted like this in public. But as long as he didn’t care, you wouldn’t care either. “Text him after we’ve eaten,” he advised you. “Then you don’t seem as desperate as you are,” he added, which earned him a punch to his not tattooed arm.

All through dinner, Jaemin retold every embarrassing moment that happened at the tattoo parlor, making Jeno laugh so hard that he almost choked on his rice. You really needed to find new friends. These ones were just harassing you at this point. (Aside from the fact that Jaemin had indeed managed to get you Johnny’s number, you’d thank him later when he couldn’t make fun at you.)

Later that night, you laid in bed in your own dorm room, staring at the screen of your phone. Your fingers were hovering over the keyboard but you really couldn’t think of what you should text Johnny. You didn’t want to seem weird. With how confident he was, he probably did this a lot and you were too proud to make a fool of yourself. Groaning you tossed and turned in your bed for a while, still staring at the empty chat box that by now must be mocking you for your cowardice. Sighing you typed out another short message to immediately delete it again. Should you just send him a simple ‘Hi’ or ask him if he had eaten? How the rest of his day went? In moments like this you whished you were more confident in yourself.

The sound of an incoming message suddenly filled the room and made you jerk. When you saw Johnny’s name on the screen, your heart first stopped for a second before it started beating about three times as fast as it should. How did that happen? With shaking hands you unlocked the phone to see that you in fact didn’t delete the last message but accidentally send it. Luckily it wasn’t as embarrassing as it could have been and Johnny had just answered that he was glad that you had finally texted him. Before you could think of an answer he sent another text asking you why you were still awake this late when he expected you to be a ‘good girl’. You could practically hear his smirk and you couldn’t fight the heat that rose to your cheeks. You replied that you were already in bed and were about to sleep if he was concerned about your sleep pattern that honestly wasn’t the greatest ever since the semester had started. ‘Oh, sexting already’ he replied, making you shriek in embarrassment. Was this what your message had looked like? ‘You alone?’ He asked and with a furiously beating heart you answered with a simple yes.

A couple of seconds went by with no answer from him which definitely didn’t lower your anxiety before the loud sound of your ringtone tore through the silence, Johnny’s name on the display. You quickly answered it to not wake up anyone on your floor, pressing it tightly to your ear. “Hello?” “Good evening, miss,” you heard the rumble of Johnny’s voice, “Missed me already?” “You’re the one who called,” you argued, making the man on the other end of the line giggle. “That is true.” “Why did you call?” You asked curiously, shifting to lie down on your back, staring at the ceiling. “Just wanted some company. My last client just left and I’m cleaning up the shop for today, the others already left,” he explained. “Jaehyun and Taeyong?” “Yeah those two guys,” he sighed and you heard him rummaging in the background. “Is it just you three at the shop?” “Yeah, it was just me and Taeyong at first but Jaehyun is an incredibly quick learner once he had found someone who was willing to teach him a thing or two. So he quickly joined the two of us.” You just hummed, your fingers playing with your hair, unsure of what to say. It was somehow easier to talk to him like this when you couldn’t see his eyes twinkle in mischief or his lips curling up in that confident smirk. Like this he was just a boy who wanted company and not an insanely handsome, heavily tattooed man who flirted shamelessly. “Do you usually work this late?” You asked to fill the silence and out of curiosity as well. If the shop wasn’t legal there sure weren’t any laws regulating how long the artists were supposed to work. “I don’t,” Johnny laughed, “But thank you for your concern. I was just tattooing a friend for free after my last paying client left because he was in the area.” “You do that a lot? Offering up your services for free?” “Just for friends and special people, doll,” he chuckled, “Why? Are you considering getting inked after all?”

Well were you? You didn’t even know at this point. Whenever you had thought of tattoos you had only ever thought about big bold and very black lines, of skulls, names of exes on your skin forever and warped pictures of people’s faces. But never of delicate flowers, bright colors and intricate designs. Johnny had made it obvious that it was art that he was doing and that it wasn’t just some technical procedure to get color beneath your skin. “I- I don’t know,” you confessed, “I never thought much about tattoos until Jaemin started getting them.” “I thought so,” the artist chuckled, “But I bet I could design a pretty piece that would compliment you nicely.” “I don’t think I’m the type for it though,” you argued, thinking about the amount of ink on Johnny’s body and you hadn’t even seen half of it. (Not that you planned on doing so but you were curious to know if there was more hiding beneath his clothes.) “It doesn’t have to be an obvious one. Just something only you know about.” That really got you thinking. His tattoos were really delicate and you had seen that he could write in really pretty cursive. “I don’t want to pressure you into anything, darling. But if you ever want one, you know who to ask.”

“Yeah, thank you Johnny,” you murmured, lost in thought about how you would look like with multiple tattoos. “I like the way you say my name.” “You- what?” You stuttered when he caught you off guard like that, making him laugh. “You’re cute,” he said once he had calmed down. “Stop pouting,” he added when you weren’t answering. “How did you know I was?” Johnny chuckled again. “I just knew.” “Thank you for keeping me company,” he said when you hadn’t said anything in a while. “It’s alright. I like talking to you,” you confessed. You could hear a door closing and his deep chuckle on the other end of the line. “You probably hear that a lot…” you murmured, embarrassed at how the words had slipped past your lips. “I actually don’t,” Johnny said, “I appreciate the words, darling. I’m all done cleaning up now, thank you for keeping me company.” “It’s fine, no need to thank me.” “You should go sleep now, it’s already late. Sweet dreams, doll. Maybe I’ll even visit you.” “Goodnight, Johnny,” you squeaked. The last thing you heard before he ended the call was another chuckle and a hushed goodbye. Smiling widely you turned your face into your pillow to muffle the scream you let out. How could this man make your heart beat faster like that with just a few simple words? And why did this short phone call make you so happy? Sighing, you put your phone to your nightstand and cuddled tightly into your blanket, the thought of Johnny’s smooth voice guiding you to sleep where he indeed did visit you.

After that initial phone call, Johnny called you more and more often. Sometimes when he was on his lunch break and his colleagues were still working, sometimes later at night when your head was spinning from studying and he was cleaning up the shop. You two talked about your days, you complained about professors, deadlines and assignments and he told you about tattooing and his sometimes crazy clients. And every now and then Johnny would bring up his offer to tattoo you. Which made your thoughts spiral every single time. In class you would scroll through Johnny’s Instagram account, imagining what some of the intricate, more feminine designs would look like on your skin. After much consideration you definitely ruled out anything big or colorful. But something small wouldn’t hurt, right? Well it would, you would be giving him permission to stab you with an automated needle a bunch of times which in itself sounded really scary. But Jaemin’s tattoo looked nice. And after his skin had peeled, the hummingbird truly looked absolutely incredible and you couldn’t wait for him to visit the shop again to keep working on the sleeve.

So in a whim of bravery and with the help of the little glass of wine you had drank you told Johnny that he should tattoo you. “Are you for real?” He asked. “I am,” you giggled, “I’ve thought about it a lot the past weeks.” “I am honored, darling. What will it be?” “Something small and no colors please,” you told him. “That’s all you’re asking for?” “Yeah, I… I like the simple black stuff you do,” you stuttered, suddenly really nervous and unsure if this was actually a good idea. “I’ll design something that’ll match you perfectly,” Johnny promised, sounding very eager. You could hear some rummaging on his end of the line. “I could fit you in Friday evening after my last client. It won’t be too late and I need some time to come up with a design that’s worthy of being in your body.” You swallowed dryly. If you said yes, you couldn’t back out anymore. You would be getting inked. Secretly. Without telling anyone. Not to mention illegally. In a reasonably shady shop that was owned by the most gorgeous man you had ever met. Taking a deep breath, you nodded before you realized that he couldn’t see that. “I’ll be there,” you promised. “I’m looking forward to it, doll,” Johnny said before he wished you sweet dreams just like every time when he called you late at night.

The neon light in front of the door to the shop was already shut off when you arrived the next Friday late in the evening but the door gave away when you pushed it open with trembling hands after taking a deep breath. “I thought you weren’t going to come, darling, you left me waiting,” Johnny greeted you, jumping down from the counter he had sat on. He was wearing a simple black t-shirt with a little white rose design over his heart that fit him perfectly. His hair was elegantly swept back, exposing the freshly shaved part on the side. “I’m sorry,” you mumbled, fumbling with the sleeves of your hoodie. “Don’t be nervous, I’ll take good care of you,” he promised, quickly locking the front door before taking you to his room where he motioned for you to sit on the bench. “Do you trust me?” He asked, tipping your head up so you would look into his dark eyes. “I- I think I do,” you stuttered. “I won’t tell you what you’re getting,” Johnny grinned and your eyes widened in shock. “You will like it and it’s not that big.” “I’m not sure, Johnny,” you voiced your concerns but he just pressed his index finger to your lips before you could say any more. Your breath hitched and he could definitely feel your shaky exhale against his finger. “You said you trust me, doll.” Taking another shaky breath, you nodded and a smile spread over his plush lips. “I need you to take off your shirt and lie down on your left side,” he spoke, his voice casual but you could feel something shift in the air between you. At a loss for words you just nodded again and did as Johnny asked when he turned around to gather his stuff.

“Take a couple of deep breaths for me, darling,” he instructed you when he rolled over on his little stool, his glasses sitting low on his nose and his hands already gloved. “It’s going on your ribs,” he told you so you wouldn’t flinch when he quickly dragged a razor over the area before disinfecting it. “I’ll draw a quick sketch first. I don’t want to mess it up when it’s going on your beautiful skin.”  You felt the tip of his pen meet your skin in a gentle stroke, tickling your skin so you had to giggle. “Don’t make me mess this up, baby,” Johnny scolded, playfully slapping your back. “It tickles,” you pouted. “I’m trying to be gentle with you,” he said and you could hear the smile in his voice. While he was sketching, you closed your eyes, trying to figure out what he was drawing. But all you could figure out was that it was something rather small which calmed your nerves a bit.

“All done,” the tattoo artist announced after a while and quickly pulled his little side table with his tattoo gun and ink closer. When the low buzzing noise filled the air, you pressed your eyes shut even tighter, balling your hands into fists. Technically you knew it wouldn’t hurt badly, Johnny had shown you before. But you were still getting stabbed a bunch of times and fuck, you were really doing this. Letting this man put something on your body that was going to be there forever and you didn’t even know what it was going to be. “Relax, darling. I’ll be as gentle as I can be,” he promised, running a hand up and down your back. “It’s going to be on me forever,” you said. “It is. Your own personal piece of art on your body. Just for you to have.” That was a beautiful way to see it, you thought. It’s not just some pigment stabbed into your skin but art. Something unique no one else had. And Johnny would be painting it on just you for you and you alone. “Okay, let’s do this,” you breathed. “That’s my good girl,” Johnny praised and the words made your stomach twist with a feeling you didn’t want to further explore.

The pain was bearable. It was weird at first and the ribs sure hurt more than it had on your arm and the bones somehow seemed to amplify the buzzing, making it travel through your body. You had to grit your teeth when Johnny went over what seemed to be the middle part of the tattoo, where he grazed the skin in quick successions. “That hurts.” “I know, baby. But you’re almost done. You’re doing so well for me,” he soothed and gave you a small break to breathe before he went back in.

“All done, darling,” Johnny announced a little later, turning off his machine and rubbing the tattoo down with a wet paper towel. “Can I see it now?” You asked. “In a bit, keep your eyes closed,” he spoke softly and took your hands in his now ungloved ones to first guide you into a sitting position and then off the bench and over to what you assumed to be the mirror. He turned you so your side was facing the glass and put one of his big hands on your waist. It felt hot on your exposed skin and made goosebumps break out on your skin. “Open your eyes, doll.” You did and looked directly into his dark chocolate brown eyes behind his glasses. “I’m too scared to look now, is that silly?” You asked, losing yourself in his eyes and leaning towards his body that just seemed to radiate heat. “It’s beautiful, just like you,” he assured you, squeezing your waist reassuringly. After taking a deep breath, you tore your gaze away from him and turned to look at yourself in the mirror where a delicate, black chrysanthemum was awaiting you on the skin over your ribs. It indeed looked beautiful, absolutely stunning. It was small but looked so delicate and realistic and fit well with the curves of your body. “It’s stunning,” you whispered.

“Thank you, Johnny.” “No need to thank me, darling,” he chuckled and when your eyes met again, his were dark and almost hungry. “But I think I should reward you for being so good while I tattooed you.” Before you could ask what kind of reward he was talking about, he had already connected your lips in a passionate kiss and pulled your body flush against his. You couldn’t help but sigh now that you finally knew what the metal of his lip piercing felt like against your lips. Johnny was a good kisser and you were boneless in his strong grip not long after he had slipped his tongue past your lips after you had moaned into the kiss when he had started to push you backwards to the bench again, hoisting you back up. “Let me make up for the pain I’ve caused you,” he breathed against your swollen lips when you broke apart to breathe.   “Just keep kissing me like that,” you demanded, burying your hands in his soft black locks to kiss him again. He chuckled and let you dominate the kiss for a while, toying with the black ring in his lip and exploring his mouth. Meanwhile Johnny’s hands started to wander from their place on your waist down to grope at your ass, pulling you forward against him, so you could feel his growing erection between your legs which made a spark of arousal shoot through you.

