#not satisfied with vague tracking

[mrtheinsatiable]

I understand why they don't have a tracker on UPS trucks like they do on an Uber, but also my restless ass would love it if they did

[httpsserene]

I have been having SUCH a thought since the Thigh Riding, and I NEED to tell you.

We know reader has been loving Max and Charles’ thighs, but have you seen those silicone thigh toys? They’re basically ridged pads you strap to your thigh and…well you can guess what they do with them.

I just- I feel like it would elevate it, their sweet girl opening up to the world of toys whilst in the comfort of something she loved.

𝐡𝐭𝐭𝐩𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐞 | 𝐓𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐋𝐢𝐦𝐢𝐭𝐬 | 𝐄𝐱𝐭𝐫𝐚 𝐒𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐞: 𝐃𝐨𝐰𝐧𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐜𝐞

summary: all my (terrified and oversensitive) homies hate vibrators!! max and charles introduce you to something better.  content warning: 18+ only. mdni. explicit sexual content. vibrators. thigh riding. sex toys. non-penetrative sex. edging. praise kink. corruption kink. dom/sub undertones. coming untouched. sub!charles. sub!reader. dom!max. pairing: max verstappen x charles leclerc x fem!black!reader word count: 2.4k words.

author’s notes: this is from december 2023, jesus christ. about fucking time right, @vetteltea? this has been haunting me in my sleep ever since this hit my inbox, now it’s y’all’s problem too < 333 psss, next post will either be toasty part two (toto) or a smau xxx

(if you’re unsure about what these specific thigh toys are, don’t worry, i would link an example but idk if that would get me put in tblr jail and i’m on thin ice with my mentions, tags, and even dms not working :| look up “grinding pad sex toy” to get an idea of what i’m referencing in this fic. )

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You’ve deeply repressed the memory of your orgasm-deprived outburst that kick started your sexual exploration with Max and Charles. Vaguely, you can remember saying that you possibly considered the thought of buying a vibrator to get yourself off since riding your pillow wasn’t enough anymore.

[…you’ve become depraved enough to consider buying a vibrator, but all packages delivered to this apartment have to be approved by max or charles to be sent up, and you’re definitely not bold enough to go out and buy one (and risk being seen by one of their fans or have to physically talk to someone to buy one)...]

[…you seem to have missed the fact that you sent their minds reeling and continue venting, “i don’t know what to do, maxy!  i’ve been doing the same thing, and it’s NEVER failed me before. it’s cruel that it stopped working when you guys left me for more than a month! no matter how i did it–if i did the exact same things i’ve always been doing, or tried something new, nothing worked! i was literally just considering buying a fucking vibrator! a vibrator, charles, i’d rather run naked in the street than buy that online and have to put in this delivery address–”

charles gently presses finger against your mouth, shushing you. he pulls you into a deep hug, rubbing a hand up and down the length of your back , the motion pacifying you. he hums, and it vibrates through his chest to yours, “mmm, we’re home now, mon ange. there’s no need to run in the streets naked–” “definitely not,” max jumps in, reacting possessively at the implication of other people seeing you undressed. charles rolls his eyes and continues (like he’s not just as jealous as max), “or buy a vibrator. i know it must be so frustrating…”]

Charles was right. You didn’t have to go streaking or buy a sex toy to get off, your boyfriends took care of you. That night, you were satisfied by riding Max’s thigh. Then a few days later, you learned how to pleasure your men with handjobs. A couple of days after that you were fingerfucked into an altered mental state, then followed up with watching Charles cum untouched as Max ate him out. You had Max’s mouth on you next and weeks later in a Spanish villa, you allowed them to take your virginity.

The five days you three spent in that villa were filled with pleasure, as Max and Charles fulfilled every request of yours without question. In bed, on the sofa, from the kitchen floor to the dining table, from the hot tub to the bathroom shower, horizontally, vertically, parabolically, from dusk to dawn—the two years of relationship you had without sexual intimacy had been put to rest. The understanding, the vulnerability, and the trust rooted within everyone had led to that moment. It was worth it.

So, one would understand your confusion when Max drops the idea of sex toys in conversation with you and Charles on a random morning. With an audible noise of confusion, you tilt your head up at him adorably, and genuinely question, “Why would I use a toy when I have you two?” Your tummy tightened when that sentence caused Charles to look at you with dripping molten eyes and Max’s mumbled grumble about corrupting your innocence goes unheard. Minutes later, you were bent over the kitchen island, the skirt of your sundress shoved up around your waist, and your white panties dangling off of one ankle as they took turns eating you out. Needless to say, you forgot about the subject of conversation the moment they knocked your legs open.

Eventually, they do manage to have a chat about toys without it devolving into sex. 

“Schat,” Max grabbed your attention, the clink of his silverware resting on his plate further interrupted your focus on spinning pasta onto your fork.

“Yes, Maxy?” you responded, meeting his eyes with a smile.

“After this discussion, we will never bring this up again if you are adamantly against the idea,” you brought your fork to your lips, munching away with a look of puzzlement, the Dutchman continued, “But, Charlie and I were talking…and we think, that—with your approval, of course—that there’s a chance you may enjoy experiencing and learning about sex toys, and how good they can make you feel. As long as either one of us is using them on you—and, with your hatred of them—they’re also not vibrators.”

You choked on your pasta, Charles making a noise of surprise as he rushed forward to pat you on the back.

Airways now cleared, you looked at Max with watery eyes, “There was not enough foreshadowing to let me know where the conversation was going. And, fuck vibrators. They are way too strong.”

The Monegasque’s eyes brightened with humor, “Hm. I think vibrators are nice, especially when they’re in Max’s hand.”

“You’re a menace and a freak,” the older man responded, “And she’s chronically sensitive. Don’t tease.”

Charles tugged at one of your curls, chuckling as he saw the brown skin of your cheeks redden.

“I mean,” you paused to play fight with your boyfriend, batting his hand from your hair cutely, “You guys haven’t been wrong with anything you’ve introduced me to. If you think that I might enjoy something…I guess I can try it. And, you’ll stop if I tell you to, right?”

“Always, mon ange.” “Of course, liefje.”

“Okay, then. I just don’t think there’s a toy that I’ll like?”

A smirk spread across Max’s lips when he glanced over at Charles, like they knew something you didn’t. His blue eyes were alight with humor as they looked back at you, “Let us worry about that.”

You did such a good job of letting your boyfriends “worry about sex toys” that you ended up forgetting the conversation happened. Until tonight, when you walked into your bedroom to see Charles on the bed completely naked, save for—what appears to be, a pink silicone pad strapped around his tanned, muscular thigh.

You freeze in the doorway, mouth parted, struggling to process the sight in front of you. The brunette is ruined. His hair is damp with sweat, strands of curls stuck to his forehead, and green eyes moist with dried tear tracks painting the ruddiness of his cheeks. His lips are bitten red, swollen, and moist with his spit—Max’s too. The bruises start on his collarbone, deep red marks brush along his clavicle and pecs, and there are visible imprints of teeth around his right nipple. Traces of Max’s unforgiving grip are painted on his waist, thumbprints obvious to your eyes. His cock looks painful; burning red, twitching randomly, the vein on his underside raised, and precome has been leaking out of his tip for a while if the puddle by the base is any telling. 

Employing his skill for perfect timing, the en-suite door opens, and Max steps into the room with a bottle of lube in his hand. 

“Charlie?” Max coos, walking over to the delirious man, pouting sympathetically when the brunette’s head falls forward to rest on his hip, ruffling his hair and scratching along his scalp. “Aren’t you going to thank our pretty girl for putting an end to your torture?”

“–rci, merci,” the exhausted man mumbles messily. Max hums in content, dropping the lube on the bed and gesturing for you to come closer. Tripping over your feet in haste to follow his order, you ask softly, “How long have you had him like this?”

“Around forty-five minutes,” Max shrugs, dismissively, “He was getting too excited as we waited for you to join us.”

Swallowing shakily, you inquire, “Excited about what?

“Your new sex toy.” 

You gasp and Max’s eyes flutter across your face as he gages your reaction. Max sees you shift on your feet and casts look downward; your thighs are pressed together for friction—you’re aroused.

“Do you want to try it?”

“Yes, Max.”

The Dutchman smiles at you, reaching out to tuck a stray curl behind your ear, and leans forward to press a multitude of chaste kisses on your lips, laughing lowly when you whine with displeasure as he ignores your attempts to deepen them. “You’re being so brave for me. Take your clothes off, pretty girl.”

Bare in the blink of an eye, you look at your older boyfriend for his next direction.

“Our Charlie,” Max starts, helping the fucked-out man sit up straight, “Has been so kind to volunteer his thigh to you. Strapped around it,” he pauses to slap his hand down beneath the toy, smirking at Charles’ delayed yelp, and squeezing the meat of his muscle warmly, “Is a ridged silicone pad designed to simulate the vulva and clit as you grind. The waves and spikes of silicone are malleable and soft,” Max drags his finger across them demonstratively, “and are smooth and bouncy as you slide across it, allowing for a continuous rubbing sensation—I did my research.”

Giggling nervously as your eyes flicker between Charles’ cock and the daunting pink slab of plastic, “I can tell. Um—I just ride it like it’s his thigh?”

Max nods and offers you his hand for stability as you move to straddle the pad. Charles blinks, raising trembling hands to rest on your hips, staring at you with hazy eyes. You sigh, tangling your hand in the nape of his hair and using it to pull him forward into a kiss. His lips are clumsy but eager as they move against yours, whimpers muffled into your mouth and beard scratching along your chin. He tries to tug you downwards to have you firmly sit on the pad but is halted by Max.

“Greedy, both of you,” Max snorts, picking up the forgotten bottle of lube and uncapping it to lightly drizzle some on the toy's surface, “I know you get wetter than the ocean but, better safe than sorry.”

He pats you on the ass in encouragement, and you shake your head with shame as you lower yourself down on the silicone, draping your arms around Charles’ shoulders and pausing to acquaint yourself with the new feeling. The chill of the lube startles you but aside from that, the toy is…comfortable. The raised hump sits perfectly against the curvature of your cunt and already, you’re anticipating the focused stimulation it will provide. 

Max sits behind Charles and the bed sinks under his weight, barely jostling the Monegasque’s thigh. However, it’s enough of a movement that it causes one of the soft spikes to clip your clit, pushing a quiet noise of surprise from your lips.

“Oh,” you murmur airily.

Trying to hide the quirk of his lips, Max leans forward to whisper directly into Charles’ ear, “This seems awfully familiar to the first time she rode my thigh, no?”

You whimper audibly, knowing that he purposefully spoke loud enough for you to hear his words. Refusing to fixate on Charles’ reply, you circle your hips, breath catching as the various textures set your nerves ablaze. You understand that Max added the lube to prevent any unwanted roughness—it’s rendered unnecessary as your arousal starts to leak. Digging your nails into the younger man’s back, you rock your hips back and forth slowly, moaning freely as the waves are a consistent friction against your labia. 

“It’s–fuck—i-it’s good.”

“Stuttering already,” Max tuts, and you feel the heat in your cheeks radiate down to your bouncing chest. Your rhythm roughens; dragging yourself along the toys in desperation, toes curling at every random press of the spikes against your outer lips and clit. Charles gasps in relief, your quickened pace causing his cock to bounce and rub against his abdomen in his puddle of precome. He gets lucky on every few grinds when you undulate forwards and his cock bounces to glide against your navel. His hands grip firmly around your hips and shove them into a jerkier motion, keeping you close to him so his reddened length can be soothed against your skin constantly. 