“Let me make you feel good, baby,” he breathed heavily while kissing down your neck, gently taking the skin between his teeth. “Please Johnny,” you begged, feeling the arousal simmer low in your stomach. Grinning he pulled back and raked his dark eyes over your figure before making quick work of your belt and sliding your jeans along with your panties from your legs, only shortly struggling with your shoes. “It’s not Johnny now, baby,” he rasped when he kneeled down in front of you, pulling you towards him roughly, so your glistening core was exposed to him. “It’s Daddy,” he added before licking a broad stripe through your folds and flicking his tongue at your clit. You could just mewl and throw your head back in pleasure. You didn’t know that this would be such a turn on for you. “Say it, baby,” Johnny demanded, lazily dragging his tongue over your sensitive bundle of nerves. “Please Daddy,” you whimpered and you could feel his low groan vibrating against your core. He wasted no time to attach his plush lips to your clit, gently sucking and grazing his teeth over the little nub, making you mewl and shiver in pleasure. He definitely knew what he was doing, altering between stimulating your clit to the point where it almost became too much before he focused on dragging his tongue through your folds, gently prodding against your entrance before it gave away. When Johnny moaned you could feel it travel straight through you, making your head swim with pleasure. Looking down to the man kneeling in front of you, you were met with his dark eyes, staring straight up into yours. Moaning, you threaded your fingers into his soft hair and pressed his face closer to your core, not even taking the chance that he could move back. “Feels so good, Daddy,” you moaned when he spread your labia with his fingers so his tongue could dive deeper into you, stimulating your velvety walls. When he hummed it send sweet vibrations through your core and you could feel your orgasm approach almost embarrassingly fast. “Mmmh, so close Daddy.” “You wanna cum, baby?” He rasped, his hot breath fanning over your clit that he was lazily rubbing with two fingers. You bit your lip and met his dark eyes, nodding furiously. “Then beg for it, doll. I could stay here for hours,” Johnny spoke before he turned his head to mouth at your thigh, gently biting and sucking at the sensitive skin until it bruised under his ministrations. “I would just keep you right on the edge for hours until you’re a shaking mess for me, begging for release.” His lips split into a wicked grin when he saw how his dirty words affected you and he slowed his fingers on your clit until it was just enough to keep you stimulated but not enough to make the knot in your stomach snap. “Please Daddy,” you whimpered. “Please what baby?” He rested his head on your thigh, looking up at you from innocent eyes as if he wasn’t driving you insane with just his fingers. “What is it beautiful?” He repeated the question, replacing his fingers with his tongue. “You wanna cum?” “Yes please,” you whined, grinding your hips against his tongue to get more friction. “Well if you ask so nicely…” Johnny immediately slipped two fingers inside you with almost no resistance from how ridiculously wet you were and began pumping them in and out of your core fast, crooking them to search for your sweet spot. “Come on baby,” he growled, locking eyes with you again when he closed his lips around your clit. Almost screaming his name, you came hard when his fingers finally found your sweet spot, rubbing at it mercilessly to help you ride out your orgasm. Your thighs were shaking and you fell back onto the bench, the leather sticking to your back where you just laid for a while, your head spinning, breathing heavily.

“You look gorgeous like that,” Johnny complimented you, when he got back up from the floor, raking his clean hand through the mess that was his hair before he shamelessly took his fingers that were covered in your essence into his mouth, sucking them clean. Through half lidded eyes you could see the way he was still straining against the fabric of his jeans and the sight made your mouth water. “You’re still hard,” you said breathless.   “I am,” he said matter of factly. You wordlessly let your thighs fall open for him, exposing your core to him. “Oh baby,” Johnny cursed, pressing the heel of his palm against his bulge, “As much as I want to fuck you right now, you still have a fresh tattoo, doll.” “Please, Johnny, I want it,” you begged. “Shh, baby,” he soothed you rubbing a hand over your thigh, “Let me dress that tattoo and then I’ll take you upstairs to fuck you on an actual bed like you deserve.” You nodded, amazed by his amount of self-control.

Johnny worked quickly and efficiently: Cleaning your tattoo one last time before putting some ointment on it to keep it moisturized. At last he gently taped down a small sheet of plastic foil to keep it safe. “All done, beautiful,” he spoke before pecking your lips, “You still want to come upstairs with me?” “Yes Daddy,” you answered and you swore you could see his eyes darken just from the word alone. “Hold on tightly,” he ordered before scooping you up into his arms, holding you up by your thighs. Squealing you quickly wrapped your arms and legs around him, holding on tightly. “I’ll get your clothes before we open up tomorrow,” he mumbled when he carried you through the back door of the shop that lead to a dusty staircase. You pressed your body closer to his, nuzzling your face into his neck where the smell of his cologne was the strongest, to have some of his warmth seep into your skin when you started to shiver from the cold air. Lazily you let your lips travel over his skin, sucking a mark next to a splash of ink.

Johnny quickly grabbed the keys to his apartment’s door from atop of the doorframe (not really safe) and unlocked his door while holding you up with just one of his arms, the display of strength making your head spin. With quick steps he crossed the way to his bed and gently laid you down on the soft sheets, immediately crawling on top of you, crowding you against the mattress. “I knew you would look good in my bed,” he rasped, kissing your neck while his hands made quick work of the bra that you were still wearing for some reason. “You’re gorgeous, doll,” he breathed after he had sat up on his knees, looking down at you with dark eyes, his big hands roaming your body. Feeling shy under all the attention and compliments he was giving you, you tried to hide your face behind your fingers but he wasn’t having any of it, quickly grabbing your wrists in one hand to pin them above your head. “Don’t hide from me baby. Daddy wants to see how much you’re enjoying yourself.” You could just nod, trying to force down the whimper that almost spilled past your lips, he hadn’t even done much yet and you were already feeling arousal pulse through your veins. “I couldn’t hear your answer,” Johnny teased, gently grabbing one of your boobs to massage the soft flesh. “Yes, Daddy.” “That’s my good girl,” he grinned, releasing your wrists to slip his T-Shirt over his head, revealing his strong chest where the eagle majestically spread its wings and the hard lines of his abs. “Like what you see?” He asked smugly, climbing off the bed to unbuckle his belt and slip his jeans off his narrow hips, revealing strong, muscled thighs. One of them was covered with the face of a growling panther while the other was decorated with a colorful koifish tattoo that disappeared beneath the fabric of his dark boxers that were doing very little to hide a prominent bulge. “Let me,” you breathed and crawled over to hook your thumbs into the waistband. But before you pulled them down, you pressed a couple of kisses to the cherry blossom branch tattoo that seemed to stretch from his back over his hipbone and further down, mingling with the koi tattoo further down. With every centimeter of skin you exposed, more ink from the blossoms became visible and you kissed every single one of the delicate flowers. When his length finally sprang free, you had to swallow dryly: His cock was huge and hung heavy between his legs. Licking your lips you looked up to him, to find him grinning down at you. “Go to town, baby.”

He didn’t need to tell you twice, you were itching to feel his heavy weight on your tongue. You pressed a sweet kiss to his tip before placing a hand at the base only to find him surprisingly soft as you experimentally pumped your hand once. “It takes a while for it to get fully hard,” he groaned when you moved your hand up and down his shaft a couple of times, feeling it pulse beneath your fingers. Damn if he wasn’t even fully hard, how big would he be if he was? Holding him at the base, you licked a broad stripe up the whole length before you swiped your tongue around the pink head, pulling another groan from Johnny’s lips. Taking a deep breath, you finally took him in your mouth and hollowed your cheeks, tasting his skin. The weight on your tongue felt just right and you couldn’t help but moan as you slowly started to take more and more of him until you felt him hit the back of your throat. Shit, you were barely able to fit half of his length in your mouth like this. “You’re so big,” you moaned when you pulled off of him with a wet pop, spreading your saliva down the shaft with both of your hands. Johnny just hummed and grabbed a handful of your hair to shove your mouth back onto his dick. He cursed when the velvety heat surrounded him again and gently began to thrust in and out your mouth. “Fuck you look so good with my cock in your mouth,” he breathed heavily. You could only moan where your lips were stretched around his length and hollow your cheeks when he pulled out, the grip he had on your hair keeping you in place while he snapped his hips. “Shit baby,” Johnny cursed when he pulled out, panting while he rested the head of his cock on your outstretched tongue. “I could cum like this.” You whined pathetically, looking up at him with pleading eyes. He chuckled and gently slapped his cock against your lips, smearing them with precum. “But you don’t want that, don’t you, baby? You want my cock inside you? Stretching you out?” “Yes Daddy, please. I need it so bad,” you blabbered, not even knowing where those words were coming from but you seemed to have said the right thing with how Johnny’s dick twitched in his hand.

“Then get on your hands and knees for me, baby. Ass up.” It was almost comically how fast you complied, baring yourself to him. “Such a good girl,” he praised, grabbing your asscheeks to knead and pull them apart. “Beautiful.” “Please Daddy,” you begged him, arching your back further. “Patience baby,” he chuckled. A frustrated groan got stuck in your throat and turned into a drawn out whine when he pushed two of his fingers inside you, pumping them quickly and curling them to find your sweet spot again. Soon two fingers became three and he had reduced you to a moaning mess with how he abused your sweet spot once he had found it again. “You think you’re ready for my cock, baby?” “Yes. Oh god, yes please,” you begged while shamelessly grinding back on his fingers that he had stilled inside of you. “Spread your cheeks for me,” he ordered while quickly grabbing a condom from his bedside table and rolling it onto his cock. Balancing your weight on your knees and shoulders, you reached around yourself to pull your asscheeks apart so Johnny could see your core clenching around nothing. “You’re such a good girl for me,” he rasped, running his palm along the curve of your body while lazily thrusting his cock through your folds, making it glisten with your essence. Finally you could feel him nudging at your entrance with the thick head of his cock. “You want it, baby?” “Yes please Daddy,” you gasped, trying hard to be good and not grind back against him. “You’re such a good girl for me,” he chuckled, “And good girls get what they want if they ask so politely.” With that he finally sank into you in one agonizingly slow thrust until you could feel his hip bones press against your skin. You had to screw your eyes shut and bite your lip to suppress a whimper. You had never felt so full before.

“Fuck baby, you’re so tight,” Johnny groaned, grabbing you by the dip of your waist with his big hands, grinding you on his cock. “I’m so full, Daddy,” you gasped when he slowly pulled out until only the head of his cock was inside you before he languidly thrust back in. “Yeah? You like that? Being stuffed full of my cock?” You could only moan and nod where your head was pressed into the sheets. His cock was so big that it seemed to press against every good spot that was inside you, setting your nerve endings on fire, the pain from being stretched like that only adding to your pleasure. “You‘re sucking me right back in baby,” he cursed and gripped your waist harder, pulling you back on his cock as he picked up the pace, low groans falling from his lips. Your moans got progressively louder and louder the faster Johnny snapped his hips. “Hands behind your back, baby,” he ordered panting and immediately grabbed both your wrists in his hands to use them as leverage so he could fuck into you faster, the change of angle and pace making you moan his name. Your head was swimming with pleasure and you could only moan and mewl beneath him, imagining how he would bite his lip while watching his dick disappear inside you over and over again, stretching out the delicate skin of your sex. “God baby, your ass looks amazing,” Johnny groaned, praise after praise falling from his lips that reduced you to a moaning mess.

With one particularly hard thrust he buried himself to the hilt inside you and draped his body over yours, his hot breath fanning over your face when he spoke, a deep rumble in his chest while grinding his dick right against your sweet spot that had you seeing colors behind your closed eyes. “Wanna see you bounce on my dick, doll. Can you do that for me?” Taking a deep breath, you nodded. Your ability to form coherent sentences had left you as soon as he had begun to fuck you in earnest. “You’re such a good girl,” he purred and gently pulled out, making you whimper from the loss. You felt the bed dip next to you and when you opened your eyes, you were met with Johnny’s pleased smirk as he leaned against the headboard of the bed, his cock resting against his hip, too heavy to properly stand up and you couldn’t stop another whimper. “Come on baby, I know you want it,” he grinned, crooking a finger in a ‘come closer’ motion. Dragging your limbs from beneath you with great effort, you climbed onto his lap, immediately claiming his lips in a messy kiss. You buried your hands in his stupidly perfect hair to mess it up and tug at the inky strands, causing Johnny to moan into the kiss. “Hmm, my baby is feisty,” he chuckled when he broke the kiss, the pupils of his dark eyes blown so wide that they seemed almost black. “But you promised me to ride my dick,” he reminded you. “And I’m gonna,” you slurred, reaching between your bodies to grab his cock, giving it a couple of strokes. “But turn around for me baby. Wanna see how much my fat cock is going to stretch you out,” he rasped, playfully biting your lips. “But I want to see you too,” you complained. “Oh you can,” he grinned and pointed over your shoulder. You reluctantly turned around before you saw what he meant. Right across from the bed was a big mirror and you gasped because of how fucked out you already looked. A couple of tears had rolled down your cheeks and messed up your makeup and your lipstick was smeared around your lips.

You carefully grabbed Johnny’s cock again and held it steady so you could sink down on him, watching yourself in the mirror until you sat snug on his lap and had to close your eyes because the feeling was so overwhelming. He felt even bigger like that. “You okay, baby?” He asked, grabbing your hips tightly to help you swivel them on his cock, making it press into your walls just how you liked it. “How does your cock feel even bigger like this?” You gasped as you leaned forward and slowly started to ride him at first to get used to his size and figure out the best angle for you. Your legs shook with the effort to keep your rhythm but the look Johnny had on his face, his eyes glued to where you two were connected, made it worth it. Suddenly a wicked grin spread on his lips and he snapped his hips up when you lowered yourself again, tearing loud moans from both of you. “Fuck, do that again,” you demanded when you raised your hips again. “What’s the magic word?” Johnny teased, holding you up so you wouldn’t drop down again. “Please, Daddy.” Groaning he started to snap his hips up every time you ground down on him, making your skin slap together with an obscene noise.

God you wanted to die on his dick. “Do you now?” Johnny laughed. Shit did you say that out loud? “Want to feel how deep it goes inside you?” He rasped, wrapping his strong arms around your waist. You went lax in his hold and mewled helplessly. Who knew that a little display of strength and a big dick were such turn ons for you that your brain was reduced to mush. Grinning he carefully pulled you up and against his chest and draped your legs over his after he had planted his feet firmly onto the mattress. “Watch, baby,” he ordered as he lifted you off of him until only the tip was barely inside you anymore before letting you drop down again. You mewled and thrashed in his hold, the feeling just on the edge of too much. Feeling him deep inside you was one thing but actually seeing it was a whole other thing and it messed with your head. Curiously you pressed your hand down on your lower stomach when Johnny had started to piston his hips up into you instead of dropping you down onto his cock every time and you swore you could feel him move inside you. A drawn out curse left your lips and you threw your head back onto his shoulder.

With the way he was snapping his hips up you could feel your orgasm approach at lightning speed and you were so far gone that you shamelessly reached between your legs to stimulate your clit. “Fuck baby, you’re so hot like this,” Johnny groaned, grinding his dick inside you as you quickly rubbed your clit, toeing right on the edge. “Please Daddy,” you cried out, not sure what you were even begging for. “You gonna cum on my cock?” He rasped, snapping his hips harshly, “Wrapped around my big cock stretching you out like this?” You nodded your head furiously, your eyes screwed shut. You were so close that you could already feel your toes curling. “Show me baby. Show Daddy how good his cock makes you feel.” That’s what pushed you over the edge, the way he was panting in your ear, his voice strained from how he was drilling into you. The coil in your stomach snapped and you almost screamed his name, your body curling inwards and thighs shivering as your orgasm washed over you, making a bunch of colors explode behind your lids. In the back of your mind you registered Johnny’s curses and how he was grinding his cock inside you to help you ride out your orgasm. “Such a good girl,” he praised when your body went lax on top of him, your chest heaving with heavy breaths. You briefly wondered if you had ever cum this hard and you couldn’t think of any other time. “Thank you Daddy,” you panted, turning your face to press a messy kiss to his plush lips that were bitten raw. He chuckled lowly when you whimpered when his still hard cock shifted when you tried to turn around.

“Will you let me fuck you for a little longer, baby?” He asked, running a hand through your sweaty hair. Instead of answering him, you lifted yourself off his dick to turn around on his lap, capturing his lips again. “Want you to ruin me,” you whispered between kisses, “Want you to ruin me for any other men. Want to only remember how you feel inside of me.” Johnny growled deep in his chest before he pushed you down onto the bed, hungrily licking into your mouth. “You’re the one who is ruining me,” he panted, rising to his knees. He quickly grabbed your legs and threw them over his shoulders before he sank into you again with a low groan. This time he didn’t waste any time with building up the pace and immediately snapped his hips harshly, chasing his own orgasm. “You’re taking me so well, baby,” he panted, folding your thighs to your chest so he could push into you even deeper, making you see stars with how he was nailing your sweet spot with the new angle. And even though you had just cum, you felt another orgasm build inside your stomach. A row of curses left Johnny’s lips when he could watch his dick slide in and out of you again and he gripped your thighs so hard you were sure you’d have bruises there tomorrow. But that was something you’d worry about later, right now your world was only made up of the handsome man with his huge cock that was currently rearranging your guts with how vigorously he was snapping his hips, making your skin slap together with lewd sounds.

“I’m gonna cum baby,” Johnny grunted, his hips losing their rhythm. “On me,” you managed to choke out, still lost in your own pleasure. Another groan left his bitten lips before he quickly pulled out and ripped the condom off, jerking his cock with quick strokes, his eyes fixed to yours. All it took was a couple of jerks before he threw his head back and you could see his abdominal muscles contract before the first burst of white hot cum spurted from his dick and covered your chest and stomach. With parted lips he stroked himself through his orgasm, milking rope after rope from his cock until he hissed with overstimulation. “Fuck,” he cursed before giggling when he saw the mess he had made of you, his cum dripping from your boobs and running down your stomach. He cursed again before claiming your lips. “You want to cum one last time, baby?” “Please Daddy,” you whined, spreading your legs further for him. “My good girl,” he sighed, sinking two fingers into your heat, quickly crooking them to stimulate your sweet spot while his thumb was putting sweet pressure on your clit, making you thrash beneath him. “You look so good covered in my cum,” he rasped before he kissed you harshly to swallow your moans and cries of pleasure. You desperately held on to his shoulders, breaking the kiss when your head was spinning from the lack of oxygen. While speeding up his fingers, Johnny began sucking bruises low on your neck and over the soft skin of your cleavage. “Shit, I’m gonna-“ you didn’t get to finish your sentence because right that moment he had sucked one of your nipples into his mouth which was just enough to send you over the edge for a third time that night, your lips parted in a silent scream of his name and your thighs shaking and closing around the handsome man kneeling between them. “That’s my good girl,” he praised breathily and gently rocked his fingers to help you ride out your orgasm before he pulled them out, instead winding his strong arms around your body, holding you to his inked chest.

For a while he just held you close, not caring that his cum was now also stuck to his chest. “Fuck that was a lot,” you chuckled, burying your face in the crook of his neck, inhaling his calming scent. “Not what you thought would happen when you get a free tattoo?” Johnny softly spoke, carding his hand through your messy hair. “Not at all.” Another question was burning inside your head but you were too scared to ask it. You didn’t want to push him and ruin the mood. “I should clean you up and see if that tattoo is still okay. Then we can cuddle, alright?” The tattoo artist said before he detangled your bodies from one another to get up from the bed. He looked around on the floor for a cloth and you could finally see where the cherry blossoms on his hip were coming from. A big samurai was stretched over half his back, surrounded by the pinkish blossoms. It seemed like it wasn’t a complete piece yet, the samurai staring at the still untouched skin of Johnny’s left shoulderblade. “Your back tattoo is really pretty,” you mumbled to fill the silence while Johnny was wiping his chest clean before he gently did the same to you, taking extra caution when looking at your still fresh tattoo. “Thank you,” he smiled, pressing a kiss to your forehead, the metal of his piercing feeling warm on your skin, “We should change that foil real quick.” You just nodded and let him do his work, exhaustion settling into your bones.

“Do you do this with all your clients?” Shit. You hadn’t meant to ask that, the question had just slipped your lips and you could feel Johnny freeze where he was dressing your tattoo again before he secured the last piece of tape. He sighed and slipped beneath the covers, pulling you against his chest, so you could listen to his heartbeat. “Not all of them,” he answered eventually, “I haven’t slept with a client in a while. It happens sometimes but usually I don’t think much about it.” “And now you do?” He just hummed nonchalantly, playing with your hair. “They usually don’t come back after I fuck them.” He paused, holding his breath. “Will you come back?” Your heart started to race and you could feel a bright smile spreading over your lips. “For more free tattoos and piercings?” “Oh, yeah, I guess,” he sounded so deflated, the confident tattoo artist suddenly gone. “You idiot,” you giggled, pillowing your head on his sternum so he could see the smile on your lips, “I like you Johnny. I’ll come back if you want me to.” Now he was also smiling, his features softening. “Don’t make jokes like that, my heart is fragile,” he joked, wrapping you up in his strong arms.  

“Which one was your first one?” You asked him when the silence between you stretched while you traced the scales of the dragon that wound around his arm. “My first tattoo?” Johnny shifted around for a while before he showed you his other arm that had all kinds of different designs on it, some in bright colors, some strictly black. “That little guy over here,” he said with a smile on his lips and pointed to a little sunflower at the bend of his elbow, “To remind me to always look at the sun, at the bright side of life.” “It’s cute,” you breathed, touching the yellow petals. “And then it went downhill from there,” he chuckled, “It’s addicting.” “Let’s hope I can stay abstinent.” “What a shame, I’d love to cover you in my art,” Johnny confessed, tilting your face up so he could claim your lips in a kiss. “Maybe one or two more,” you breathed in between kisses, making him chuckle against your lips.

[buckyownsmylife]

Give your heart a break - Chris Evans smut

The one where Chris is a biker and decided he wants to start your forever.

Warnings: I’m gonna tag this as dubcon just to be safe, Chris definitely crosses a line without proper consent, breeding kink, biker!Chris AU, bondage, (belt used to restrain hands), dirty talk

A/N:  this is for my own birthday celebration challenge! Like I explained here, I’m going to try to fill every single AU I listed with the characters I picked for the challenge, and since the deadline if May 27, these fics will be posted randomly, as I finish them. Hope you guys like it!

Chris’ P.O.V.

“Hey, baby!” The smile she opened up when she turned around to see it was truly me who had just arrived at her coffee shop made my heart beat faster than it ever did while I was away from her.

I guess the adrenaline the bike used to give me was nothing compared to her effect on me.

“What are you doing here?” She exclaimed, jumping on my waiting arms so I could twirl her around, like I always did after we spent some time apart. She looked just the same, which comforted my heart somewhat.

I hated leaving her, but this nomadic lifestyle I’d chosen for myself long before we ever met would never work for her. It’s why she always resisted accepting any kind of labels to what we shared.

That was all about to change, though. Even if she still didn’t realize it.

“What? Can’t I stop by to visit my best girl?” Her smile became even bigger at the pet name. It was the indication I needed of her true feelings. She wanted to be mine, she really just couldn’t handle the biker lifestyle.

“Of course, you can. I just wasn’t expecting you, that’s all. Sit down, I’ll bring your usual order!” I watched as she fixed me a black coffee and picked a muffin with great care before bringing it to me. I had no doubt it was the warmest one on the tray. “Will you be sticking around for tonight?”

I could see the glint of hope and desire in her eyes. I knew that even though she didn’t want to be tied down to me, she hadn’t looked for pleasure in anyone else ever since I first kissed her. And even though I was sure she thought differently, neither had I.

She owned my heart ever since we met. There was no one else I’d rather have underneath my body. “I think you’ll soon realize I’ll be sticking around for a lot longer.”

Her eyes lit up at that, excitement clear in her features. “A whole week?” She’d been asking me for that for as long as I’ve known her, and I’d never been able to stick through the whole seven days. There was always some shipment to assess, brothers to help.

This time, nothing would force me away from her.

“You’ll see.” She rolled her eyes at my attempt at keeping a mystery, and I know what was going on through her pretty little head. I was already too secretive as it was, there was no need for more hiding. But I had a plan, and I was going to stick to it.

“I’ll be right here until it’s time to lock up. I’ll walk you home, how does that sound?” The way the corner of her eyes crinkled as she smiled at me was enough of a response, yet she gave me one anyway.

“Perfect.”

Y/N’s P.O.V.

“Stop that.” The order startled me, too lost in the haze of lust to realize that he’d stripped down to his boxers, finally noticing that I’d climbed on the bed and had been playing with myself while I waited for him to join me.

Usually, I’d immediately follow his directions - almost instinctively, actually. It was probably some remaining fear that used to exist inside of me when I saw him on his bike just outside my shop, before I decided to give him a chance and began this little adventure between us…

I never wanted to see his anger directed at me. But tonight, I was feeling brave for whatever reason. Maybe it was because of how much I had missed him this time we spent apart and how I unconsciously resented him for always leaving. We’d never have an actual relationship, and it was all because of him.

So maybe that awoke the brat in me, because all I gave him was a smirk, keeping the movements on my clit as I watched him watch me. “I don’t think you deserve that,” I taunted, taking notice of the way he seemed transfixed by the wetness gathered on my lower lips, until I stopped my movements and raised my hand to slather it on my lips.

“You’ve left me all alone so many nights, with only these fingers as company…” I returned them to the apex of my thighs, pushing them inside of me this time, making sure to exaggerate my moan at the relieving sensation of being filled. “I think you deserve to suffer for a while longer.”

He looked so beautiful with his eyebrows furrowed, the length of his eyelashes and the pinkness of his lips almost making me overlook how threatening he still looked, all tatted up, clearly disappointed in me.

“Stop it,” he warned once more, but I wasn’t in a submissive mood. Not tonight.

“Why should I?” I argued, fucking myself faster. “I’m not yours. You can’t boss me around.” That was the wrong thing to say, I realized the second his eyes darkened, jaw clenching at my defiance. He was on me in a second, easily gathering my wrists in one of his hands as he pulled them up in the direction of the headboard, and it was only when I felt the leather around them that I realized he’d picked up his belt to tie me to bed.

“Yes, you are,” he breathed out against my face, eyes looking directly in mine to show me just how serious he was. “And you should know better than to disobey me.” The authoritative tone in his voice had me shivering, especially after he pulled away and stopped covering my body with his, taking advantage of how I was bound to the bed to drink in my naked figure.

“I promise I’ll behave,” I tried to argue, legs flailing around his figure until he grabbed them. “I-I just missed you, that’s all.” The way his huge, rough hand felt on the inside of my thighs should be illegal. And he knew just how much it affected me, as he smirked and looked up at me from under his eyelashes with a knowing glint in his gaze.

“Don’t you trust me?” He questioned, head tilted as his thumb slipped and found place right over my nub. “I just want to make you feel good, sugar.” I hesitated for a moment - I hadn’t really experimented with any sort of kinky sex before, even though I expected him to try something unusual ever since the first time we were together. Guess this was starting small. I could take it.

Besides, I needed him too fucking badly.

“Yeah?” He confirmed after I nodded, tone almost patronizing as he kept rubbing me and playing with himself. “Got yourself wet and ready for me, won’t need to prepare you, huh? Guess your disobedience has it’s advantages.”

All I could do was whimper, especially when he finally leaned over me again, resting his hard cock over my navel. “Feel this?” He asked, and I nodded once more. “It’s about to be inside of you, pretty girl.”

And so he grasped my hips and adjusted himself to start pushing in, spearing me open. Having him for the first time after a while was always a challenge, and although he always took it slow to get me used to him again, he was never one to give me time to accept the intrusion. He just took his time, thrusting in and out, taking note of every little moan that I released as his hips pressed against mine.

“Oh, fuck…” I groaned, wanting to wrap my arms around him but unable to do so, due to my restraints. “T-that f-feels s-so good!” I was positively trembling as he started to pick up his pace, cocky smile only adding to my arousal.

“Oh, yeah?” He panted, drops of sweat starting to form on his naked body from the frantic activity. “Then fucking scream it, sweetheart. Tell your entire neighborhood how good it feels to have my cock inside of you.”