The change in angle and position has caused the spikes to form a barrage around your clit and the waves drag over your entrance, teasing you with the feeling of being opened up. Dropping your head to hide your face in Charles’ neck, you muffle your pitchy moans and shrieks by tasting the sweat beading on his skin.

“I’m jealous, schatje,” Max speaks, “I almost want to pull her off of your thigh and have her sit on my face.”

Fresh tears spill from Charles’ eyes as he begs, “N-no-no—mmmph—please, ‘m close.”

Your hips start to rabbit against the toy, and the texture between your legs is overwhelming but too pleasurable to consider slowing. 

Max yanks Charles’ head backward with a fist in his hair, “Do you want to cum, Charlie?”

The man in question babbles incoherently, chest trembling from lack of oxygen as he continues to sob; he tries to nod, but can’t, thanks to Max’s firm grip. The burning of his scalp doesn’t subdue him, it encourages him to keep tugging so the pain floods endorphins through his body. 

“You know what to say,” Max states calmly, the words sending shivers down your spine. Your own body starts to tingle as you taste your orgasm on the tip of your tongue; you’re too delighted at the new sensations to let any embarrassment build from reaching the edge quickly.

Charles struggles to get his tongue, lips, and vocal cords to cooperate. You see a frantic look light in his eyes, sure he’s trying to puzzle out what language he’s sane enough to communicate in. He manages to verbalize sounds that could be likened to Max’s name if you brush past his whimpers and cries.

“Plea–,” Charles tries to push the word out pitifully, “—ah, sss'il te pla—” his cock bumps against your navel, and his words cut off, eyes rolling back before he can finish begging.

A humorous laugh leaves Max; this is the easiest way Max has ever made the younger man lose his speech. He softens, and gives into the pillow prince, “You did so good, Charlie. You tried your hardest for me, yeah? You begged so prettily tonight, almost as pretty as you look. Such a good boy, Charles. You can cum.”

Strikingly, the approval works for both you and Charles. Twin cries of pleasure erupt as your orgasms blur your vision and burn through your muscles. The feeling of Charles’s cum splattering against your stomach sends another burst of light through your skin as you continue to grind fitfully on the silicone pad. A lake of wetness puddled on the poor man’s thigh, that squelches as you move. 

Charles is rendered silent as his cock continues to pulse even when the flow of his release ceases. Max brings his hand down to squeeze at his base and Charles releases a choppy scream as it pushes another couple of ribbons out of him. His hips thrust upwards with every string, forcing hisses of over sensitivity to slip from you as it drags the soaked pad against your cunt. You would happily crawl off his thigh, but you haven’t regained feeling in your legs yet. 

Thankfully, Charles deflates back into Max, his cock finally softening and slowly losing some of its flush. Tears start to leak from his eyes again, his chest shuddering through little sobs. You whimper softly at his tears and Max pulls you both to rest comfortably in the bed, as he shushes you two through the comedown. When the tears, shivers, and shakes halt, a pleased tilt of lips rises to Charles's face as his eyes dance between you and Max. 

The Dutchman unclips the toy from Charles’s thigh and smirks at the wet peeling noise that sounds.

“So…I assume this toy has your approval?”

© httpsserene2023

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

I WANT YOU CLOSER, CLOSER EVEN STILL ; SUGURU GETO

synopsis; in the midst of a rainshower, you run into your mysterious classmate.

word count; 6.1k

contents; suguru geto/reader, gn!reader, implied no curses au, fluffy summer vibes, forced proximity (my beloved <3), pining, very shoujo manga coded, vague allusions to sugu having a troubled background, (kind of same w reader), switching povs, gojo slander, stsg implications if you squint (my brand), he’s a sweet sweet boy and i love him :((

a/n; teen sugu reminds me a lot of the kind upperclassman type of otome game li… with secret emotional baggage that makes his route really hard to complete….. anyway i dedicate this fic to hit mobage jujutsu kaisen: phantom parade PLEASE bring sugu home to me please please please ple

geto looks beautiful in the rain. 

it’s an embarrassing first thought to have, as he rounds the corner and comes into view. a black head of hair, making you stop in your tracks, breathe in a gulp of humid air.

you can’t help it, though.

it’s raining. droplets ricochet against the sidewalk in an endless cadence, the sky above you blanketed by gray clouds; enveloping your city in a summery shadow, the scent of hot concrete and blossoming hydrangeas. everything smells of a blistering summer, youth in a bottle cap. tasty on your tongue.

those very same hydrangeas surround him, on all sides, framing his figure like a painting come to life — splotches of colour, flecks of purple and pink and blue, clashing with the gray sky and the black umbrella in his hand. he looks a little disheveled, hair a little frizzy, bangs sticking to his skin. oddly at peace. when his eyes meet yours, you see a flash of recognition — a tiny spark in the amber hue. 

you take that as your cue to move closer. 

he waits for you, always so patient, smiling as you look both ways before crossing the street — shoes hitting the concrete in a steady thud, thud, thud. a splash from the puddle you step in.

you’re in a good mood. veins flooding with sugar and buzzing with joy, raindrops sticking to your skin and the plastic bag in your hand, absently humming along to a song playing through your headphones. your clothes are soaked, but you’re smiling; swinging the bag of treats as you walk. bags of chips, colourful lollipops, bottles of ramune, clinking together for every step you take. enough to last you a couple weeks. in your good mood, you ended up stocking up on your classmates’ favorites — bouncing on the balls of your feet at the thought of giving them away, seeing their satisfied little expressions.

you even got something for gojo. he’ll have to fight for it, obviously, but you look forward to seeing his face light up when he takes a bite of the soft mochi.

(you like giving them things. it’s fun. it makes you feel like a normal high school kid.)

nothing can dampen your spirits right now. the entire world smells of rain, and hydrangeas, and apple blossoms from the backyards behind you. a scent that creeps into your bloodstream, sneaks into your breath. a smile grows on your lips — blooming even brighter when you step into your classmate’s orbit.

”hey!” you chirp, raising a hand up in greeting.

”hey,” geto echoes, voice honeyed and smooth, bringing a hand up to wipe at his forehead. wet from the humid air. ”out on a walk?”

with a smile, you lift the plastic bag, grabbing his attention. clasping it tightly, with your wet fingers. ”just went to get some snacks. you?”

”i wanted to get some fresh air,” he smiles. eyeing you up and down. ”did you forget your umbrella?” 

silently, he takes in your appearance. your breathing is a tiny bit laboured, and the flimsy, oversized hoodie you’re wearing is sticking to your skin. it’s all that protects you from the steady downpour; no umbrella to be seen. you look small, tilting your head up, meeting his gaze. he feels the beginnings of a smile play at his lips. exasperated. all you do is blink, seemingly unbothered, as if you aren’t straight on the road to catching a cold. you can be a little scatterbrained. 

maybe that’s why he can’t help but dote on you.

(that’s what satoru calls it, at least. suguru thinks it’s just called being nice — not like satoru would know anything about that.)

”oh. no, i didn’t forget.” you scratch at the back of your neck. ”just didn’t know it was going to rain.”

the sudden downpour gave you no time to prepare, heavy and abrupt — clouds obscuring the glowing sun in what felt like no more than a second. like someone high above flicked the light switch of the world. all you could do was pull your hood up, try to walk under whatever apple tree you came across. it didn’t help much, though. 

you shift your weight from one foot to the other, soles weighed down with dew. sort of sheepish.

geto chuckles, raspy and soft. the sound makes your heart skip a beat. ”didn’t you see the weather report?”

”well, it… just slipped my mind, i guess.”

silently, you avert your gaze. now you remember — yaga-sensei did mention that, didn’t he? you heard him say it. but you just forgot.

geto is laughing at you, a little, from within his eyes; at least that’s the impression you get. so you continue, eager to defend your honour. 

”it’s fine, though,” you assure him, smiling brightly. a sunny grin. ”i like the rain!”

geto raises an unimpressed brow, but the expression fades away just as swiftly — giving way to something softer. ”you’re heading back to the dorms, right?” he asks, continuing once you give him a slight nod. ”then we can share.”

you blink. one moment passes, then two. but geto only smiles, shifting his umbrella a little, hoping you’ll get the hint. silently beckoning you over. 

it makes you feel oddly flustered.

in truth, you and him aren’t particularly close. he’s nice to you, sure, but geto is nice to everyone. you’d like to call him a friend, but what do you actually know about him? not much. 

suguru geto is a bit of an enigma. a little mysterious. he’s polite, well-mannered, and he seems like the most normal of your classmates — but the bar is in hell, because you know for a fact geto isn’t normal either. no normal guy deliberately chooses to keep his bangs like that. 

there’s a gap, there. a kind of inconsistency. he’s hard to approach, but he puts you at ease. pulls you in and scares you off. with a soft voice and kind smile, keen eyes and a heavy palm on your head. sometimes he brings you snacks when you study in the library, or helps you with homework. kind of like a dependable senpai. someone to lean on.

… but then there’s that gap. 

the real geto, who you’ve only seen glimpses of, only ever in gojo’s vicinity, is boyish and bright — he laughs and pouts and takes up space. he glows brighter than the sun. but the geto you’re seeing, right now, is more like the moon. wearing a polite, patient smile. standing up straight.

waiting for you to join him under his umbrella.

(he’s kind. but is he doing it because wants to, or because he feels obliged to?)

”… oh.” a pause. ”no, it’s fine!” you take a step back, quick to reassure him. ”i can walk there without it! i’m already soaked, anyway.”

geto observes you. for a moment, something in his expression flickers; a crease between his brows.

then he shakes his head. still wearing a comforting smile, the same one he always slips on when he’s around you. ”still. we don’t want you catching a cold,” he persists, sounding something like a nagging mother. ”you’ll miss the exam next week.”

and with that, your shoulders drop. 

right — the exam. the one you haven’t been studying for in the slightest, completely distracted by the feeling of summer in the air. the one you can’t fail, under any circumstances, because yaga-sensei can and will force you to take summer classes ad compensation. that exam. 

a wistful sigh leaves your lips. ”god, i wish.”

geto chuckles — a little deeper than usual. it makes your heart flutter. then he’s beckoning you over, again, with a slight shake of his head. 

”c’mon. there’s enough room for two.”

he gives you that same familiar smile, and you’re forced to admit that you might be slightly weak to it. something about the way his lips tug upwards, the light crinkle of his eyes. a certain glint in them that tells you he’s not budging on the issue. 

you’re still a little hesitant. but…

(this is a chance, isn’t it? a chance to bridge that gap between you.)

silently, shyly, you join him under his umbrella. shielding you from the still falling rain.

pitter patter, pitter patter. you don’t know where the rain ends and your own heartbeat begins. he’s so close — your shoulders nearly brushing together. it makes your nerves bubble up, in rhythm with the droplets bouncing off the cover up above. you feel stiff. the tiny, miniscule gap between you feels like a sweltering stove, radiating a heat that warns you to stay away. as if his touch could burn you. like this, you can even smell him; fresh laundry, an earthy cologne. the slightest hint of caffeine and tobacco. you blame it on shoko — the whole dormitory smells of cigarettes, thanks to her. 

it’s comforting, though. his scent. blending together with the aroma of rain, wet earth, blooming flowers. with his fragrance smoothing over all your senses, the closeness between you a constant reminder of the situation you’re in, you can’t bring yourself to look at him. 

all you do is murmur out a quick thanks, as you begin to walk, in tandem.

geto can’t help but steal a glance at you, out of the corner of his eye. you look a little meek, a little flustered. he hopes the narrow distance between you isn’t making you feel too uncomfortable. 

just to be sure, he angles his body away from yours. ever so slightly, one subtle step away, to make the gap a little wider. then, as discreetly as he can manage, he tilts the umbrella in your direction — not wanting the never-ending drops of rain to graze your skin. he can feel them, now, soaking through the material of his shirt, hitting his shoulder. but he doesn’t mind. to his relief, you don’t seem to notice. he’s pretty sure you’d protest; and as enjoyable as another friendly squabble would be, he’d prefer to avoid it for now.

you’re nice. accommodating, he thinks, in a subtle kind of way. always showing up with trinkets after your little outings, offering to get everyone a drink on your way to the vending machines. you’re friendly with the other two; always nagging at shoko to stop smoking, even when she just rolls her eyes and calls you a goody two shoes. recently, you’ve even started to be patient with satoru, even when he tries to get a rise out of you. it wasn’t like that at the start of the year. geto wonders what changed. 

he’s a little interested in you. just a little. you’re sweeter than the other two, easier to worry over. he saw you trip over your own shoelaces last week. you’re a little clumsy, a bit of a ditz — airheaded. maybe that’s why he can’t help but feel protective of you. satoru brushes everything off with a cheeky grin, and shoko is self-sustaining, but you’re often in need of a helping hand. the last time he tried that with the other two, they wouldn’t stop calling him mother geto until he smacked them over the head with satoru’s shounen jump issue. 

it makes him feel out of place — when he doesn’t have anything to tend to. itchy, a feeling of dread crawling up his throat. peace and quiet feels suffocating, when he isn’t in total control over it.

so, in his own way, small as it may be, geto enjoys taking care of you. grabbing you a carton of strawberry milk, or warding satoru away when he’s annoying you a little too much. he likes the smile you grace him with when he does. it’s pretty. and it’s all geto really knows about you — that, and that there’s a tenderness to you that’s hard to fake. it’s not much to go on.

so this is the perfect opportunity to learn more. 

(a heartfelt connection. something he’s always, always craved. something that maybe he can finally have, with satoru, and shoko, and you — 

if you’re willing, that is.)

”hey,” he starts, breaking the rainfilled silence. keeping his umbrella steady, leading you both away from a big puddle in the middle of the sidewalk. ”can i ask you something?”

you raise your head to look at him. blinking owlishly, at the sudden question, nerves beginning to rise again. he sounds kind of serious. did you do something? paranoia gnaws anxiously at the ridges of your ribs, but all you can do is swallow empty air and stammer out a meek reply.

”… uh, sure!”

geto glances over at you, his eyes meeting yours. that gaze of his is kind of heavy — the deep colour of his eyes coaxing you closer, luring you in. honey and amber, splotches of cedar and flecks of gold.

they’re pretty.

”this might be kind of a weird question,” he begins, reaching a hand up to adjust his bun, sneaking a finger under the black hair tie. voice light; to put you at ease. ”but i’m just curious.” 

he looks ahead, at the street before you, only meeting your stare once you give him a slight tilt of your head. then he parts his lips.

”why did you come here?”

you blink. 

silently, confusion painting the interior of your iris, you stare at him. waiting for a clarification that doesn’t come, before giving him a hesitant answer. ”… to get snacks?”

geto has the audacity to laugh, after such a vague question. the sound is light and breathy, melting together with the pitter patter of the rain, and for some reason it strikes you as sincere. ”not like that,” he grins. ”i mean, why did you come to the school in the first place?”

ah. 

that’s a different question. harder to answer. he must notice your hesitance, the puzzlement in your features, because he’s quick to elaborate. hiding a smile behind his fist, disguised as a cough.

(you’re sort of cute when you’re confused.)

”i mean — it’s an odd choice, isn’t it? far off the map, barely any students....” you nod along, and he continues. ”i don’t know about your background. but moving away from home must be kind of tough, right?” when he glances in your direction, you notice a sparkle of genuine curiosity in his eyes. ”so i was curious about your reason. if you feel comfortable telling me, i mean.”

a hum. it buzzes in your throat, absentminded, as you stare into space. brows furrowed. 

geto gives you time, as much time as you need, always willing to wait. for a minute or so, the only sounds that fill the space around you are the pitter patter of raindrops hitting the plastic cover of umbrella, and the sound of your shoes meeting puddles on the street. silently, you ponder the question. thinking of your answer.

geto has a point. you’ve been curious, too — about how your classmates ended up in such an eccentric little school, so detached from the rest of the world. a quirky private school in the middle of nowhere. you must all be a little eccentric yourselves. that’s probably why you feel so safe with them — you get the sense that you’re all lacking something. something that would ward normal kids away from such an unorthodox choice.

you could say you were just going with the flow. a relative of yours used to work with yaga-sensei, and heard about his position at a newly reinstated private school — heard that he was looking for students to fill the roster. 

so you accepted.

(if it was really that simple, geto would already have his answer.)

what drew you in, more than anything, was the promise of something new. a strange, small school, far away from home; from the people you know, the town you know, the life that you’ve lived. far away from the person you are, the person you was, the person you’ve always been.

an escape. that’s all it was. 

a way out.

he’s still waiting for your answer, even now, trying to read your thoughts off your face. eyes trailing over every contour. very briefly, you consider dodging the question — but his silent, steady presence squeezes a little honesty out of you. 

you want to give him a genuine answer.

”… i guess,” you begin, weighing the words on your tongue. they feel stale, a little awkward, but not dishonest. ”i wanted to stop being me for a bit.” 

the words are unexpected, surprising even to your own ears — like your mouth and your mind weren’t quite cooperating, one ahead of the other, one not weighing in on the honest choice. they catch geto off guard. 

he looks at you, silently, attempts to dissect your expression; but he doesn’t succeed. 

for a second, something flashes in his eyes. a glimmer that you just barely catch, that you can still sense behind his eyelids when they flutter shut. you’re not sure what to call it. recognition, maybe, or something like empathy. a sense of acknowledgement. it’s gone when he opens his eyes. 

he doesn’t look at you when he answers.

”… i get that.”

there’s a depth to his words that you’re afraid to uncover. you feel their weight, all the same, glancing up at him, studying his expression, the humid drops of dew that stick to his lashes. and you feel a tug. faint, non-existent, the string between your pinkies —

a growing connection. 

(it makes you feel oddly bare.)

all you can give him is a chuckle, a little breathless. ”do you?” you ask, grinning weakly. ”it’s a little melodramatic.”

geto only smiles. silent, comfort personified. there’s no judgement in his eyes, none whatsoever — because he knows exactly what you mean.

fleeing from the past. 

it’s a kind of murder, he thinks. a rebirth.

maybe the two of you are similar. similar in the sense that he recognizes the shadow in your eyes, the one he sometimes sees in mirrors; familiar in the sense that you both suffer from that same sickening awareness. 

(maybe you want the same thing he wants, what he’s always wanted — 

control.)

it’s a realization that creeps up on you, the both of you, slow and steady. a sense of kinship. it envelops you, cradles you close, in the same way molten clouds cover the summer sky.

geto isn’t lying, you can tell. he does get it. you know, just from that tilt of his voice, the way his eyelashes flutter, his absent shifting from one foot to another. and it soothes your worries.

everything is silent, for a bit. you look down at the asphalt, at your own reflection in a puddle, and geto gazes at the bushes of hydrangeas to his right. you feel safe, right next to him, under his umbrella. and he feels content to have you there. your shoulders brush together, for a moment, and it sends a jolt through your heartbeat.

geto inhales a breath.

”by the way —” 

”— have you studied for the exam?”

you both still. blurting out the words at the same time, turning to look at each other; sheepishly blinking in the other’s direction.

then he barks out a laugh.

”sorry,” he hums, a sleek smile on his lips. bright and sheepish. ”what was that? the exam?”

”ah — yeah,” you feel heat settle on the back of your neck, crawling up your ears. ”have you, um, studied for it at all?”

geto moves the umbrella from one arm to the other, smoothly directing you to stand on his right instead of his left. guiding you with his hand on your lower back, ghosting the fabric of your clothing. he stretches his free arm, a little stiff.

”yeah,” he exhales. ”not a lot, though.”

”really?” you blink up at him, trying not to blush at how easily he maneuvered you. stupid, stupid heartbeat. ”you strike me as the honour student type…”

geto scoffs. it leaves his lips before he can tug it back. ”satoru said the same thing.”

a breath spills from your lips, almost a chuckle. you’re not sure how to feel about being compared to gojo, of all people, but you’ll let it slide this once. ”well, you just kinda have that vibe.”

now he’s huffing, tethering on the edge of something childish, and your smile grows. you’re seeing him make a lot of new expressions today. 

”why, though?” comes a sigh. he must be playing it up, a little — you almost get fooled into thinking he’s pouting. ”is it the hair? i don’t even wear glasses anymore...”

”well —” you pause. ”hold on, you used to wear glasses?”

all you get is an absent hum. he doesn’t notice your wide, shellshocked eyes. ”when i was younger. i got rid of them a couple years back.”

“oh…” you try to imagine it, for a second. he’d look frighteningly good in them. just barely, you manage to keep yourself from saying it out loud. ”i think it’s more just your general personality. like, you’re responsible and polite… or something.”

and geto chuckles; the intersection between a teasing smile and a soft grin. it’s just a little bit ethereal, painted over with the humid summer air. he turns towards you.

”and that makes me an honour student?” 

”… okay, maybe not.” you bring a hand up to your hair, fixing it absently. deflating a little. ”you just strike me as intelligent, i guess.”

geto smiles, again, as always. the chuckle that escapes him is faint and fond, and awfully soft, dripping down his lips. ”well, thank you.” 

his eyes are warm, burning into yours. all you can do is glance away. you still don’t really understand this sensation — why he’s suddenly so easy to talk to. why he feels like something other than just a classmate, when he looks at you like that. 

then again, geto has always been a natural at putting people at ease. maybe that’s why you can’t help but warm up to him, compliantly, the way a child dutifully follows the first butterfly they ever see — it’s a little too pretty to resist. 

you want to slip deeper into his world, you realize. you don’t want this moment to end so soon.

”you guys really get along, huh?” you change the subject, speaking slowly, savouring every syllable. there isn’t any rush to get the words out all at once, when you’re with him. 

geto blinks, tilting his head. 

”hm?”

“you and gojo, i mean.”

a glimmer passes through his eyes, as your query sinks in. ”ah. yeah.” his gaze strays upwards, and a contemplative look settles into his face. he knows what you’re after, what you’re really asking; why are the two of you so close? why do you put up with his antics? 

what do you see in him? 

he thinks it’s a fair question. it’s not like he hasn’t asked himself the very same thing, before — satoru can be annoying. ignorant, too, and terribly rude. a little prick. when he stole his curry bun yesterday, geto wanted to kill him. spoiled little brat.