I must have obeyed him, from the way my throat felt hoarse when I finally came back from my orgasm, but I couldn’t remember it. I was too far gone. All I knew, all I could focus on was the way it felt to have his cock rhythmically dragging in and out of me, the sounds of my juices reverberating off the walls.

“Pretty little pussy,” he complimented, eyes focused on the part of me he was so obsessed with. “Can’t wait to fill it up with my cum.” Well, that jolted me back into reality, suddenly pulling on his belt again.

“W-what?” Only when he heard my question and the hesitation in my voice did he raise his gaze to meet my eyes, a patient smile defining his expression.

“C’mon, pretty girl… You know you want it too. Don’t you want an ‘us’?” He urged while I could only stare back, mouth agape. “You know I want more, I’ve always wanted more. Now I’m ready to give it to you. And I know you want me too.”

His voice was soothing against my ear as he kept fucking me, “You want to be round with my baby, don’t you? You want me to keep you filled all day long, until your breasts are heavy and your belly starts growing, so everyone will know you’re now undeniably mine.”

And to be his is all I’d ever wanted, but I never expected it to happen like this. I could only watch, frozen in place as he came deep inside of me, moaning right by my ear before kissing my temple.

“I love you, sweetheart.” He’d never said those words to me before. I don’t think he’d ever said them to anyone. “I know it’s fucked up that I’m only now telling you this, but I do. And I wanna fall asleep next to you every day from now on.”

And so he kept me plugged, full of his cum even as he released my wrists and lulled me to sleep, and for the next seven days, when I woke up in the morning, he was really still there.

“You’re really here to stay,” I whispered on the eight night, cradling his face in amazement as he smiled before kissing my palm.

“Forever.”

[romantichore]

it's wip wednesday, my dudes

well this surely is exciting! I've been tagged by @thequeenofthewinterfthewinter to share my latest wip, and while it's technically cheating because it's not exactly the latest, I haven't written proper in a bit - mostly notes, so this is the latest actually readable thing. I'm not going to tag anyone this time around, but hey 👀 if you have a wip 👀 post and tag me in it 👀

ok so, the wip: it's part of a (hopefully) future fic that follows my dragonborn, Murien, as she leaves her old life in Cyrodiil and tries to make something out of it in Skyrim. she joins the Companions looking for combat lessons, and becomes fast friends with a certain ice-brained twin.

"So, you have family here?" He asked, pushing the mug of mead towards her, her third or fourth tonight. Something told him this should be the last one, that she would not handle another one well - that something being Vilkas, who eyed him from across the room like he was leading a lamb to slaughter. Perhaps he was.

On the other side of the table, Murien caught the tankard with both hands, stubby little things that looked funny wrapped around the cup as she wasted no time bringing it up to her lips. He had to give it to her, corners of his mouth pushing up in amusement, she may be a lightweight, but she surely did not think herself to be.

A couple of seconds later and the tankard laid empty before them, her yellow eyes looking down to where the liquid should be, brows knit together like she had no idea who it had been who had drunk her mead.

"What brought you to Skyrim?" Farkas tried a second time, now catching her attention for once, and her response was half a chortle, half silly wave of a hand.

"Death," she had turned serious for a second, hand slamming down against the wooden table hard enough to make it wobble, the entire room falling silent as her voice echoed.

A tense few moments, Vilkas looked worried, Aela like she would dismantle him into a thousand pieces if he made the girl cry. She held his gaze for what felt like far too long though he could not tell what it was that he saw in her eyes; and then she laughed, laughed like she had just heard the funniest joke told by the most amusing jester, head thrown back as she all but bellowed.

A collective sigh of relief, merrymaking overtaking the ambiance once more, but he knew better than to chuckle along. He knew better, he knew her better, had somehow been the one to figure her out first though he still had but a scant few pieces and was not really the brightest out of the bunch. Murien, on the other hand, oh, she was twice as smart as Vilkas, three times as clever.

He knew, the moment her eyes turned into tiny arcs and the corners of her mouth made dimples on her cheeks, that the drink had gotten the better of her and she needed to clear the air before things became too heavy. Before they looked at her different, before he asked the wrong question again, before some whelp boasted about killing and war and made her cheeks turn red and water pool in her pretty eyes. She hid, like she always did, that part he had not figured out yet but hoped that she would let him, one day. She hid though she did not want to, not really, not from him.

[strawwritesfic]

Brock Rumlow x Female!Former SHIELD Agent!Reader: Revenge Is a Dish Best Served Fried

Summary: All old flames grow cold eventually–Excepting, of course, yours.

Rating/Warnings/Tags: T (bad language, torture, physical abuse, beating, brainwashing, post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier)

Fic Trade Prompt: “Don’t make my job too easy~ ;)” Plus, I got to pick the character to write for this time around.

Revenge Is a Dish Best Served Fried

You awoke with a start in complete darkness with one hell of a headache pounding through your skull. Where you were and how you’d got to wherever that was you didn’t know, but it didn’t feel like you’d come along willingly. A multitude of invisible cuts stung up and down your body; your stomach felt as though it had had its contents punched out of it recently; and maybe you couldn’t see to confirm this, but you were pretty sure your left eye was swollen shut. Worst of all, every cell inside of you felt dry and hot and buzzy, as though you’d spent the evening before playing test subject for a new line of Tasers.

But what had happened mattered very little in comparison to your present predicament. You could catalog injuries once you were definitely safe. It didn’t take long for you to decide that your current location wasn’t that. Straining your ears, you heard nothing. No hum of electricity. No faint whir of a security camera. No chattering from anyone keeping guard. Eerie, you thought, until you decided to stand up…

…and found your arms clamped tightly to a couple of armrests. You had not realized that you were sitting down in an actual chair until you were unable to lift your wrists. Try as you might, no matter what angle you used, the restraints wouldn’t budge. Your ankles were in a similar state. Gritting your teeth, you mentally prepared to dislocate the bones. Nothing you hadn’t done before, but never a pleasant prospect. On the count of three. Three…two–

“Good morning,” came a deep voice from another corner of the room, “sweetheart.”

The sudden appearance of someone in your cell was not what caused you to freeze. No, you only stopped your attempts to get loose because you recognized the voice. You squinted into the dark. Still you could hear no breathing, see nothing further than the pitch black two inches from your nose. But then again, this man should have been a ghost.

“Brock?” you asked, voice raspy. Sounded (and felt) like you’d been smacked in the trachea, too.

A rumble of laughter answered you, but no footsteps. “I don’t go by that name anymore. But it’s good to hear you haven’t forgotten me entirely. Thought you might have, the way you’ve been treating me.”

Those three sentences were all it took to force the shock out of your system and flood it instead with frustration and anger. You clenched your fists into useless balls, rattling your cuffs as you did.

“I haven’t been treating you any way,” you said. “Not since INSIGHT. Not since Hydra.”

You glared in the direction from which Brock’s voice had issued, but still you could see no sign of him. Wherever you were, there were no windows. He had to be there, though; you hadn’t heard him move away or out. Sure enough, when he spoke again, he sounded close by:

“Don’t pretend that you leaving had anything to do with either of those.”

“Oh yeah? And why else would I leave you? Because you’re such a wonderful person, I’d be a fool not to stay?”

This time, the silence that stretched out after your final question lasted long enough for you to start wondering if Brock really was in there with you. He always did know how to stay silent and still–a boon working as the head of STRIKE–but even he had to shift sometimes, even he had to breathe. Maybe he had an intercom rigged up. You tried to hold your breath to listen for him again to no avail. Then you did hear a breath, a long, rattling almost laugh.

“Oh, I don’t know.” A click sounded just before the room was flooded with light. Your eyes snapped shut to avoid the pain that surged through your already throbbing head for what little good that did. “How about this?”

It took you a few seconds to force your eyelids back open. Sure enough, your left would hardly move. Through what remained of your field of vision, you could not see much through the sudden haze of light–not much outside of a dark shape in the corner of the huge room, that was. You blinked, and the figure came into focus: a dark-haired man sitting against a wall of security deposit boxes, and wearing thick, dark armor. As soon as your gaze reached his face, Brock grinned.

“Normally I wear the mask.” He stood, gesturing to a helmet sitting by his feet. It, too, was black, but with a skull blasted across its face in white paint. Then Brock kicked the mask to the side and strode purposely over to where you were clamped to the chair. “But I don’t need to wear it for you. No secrets between us, [Name]. Isn’t that right?”

Up close, you could see his features better even through your damaged eye. However you looked, you definitely looked better than Brock. His face was a twisted mass of reddened flesh. As you took his new appearance in, he drew closer, leering down at you. You shrank away, but all this did was make him chuckle.

“I thought so. Couldn’t stand to be with someone so ugly, could you?”

You swallowed thickly. “I didn’t see that before I left.”

Brock laughed again. “You’re a damn shitty liar. Always have been. You think I didn’t know? You think I was deaf and dumb under all those bandages? You think I had any delusions that my girl would stay by my side after Captain America demolished a building on top of my fucking face?!”

His voice rose in volume and intensity, and with each sentence, he thrust himself further into your personal space. You made yourself stay in place, though your heaving chest betrayed your fears.

“I left because you were working with Hydra, Brock,” you said, willing your voice to stay even. “Because I don’t want to be with a terrorist–”

“Terrorist!” he shouted, and for one blessed moment he stepped away from you. Unfortunately, he was soon back and closer than ever, his nose practically pressed to your own. “I’m a mercenary, sweetheart. I work for the highest bidder, and don’t you go pretending you’re not just the same as me.”

“I’m not like you. I don’t work for Hydra. I don’t work for SHIELD anymore either. I’m doing real work, good work, with the–”

“With the Avengers. Yeah. I heard.”

Despite his claims to have already known about your present employment, Brock appeared put off by the news. He turned away from you, pressed his hand to his mouth, and shook his head. You took advantage of his distraction to again attempt to get at least one hand out of your shackles. Too bad they seemed to be made for someone much, much stronger than you.

And then Brock was back, smiling so widely that his eyes turned to half-moons inside their scarred lids.

“I was good to you, wasn’t I? Brought you flowers, like a good boyfriend. Took you out for dinner. Walked you home from work, cuddled with you at night, bought your goddamn tampons! And what did it get me? What good did any of that do?”

To that you had no proper response. All you could do was stare, captivity momentarily forgotten in the light of the dawning realization that your ex-boyfriend had gone completely insane. Yes, Brock had done all of those things for you, for years. You had been happy with him for all those years. You had thought you’d been lucky to be with the guy that headed STRIKE, one of SHIELD’S golden boys, the most handsome man in the whole organization. All the same:

“I don’t date Nazis,” you snarled.

“Is that what you think I was? A Nazi?” Brock shook his head, but then seemed to drop the subject, his mind wandering as his dark eyes traveled up above your head. “Never let the higher ups take you in, either. Wasn’t like they didn’t want to. Good enough to be an Avenger, Agent [L Name]. Could’ve had you conditioned by someone who knew what they were doing, and we would have never been in this mess.”

“What mess?” you asked, if only to keep Brock talking. A little further, and you thought you might have a chance of dislocating your wrist just enough to slip out of Brock’s restraints.

Brock said nothing.

“Brock,” you said once more, “what mess?”

He seemed to only then remember you were there. His eyes drew slowly down until he was staring right into yours, seemingly oblivious to your desire to get free. “

Tell me you still love me, [Name],” he said, sounding almost normal.

“Excuse me?”

“Tell me you still love me,” he repeated. “Tell me you still love me, and none of this has to happen.”

“None of what has to happen?”

“Just tell me that you’ll take me back! The rest of it doesn’t matter. Just tell me that you still love me!”

You mustered all of your energy, looked Brock dead in the eye, and spat in his disgusting face. He froze.

“The man I fell in love with was just that–a man.,” you said breathlessly. “What are you? Some burnt shell, that’s all that left. Not even enough courage to take me on face to face. You’re pathe–”

One thickly gloved hand shot out viper-fast and put your jaw in a vice grip. Brock’s lips pulled back into a snarl that gave way to another laugh that raised the hairs on the back of your neck.

“Careful, [Name]. I brought you here to kill you. Don’t make my job too easy.” He winked, a gesture that you did not return. His smile faded as his fingers gripped your chin even tighter. “Either you’re leaving here mine, or you ain’t leaving here at all.”

“And what is that supposed to mean? You’ve been babbling since you got me here. Tell me what your plan is, if you’re so proud of it.”

He considered you for a long moment–too long. Your jaw ached; you could feel his fingers pressing bruises into your skin. At last, he released you, then gestured up to where he had been looking only a few minutes before.

“You’re sittin’ in a real special chair, darling,” he said as your own eyes traveled upward.

Your heart gave a great thud as you realized exactly where you were. You’d seen the Winter Soldier’s files, and unless you could get out of there, you were screwed.

“Brock–”

“See, this here bank’s a front for Hydra,” Brock went on as though he couldn’t hear you. Who knew? He was far gone enough that maybe he couldn’t. “But they dropped it like a hot potato after Rogers fucked over Project INSIGHT. Once upon a time, they used to strap Cap’s old war buddy into this and fry the living daylights out of his skull. Only saw it done a few times myself, but how hard could it be?”

“You wouldn’t.”

His new, predatory smile returned. “Wouldn’t I? How do you know I haven’t already done it? That’s what this setup is for, after all. Memory loss. And I want you back pretty damn bad.”

He had a good point. Your head definitely felt like it had been put through the ringer–but unless a lot more time had passed than your body could account for, you still had all your memories. In fact, you had enough memories to know that you weren’t about to beg this man for your life.

“You’re not going to get away with this,” you said in as dangerous a voice as you could muster.

Brock ignored you, walking over to where a very obvious lever had been installed near your chair. Before you could say anything more, he pulled it, and your chair–Bucky’s chair–shifted slowly backwards. The mechanism above your head jolted to life, then drifted down toward your head. Only then did Brock answer you:

“Who’s gonna come for you? SHIELD? Don’t make me laugh. They know about us. They’ll think you were in on it all along. A Nazi terrorist, just like you said. Always spouting the company line. And the Avengers?” Here he did laugh. “Think they got better things to care about than where you slipped off to in the middle of the night. Never got in the habit of staying in one place too long, did you?”

He was right. He was right, and what was worse, begging was beginning to seem a better and better option the longer the whirring in the chair went on. You rattled your wrists, rattled your ankles, arched your back to strain with all your strength against your bonds, but nothing moved or loosened. Of course it didn’t. This machine was built for a super soldier. What were you compared to Bucky Barnes?

Brock Rumlow’s haunting laugh started up again in nearby. His hand reached out to press your shoulder back hard against the backrest.

“Don’t worry so much, [Name],” he said. “I might not have the finesse to pick and choose what you forget, but it’ll all be over soon either way. When you wake up, we’ll either be back together or–well, you’ll believe that we are when I tell you. I’ve got big plans for us. Real big plans.”

You opened your mouth to retort. How, you didn’t really know–but any possibility of a retort vanished the very next second. All that came out of your lips was a scream as the surge of electricity from HYDRA’s brainwashing device slammed into your head. You opened your mouth again, and let out another scream. Brock chuckled one last time before he gave your shoulder a final squeeze.

“Welcome back to the dream team, [Name],” he said, but Brock Rumlow had vanished from your thoughts. The whole world had vanished from your thoughts. If you weren’t lucky, neither of them were ever coming back. Everything from there on out was pain and order, order and pain.

[n00dl3gal]

Like Old Times (Father-Son Bonding AU)

A direct sequel to the “Expiration Date” fic, which I’ll link in a reblog. I’ve also posted all my fics in this AU to AO3!! Thanks again to @thetriggeredhappy for their help and just generally being a cool dude, and the Scoutsune Discord server for indulging my brainrot

No warnings beyond family schmoop!

Less than an hour after the bread monster incident, the Administrator called for a ceasefire. “Only while your base is repaired,” she said over the TV screen. “BLU is quite disappointed in this negligence- as am I. Regardless, you may use these three days as you see fit. Go home, stay here- whatever you do, no more bread monsters.” The screen turned off with a click. 

Scout exhaled through his nose. He was thankful there was no mention of him or Miss Pauling’s woodchipper. 

Spy decloaked behind him. “Less time than I wanted, but c’est la vie.” Scout looked at him over his shoulder. “I’m meeting with an old contact during our break,” Spy said in Italian. “Would you like to come along? It’ll be like old times.” 

Scout’s brow furrowed, but he nodded. At least this way, he’d get out of helping Engie and Heavy with repairs. And possibly meeting Miss Pauling’s woodchipper. 

“Excellent. Our flight is at 7 AM tomorrow.” 

“We’re flying commercial?” Scout asked, also in (more hesitant) Italian. 

“Our destination is continental. We’ll leave the base by 5:30.” Scout groaned as Spy started to leave. But- wait, he hadn’t- 

“Oi, where are we going, anyway?” he called back in English. 

Spy paused to look at him and smile. “Boston.” 

“Why do we always get the ass-crack-of-dawn flights?” Jeremy asked groggily, reclining his seat.

“They are the ones with first-class seats available,” Raphael replied. He took a sip from his mimosa. 

“Yeah, cuz God forbid you fly coach for once.” Jeremy shifted, trying to get comfortable. “Hey. Have I ever been to Boston before?”

Raphael didn’t answer immediately. His lip sucked in, as if in thought. “Yes. When you were very, very young. You wouldn’t remember.” 

Jeremy nodded. He wanted to ask more, there was something Raphael wasn’t saying but… well, he was never a morning person. He fell asleep before the plane even took off. 

. . .

It was mid-afternoon by the time they landed in Boston. Jeremy was never fond of long flights; having his legs cramped like that for extended periods of time was murder. He was half tempted to take a jog around Logan International. Raphael, on the other hand, was ushering them both to the car rental. “Can’t even get a stretch in, huh?”

“Unfortunately, we are expected by 4, and I would hate to keep my contact waiting,” Raphael explained in French, accepting the keys from the girl at the counter. “She’s not a very patient woman, in some regards.” 

Jeremy huffed but didn’t argue. He just followed his father to the rental, tossing his suitcase in the backseat. “Y’know, the girl at the counter-” 

“We will not have time for you to go out on a date, Jeremy.” 

“No! No, it was- her accent’s kinda like mine, it’s weird,” Jeremy said. Raphael started the car. “Cuz I’ve only been here as a baby, and I got mine from TV and shit. It’s just… really strange, is all.” 

Raphael made a quiet noise of agreement. “Some of the shows you watched as a child were filmed here. It’s not as complex as you think it is.” 

“Yeah, probably not…” 

The pair lapsed into silence as Raphael drove. Storefronts and high rises morphed into houses. It had been a while since they were in a residential area. RED, for understandable reasons, kept away from civilians. 

Raphael took the roads with practiced experience. Sure, it had been implied he knew the area. If he had a contact here- one with a house, presumably- he must’ve spent time here. But this- this was far too familiar. A bit suspicious, actually. 

Eventually, Raphael slowed in front of a more rundown Brownstone. Still quite nice, just needed a little work. It felt… welcoming, in a way Jeremy couldn’t name.

“Lotta cars,” he observed as Raphael parallel parked. “Must be a party going on somewhere.” 

“Hmm, perhaps,” Raphael said, turning the car off. “Would you mind ringing the doorbell for me? I need to grab something from the trunk. Ask for Sara Jane.” 

OK, now Jeremy knew something was up. He was never the one to make the first contact, that was always Dad’s job. Jeremy might be a full-grown adult, but there were some things that didn’t change. This was one of them. 

Still, he nodded. He climbed up the front steps and ringed the doorbell. He heard- multiple voices from inside, predominantly male, but they quickly silenced themselves. A TV, perhaps? They really ought to get that flower box on the second story window fixed- 

The woman who opened the door was a bit shorter than him, though not by much. She was wearing a simple dress, hoop earrings, and flats. Her hair was dark, curved to her chin. But her nose and earlobes felt… achingly familiar. Like Jeremy saw them all the time. 

“Um, hi, I’m looking for Sara Jane? My name’s-” The rest of his speech was knocked out of him as the woman launched herself at him. Jeremy braced for an attack, but quickly realized she was… hugging him. 

She was hugging him, sobbing, and choked out the word “Jeremy.” 

Wait. He knew that voice. He had only heard it a few times in his life, few enough he could count them on one hand, but he knew it. “M-Ma?” he whispered. 

The woman- Sara Jane- Ma looked up at him, still crying. Her hands found his face as she observed him. “Y-yeah, sweetie, it’s me, it’s-it’s your ma,” she said. 

“Ma!” he laughed, tears of his own dancing down his cheeks. He hugged her back, practically lifting her off her feet. “Oh my God, Ma! I-I never thought I’d-” 

“Oh Jeremy, sweetie, look how tall you’ve gotten! Last I saw you, you fit in my arms! My baby, my handsome baby,” she spoke over him. She rubbed circles into his back as they embraced. It felt so, so right. 

Jeremy laughed even harder. “Are you kiddin’? I got it from you, you’re beautiful, Ma!” He stared at her, trying to commit every mole and wrinkle and perfect flaw to memory. “I can’t believe- oh my God, I’m actually meeting you!” 

“It was long overdue,” another voice said, as Raphael joined them on the front stoop. “I had put it off for safety reasons, but considering our current, ah, situation… I felt it was worth the risk.” 

Sara Jane squealed, pulling Raphael into the hug as well. “You’ve been taking good care of my boy, you promise me, Raphael?” 

“Don’t worry Ma, he’s the best dad I could ask for, considering,” Jeremy teased. 

“Oh, don’t I know it. Called me up last night and told me to get the whole motley crew together. Even managed to get Melvin to bring his twin daughters, bless his wife’s heart,” she explained. 

Jeremy blinked. “Uh- Melvin? Daughters?”

Sara Jane laughed. It sounded so much like Jeremy’s it practically hurt. This was his mother. Lord, he’s finally seeing her. “Melvin’s your older brother, sweetie. Eh, sixth oldest. Bobby’s the oldest.” 

“I have a brother?”

“Oh honey, you’re the youngest of eight,” Sara Jane said plainly. 

“...fuck,” Jeremy whispered. 

. . .

He didn’t just have seven brothers. He had seven brothers, four of which brought their wives, one who brought his boyfriend, and three who brought their kids. And the kids totaled to an additional six, counting the babies. 

It was… an admittedly tight squeeze in the living room. 

Sara Jane introduced Jeremy. Jeremy had been expecting to be treated like a stranger. He had vanished when he was a baby, after all, and his younger-older brothers probably wouldn’t remember him at all. 

And yet, it was like he knew them all his life. 

They teased him and punched him playfully and acted so friendly, so familial it nearly made Jeremy break down. He was still crying from meeting Ma, but being dogpiled with so much affection was suffocating. In a good way. He had seen on sitcoms the intrinsic bond between family, and while he felt it with Dad, they also risked their lives nearly daily. But it was real, it was here, and it was wrapping him in a warm blanket. 

Despite the chaos and the sheer number of people, Jeremy didn’t feel overwhelmed. He laughed and played along with their jokes, cracking some back when he could get a word in. Scott ragged on his dog tags, he countered by pointing out the hole in his pants. Michael told him he was still a shortass, he replied with “it takes one to know one.” Elliot and Ricky were the closest to actually getting hurt, and that was only because Jeremy elbowed them both so hard they nearly fell over. 

For the first time in 25 years, Jeremy understood what “home” meant. 

The kids were especially curious, eager to meet their uncle and step-grandfather. Within seconds, young Rebecca- only four years old- was challenging Jeremy to a race around the house. “I’m the fastest kid in the world,” she bragged, puffing out her chest. 

“Oh yeah?” Jeremy asked. “That a fact?”

“You wanna test me? I beat Johnny Three-Legs at running, and he’s got three legs!” Jeremy laughed and stood from the couch, letting her lead him outside. “On the count of three, OK?”

“You’re on, pipsqueak,” Jeremy teased.

“Onetwothree GO!” Rebecca yelled, taking off in a sprint. Jeremy knew that, by all accounts, he should beat her. His legs were longer, she didn’t have the proper running stance, and it was his job to be fast. That’s what he got paid to do. But some small voice was telling him to let her win, so he did. “Ha! I told ya!” 

“Ya sure did,” he replied, mock panting. “Look at you, a freaking blur on the green. You’re goin’ to the Olympics, kid.” 

Rebecca beamed and hugged his leg. “Promise, Uncle Jeremy?” He nodded because, after that display, there was no way he could speak without squeaking like a chew toy. 

Rebecca skipped back inside, past Raphael, who was watching on the stoop. “You’re a natural with children,” he observed. “I used to do the same thing when you were that age.” 

“Wait- wait, really? You sure fooled me,” Jeremy said. 

Raphael rolled his eyes. “What’s my job again, mon lapin?”

“Yeah, yeah…” Jeremy leaned against the railing, watching Raphael’s cigarette smoke in the wind. “Hey. Uh… thanks for arranging all of this. You really didn’t need to.”

“But I did. I meant it when I said this was overdue. I’ve been wanting to introduce you to the rest of the family for a while, but have been unable. Then that whole ordeal with the supposed tumors, and-” Raphael exhaled slowly. “It wouldn’t have been fair to you if you died without knowing them. I would’ve never forgiven myself.” 

Jeremy punched his shoulder lightly. “Don’t be so hard on yourself, pops. It all worked out, we’re still kicking, and that roast chicken Ma’s making smells incredible. Everything’s perfect.” 

Raphael finished his cigarette and smiled. “Oui. It is.” 

. . .

While Sara Jane had been able to get the rest of the family here, it was a school night. Kids needed to be tucked in by 9:30, so most of Jeremy’s brothers were gone by 8. Elliot was staying overnight, as was his boyfriend. Otherwise, the house quickly went from bustling to barren. 

It gave Jeremy a chance to explore his would-be childhood home.

He made his way upstairs, pushing open one of the doors. It led- to little surprise- to a bedroom. It was set up like a nursery, with a crib in one corner and a toddler bed in the other. Toys were scattered about across the floor. 

He heard Sara Jane sigh behind him. “This was your room, you know.” Jeremy turned to look at her as she flipped the light switch. “That crib… I had put you to bed the night your father planned to fake his death. I was in on the whole plan, naturally. He wanted to hold you one last time, so I said OK. When I woke up the next morning… you were both gone.” She exhaled slowly, grabbing onto his shoulder. “I wrote both of you off as dead, but I knew what had happened. Honestly, should’ve figured it out before then. You hadn’t woken me up crying,” she joked. Her eyes were watering. 

Jeremy hugged her, pulling her close. “You never took the crib down?” 

“By the time I was ready, Bobby’s wife was pregnant, so I kept it up for my grandbabies. I knew- I knew you were out there, sweetie. Both of you.” She kissed his cheek, squeezing him.

“I-I never got to be a normal kid, really,” he confessed. “I mean, Dad did his best, gave me comic books and board games and stuff, but-but I never went to school or made friends or anything like that. I-I didn’t even know I had a family. It took me forever to even realize I had a Ma. An-and everything I did-” The tears were flowing again, more freely than earlier. “Ya missed me losing my first tooth, and potty trainin’, and all that stuff parents should know about. I-I’m sorry,” he whispered. 

Sara Jane wiped his cheek dry. “Don’t apologize for what your father did, Jeremy. And definitely don’t apologize for me not potty training another kid. Besides… hold on, I’ll be right back.” She made her way down the hallway. Jeremy didn’t follow, instead deciding to examine the crib. This was where he grew up. It was a simple crib, obviously well-used. Not worn-down, mind, just… used. It had a history. A history that Jeremy wanted to decode, but unlike his dad’s ciphers, he didn’t have the key. 