(then again, he’s…)

”he’s… well.” geto exhales, a little breathless. tasting the words on his tongue. ”you know how he is — but he’s not a bad guy.” 

and it’s true. he really isn’t. satoru is a lot of things; rude and spoiled, cocky and bratty, an expert at ticking everyone off. but there’s a kind of charm, there. an innocence that geto admires. 

satoru is childish — because he is a child. a child who knows a lot of things that children shouldn’t know. a child who doesn’t know the most basic of things. satoru doesn’t know how to make friends. he doesn’t know how to ask for help, doesn’t know how to give it. he doesn’t know what cotton candy tastes like, because he’s never tried it before. 

his childhood couldn't have been very warm. it definitely wasn’t normal. 

is that why he puts up with him, then? out of pity? of course not. the bare thought of it leaves a bad taste in his mouth. he’d never look down on satoru, like that — and he knows he’d hate him for it. if anything, geto thinks that maybe the two of them are close because he doesn’t give him any special treatment. even if satoru wasn’t treated with warmth or love, he was certainly coddled. spoiled. it’s evident, in the way that he acts.

but satoru isn’t a god, and he shouldn’t act like one. 

one punch, right across the face; knocking the white-haired boy off his feet. that’s where their friendship began. there were stars in satoru’s eyes, geto thinks, when he looked up at him from the ground. sunglasses fallen off from the impact, blue eyes entirely on display, catching the light of the sun — gleaming with a certain bewilderment. almost amazement. like he didn’t know he could be hit, didn’t know it was possible. the sun shone down on him, illuminating the vague bruising on his cheek, and geto wondered if that was the first punch the boy had ever taken.

it certainly wasn’t a first for him, when satoru lunged at him next —

it was a little juvenile. more than a little deranged. geto isn’t one to throw fists, in the first place — he’s out of practice. the punch he fed satoru might’ve been a little too forceful. he couldn’t help but feel bad, every so slightly, for putting a bruise on that irritatingly pretty face of his. 

but it still ended with satoru’s arm around his shoulder, a buzzing voice by his ear, proclaiming them as friends. cheery and bright.

geto couldn’t help but echo the statement.

(satoru is a lot of things. 

most of all, he’s really hard to hate.)

geto’s answer brings a smile to your face. ”yeah,” you hum, soft voice breaking him out of his reverie. ”he isn’t.”

he looks at you. silently, a question of his own brewing in his irises — and with you so close, close enough to touch, smiling at him like he’s an old friend… geto can’t help but indulge in his own curiosity. 

he tries to appear nonchalant, stealing a glance at you out of the corner of his eye. ”seems like the two of you are getting along better, too.” 

”me and gojo?” you blink, surprised. a little flustered. huffing out an amused breath, trying to brush off the bare thought. ”no way.”

geto laughs — it’s a deep sound, a full one. somehow very earnest. you wonder if that’s how his laugh always sounds, whenever gojo’s involved. ”oh, come on. you don’t hate him that much.” a teasing glint blooms in his eyes, as he scrutinizes you. ”or am i wrong?”

you pause. faltering, a little, gaze falling down to the pavement — then to the sky — then to him. and then back to the pavement. 

”… i mean…” you attempt to squeeze the words out from within your chest, but you can’t help but feel hesitant. as if gojo could jump out of the bushes at any moment, ready to tease you if you say anything that paints him in an even moderately decent light. ”i don’t… hate him. but he’s still annoying.” a pout slips onto your lips. “he has it out for me, you know.”

geto laughs, again. you note that you’re fond of the sound. ”isn’t that because he likes you, though? he just doesn’t know how to show it. it’s like pulling pigtails.”

”don’t even joke about that,” you scoff, shooting him a scowl. “and that wouldn’t make it any better, even if it was true.”

a fond smile. ”yeah, you’re right.” he opts to dial down on the teasing, shifting into a more sincere tone. ”you do seem more friendly now, though. before it felt like you really hated his guts.”

a hum buzzes in your throat. brows furrowing, as you mull on what to answer with. unsure how you really feel. it’s not like you’re suddenly super close, or anything — but you have gotten friendlier. just by a smidge, but still. you’ve gotten better at putting up with him and his antics, at finding comfort in how open he can be.

after a tiny pause, you speak up. 

”… i still don’t really understand him.” you gnaw at the skin of your bottom lip, trapping it between your teeth. “but i think i might be starting to.” 

you’re a little embarrassed over the words that fall from your lips, barely above a whisper. 

”… he’s not the worst.”

geto smiles, but you don’t see it — gaze still lingering on the droplets that bounce off the pavement. ”i’m glad,” he hums, earnest. ”that guy needs more friends.”

something about his tone of voice urges you to look at him. that smile of his is bright, gleaming in the rain, in the midst of the flowers all around you. a little teasing, a little boyish, but somehow very sincere. you didn’t think you’d get to see it up close.

and you can’t help but chuckle. the raven-haired boy glances over at you, confusion in his eyes.

noticing it, you breathe out a quiet chuckle. ”sorry, it’s just —” a teasing grin smooths over your lips. ”you guys bicker a lot, and you act like he annoys you… but you really care for him, don’t you?”

this time, geto almost stops in his tracks. his eyes widen, slightly, and you’re not sure why he seems surprised — when he always sounds so fond saying satoru’s name, talking about him like they understand each other fully. maybe he didn’t notice it until now. 

a moment passes, before he collects himself, clearing his throat and averting his gaze. awfully good at keeping his composure. 

(though he fails to fully conceal the flustered look on his face.)

”i wouldn’t go that far,” he mumbles, but it only makes you chuckle again. his lips curl up slightly, at the sound; despite his embarrassment. ”someone’s gotta look out for that idiot.”

”right. of course.”

geto gives you a displeased little look. you bite back a laugh. feeling at ease, by his side — you get the sense that you can trust him, that you could tell him absolutely anything, and he still wouldn't use it against you. it’s a relief.

standing there, under geto’s umbrella, in the shadow of summer, rain obscuring the world — you reach a definitive conclusion.

you want to get to know him. want to see inside his heart, hear more of his thoughts. if you could only step over that gap between you, wriggle your way into his world — 

you think you’d be happy.

so, as you walk side by side, narrowly avoiding puddles and breathing in the humid summer air, you try to coax them out of him. little thoughts, bits and pieces of the suguru geto you yearn to meet.

(unbeknownst to you, he’s doing the same.)

you continue to talk. about miniscule things, meaningless things, a comfortable sensation of trust simmering in the air between you. and before you know it, you’ve stepped onto the school grounds, stopping right in front of the dormitory.

”here we are,” geto hums, folding the umbrella and tucking it between his arm and torso. you turn to look him in the eye, taking an absent step away.

”thanks, geto,” you can’t help but smile. ”for letting me walk with you.”

”don’t mention it.” he brushes you off with ease, quick to drag the door open; waiting for you to step inside before following suit. always so accommodating. 

for a second, he hesitates. a glimmer of uncertainty, in his eyes, that you miss — stretching out your tired limbs with a shallow groan, enjoying the warm and dry air on your skin. 

finally, geto takes the leap.

when he parts his lips, his voice comes out soothing. natural and breathy, floral patterns blooming on his tongue; as silky as jasmine petals. ”you can call me suguru, you know.” he lets the silence linger, for a moment. ”if you want to.”

you turn to look at him, eyes widening, at the sudden offer, and he can’t get a good read on the emotion reflected in them. you seem caught off guard, but he can’t tell if it’s a good or bad thing.

after a moment or two, you fumble for a response. 

”oh. um — okay? i will, then.” you shake your head, as if brushing off the hesitance you feel, mustering the courage to imitate his offer. ”in that case, you can call me by my first name, too.” 

a brief pause. 

”… if you want to.”

geto smiles. it’s laced with relief, hard to notice, impossible to miss. instead of answering with an affirmation, he takes a more teasing approach — unable to resist the temptation.

so he says your name. your first name, dragging the syllables out on his tongue, as if tasting it. trying to get used to the way the letters bend as they come out of his mouth. despite the teasing lilt it carries, the sound is oddly earnest; he pronounces it clearly, like he’s trying to call you to his side. you almost feel compelled to take a step towards him. 

geto looks you in the eye, as he calls you by your given name, for the very first time — and you can’t help but grow flustered.

”… suguru,” you echo, for whatever reason. you think your brain may be slightly fried. but it feels right, to say it. suguru. 

(what a pretty name.)

suguru smiles at you. you think it’s just a little wider than usual, a little more sincere. almost giddy, if you squint. in the open air, the intimate atmosphere simmers.

finally, you clear your throat, glancing in the direction of your dorm room. a silent que for him to follow.

and he does. leaving the umbrella by the hall, before walking you to your door. his steady, soothing presence sticking to your skin. you’re just about to place your fingers on the doorknob, when a pang of realization hits you — stopping you in your tracks.

”oh — right!”

swiftly, you turn on your heel, facing suguru again. he gazes down at you, bemusement in his eyes. watching as you rummage through the plastic bag hanging off your arm. finally, you find what you were looking for; holding it out towards him. 

”here,” you give him a warm smile. ”as thanks.”

suguru accepts it, compliantly, allowing you to slip a pack of gum into his palm. he recognizes the brand, one he favours over others. it helps him, on days he can’t find his appetite. 

did you see him chewing it at some point, he wonders? when, though? 

maybe you’re always paying attention to the people around you. the way they like their coffee, their favoured flavour of gum. it may be a small kindness, an absentminded one, but suguru thinks that makes it all the more meaningful. a kindness that seeps out of you, that draws him in. 

he wants to know more, about you. he really does.

but for now, this is enough. a walk back to your dorm, your shared home, talking and growing closer than before. 

it’s a small step, but in the right direction. 

the pack of gum stirs a mellow, tender feeling in his chest. all he can do is give you a smile, and a thank you that you’re quick to brush off. then you say your goodbyes, and you close the door behind you — flopping down on your bed with a muffled squeal. a giddy kind of excitement swimming in your veins. because finally, finally, you feel like the gap between you has been dented.

you know what his real laugh sounds like. that the tips of his ears turn pink when he’s embarrassed. you know that he used to wear glasses, that you’re a little more similar than either of you could have assumed.

you know that you’re fond of him. fond of a boy with black hair, who smells of summer and rain and chewing gum. fond of a boy you’ve only scratched the surface of.

on the other side of the door, suguru walks back to his room. with a pep in his step, one that satoru notices — because of course he does — appearing from around the corner with a shit-eating grin.

“oh? what were you doing over there, suguru?”

suguru ignores him. popping a piece of the gum you gave him into his mouth, a flavour of apricot melting on his tongue — he sinks his teeth into it, slowly, feeling his lips curl up into a smile.

it tastes of summer and youth. a memory that both of you will savour, for many years to come.

[accioscarheadthings]

↳ 𝗢𝗻 𝗖𝗼𝘂𝗿𝘁 𝗖𝗵𝗲𝗺𝗶𝘀𝘁𝗿𝘆 - 𝗛𝗮𝗶𝗸𝘆𝘂𝘂! 𝘅 𝗳𝗲𝗺! 𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿

karasuno boys x fem! volleyballplayer! reader

summary - you're a member of the girls' volleyball team at Karasuno High getting ready for a friendly match against the guys' team. during the game, you manage to catch the attention of one of the boys who can't keep his eyes off you while you play.

warnings - fluff, vague description of volleyball matches (i apologize in advance)

author's note: a little self-indulgent fic. this is for all my volleyball girlies who dreamed of playing with the haikyuu boys. :) <33 also, i've used the names from the actual Karasuno High girls volleyball club.

featuring characters — TANAKA, NISHINOYA, SUGAWARA, DAICHI

main masterlist !