“Took me a second to find it,” Sara Jane said. She handed him what appeared to be a scrapbook. “Raphael- he wrote when he can. Taught me some basic codes, would send out letters whenever you’d leave a town. Never left a return address, but…” Jeremy flipped through the pages, moving to sit on the small bed. The letters were all coded but appeared to be about how much Raphael missed Sara Jane. Updates on Jeremy’s growth. Letters from a father to his lover and son’s mother. 

One page jumped out to him, though. “I remember this,” he said, running his fingers against the paper. It was a simple drawing of a young boy, holding a catcher’s mitt, and a taller man next to him. “I drew this after Dad took me to my first baseball game, for my eighth birthday. I thought I lost the drawing after we skipped town, but- he sent them to you?”

Sara Jane nodded. “And I kept them all. Oh, honey, the day I first heard your voice on the phone- Mikey can tell you, I damn near fell over. You sounded so happy, and even if I couldn’t see you, that’s all a mother wants.” Jeremy leaned against her and she shut the book. “That’s all a mother wants, sweetie. To see her kids be safe and happy.” 

“I am, Ma,” he assured her. “I promise.” 

They sat like that for a while, with Sara Jane commenting on various letters and drawings in the scrapbook. Apparently, Raphael sent her money when he could- more frequently now that Mann Co. paid so well. She also had a rough idea of their current occupations. “I figure, if you and your father are working for the same company- with his skills, there’s gotta be a whole lot of nonsense going on out in that desert.” Jeremy laughed at that because she wasn’t wrong. “But I also figure since he raised you right, he’ll keep the both of you safe.” 

“I keep him safe too, don’t worry,” Jeremy added. “Uh- listen, it’s touching and all you kept the crib, but I don’t have to sleep in it, right?” 

They both had a good chuckle over that. Their laughs were in perfect harmony. 

. . .

The next two days were a mix of learning the family history and exploring Boston. It was the offseason, so there weren’t any games going on at Fenway, but Jeremy still got a picture in front of the park. Sara Jane took the pair to a restaurant that served “the best damn clam chowder in the contiguous United States.” Which, incidentally, led them to discover Jeremy was allergic to clams. Thankfully they didn’t have to go to the hospital- he just sort of immediately got sick before it passed- but it did suck.

It was damn good chowder, though. 

They went down to the harbor where the Boston Tea Party happened. It was crowded with people, resulting in them not staying long. Jeremy was a bit better with crowds than Raphael, but neither was great with them. Came with the job. Getting overpriced memorabilia from a nearby gift shop, though, went over much more smoothly. 

When not out on the town, Sara Jane dug out more scrapbooks and photo albums, catching Raphael up on what his stepsons had been up to. She showed Jeremy pictures from Ricky’s first school play to Scott opening up his butcher shop. Graduation pictures, wedding pictures, baby pictures- it was all there, and Jeremy devoured it. He wanted to know these people. He wanted to know his family. And he did. He learned about Michael’s stint in the Navy, Melvin meeting his wife, how Bobby’s son could dribble a basketball for twenty minutes straight. He learned about how his parents met. How Raphael loved each of Sara Jane’s children, even if they weren’t biologically his. How Jeremy wasn’t planned- few of the kids were - but they were both so, so happy to realize he was coming. 

He also learned that, while diner food would remain the undisputed king, homemade meatloaf came pretty close. 

. . .

The only problem came when it was time to leave. It wasn’t that Jeremy didn’t want to return to work, or leave his Ma behind. Sara Jane wasn’t even torn up over losing her son and lover again. It just felt like there was so much left to say, to do. There was uncertainty as to when they’d be able to return. “We get time off for Smissmas, I know that’s months away but I’ll be here, I promise,” Jeremy swore, hugging Sara Jane for the eighth time. 

“You better,” she said, squeezing him tightly. “You have 25 years worth of gifts to catch up on, not to mention birthday gifts-”

“Ma, you don’t have to go that far,” he whined. He was touched, sure, but the thought of that much luggage was truly frightening. Oh God, he was going to have to get gifts for everybody, wasn’t he? What do kids even want for Smissmas? 

“Hush, let me spoil my baby,” Sara Jane told him, kissing his cheek. “Oh, Jeremy…” 

Jeremy nodded. “I know, but I’ll call. I’ll write, too. Send pictures if I can.” 

“I’ll make sure he does,” Raphael assured her. Sara Jane stood to kiss his lips, with Jeremy looking away pointedly. “You have my word, ma petite chou-fleur.” 

“Alright, alright- now get going, I don’t want you two missing your flight. That boss of yours sounds like she’ll tear you both a new one if you’re late,” Sara Jane said, shooing them away. “Love you boys!” 

“I love you too, Ma!” Jeremy shouted back, for the very first time. 

The drive back to the airport was quiet. Jeremy stared out the window, watching his hometown- he had a hometown- pass by. “Hey, dad?” he asked, still looking outside. Raphael grunted to acknowledge he was listening. “One of these days, our contracts with Mann Co. are gonna expire. We’re gonna have to find new jobs.” 

“Yes, that’s correct,” Raphael said. He tapped a rhythm against the steering wheel. 

“And-and I was thinking when that time comes… maybe we could come back to Boston. Find some gigs out here,” Jeremy suggested. 

Raphael sighed. “Unfortunately, being a spy means that you don’t have the option of retiring, Jeremy. Not until you’re unable to complete your job. At that point, though, you’ve probably died a dozen times over,” he explained. “Even if I could retire, settling down somewhere so close to people I care about- I would still have enemies.” 

“Right. ‘Course,” Jeremy said. “It’s OK.” 

“That being said,” Raphael continued, “you have the luxury of youth and not being tied down to such a career. If you want to find a job in Boston after we finish with RED, there’s nothing stopping you.” 

“But people will still be after me, since I’m your son. And you wouldn’t be around.”

“Every child leaves their parents someday. And you’re strong, Jeremy. You can protect yourself and your family.” Raphael smiled. “I don’t believe Sara Jane needs much protecting, but I do worry.” 

Jeremy laughed. “I mean, did ya see the muscles on Scott and Michael? Guys can probably bench press a tractor!” 

They both chuckled before settling into quietude. Eventually, though, Jeremy had to break the silence. His voice was barely above a whisper. “I love you.” 

“I love you too, mon lapin.”

“...so your nickname for Ma is fucking ‘little cauliflower?’ What the hell, Dad?” 

[palbabor-writes]

Latibule

Pairing: Sakusa Kiyoomi x Fem!Reader

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

Words: 9790

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

pt. i: an opening 

[ pt. ii: four set ] ||

It’s a quiet coffee shop. 

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

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

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

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

And…vines…or is it a tangy pine? 

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

Odd. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Pity. He’d liked it.

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

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

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

Wait. Favorites? 

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

No. You must be joking. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Come on…come on…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How long has she worked there?”

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

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

“Dunno.”

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

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

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

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

“Yer’ full of it!”

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

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

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

“Oooh, what’s she studyin’?”

“Not sure.”

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

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

It’s stupid; he’s stupid. 

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

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

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

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

The ticket is good for a first row balcony seat.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wait. You asked him something? 

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

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

It’s a perfect segway. 

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

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

Something’s off with him.

Wait, that worked. 

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

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

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

It could be any number of things. 

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

It’s just…

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

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

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

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

“Nothing.”

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

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

Oh. There you are.

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

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

They won. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ah, it’s you. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is that bad?”

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

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

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

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

He didn’t mean to come by the cafe. 

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

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

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

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

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

But days pass, and he hasn’t returned. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What is there to say? 

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

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

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

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

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

In fact, he thinks he likes it.

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

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

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

[readiajin]

To Love Herself - Chapter 1: Appear

Synopsis: Following ACOSF until Nesta’s confrontation with Amren. Rather than going to hike and soul search with Cassian in the wild, Nesta uses her powers to disappear.

Hey! So I am going to write this fic. I have never posted anything I have written before so please let me know what you think or if you have any advice. Also let me know if you want to be tagged.

Prologue: Disappear

Chapter 1: Appear

Do you plan on coming home soon Feyre darling? 

Feyre sent a huff of a laugh back at Rhys. Why? Does somebody miss me? 

Two somebodies actually, Rhys replied. Nyx wants to show you how he has improved his flying with Uncle Azriel today. 

Feyre smiled at the image of her son jumping off couches to fly around the room played in her mind. She currently sat in her studio, working on a painting of Nyx flying with his father. She planned on saving it for his eighth birthday present in a couple months.

Feyre glanced out the window, where the streets were only illuminated by starlight on the moonless night. She hadn’t realized how late it had become.

I’ll be home soon, I just have to clean up. 

Don’t keep me waiting too long, Rhys rumbled back. A shiver went down Feyre’s spine as she cut off the connection with her mate to concentrate on cleaning. 

She walked around the room, turning off most of the lights before going to the back to wash her brushes and pallet. As she stood at the sink, she suddenly felt a cold breeze at the back of her neck. 

Feyre froze. She raised her head to look at the paint-splattered mirror above the sinks. Through the smudged glass, she could see a dark cloaked figure standing behind her. 

Slowly, Feyre turned. “Who are you?” She demanded. “It’s not wise to sneak up on a High Lady.”

The figure stood perfectly still. As they stared at each other the temperature in the room seemed to drop. Finally, the figure tilted their head to the side slightly. “Well? What do you want?” 

An indignant huff came from beneath the cloak before reaching up to pull back the hood. 

Feyre’s mind went blank as she took in her sister, whom she hadn’t seen or heard from in over 8 years. 

“Hello Feyre.” That was all Nesta said. 

Feyre stared at her older sister. Not a day had gone by since that terrible day in Amren’s apartment that Feyre hadn’t thought of Nesta. Not a day she hadn’t wondered, worried. They had searched for her. Had even reached out to the other courts when they became desperate for answers. But there had been no trace of her since Cassian had seen her consumed by silver flames. 

Now standing before her, the first thing Feyre noticed was how healthy she looked. Nesta had slowly begun to look better after living in the House and training with Cassian for a few weeks. She had been gaining a little weight and some color back then. 

But stepping into the light cast from lanterns on the back counter, Nesta seemed to glow with health. Her hair was braided in its classic crown, but her face was full and tanned from being in the sun. Her eyes still held the same stormy intensity they always had, but the haunted look she had had was now replaced with a silver gleam. 

Although most of her body was covered in a dark cloak, Feyre could see she was wearing fighting leathers— not Illyarian leathers. And peaking out over her right shoulder was the pommel of a great sword. The Great Sword, the one she had accidentally Made. The sword that, along with the two other Made weapons, had been stolen from where they had been locked in the river house. The same night several priestesses disappeared from the Library as well.

That had been nearly a year after Nesta. They had all suspected Neata, as later it was found that the last time Emerie had been seen in Windhaven was that day. But they had never been sure. All that was left of the priestesses was a note to Clotho not to worry, that they had left by choice. 

“Nyx is growing up fast."

Nesta was still staring back at Feyre, but as she continued to blink at Nesta, Nesta nodded towards the painting on the easel. Her face was impassive as she said “He looks like he is a handful.” 

Nesta’s words caused Feyre to snap her mouth shut, which had been hanging open. “What? Nesta… where…how...why...” Silence filled the room as Feyre trailed off. Nesta continued to stand with that preternatural Fae stillness, but she seemed to be considering Feyre now. 

“I came here with a warning for you and your court”, Nesta finally said. 

Again, Feyre felt her mouth fall open as she stammered “Excuse me?”

Nesta let out a bored sigh as she moved to the cart next to Feyre’s easel and picked up a paintbrush to examine.

“I am sure you have many questions, but I only came here because there are some things you as the High Lady of the Night Court should know. There is a movement growing on the continent threatening Prynthia. I don’t believe the ruling powers of Montesere and Vallahan are involved, especially with the peace treaties you have established with them, but there may be some within those territories that support it. The majority of this group has been operating in the Wild Lands of the Faerie Realms on the continent. What I do know is that those involved with this movement believe there is a way to steal the power of Prynthia’s courts. They say the ruling High Fae power’s here come from a physical source in this land, and if found, they can take it for themselves.” Nesta twirled the paintbrush in her hand as she turned to face Feyre again. “This group has been trying to subtly infiltrate Prynthia’s courts, and we believe they have gained a source within the the Illyarians.” Nesta said all this deadpanned, returning to staring at Feyre with a blank face as she finished speaking. 

Feyre’s anger came hot and fast. “Are you kidding me Nesta? What are in the Cauldron are you talking about!” 

Nesta simply raised an eyebrow at Feyre’s outburst. “Which part of what I said was unclear? You and your court need to look into dissent among the Illyarians.” 

Feyre let out a disbelieving laugh, “It’s been 8 years, Nesta!” 

“Yes.”

“Eight years since you disappeared without a trace and now you come back and the first thing you tell me is this? With no explanation as to where you have been? What you have been doing? Seriously? That’s all you have to say after you ran away, never contacted your family, but apparently returned to steal weapons?” Feyre gestured to the sword on Nesta’s back. 

Nesta examined the paintbrush in her hand, but said cooly “Since I created the weapons, it wasn’t stealing.” She looked up to Feyre, eyes chips of ice. “The what and where I have been are a long story. I only came to warn you.”

Silence once again filled the dim room.

“Why should I believe you?” Feyre asked, defeated. 

It was Nesta’s turn to ask “What?”

“Why should I believe you,” Feyre repeated, “when you have done nothing to show that I can trust you?” 

Nesta’s infuriating nonchalantness finally slipped a little, and Feyre felt a flash of anger. However, her voice was calm as she responded. “For all our history Feyre, did I ever lie to you, or do anything to make you think I wished harm on you?”

Feyre opened her mouth to respond “no”, but stopped herself. Looking at the Nesta before her, she didn’t know who this person was. 

After a moment she said, “I don’t know.” 