TANAKA

your position: middle blocker

it was your team's serve and the score was at 14: 7 in favour of the boy's team. with each cheer of the boys' team, your team's spirits were dropped.

hinata hit his serve on the net; the red-haired boy blanched while kageyama sent him a death glare.

your serve was up.

your body buzzed with anticipation as michimiya tossed you the ball, giving you an encouraging nod, "give us a good serve. make it curve,"

you blinked, mouthing helplessly, "i'm not sure i can pull it off,"

but michimiya gave you a strong look that said 'just do it'

you got behind the line, tapping the ball, and tried to shake off the nerves. the sound of the impact echoed through the air, filling the atmosphere with a satisfying thud each time it made contact.

the whistle was blown and you looked up.

your eyes unexpectedly locked with tanaka's, which caused both of you to blink rapidly and snap out of it.

you tossed the ball, delivering a powerful serve. it soared through the air, passing barely above the tape of the net.

tanaka straightened, calling for the ball, "mine!"

but the ball curved at the last minute, which resulted him in shanking the pass.

tanaka initially panicked, fearing that he had ruined the play. however, when he saw kageyama successfully complete the second touch, prompting him to release a sigh of relief.

tanaka took a step back, getting ready to approach for a spike.

kageyama set the ball to him and tanaka jumped into the air.

you tracked his movements, jumping in the air with arms up to block him. your setter, manami, followed your movements.

tanaka hit the ball perfectly, aiming for the line of your side of the court. but you read him easily, and moved your arm a bit to the side, blocking him.

the ball rolled and dropped right in front of the net as daichi dived for it, but in vain.

you pumped your fists in the air in victory while the rest of the team huddled around you in cheers.

tanaka was in absolute shock, as he stared at his palms, "she just-what-i-"

"it's okay, man," noya slapped his back, "we'll get the next one,"

"no, but-" tanaka looked up to the side where the girls team were still cheering.

michimiya smothered you in a hug, squealing in delight while manami, your team's setter, smacked your ass playfully.

tanaka darted his eyes away quickly, trying not to fixate on the way your ass jiggled.

the whistle was blown again and you served with so much power that it landed on the end line of the court. even daichi was stunned.

this went on and you served for straight 7 points till the score was at an even 14-14.

manami set a high-ball, calling your name.

you took a step forward, arms swinging at your sides as you leaped into the air and spiked it hard.

the ball landed in tsukishima's positioned arms, but it ricochetted away.

coach ukai called a timeout and was yelling at the boys to get it together. tanaka found himself ogling at you, tracking your movements, unblinking.

the way you adjusted your shorts and tugged at the edge of your jersey. the way your throat bobbed with each sip of water. the way a bead of sweat rolled down the column of your neck, down the rounds of your - oh.

tanaka squeezed the water bottle in his clutch, gulping nervously.

"you're staring at her, tanaka," asahi pointed out, "that's not very nice. you look like you want to take her down,"

"ah, so i can worship her on my knees," tanaka shot back, a hazy smile spreading his face.

asahi turned red, giving his teammate a bizarre look, "huh?!"

"did you see how she read me and blocked my spike before? and did you see that counterattack? do you realize how incredibly hot that is to me?!"

"not really," asahi admitted.

"very, i agree," noya nodded.

"she's probably out of your league," tsukishima put it bluntly, pissed that he couldn't receive any of your serves.

"exactly!" tanaka exclaimed, clutching his heart dramatically, "what a woman," he sighed dreamily with heart eyes.

"get a hold of yourself!" suguwara slapped the back of his neck.

the match ended with a score of 24-26, and the boys won the match.

your coach was conversing with takeda and ukai, planning on conducting more such practice matches.

tanaka marched over to the other side of the court where you and your team were warming down after the match.

aihara, the vice-captain, nudged your elbow with hers and jutted her chin in tanaka's direction when he came to a stop in front of you.

you sat on the floor with your legs bent and your knees raised high in front of you. your arms were behind you, supporting your body as you leaned back. you blinked at tanaka in confusion, wondering why he would be approaching you.

the way your calf and thigh muscles flexed while you looked up at him added a touch of sensuality to the scene.

well, at least in tanaka's head.

tanaka couldn't comprehend the sight of you looking so effortlessly breathtaking.

"marry me!" he hollered at you.

the entire girls' volleyball team turned towards him, pinning him in his place with their gaze. some of the girls gasped while the others suppressed their giggles.

his fists were clenched at his sides and his face flushed red. he had been loud enough for the entire gym to hear.

you mouthed helplessly like a goldfish in water, eyes wide.

the entire gymnasium heard his loud command, the air thrumming with tension.

"no," you deadpanned at him.

"why!" tanaka fell to the floor in front of you with a cry, falling to his knees melodramatically.

daichi and suguwara mumbled their apologies for his behaviour and dragged a weeping tanaka back with them.

NISHINOYA

your position : outside hitter

as the boy's and girl's volleyball clubs lined up for a practice match, nishinoya couldn't help but steal glances at you— the girls' team's outside hitter.

he had been secretly crushing on you for a while now, admiring both on the court and in the classroom, staring at you shamelessly.

he even told tanaka all about you.

"you mean she's the one, bro?" tanaka glanced at noya over his shoulder, jutting his chin in your direction.

both teams were doing their warm-up drills before the practice match and everyone was practicing their attacks. you were with michimiya, as the setter explained something to you in a hushed voice.

noya saw you, making a funny face at something michimiya had said, and tipped your head to the side adorably.

you tapped the volleyball on the rubber floor couple of times, spinning it on your palm gracefully. your hair tipped back when you rotated your head, eyes closed and brows furrowed in focus.

noya grinned dreamily at you, shoulders sagging and mouth spreading wide, "yeah, her. the one,"

tanaka watched his mate drool over you, smacking his shoulder with a snicker.

noya snapped out of his daze, "every time she spikes, i always end up on the receiving end of it. as if, i was made to take what she gives me,"

"a bit weird, if you ask me," tsukishima commented.

"shut it, tsukishima!" noya snapped at his junior.

"you know, it's like a secret dance between us. she spikes the ball, i take it," he sighed pensively.

the match began, and noya found himself facing you on the other side of the net.

every time you sent over a powerful hit, he matched it with a perfect receive, sending the ball to his teammates.

you were impressed with his receiving skills but also annoyed that he received your attacks as if they were weak.

"manami, set it to me!" you called your team setter.

manami tossed the ball as you requested, setting the ball near the net.

you approached with precision, arms swinging back.

tanaka and kageyama were on the other side of the net, arms raised to block your shot.

the two boys stiffened when they realized you hadn't jumped yet and cursed in their heads.

"a time lag attack!"

even coach ukai was surprised. your coach wore a proud grin, mocking the boys' team coach with a taunting look. takeda watched you in wonder.

as tanaka and kageyama went down, you jumped, hitting the ball with everything you had, sending it soaring to the other side of the court.

unfortunately, none of the boys were prepared for your time-lag attack.

the ball hit hinata square in the face, ricocheting away to the other end of the gymnasium.

the entire girls' team gasped together. the boys watched their teammate fall flat on his back, grunting in pain and held his nose.

everyone crowded around the boy and you kneeled next to him, mumbling apologies, "shit, shit! i'm so so sorry. are you alright?"

"did you have your head up your ass?!" kageyama snapped at his teammate.

daichi and asahi helped him sit up; hinata watched everyone stare at him wearily, "y/n-san, i'm fine. you shouldn't worry too much. it would make noya-san very sad. he wouldn't want you sad,"

"huh?" you blinked unawarely.

michimiya and daichi exchanged a knowing glance; both of them knew their team members very well.

"shoyooo!" noya slung an arm around his neck, chuckling nervously, hoping you didn't listen to what the first year had let slip, "no, you see, the ball hit him too hard and he's— uh, all jumbled in the head. so we must take him to the infirmary!"

the crowd dispersed and hinata was taken to the infirmary, yamaguchi accompanied him.

ennoshita was subbed in for hinata and the match ended in the boys' team's favor.

even as you packed your stuff and got ready to leave you felt guilty about being the reason for hinata's injury.

you got so riled up by noya's receives that you went as far as to hit that hard and hurt someone.

hinata returned from the infirmary, striding back into the gym. his nose was bandaged up and streaks of purple bruises peaked from under it.

"the nurse told me all all the blood is internal. its where the blood is supposed to be, so i'm good to go!" hinata stated proudly.

kageyama palm-faced, dragging his hand down in frustration.

tsukishima and suguwara snickered, while asahi scolded them saying it wasn't so nice of them.

adjusting your bag over your shoulder, you approached the redhead, "hey, um, hinata. is it?"

the boy turned to you, eyes widening, darting to noya at the far end behind you before looking back at you, "yeah,"

"i just wanted to apologize," you stated, wincing sheepishly.

"what—no!" hinata smiled, but then grimaced when his nose ached from the action, "it doesn't even hurt.

you gave him a doubtful look, "are you sure?"

"yeah,"

you weren't convinced, but you had to get home and you bid your goodbye, spinning on your heel.

you double-stepped back, having nearly running into noya who was behind you.

"oop—hi," you chuckled awkwardly, "didn't see you,"

"er, yeah," noya rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, "i wanted to tell you you were amazing on court,"

you froze for a second. no one had really appreciated you or praised you for your game, you were pushing yourself forward convincing you didn't need any. but his words were like a salve to your yearning soul, "thank you. i could say the same thing about you. those receives of yours were pretty impressive,"

noya's cheeks turned even redder at your praise, his heart hammering in his chest, "well, i was a bit distracted there, with you looking so good when you play," he joked, trying to cover up his flustered state with a cheeky grin.

you chuckled, feeling a little coy, "is that why you keep staring at me instead of the ball, noya?"

noya's heart was racing as he tried to come up with a response to your compliment. he opened his mouth to speak, but all that came out was a jumble of stammered words and incoherent sounds.

the usual confidence he felt on the court had disappeared. he couldn't seem to form a coherent thought, let alone respond to your words.

"i—what—uh, you know my name?" he asked, flabbergasted.

"of course, i do," you looked at him with a weird look, head tilting back and a strand of hair fell from your head. noya itched to tuck it behind your ear.

"i'll see you around, noya," you waved your goodbye and walked out of the gymnasium.

as soon as you were out of view, noya snapped out of his day-dreaming and processed what had happened. he flirted with you. and you flirted back. AND YOU KNEW HIS NAME!

noya ran over to where tanaka was doing his stretches on the floor with suguwara, arms flapping above his head in excitement, "dude, DUDE! she knows my name!"

SUGAWARA

your position: middle blocker

sugwara was practicing his setting, tossing the ball up into the air and waiting for it to drop into his hands. while he was at it, his eyes caught a glimpse of you on the other end of the volleyball court where the girls were practicing for their match up against the boys.

you were struggling with a roll of tape, trying to wrap your fingers with it, but your hands seemed to be trembling. you grimaced in frustration, "damn it!"

sugawara set the ball down and quickly walked over to you, his voice gentle and soft, "do you need some help?" he asked, taking the tape from your shaking hands.

you looked up at him, nodding almost immediately, feeling a little embarrassed by your difficulty with the task, "yeah," you muttered, "i just can't seem to get the tape on straight. need to wrap 'em on my fingers,"

sugawara smiled kindly and gestured for you to hold out your hand, "here, let me do it," he said, his tone reassuring.

you held out your hand and sugawara took it gently in his. his other hand brushed over yours, spreading open your trembling fist. red and purple bruises were litterd on the sides of your fingers.

you spared a glance at him, assuming he'd be bombarding you with questions about all your injuries. but to your surprise, he remained silent.

his fingers were cool and firm against your skin, oddly comforting. he carefully began to wrap the tape around your fingers, careful not to wrap it too tight or too lose, his movements precise and practised.

every now and then, his thumb would brush against your knuckles, sending a small shiver up your spine.

as he worked, sugawara couldn't help but notice the way your eyelashes fluttered each time his fingers touched your skin, or especially when it grazed the inside of your wrist.

he tried to keep his focus on your hands, but his eyes kept wandering to your face, watching as you tried to suppress your reactions to his touch. the way your shoulders were taut. the way your throat bobbed when you swallowed nervously. the way your chest rose and fell with each breath. the way your teeth dug into your lower lip, and how badly he wanted to relieve it with his thumb— nope, don't go there.

sugawara blinked at the floor with wide eyes, surprised by his own thoughts and shook his head lightly.

as he continued, he realized that he was becoming increasingly distracted. he tried to focus on the task at hand, but his mind kept wandering, and taking in every detail of you.

the way your jersey and shorts clung to your body like second skin. the way your hair was tied back and draped over your shoulder with a few strands sticked out at the side of your face. the way you rolled your shoulder back, every rippling motion of your body.

he found himself blushing involuntarily, and he silently cursed his lack of control.

sugawara tried to distract himself from his growing distraction by making casual conversation, "you're on the girls' team, right?" he asked, keeping his tone as neutral as possible.

"yeah, no shit," you smiled sarcastically, raising your brows in amusement.

sugawara chuckled awkwardly, "of course, silly me,"

he continued wrapping your fingers, trying to keep his hands steady, "so, how long have you been playing volleyball?" he asked, hoping to get you talking and distract himself from the growing tension between you.

"since middle school,"

"ah," sugawara nodded, his eyes flickering to your face for a brief moment before returning to your fingers, "so you're a seasoned player, huh? no wonder you're giving us a run for our money,"

"you've seen me play?"

"couple of times," he replied, turning your hand over to check if he covered the injuries on your hand, "michimiya says your blocks are impossible to get through. I've seen them a couple of times myself,"

"hope you weren't stalking me," you joked, smiling lightly.

Sugawara chuckled, "i wouldn't mind stalking a pretty girl like you,"

but as soon as you look up at him in surprise, he blushed and quickly looked away.

"i—i mean your playing style. not stalking, observing, yes. that's the word. observing," he tips of his ear were beginning to turn red.

"i see," you held back a smile, itching to poke fun at him.

as sugawara finished wrapping the your middle finger, he held your hand for a moment longer, his fingers gently tracing the lines on your palm. he looked up at you, his eyes meeting yours, "there," he said softly, "all done,"

sugawara found himself completely flustered by your stare, his mind going blank. He could barely form a coherent thought as he looked into your eyes, drowning in them. those eyes, those eyes… they seemed to be reaching into his very soul, and he was powerless to resist.

his eyes flickered over your face. he was trying to keep himself composed, but he could feel his heart racing in his chest, and he was sure you could hear it too.

you both look down at your hands, you noticed that his pale skin was a stark contrast against your own, your taped fingers are intertwined with his. slotting together like puzzle pieces. a perfect fit.

you moved your thumb over his knuckle, transfixed. the tenderness in your touch made him feel vulnerable and weak in the knees. he could feel the heat rise in his cheeks as he attempted to steady himself.

the sensation of your fingers intertwined with his was both soothing and electrifying. He unconsciously squeezed your hand tighter, finding solace in the touch.

suddenly, a volleyball suddenly dropped right front of you two; you both startled apart. the interruption broke the moment, and you both quickly withdrew your hands.

yamaguchi clumsily retrived the ball, muttering a quick apology and head back to pepper with tsukishima.

he swallowed hard, his eyes never leaving yours. "uh, sorry," he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. "I didn't mean to hold your hand for so long. it's just— your fingers felt really nice, and i—" he trailed off, unable to find the words to explain his own actions.

you could see the embarrassed blush on sugawara's face, his ears turning even redder as he fumbled over his words. his eyes kept flickering between your face and your hands, as if he was still struggling with the lingering sensation of your touch.

"It's fine," you managed to say. you couldn't hide the fact that you were flustered, "i didn't mind. also, thanks koshi," you held up your taped fingers.

he felt a surge of surprise and warmth at your use of his first name. it was rare for anyone outside of his close friends and teammates to use it, and hearing you say it made his heart skip a beat. his cheeks turned even redder.

sugawara felt a sense of relief that you weren't upset or uncomfortable with his actions. in fact, the subtle blush on your face seemed to indicate that you were indeed flustered. this observation only fueled his own desire, causing a newfound confidence to wash over him.

he noticed an edge of tape sticking up and smoothed it down on your finger, letting his touch linger.

"careful with those fingers of yours," he teased, "can't have the team lacking a middle blocker, can we?" he lifted your hand and playfully kisses the tip of your middle finger, his thumb grazing your knuckles. when he looked up at you, his eyes were filled with a tenderness that sent a flutter through your heart, "a little kiss for luck never hurt anyone."

"do you talk like this to every girl you meet?" you questioned with a quirk of your eyebrows.

"only to the one girl i'm trying to impress," he didn't miss a beat, winking at you, "and I can tell it's working," he teased, nodding at your flushed cheeks.

narrowing your eyes playfully, you snatched your hand back to your chest and got to your feet, "i'll see on the court, koushi," you let out a breath, giving him a sly grin.

sugawara smiled, his heart fluttering at the sound of his name on your lips, "yeah," he said, his voice a little huskier than usual, "see you on the court, y/n."

as you walked away, sugawara too got to his feet and headed back to where his team was doing their warm ups. he couldn't help but smile giddily as he looked at his own fingers, knowing that he had touched yours and felt your skin against his.

daichi, who had been watching the interaction between you and Sugawara from across the court, approached with a smirk on his face, "I see you got yourself 'wrapped up' in a little situation, didn't you, sugawara?" he teased, his voice dripping with amusement.

asahi was following behind daichi, blushing slightly and tried to hide a smile, "looks like someone has a crush," he teased, giving sugawara a nudge in the ribs with his elbow.

sugawara scowled at his friends, "quiet, you two," he muttered, his eyes flickering over to you.

you were flexing your fingers, making sure you could move them about and grinned to yourself. suguwara felt a stupid smile grow on his face, but it was quickly wiped when daichi and asahi descended upon him with their teasing, nudging him playfully.

sugawara's cheeks reddened as the two kept making playful comments about his obvious crush on you. he tried to act nonchalantly, but his flushed face betrayed his true emotions.

DAICHI

your position: setter

daichi sat across from you, trying to explain the complexities of modern japanese literature.

however, you were having a hard time focusing on the material. your mind was elsewhere, and you were desperately looking for a way to escape this tiresome tutoring session.

michimiya had reached out to you about a practice match today and needed you as the team's setter.

you kept bouncing your leg, blindly nodding along to whatever daichi was saying, trying to grasp onto it. you spared a glance at the message michimiya had sent you, thinking of a way of out this tutoring session.

finally, an idea popped into your head, "daichi," you began, making your voice sound solemn, "i can't stay for today's lesson. i just got a message. my grandmother's funeral is tomorrow, and i have to help with the preparations,"

daichi's expression softened as he heard your explanation, "oh, I see," he said gently, his voice laced with a hint of pity, "i'm sorry to hear about your grandmother. go and take care of your family. we can continue the lesson another time," he closed the book open in front of him.

you nodded, expressing your gratitude for his understanding, "thank you, daichi," you said quietly, "i really appreciate it. i promise i'll reach out to you when I'm ready to continue,"

he gave you a small nod and a faint smile before turning to leave, "take care of yourself," he said, his voice low, "and don't hesitate to reach out if you need anything,"

with that, he left the room, leaving you alone with your thoughts. you couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt for lying to him, but you also felt relieved that you had gotten away from the painful tutoring session.

later that evening, you had met up with the girls team and you were all stretching, preparing for the practice match.

michimiya arrived with the news that you were going to play with the boy's volleyball club team.

the girls were buzzing with nervous excitement as they prepared for the upcoming match. everyone knew the boys' team was strong, especially with their renowned setter, who was a first year. while some were intimidated, others were excited about the challenge.

as you warmed up with your teammates, you couldn't shake off a nagging feeling of worry. you wondered who the boys' setter was and how skilled they would be.

aihira, the vice-captain, patted your back, assuring you when she noticed your frown of doubt, "you can handle those first years, all you have to do is get under their skin, i've seen him play,"

the door of the gymnasium banged open, and the boys' team entered with a ruckus.

"that's the first years," aihra nodded to a short ginger, who was locked in a stare with a raven-haired boy who was taller than him, "their quick attacks are something else,"

"that's the second years," she gestured to boy with a buzz cut and the other who was almost in the same height as that first year ginger.

"you know suga, and asahi. oh, and that's—"

"—daichi," you completed when you spotted him. your heart skipped a beat and you couldn't help but freeze in surprise.

he had stepped in to separate hinata and kageyama arguing, chiding them for their behaviour.

as if sensing your presence, daichi looked up and his eyes locked with yours, widening in surprise.

you could feel your heart racing in your chest as his eyes met yours. a mixture of emotions flooded you — surprise, nervousness, and a hint of fear.

you cursed internally, knowing that your plan to avoid him had just been foiled.

"michimiya, hide me, please," you covered your face with your hands.

the captain blinked at you in confusion.

footsteps grew closer to you and within a few strides, daichi was in front of you, "y/n, didn't think you'd have time to join the volleyball club. thought you had to attend your grandmother's funeral,"

you winced a little and smiled sheepishly, "yeah, she's been dead for about five years now. i bet she's having a good laugh about it up above right now," you glared up at the sky.

daichi gave you an unimpressed look, "michimiya told me that you guys had a new setter. but i didn't know it was you,"

"new secret setter," you shot your teammate a glare.

she simply raised her hands in defense, "i didn’t know you guys knew each other," she said, bewildered, "and I didn’t know you were failing modern japanese literature, y/n," she chided.

"yeah, i'm her tutor, she's struggling with that particular subject. and she gave me the excuse of a funeral to attend to run away from me,"

"see, i'm struggling. not failing," you stated as a matter of fact.

"you better not," michimiya said, resting her hands on her hips, "or takeda will have u out of the team,"

daichi suppressed a smirk at your interjection, clearly amused by the exchange between you and michimiya, "she's right. you better not fail. i wouldn't want to be the reason you're kicked off the team,"

"you mad at me for lying to you?" you questioned, grimacing a bit.

daichi shrugged slightly, a small sigh escaping his lips, "i'm not mad," he said, his voice soft., "just a bit disappointed. i'm not too happy being lied to, but i understand you had your reasons,"

you look over your shoulder when you hear michimiya call you over to the court where the rest of the girls' team was warming up.

daichi watched as you made your way to warm up with the other girls, a slight smirk playing on his lips, "i look forward to seeing you play in the game," he called out, a hint of challenge in his tone, "i'm not going to go easy on you just because we know each other, you know,"

you glanced back at him, a mixture of determination and annoyance in your eyes, "i wouldn't worry about me if i were you," you retorted, a determined look on your face.

daichi chuckled at your threat, amused by your competitive spirit.