It was quick, but Feyre saw something flash in Nesta’s stormy eyes before her face was once again a mask of cool indifference. 

“Okay then.” Nesta turned to return the paintbrush she still held to its proper place. “As I am sure the rest of your court will also need convincing, I can show you proof if you can meet me on the Obsidian Isles in the East Sea of the Night Court in two days. Noon, on the Northernmost island. 

Feyre was really tired of saying this, but “What?”

Nesta let out an annoyed sigh as she clasped her hands together in front of her and said plainly “Bring your mate and court and meet me in two days to prove to you all I told you was the truth. Is that acceptable to you?” 

Feyre nodded. 

“Good. See you in two days.” With that, Nesta turned on her heels and stalked to the door.

Yet Nesta paused with her hand on the doorknob. For the first time since being in the room, Nesta seemed to waiver. She didn’t move, staring straight at the door. 

“How is he?” She finally asked. It was barely audible, barely more than a whisper as if she was afraid to say it too loud. But it was the one thing Feyre didn’t need to ask what she meant. 

“He searched for you,” There was too much, and not enough to be said.

Nesta turned her head, hand still on the knob, not to look back at Feyre but to stare at the wall to her left. 

“He will come with you to the island.” Feyre couldn’t tell if that was a question or order. 

Either way, Feyre said “Yes.” Even though she didn’t know if he actually would. Feyre didn’t know how he would react to any of this. 

Nesta stood still for a second, before nodding and pushing open the door. She didn’t say another word as she pulled up her hood, stepped out, and vanished into the night. 

Feyre didn’t know how long she stood there, staring out the open door into the dark. It was only when she felt an invisible weight lift off her shoulders, that she realized that the entire time she had been talking to Nesta, she hadn’t been able to feel her bond with Rhys. 

(4/26/2021)

•••••

Thanks for being here :)

Tags:

@bluassassin

[granolabird]

What Matters

Pretty much no Hournite content tonight, and now we have to wait several months for them to come back- this is cruel and unusual punishment I say. Once again, to make up for the lack of hournite in canon, here’s a post S2 finale fic! It’s just Rick and Beth relaxing, and enjoying their lives now that they’re free of Eclipso. A lot of soft fluff with very minimal angst. It’s the happiness they deserve after everything they’ve been through.

Warnings: N/A

Taglist @hournites @bethchapelsbonnet

If you’d like to be added to my (probably) weekly Hournite fic tag list feel free to ask :)

.

Rick is exhausted. After everything, he could really just use a good strawberry milkshake and a several day long nap. That would be ideal. Instead he’s in the Pitstop loft, boredly skimming some outdated car magazine. He’d rather be out and about, or in a proper bed at least, but for the time being he has nowhere else to go. No home. The loft will be his living space for the foreseeable future, and as much as he loathes staying here he knows it’s still leagues better than when he lived with Matt. 

As he glances around the room briefly, Rick’s eyes land on the table in the centre of the loft. Rick’s supplies for fixing the hourglass are piled on one side of the table, his dad’s journal laid precariously on top. He’d given up on trying to fix it hours ago, too exhausted to even bother with the equations at this point. He’d spent so much time working away at the hourglass, he’d really rather be doing anything else. That anything else arrives in the form of Beth Chapel, who is suddenly marching up the stairs of the loft. Rick had been so absorbed in his own thoughts he hadn’t even heard her coming up the stairs, but as soon as he sees her he bolts up from where he’s been laying on the sofa.

“Rick! Sorry, I know I’m early, my parents insisted they drop me off early for… some reason? I don’t really know, maybe they have a date or something.” Beth says with a shrug as she leans against the table, careful to avoid Rick's hourglass supplies.

“It’s alright, better early than late, yeah?” Rick offers and Beth nods.

“Yeah! For sure.”

There’s an awkward pause, and Beth glances back at the haphazard hourglass pile.

“No luck with the hourglass yet?” She gestures to the pile, and Rick nods with a sigh.

“Yeah, it’s a lot of work. Really stressful too, I can’t seem to get it right. I’m kinda tired of it at this point.” Rick grumbles, tossing the old car magazine onto a side table before getting up.

“Well then I guess we should get going then! Give you something to do other than hourglass work, huh?” Beth offers with a small smile.

“Yeah!” Rick agrees before continuing, “Are the others already at the diner?”

“Well, about that… Cindy didn’t want to go, Courtney said she had impromptu training with Sylvester, and Yolanda had something come up with her brother so…” Beth looks at the floor awkwardly.

“It’s just us again?”

“Yeah.”

“As per usual.” Rick laughs and shakes his head.

“We can’t let that dampen the mood though, right? I mean we just beat Eclipso! It’s summer, we’ve still gotta have fun!” Beth says with a forced smile.

Rick can tell she’s trying her best not to act disappointed, but honestly he’s kind of relieved. He prefers spending time alone with Beth, although he’d never admit it. Courtney is always shooting him looks when Beth isn’t looking. He hasn’t told anyone how he feels about Beth, but he knows that Courtney knows. It’s only a matter of time before she says something, and then there will be no going back. So he’s not particularly upset that she isn't attending, but he doesn’t dare say that aloud. 

“Yeah, let's go. We can get milkshakes to go, and then walk around town? The day is so nice, we don’t have to stay cooped up inside. If that’s alright with you, of course.”

“That sounds like a dream, Rick.” Beth grins at him, and Rick ducks his head slightly, trying his best not to show that he’s utterly flustered. He smiles back at her, and then tips his head towards the stairs and they both head down together, just happy to be in one another’s presence.

  Rick drives them to the diner, parking out front, and making sure he pays for the milkshakes despite Beth’s objections. He insists that she definitely did more to save everyone during Eclipso’s attack and therefore he should pay for her milkshake. She objects that he was braver, going into battle without his hourglass but he waves her off and puts enough money for two milkshakes on the counter. The server behind the counter smiles at him knowingly as he puts the bills down, and Rick seriously begins to wonder if everyone in this town is aware of his feelings for Beth. Is he really that obvious? He glances at Beth but if she saw the look the server gave them she gives no indication. They chat idly, until the milkshakes arrive, and then they thank the server profusely and head on out.

“You know, milkshakes are much better when they’re the flavour you actually ordered.” Rick jokes as he guzzles down his strawberry milkshake.

“Hey! Yolanda was trying her best, she was still new at her job, give her some credit!” Beth jokingly elbows Rick in the side and they both laugh.

“Oh c’mon Beth admit it, this milkshake is much better.”

“It tastes considerably nicer, but I still liked the ones Yolanda made better because they were made by a friend.”

“That's The point! Yolanda didn’t know how to make milkshakes either!”

“Oh so if I made you a pizza would you like it more than your favourite pizza place?”

“You don’t even know how to make pizza Rick!”

“She was trying her best!” Beth sighs and shakes her head, chuckling. 

“That may very well be, but her best still wasn’t as good as this strawberry milkshake is.” Rick says before taking an accentuated drink from his cup.

“Fine, you have a point. But that doesn’t mean Yolanda’s milkshakes weren’t good as well.”

“I never said they weren’t!” Rick raises his hands innocently, and almost drops his milkshake. Beth laughs at him as he fumbles to make sure he doesn’t drop it, and he finds himself laughing along with her as they make their way down the street together, back to Rick’s car.

After everything with Eclipso, the day seems almost too perfect. The duo walk around town, browsing stores, playing with someone’s dog in the park, and now they sit in Rick’s car in the waning light with the radio turned on just slightly too loud as Rick drives them along the backroads. Rick can’t help but smile as Beth sings along to Dancing Queen, the song grainily playing from his car radio. He chimes in from time to time, and every time he does Beth grins at him and he feels like his heart is going to explode. This is everything he wanted and more. Rick was really starting to believe his whole summer, or maybe even his whole life, was going to be awful. For a long time he assumed the rest of his days would be spent in jail. And yet now here he is with the girl of his dreams, having the time of his life. He doesn’t think it can get any better than this. As the song ends, he catches Beth staring at him. He tilts his head, giving her a quizzical look as he turns the radio down.

“What’s up?” He asks, and Beth startles slightly, obviously not expecting him to notice her watching him.

“Hm?”

“I don’t know, you were looking at me all concerned? I just wanted to make sure everything was okay.”

“I don’t know. I think I’m still processing it all. It’s a lot.”

“It is! I’m just… I’m worried about you. You lost Grundy, you lost your home, you lost your hourglass. I just want to make sure you’re okay Rick.” Beth gives Rick the look she always does when she’s worried about him, all wide eyed and soft. It makes him blush, and he’s infinitely thankful for the darkening sky helping him hide it.

Beth nods knowingly, and lays a hand on Rick’s arm.

“If you need to talk about it, or anything, I’m here for you, you know that right?” She offers quietly.

“Yeah, I know. Thanks Beth, really. You don’t know how much that means to me.” He takes a deep breath, trying not to cry.

“I think I do, actually.” Beth says it so quietly that Rick can barely hear it. 

Rick isn’t entirely sure he was supposed to hear that, but he can’t just leave a statement like that in the air. 

“What do you mean?” He asks tentatively, and Beth looks out the window suddenly, avoiding eye contact.

“Well, you did the same for me. When my parents were getting divorced you offered to help, and that meant the world to me. You were there for me when nobody else was, and now that I’m doing better I want to be able to do the same for you.” She doesn’t look at him while she says this, and Rick forces himself to keep looking at the road despite how badly he wants to check up on her.

“You what?” Beth is looking at him with wide concerned eyes again.

“I…” Love you. The words die on his tongue. It’s too soon to say such a thing, and Rick knows it. Even if Beth feels the same way, he can’t bring himself to say it. He wants so badly to let her know how much he cares, but every time he gets close he finds himself second guessing himself. He’ll get the confidence to say it one day, eventually. At least he hopes he will.

“I appreciate it Beth, really.” He bluffs, letting out a sigh as he drums his thumbs on the steering wheel.

“You did the same for me, I’m just repaying the favor.” She half-laughs.

“Well, no matter the reasoning it really means a lot to me. You’re always here for me when I need you, and for that I’m grateful.” 

It’s the truth. Beth means the world to Rick, and his awe for her grows more and more every day.

“Well, you’re welcome I guess? Just remember I’m here for you.” Beth says softly and Rick smiles, trying not to show how much that means to him. He’s desperately trying to bury how much he cares for her.

“Was I really that obvious?”

“I know, Beth. I’m here for you too, if you ever want to talk about Chuck leaving. Don’t think I didn’t notice how upset you were that he was going back to his family.”

Beth rests her head in her hand at that, letting out a downtrodden huff.

“Yeah, a little.” Rick tells her, and Beth huffs again.

“I know it was for the best, and he meant no harm by leaving me, but I really hoped he would’ve stayed. It was like someone finally understood me, and then when I finally started to think that I had someone like me on the team, he left. He didn’t even train me! There’s probably so much about the goggles I don’t know yet, but now I’ll never know. I’m ranting, I’m sorry, this is way less of an issue compared to everything that’s happened to you-”

“No Beth, it’s okay. You’re fine. I don’t even know how to begin to talk about everything that’s happened to me, it’s… it’s a lot. So let's focus on you for now. I’d rather not dwell on my stuff anyway, I feel like every time I think about it, it’s going to overwhelm me.” Rick reassures her, tossing a small smile her way.

“Okay. Yeah, then that’s what’s troubling me right now. I just feel like I had so much more to learn, you know?” Beth keeps looking at Rick with concern but she doesn’t pry on the subject of his trauma any further. It’s clear that everything hasn’t fully sunken in for him at this point. 

“Yeah, I get it. But look at all you’ve accomplished so far without Chuck! You impressed him, Beth. You’re strong with or without him I promise. Hell you’re probably stronger than I am right now, I don’t even have my hourglass.” Rick tells her.

Beth laughs at that, shaking her head.

“Nah, I think you could still beat me in a fight, I mean look at those muscles!” She pokes him in the arm for emphasis, and Rick finds himself laughing too. The previous solemn mood is seemingly forgotten as the duo begin to jokingly bicker over who would win in a hypothetical fight.

After a good half an hour more of driving and chatting, Beth glances at the clock, and informs Rick;

“I should probably get heading home. It’s getting close to dinner time, and superheroing aside, my parents will probably want me home to eat with them.”

“Alright, yeah. I’ll start heading back.” Rick turns his car at the next road and begins to navigate his way back to town.

“That reminds me!” Beth exclaims, making Rick nearly jump out of his skin.

“Sorry, sorry didn’t mean to scare you. I just remembered, my parents said if you ever get tired of staying at the Pitstop, or you need somewhere to eat, you can stop by my place! They want to make sure all my JSA friends are cared for, I think. They’re way more invested in all this than I thought they’d be.” Beth glances at Rick, clearly wanting to say something more, but not sure how to get the words out.

“Oh, well, uh, thank you to your parents? I appreciate the offer.” Rick isn’t quite sure what exactly to say in this situation.

“Yeah! Yeah. I was thinking, if you didn’t have any plans or anything, you could come to my place for dinner tonight? If you want to. We’ve always got room for one more, and I’m sure you’d like some real food after all the jail meals.” Beth is rushing her words, and it takes a moment for Rick to register what she’s said.

“You want me to come to your house for dinner? Tonight?”

“If you want to, yeah. My parents would love to meet you. They, um, want to get to know the JSA better. I think we’re having lasagna tonight, just in case that sways your decision.”

“Sure.”

Rick can’t help but think there’s something else Beth isn’t saying but he doesn’t ask, he simply resigns to his fate. The back of his mind tells him that this is Beth’s parents' way of meeting the boy who is going to date their daughter, but he has to swiftly remind himself that there’s no guarantee they’ll ever even date. That’s just his wild imagination talking.

“Sure?”

“Yeah, why not? I like lasagna, and I figure if your parents know more about the JSA it only makes sense that they meet us all.” 

“Right, perfect. I guess we’ll both head to my house then. Just warning you now, my parents will probably ask a lot of questions.”