The match between the two teams commenced, with michimiya beginning with a serve.

the ball curved high into the air, sailing over the net with a satisfying hum. it descended on the boys side, and daichi quickly moved into position, ready to return the serve.

with precision and control, he executed a perfect pass to kageyama, who set the ball for an attack.

tanaka, positioned at the net, lunged forward and executed a powerful spike with a dramatic yell. the ball hurtling towards your side with impressive force.

anika leapt up to receive the ball, her arms stretched out in a desperate bid. she managed to get it high in the air.

you saw your chance and called for a set. aihara took a step back, swinging her arms, and jumped high to attack.

but you tossed the ball right over the net, to execute a drop.

"a setter dump!" someone shouted from the sidelines.

the unexpected move caught both daichi and noya off guard. they dove for the ball, but it landed right between them.

"damn it!" daichi exclaimed, his face flushed with frustration.

"a setter dump at the beginning of the game?" noya grumbled.

as the ball landed and the cheer erupted, your eyes met daichi's through the net. there was no mistaking the flicker of surprise and admiration in his gaze.

daichi gave you a sarcastic grin, a silent message, "nice move,"

you could see his composure waver momentarily, his initial arrogance giving way to a newfound respect for your skills.

a sly grin tugged at the corners of your mouth, satisfaction coursing through you. you knew you had surprised him, and it felt good.

returning his gaze, your eyes sparkled with confidence, silently gloating at the fact that you had managed to catch him off guard.

the match was a thrilling back-and-forth affair, with the score finely balanced. it was now 21-23, the boys team holding a slight edge.

asahi stepped up to serve, his powerful arm coiling back for a jump serve.

michimiya reacted quickly, diving to retrieve the powerful serve. however, the ball slipped past her, rolling sideways toward the backline.

you chased after the ball, leaping high to set it over your back. it was a risky maneuver, but you managed to elevate the ball just enough for your teammates to react.

hinata and yamaguchi watched set the ball in awe, jaws agape. even sugawara was staring at you in bafflement.

kageyama and tsukishima rose up to block, their arms outstretched, ready to intercept the attack. Aihara with a quick flick of her wrist, tipped the ball over their block, sending it back towards the opposing side.

noya dove to receive the ball, but it slipped past his outstretched hands.

asahi, realizing the opportunity, pulled off an emergency set, directing the ball toward their captain.

daichi, with a powerful leap and swing, spiked the ball back towards your side.

you reacted swiftly, blocking the spike with your outstretched arms.

however, the ball rolled off your hand and fell on the boys side of the court. getting on one knee, kageyama managed to set it in first touch, tossing the ball high.

tsukishima, seizing the opportunity, spiked the ball with all his might.

watabi, the girls' libero, dove to receive the ball, but it landed just outside the sideline.

the boys' team had won the point, bringing the score to 24-21 in their favor. the match was reaching its climax, and the tension on the court was palpable.

"it's okay, we'll get the next one!" michimiya cheered, her voice filled with optimism.

you exchanged nods and smiles, each player recognizing the effort and determination put into the match.

daichi stepped up to serve. as he tapped the ball on the floor a couple of times, he looked up, catching your eyes. you shot him a playful wink, causing him to stutter momentarily.

daichi served the ball and it sailed over the net.

"i got it!" you called for it, stepping back and took the pass that would've been your libero's receive.

sugawara was watching with hinata and yamaguchi, "why would she go so far as to take a ball that would land in the back court?"

michimiya approached the net as if to attack, but instead, she did an overhead pass to you,

tanaka and tsukishima, expecting her to attack, were caught off guard.

the ball soared in your direction and you spiked the ball with a grunt.

the ball landed on the sideline, passing past daichi, surprising everyone.

hinata, ever enthusiastic, couldn't contain his excitement, "she's so cool! way cooler than kageyama!" he exclaimed, his eyes wide with admiration.

kageyama shot him a glare, causing hinata to wince and look away. but even he couldn't deny, you were pretty impressive.

you pumped your fist in the air, celebrating your successful play. your teammates gathered around you, complimenting you on the impressive move.

daichi watched you intently, noticing your manic focus and competitive spirit. this level of intensity was something he had never seen before.

eventually, the match ended in favor of the boys' team, but the memory of your exceptional play would linger in their minds for a long time.

warming down after the match, you were gathering your things when you heard footsteps approaching.

turning, you saw daichi making his way towards you, "you were amazing on the court,"

you slung the duffle bag over your shoulder, a grin spreading across your face, "thanks," you replied, feeling a flush of pride welling up inside you.

"and that little wink you sent me during my serve earlier," he said, giving you a pointed look.

you couldn't suppress the grin that spread across your face as you replied, "ah, so you did see it,"

"of course, i did," daichi said, "you're not exactly subtle, you know,"

"but careful with that attitude sweetheart, or i'll have to teach you how to behave yourself," he reached up and tucked a strand of hair heind your ear, dragging his finger down the curve of your face.

you felt a shiver run down your spine at his words, a mixture of excitement and nervousness swelling in your chest, "is that a threat, daichi?" you asked, unable to keep the cheeky tone from your voice.

he chuckled softly, a mischievous gleam in his eye, "it's a promise. but I have a feeling you might enjoy it,"

with that, daichi walked away after sending you a sly look. you could feel your cheeks flushing with a mixture of embarrassment and excitement.

meanwhile, noya and tanaka were watching the interaction, their eyes wide with disbelief and amusement.

"did you just see that?" noya gasped, turning to tanaka, "our captain was totally flirting with her!"

"and not just flirting," tanaka chimed in, a sneaky grin spreading across his face, "he was laying it on thick, man. i think he's got some serious skills,"

"yeah, he definitely does. but I still can't believe he had the guts to do it right in front of us. our captain's got game, man,"

daichi spun around as he heard the sound of noya and tanaka's voices, his eyes narrowing as he shot them a warning glare, "shut it, both of you!"

[sarahscribbles]

A drabble where you’re trying to focus on a task but Loki can’t keep his hands off you.

fluffy, smutty, whatever inspires you! 🖤

𝐀 𝐖𝐞𝐥𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐃𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: 𝐋𝐨𝐤𝐢 𝐜𝐚𝐧'𝐭 𝐤𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐨𝐟𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐮𝐩𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐋𝐨𝐤𝐢 𝐱 𝐟!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: 𝐒𝐦𝐮𝐭

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 𝟖𝟖𝟑

𝐑𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞: 𝐂𝐋𝐎𝐒𝐄𝐃

𝐋𝐨𝐤𝐢 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

“Loki…I can’t…stop,” you chide, albeit extremely half heartedly. 

A deep roll of laughter is your lovers only answer. His warm breath hitting your neck makes you shiver, which only makes him laugh more because he knows your defences are falling down brick by brick.

As they have been for the past few minutes. 

The drone of Tony’s medical technology conference continues on the laptop sitting in front of you, but you lost track of the discussion fifteen minutes ago when Loki decided to wrap himself around you. You should be focusing on the panel discussion on the newest advances coming out of Iran - you need to be focusing because Tony will quiz you - but the only thing you can focus on is the warm wetness of Loki’s tongue running along the column of your throat. 

“Fuck,” you whimper, balling your hands into fists at the same time your nipples harden. He knows exactly what he’s doing. 

“Mmm, you’re too ravishing, my darling. I can’t,” he teases, peppering your throat with gentle little nips. 

Almost instantly, your hips begin to rock against your chair. It’s your Achilles heel and he knows it. You swallow another groan when his hands slip beneath the hem of your shirt, inching over your stomach to knead your breasts through the lace of your bra. It feels so good, so blindingly good, that Tony quizzing you on the newest breakthrough in genetic engineering suddenly feels so very unimportant. 

“How much longer are you being forced to endure this, dove?” Loki murmurs, sinking his teeth into your earlobe. 

“An hour,” you tell him vaguely, letting your head fall back on the chair as he dips his fingers into your bra to toy with your nipples. “God, you’re such a menace.” 

He laughs quietly, but then unfolds himself from around you. You fight the childish urge to whine, but turn to look at him with betrayal etched across your face. “Hey!” 

Loki gives you that winning smile, the one that still makes your heart leap, and pushes a stray lock of hair back behind your ear. “Relax. I’m not going anywhere,” he assures you, and you breathe out a quiet “oh” when he falls to his knees and moves beneath the table. “Why don’t you let me make this a little more satisfying for you, dove?”

His palms fall on your knees and push your thighs apart, and with a casual flick of his wrist, your leggings and underwear are no longer an issue. 

“Yes! Please, Loki!” you plead. You’re thrumming for him, and the searing burn of arousal is already flowing through your blood. You can never get enough of this man. 

His answering smirk is wicked. “As you wish,” he purrs. 

He licks a long, slow stripe along the length of your aching cunt, savouring the taste of you on his tongue. The groan that tumbles from you is close to animalistic and you barely register how your hands are gripping the sides of your chair like a vice. 

Loki’s tongue is as skilled as it is sinful, and in no time he’s lapping at all the right spots that have waves of pleasure begin to roll blissfully over you. It’s as though someone has taken a match to a string, and when you glance down to see Loki’s head bobbing between your thighs and his fingers curled around your knees, that string only burns more swiftly. 

He’s like a man starved and with each roll of your hips, he only pulls you closer to his mouth, ensuring no part of you is neglected or forgotten. All you know - all you ever know with this man - is bliss. 

Never has someone been so attentive to your pleasure, or wanted to drown you in it as often as they can. He’s everything you ever wished for wrapped up in one beautiful man, and God knows you thank the universe for him every single day. 

Though, today, you’re maybe thanking it a little more for his tongue. 

Each swipe of it sends another wave of pleasure rippling through you, and when he decides to solely lavish your clit, your hand shoots to his hair with a string of colorful curses. 

“That! Keep doing that! Please!” you beg him, knowing that you’re seconds away from soaring off the edge.

Loki hums against you and swirls his tongue firmly over your clit. Once…twice…three times is all it takes for your orgasm to explode through you. It’s blinding and so forceful that the entire Milky Way explodes behind your eyes. You howl Loki’s name, you curse and writhe in your chair as pleasure rips through every inch and fibre of your being. 

Loki’s tongue doesn’t let up for even a second, guiding you skillfully through your climax. 

It’s intoxicating, he’s intoxicating, and when you finally come down from your high all fuzzy brained and glassy eyed, he’s gazing back up at you with a proud little smirk on his face. 

“I never tire of seeing you unravel, my darling,” he says, tracing little circles on the insides of your knees with his thumbs. “Though, I do wonder how many times I can make you do it before the hour is up.” 

You don’t object as he buries his face back between your thighs.

[revasserium]

burn

umemiya hajime; 3,307 words; mostly fluff, tiny bit of angst, young/freshman!umemiya, pre-canon events, lapslock, no "y/n", librarian!reader, childhood friends to lovers, vague ref to ch. 152, ume is a dumbdumb

summary: "it's a pleasure to burn" - ray bradbury, fahrenheit 451

a/n: am i writing umemiya now? who knows. this takes place 2 years before wbk manga events (the first year ume&co are in boufuurin) so pls excuse the slightly ooc ume...

001. the art of war

the library is entirely your idea.