Rick laughs at that, already thinking of all the questions he’s about to be bombarded with.

“It’s alright. I’ll be there with you, and that’s what matters.” Rick winces as he says it, thinking that was too sappy of a line. 

When he looks to Beth however, he sees her grinning widely, unable to hide her joy. Apparently it was on the right side of just-sappy-enough. He grins right back at her, letting the moment overwhelm him. Eclipso is gone, and he’s here with Beth, going to properly meet her parents. The future may be uncertain, but this very moment is perfect, and right now that’s all Rick cares about. 

As long as he’s got Beth by his side, he knows everything will turn out okay. That’s what matters.

[echo-three-one]

Good Day!

As I told earlier, I finished my Soap x Reader Fic and yeah here it is.

I suck at titles and that shows.

Midnight Coffee Rush

John MacTavish x Female Reader

Warnings : Smut. Read at your own Risk or whatever.

Cross-posting to AO3 later 😳

THUD!

You softly slam your head on the desk as you stare blankly at the blinking cursor on your laptop. An article is due next week and you haven't really started on anything yet. Your editor keeps on calling you earlier today on how she can't work on last minute submissions. You assured her that yours won't need that much editing and she trusts you with that, but still, a deadlines a deadline.

Scanning your empty apartment room for ideas, you decide it's best if you take this ordeal outside and look for open places to work on. Coincidentally, the local café "John's brew" happens to open for 24 hours starting today. You feel uneasy at the name of the shop but that won't stop you from your goals today.

After a chilly midnight walk across the streets of your city, you finally make it to the shop, it looks like it can compete with the local Starbucks as its outer layout gives off the same vibe.

You push open the glass doors and the bell chimes from above you, this made the barista at the counter turn his head and greet you with a friendly smile. "Welcome to John's Brew!"

You stand just across the counter as you look up to view what the store has to offer while the barista waits patiently for your order. You order some fancy named coffee, wanting to try out why it has a star next to it's name as the barista, who now you know goes by the name "Gary" based on his name tag, explains that it's their best selling and unique blend coffee. He then passionately tells you how the coffee you chose is created by the owner of the shop and judging by the tone of his voice, he's excited for you to try it for the first time.

"Thanks Gary, here's my card." you reach out for your card and he cheerfully accepts it.

"What name should this go by, Ms. L/N?" he asks readying his marker.

"Just Y/N." you say. Gary raises his eyebrows in confusion.

"Sorry, I'm sure I heard that name somewhere." he dismisses his thoughts and writes your name on the cup.

"We'll you're a barista, I'm sure you've heard a lot of names in your line of work." you jokingly reply. It made him laugh as he gives your card back and you make your way to the corner of the room.

The music is soothing and the ambience is more than enough to keep you going, you pull out your laptop as you start typing ideas for your article.

Gary took the liberty of delivering you your drink saying "You looked very focused" and "There isn't that much customers anyway" and you smiled at the service he's done. He stays for a while insisting that he wants to witness your initial reaction as soon as you taste the coffee. So you slowly blow off the heat and took your first sip.

Your eyebrows raised and your cheeks blushed as the warm beverage tickles your tastebuds a wave of nostalgia brings shivers down your spine.

***

"So, what do you think of this?" A shirtless man with a signature mohawk and scar on his left eye approaches you just as you get up of bed. You remember smiling at the view, his deep blue eyes pierce through yours as he excitedly offers a cup of coffee he claims to mix himself.

"Mmm! This tastes, well... something even I can't describe! It's good? delicious? heavenly maybe?" You giggle as he inches closer to you crawling up the bed and reaching on your face for a kiss, blindly reaching for the cup and putting in on the bedside table.

"Not even the words from your thesaurus can't describe?" He whispers as he pulls the kiss away, eyebrows wiggling. Your heart melts at the sight of him.

"I'll tell you the perfect word when I find it." You giggle as you reach for his face and pull him to yours, as he softly crashes his body on you, rolling around the bed.

***

"Maam?" Gary taps your shoulder and you immediately flinch and turn to him.

"I'm sorry." you laugh nervously.

"It felt like you had a good time going on with that drink. We're having a contest as to which word best describes it. If you want to submit your word, I'll leave this pen and sticky note on your table." he cheerfully explains as the door chimes, making him rush back to his counter.

Shit. You thought to yourself. Of course it had to taste the same, even the name of the shop checks out. Your heart starts to thump louder and louder as you put the pieces together, you convince yourself it's just the coffee, but then again the evidences never lie. John's Brew, that exact taste, no word yet to describe it.

You flinched as you turn to the heavy door slam to your left, just by the counter. A man, walks out of it wearing a very fit long sleeve tucked into business pants, you assume it's the manager. Then again, you see him scratching his head, which happens to have a rather unique haircut. A mohawk. Holy Shit.

***

'Congratulations Ms. Y/N L/N! You have been accepted on the writer program. Please report tomorrow for your orientation.'

The text read just as you wake up. Your face lit up in excitement as you squealed like a kid. Your life would change for the better.

A very wet John MacTavish popped out of the bathroom, his face was full of worry as he quickly wrapped himself with a towel.

"What's wrong?! Something out to get ya?" He asked, a bar of soap on is arms ready to throw to the intruder.

"I just got accepted!" you squealed excitedly at him, hugged him thight not minding how wet he was. He slowly wrapped his arms around you and you felt that you're the only one excited about this news.

"Congrats. But what about your life here? What about me?" he muttered, his facial expressions dropped.

"I'm sure we'll work it out? It isn't that far, right?"

"I'm sure we'll work it out"

"Not now John, I have articles due."

"I'm too exhausted for today, John"

"I'm sorry. I fell asleep."

***

The loud growl of your stomach shocked you back to reality. Come to think of it, it's already 2 in the morning and you're almost through with your article. A muffin won't be that much of a distraction. You turn to the counter and see John catering to a lady on a bright red dress. She probably came from a club and now trying to sober up with a coffee. You pretend to type on your keyboard but secretly view the event from the corner of your eye. They are laughing and he escorted her as she is walking tipsily to the sofa. They exchange some words you barely make out and can't help but feel rage bubbling inside you. But then again, you don't have the slightest audacity to do so. You slowly ignored him while focusing on your job. You left his messages on read and calls on voicemail. You feel guilt rushing through you. Out of impulsive emotions, you quickly decide to finish the article home as you grab your laptop and coffee and rush to the exit.

"Ma'am! You left your sticky note." John's voice echoes across the shop. This made the few notable customers look at the both of us in curiosity.

You slowly turn back to him leaning on the counter, his elbows resting on the counter looking at you, he knows what he's up to. You remember telling him to stop flexing his biceps in front of you in public. It's kind of an inside joke for the two of you and he seems to remember it all too well.

"Your word. For the contest." he points out to the bulletin board of sticky notes on the other side of the hall.

"I... can't think of anything yet..." you stammer as you exit the door, walking as fast as you can away from him.

"Y/N, wait!" he quickly grabs your arm. You almost expect that he'd do this even after all those times.

"John I-" you quicky turn to him, hot tears start forming on your eyes as he pulls you close to his warm embrace.

"Yeah. You've been very busy... I know." He mutters as you sniffle on his chest, smelling his musk that never changed even after all these months.

"Congratulations on your most recent award, you know. Article of the month, and the month before that and that one time you wrote about the wildlife in Africa..." he trails off while rubbing your back as more tears fell from your eyes. He'd been watching your career grow, even after all this time. It somehow feels you don't deserve him. And you believe you really don't.

Pulling away, you looked at him with a smile.

"I'm sorry..." you croak.

"Why are you sorry, Y/N? You met someone else out there?" he asks. Then again, you both didn't really have a proper conclusion to your relationship. You initially felt like you were slowly drifting away from each other as your careers grew, but here he is, having the same sparkle in his eyes as when you last saw each other.

"No... but, it's been very long and I have been ignoring you... breaking my promi-" He suddenly pulls you close and kisses your lips, you deny him at first but you slowly grip his arms and let him have access to your mouth.

Longing is the only feeling you both feel right now as you slowly kiss back and respond to his mouth. His kiss gives you assurance that even after all this time he yearns for you to come back, his assurance that you did what you had to do to get where you are now even at the cost of completely shutting him out. But of course you weren't, you also long for him every single day, but life has to keep going, and you believed that he'd found someone else after all those times. But this moment made you feel wrong about him, and it's now your chance to get things right between the two of you.

"You know, I always assumed you're still my girlfriend." he smirks. He is true though, there was neither a formal nor informal break up effort on both sides, just indifference due to many reasons.

"Well, I assumed you looked for someone else... and I'm to shy to ask how things have been..." you croak, trying not to cry again. You realize your stupidity once more, but he wipes off your tear with his thumb and lifts your chin up to look at him.

"You still owe me a word, you know." he jokes as he walks you back to the cafe, arm wrapped around your shoulder. As soon as you both enter the door, Gary greets his boss while mopping the floor.

"You were right boss, she is pretty!" The barista smiles and gives John a thumbs up to which he replies,

"Guess I'll be back in my office doing paperwork, Gary. You take charge here okay?"

"Yes, Captain!" he jokingly salutes and continues his work.

"You done with that article?" he asks, a tone of concern in his voice.

"Almost.." you reply shyly. You still can't digest everything that happened so far, but your heart keeps on thumping and your mind's been trying to scream something to you.

"You know, I could use some company while I do some paperwork..." the trails off, the tone in his voice shifted into something you felt excited about. Something along those words mixed with that accent sends flutters across your insides.

"If you'd want me to..." you reply as he opens his office door letting you in. It was a small office a sofa just beside the door, two chairs infront of a large office desk filled with scattered papers, ledgers and journals. He quickly folds his laptop and puts it in his bag as you take off your coat, admiring the view. Plaques, certificates and awards plaster across the walls, along with pictures of his staff calendar schedules and some other things scribbled across the whiteboard. He offers his hand and you give him your coat, only to be pinned to the door.

"God, I missed you so fucking much." He breathes as you stare at his cold blue eyes blazing with desire, you know full well where this is going and you have no objections. You wished for this to happen as soon as your plane touched the city.

Unable to form any words, you quickly pucker your lips, signaling him to move closer and kiss you. Now that you're both alone, his kisses felt much more intimate, needier and his tongue explored every possible area he could. You hear the door lock itself and his hand slowly caresses your ass through the tight jeans you're wearing, pressing himself so you could feel the tension growing beneath his slacks. You slowly slide your hand through it and earned yourself a chuckle from him, as he moves his lips below your ear and around your neck, hearing each smack of his lip and sniff of his nose.

You let out a soft moan as you feel overwhelmed on what he does to your body, you couldn't focus on what's going on, your hands rubbing his hard crotch, his hands softly caressing your ass or his mouth doing wonders around your neck. He continues to do this until your pants and whines become erratic and fast and stops just at the right time for you to catch your breath.

You open your eyes to him, who seems to be enjoying your reunion, a sexy smirk across his face. You let out a smile whist still panting, and he seems to like what he sees, letting a soft chuckle.

"I remember that look on you. You're up to something.." He recalls as you push him to the sofa to his side, straddling on his crotch as you unbutton his long sleeves.

He grunts as soon as he plops on the sofa and groans as soon as you slowly wiggle your ass on top of him. You could clearly see the building frustration in his face as well as in his jeans.

You quickly undone seven buttons as he quickly tosses it somewhere and viewed his muscular physique as you sit on him. He became hairier and you find it very sexy, trailing your hand down his body, all while staring at him as seductive as you can. He smiles at the gesture as you slowly unbutton your shirt, never breaking eye contact, until he can't resist anymore and got up from the sofa. He lifts you down and you stand on the floor as he works your way to slide off your jeans. He quickly buried his face on your pussy as soon as he sees it and devours it like a hungry wolf. He never dissappoints as the feeling made you shudder, grabbing onto what's left of his hair in excitement. This goes on up until you softly pull his head out and move to unbuckle his belt, sliding his slacks all the way down as his cock springs free as soon as you take his boxers off.

You stare at him as you slowly jerk your hand around his cock, his eyes almost in a trance, as you teasingly kiss the tip, which was slowly oozing of precum. He grabs your hair and tucks it behind your ear as you slowly swallow his cock, giving him a blowjob that you've always imagined of giving him when you meet again. You're tongue slowly swirling around his length, feeling every vein and skin around it. You countinued mixing it up with your hand and mouth until he groans in anticipation and pulls you out of him.

He slowly gets up and shoves all his paperwork away from his desk and carries you to it, spreading your legs as he slowly pushes his tip on your opening.

You whimper at the first entrance, it felt different than usual, maybe because it's been quite a while since you to have done it, but that didn't stop the both of you from continuing. His eyes mesmerize you as he slowly picks up his rhythm, you can see his chest muscles bounce as he thrusts himself deep in you. He slowly rubs the upper area of your pussy as he thrusts, giving you a sensation that makes you wanna scream in pleasure. But given the circumstances, you only let out small gasps and whimpers. However, his grunts and moans are also getting louder, so you decide to let loose and follow his volume.

"Fuck." You whimper as he continues his fast pace as evidenced by the loud slapping noises. He quickly flips you to the desk and continues to fuck you from behind. Each thrust felt like the desk is inching closer to the wall, you didn't protest as you loved the sensation, how your walls clench as his warm cock slides in and out of you. You feel his motions change and you know full well what that means, you moan softly signaling him thay you're also almost there as he makes his final thrusts and shoots his warm load inside you, feeling the rush of his cum drip as he pulls his cock out.

He pulls you up and reaches for a kiss, a long yet intimate one as you both use the language of kiss to assure that you'll still be the same way no matter how distant it may be.

"See you after my shift?" he murmurs as he puts on his clothes, now all wrinkly and messy.

"Yes." you smile reaching for another kiss.

After preparing to go home, you quickly grab a pen and wrote the word you describe the drink, plaster it on the board and make your way out of the café.