“mah… you’d have to be the one to keep track of all the books though,” umemiya says, grinning as he watches you stock the shelves, your hair twisted up into a messy bun, your arm straining to reach the top-most shelf with a bundle of paperbacks with fraying covers and broken-in spines.

“of course i would! it’s not like there’s anyone else here i’d trust with that.” you turn to fix him with a stare that is already too “librarian-like” and he laughs, leaning back in his chair with a satisfied sigh.

“okay then, consider me your first patron! gimme something to read,” umemiya says, smiling wide as you narrow your eyes. your lips twitch up at the ends — it’s a familiar movement, an unconscious gesture, but one that’s plagued his all sleepless nights and most of his endless days.

“well…” you say, drawing out the word as you slowly saunter towards him, propping your hands on your hips as you pull level with the table in front of him, “what do you want to read?”

“anything you’d wanna lend me,” he says easily.

“boo, that’s such a boring answer,” you shoot back, shifting to press your hip against the edge of the table, crossing your arms as you turn to look back at the half-erected shelves.

you don’t see the way umemiya’s eyes flicker down to the bend of your waist, or the way he licks his lips as he tracks the plush of your thigh as you move to hoist yourself onto the desk, balancing on the edge.

he swallows, clearing his throat, trying not to think about the strange, burgeoning signs of growing up pestering you both at this vital juncture (just last week, his voice had cracked so hard you’d laughed at him for a whole hour straight; and the week before that, he’d almost rammed into a telephone poll watching you jog down the flight of stairs that leads to your tiny apartment).

“then maybe reading a few books will make me not so boring, hm?”

you roll your eyes, hopping off the table to comb through the handful of books. umemiya lets out an internal sigh of relief, feeling the heat in his cheeks recede ever so slightly as you disappear behind one of the taller shelves.

“here. let’s start with this.”

you pop out from behind the shelf, lobbing a thin volume towards him; he catches it out of reflex and stares at the cover.

“the art of war…?”

you grin, all cheek and no shame, “yeah. i mean… fits, doesn’t it? aren’t you starting at boufuurin next week?” you blink before turning back to look around at the small, abandoned storage facility, tucked between a ramen shop and what used to be a dollar store. there’s half a dozen dusty shelves, a few cabinets along the walls, and even a small stepladder that touma had dug out of the back closet for you.

at fifteen, you’re probably the smartest person he knows (and the prettiest, but that’s neither here nor there); at fifteen, umemiya hajime is an iron-wrought confluence of teenage ambition with big ideas and even bigger dreams (who doesn’t have time for things like crushes or girls… really).

“yeah,” umemiya runs a finger along the cover of the little book and flips to a random page, his eyes catching on the line —

the greatest victory is that which requires no battle at all.

002. pedro reyes

three weeks later, he stumbles back with two black eyes and a matching pair of bleeding knuckles.

“that book you lent me?” he says, dropping into a chair with a groan, “kinda bullshit.”

you make a half-startled, half-annoyed noise as you hurry over, setting down an armful of magazines to lean over and look at his face.

“what the hell happened?”

umemiya winces as you reach out to wipe a trickle of blood from his cheek.

“couple of fights — tough ones, but… well, i’m still here, aren’t i?” he says, managing a lopsided grin even as you tut, hurrying away to grab a first aid kit, returning with a warm, wet cloth and a scowl on your face.

“i thought you had a plan,” you say, unable to keep the acid from your voice.

umemiya groans as you press the damp cloth to his bloodied fingers, watching as you wipe each one down, the shocking white of the towel slowly darkening until it’s stained and blotchy with red.

“yeah. i did — punch everyone out till i get to the top.”

you tsk, frown deepening even as he shifts forward to let you wipe at the wounds on his face.

“pretty sure that’s not what sun tzu suggests,” you say, dabbing some kind of cooling gel to a cut right below his eye.

“sun tzu’s never had to deal with the guys at boufuurin.”

you roll your eyes, sighing before pulling back, “there’s an article i read today —” you jerk your head back towards the stack of magazines, “about an artist in mexico.”

“yeah?”

umemiya closes his eyes and lets you do the slow, diligent work of bandaging up his knuckles, one by one.

“he took a bunch of illegal weapons the government had confiscated and melted them down — pistols, knives, shotguns — and made them into musical instruments instead.”

the quiet that follows is thick and steady as churned butter. you don’t look up, your eyes still trained on the careful task of bandaging umemiya’s fingers.

he shifts, pulling closer, his breath fanning out warm against your cheek.

“do you know how hot a fire has to be in order to melt metal?” you ask after another brief silence, finally lifting your eyes as you finish with his hands.

umemiya cocks an eyebrow, “how hot?”

“about 2,700 degrees, fahrenheit.”

umemiya whistles below his breath, “sounds hot.”

“it is. at that temperature, you can apparently force a weapon to forget that it’s a weapon, to remake it into something new — something that wasn’t made to take lives… but to give it instead.”

you wrap your fingers around his, your skin contrasted against the dark blossom of bruises.

umemiya feels his smile slash into something jagged, lopsided and sharp.

“then… i guess that’s how hot i’ll have to burn to turn this whole place around.”

003. grey’s anatomy

looking back, umemiya wonders if that’s the night he changed — the night that you’d held onto his hands as if they were something precious.

he looks up the melting point of metal and the story of the artist in mexico. he thinks about what it must feel like to turn a pistol into a flute, to be the one to teach it to hold a note instead of a bullet —

he stares down at his bandaged hands, feels the dull ache in his muscles and wonders.

once, he remembers when the pair of you were still kids, hollow and lonely and full of a childish rage at the indifferent world — how you’d laughed as he pushed you on a neighborhood swing, but cried when he knocked a guy’s front teeth our for asking where your parents were.

and a week later, he’d found you hidden under the jungle gym with a tomb of a book clutched in your hands. the air had been damp with thunder, the sky grey and electric.

you’d looked up at him with bright eyes, holding out a closed fist —

“ume! did you know that the human heart is the same size as a fist?”

he remembers crawling under the jungle gym to squeeze in beside you, elbow to elbow, hip to hip, peering at the opened book, at the page with a diagram of the human body an all it’s labeled parts.

“oh, cool.”

he’d held up his own fist then, and stared, feeling the beat of his heart reverberating through his chest. he wonders if you can hear it when you’re pressed this close; he wonders, if the sky weren’t breaking apart above you, if he’d be able to hear your heartbeats too.

“isn’t it strange?” you’d asked, leaning over to bump your fist against his.

“what’s strange?” he hadn’t pulled away; neither had you.

your hand relaxes then, fingers loosening till he can see the blood rush back into their tips, tinting them pink. you’d turned your hand and placed it over his still-closed one and squeezed.

“that… a heart and a fist are the same size but… they weren’t made to beat the same.”

004. romeo & juliet

“he loves you, y’know.”

you look up from the makeshift front desk.

tsubaki is sitting with their legs crossed on one of the tables, arms propped on either side of their hips.

“library’s not open for another few days,” you say by way of an answer.

“it’s nice,” tsubaki says, looking around, “you did a good job with it.”

“thanks.”

they hop off the table to peer down one of the aisles of books — all the shelves now labeled with your loopy handwriting, the books clustered by a loose combination of genre, authorship, and spine-coloration.

“it’ll be good for us,” tsubaki’s voice is slightly muted by the layers and layers of books, but the click of their heeled boots rings sharp against the smooth linoleum floors, “having a library — the pen being mightier than the sword, and all.”

they’re smiling when they finally come back around the last row, fingers linked behind their back.

“that’s the hope, anyway,” you say, lips pulling into a wane smile.

you glance up and your eyes catch on the bandage at the edge of tsubaki’s lips, the dark stain at the collar of their otherwise impeccable uniform.

sighing, you run a hand along a yet-unsorted stack of books, shaking your head.

“we’re too young to know anything about love,” you answer, finally.

tsubaki joins you, bending down to pick up the first book at the top of the pile, waving it in the air with a rueful grin.

“i think romeo & juliet would beg to differ.”

you bite your lips, “you know that’s a tragedy, right?”

tsubaki shrugs, “sure, but… wasn’t it beautiful while it lasted anyway?”

you don’t have an answer, and instead, tsubaki giggles, tapping the top of your head with the book.

“can i borrow this? i promise i’ll return it!”

you wave them away with a soft smile.

“that’s kind of how a library works.”

005. fight club

“how long have you been here?”

you jerk up, your entire body screaming with the movement after having been still for so long.

“ume —! you’re awake!” you nearly collapse by the hospital bedside, dropping your head into the pristine white sheets.

above you, umemiya makes a choked off sound somewhere between a cough and a laugh, his hand coming up to pat your head. you melt into the feel of him, the weight and warmth of his fingers as he treads them through your hair.

“where’s —”

“they left — all of them,” you say, lifting your head slowly, “takishii and endo and… all of them.”

umemiya frowns, his hand stilling for a second, “what do you mean?”

you shrug, pulling back till you’re curled up in the bedside seat once more, tugging your knees up into your chest.

“after the fight, they just… picked up and left.”

“so… i lost,” umemiya’s voice is soft.

you shake your head, “no.”

he frowns, “but that’s —”

“you knocked each other out at the same time — it was technically —” your voice snags in your throat as you remember the grizzly scene before you, the crimson sprays of blood, the dirt damp beneath them, their uniforms torn into dark ribbons, the rooftop howling with a savage, winter wind.

“a tie,” umemiya says in a flatlined voice, reaching up and covering his eyes with his arm.

“right.”

you clear your throat, reaching for the tall glass of water on the bedside table.

“here — drink,” you hold the water out to him. he takes it wordlessly and drains nearly the entire glass. you watch, silent, as a drop of liquid trails down his jaw and trickles into the bandages at this throat.

your eyes cut away as he grins, smacking his lips and setting the water glass down.

“ah — that feels much better!”

you’re quiet, sitting vulturine still, refusing to meet his gaze.

umemiya finally slumps back to stare at the ceiling.

“you’re mad at me.”

“i’m not.”

“we’e known each other our whole lives, i know when you’re mad —”

“i’m scared, okay?” there’s a thin, unsteady quiver to the tenor of your voice as your head snaps back up. it’s then that he notices your fingers curled into fists at your sides.

“s-scared? of what? takiishi and endo are gone — you said so your—”

“of you!”

umemiya blinks and feels the blood in his extremities going cold, and for a second, he’s not sure if he accidentally dislodged his iv drip.

the look on your face is inscrutable, anger and uncertainty, but most of all — fear. something about that look makes his stomach curdle inside him.

“i —” he tries to find something to say but nothing else comes out. there’s no excuse, no explanation. he searches you eyes for a tether, for a spark of that familiar warmth and finds none.

slowly, you soften back into the seat and turn to stare out the window.

“it’s not like i’ve never seen you fight… and i’ve never liked it but this…” you bite down on your bottom lip, “it was like… you turned into someone else. someone i didn’t recognize.”

“i’m… i’m sorry.”

you swallow, still not looking at him, your eyes flickering down to your own hands, now lying limply in your lap.

“and then i thought — what if i did this? i — i had to go and make that stupid metaphor about the metal and the melting and —”

at this, umemiya laughs, reaching out to tug you closer. the ease with which he does so startles a hiccup out of you.

“you don’t really think i went and fought like that because of an article about a dude in mexico, do you?”

you purse your lips, cheeks going blotchy with heat. umemiya reaches forward to squeeze your nose, making you jerk back.

“dummy,” he chides, grinning now from ear to ear, but his smile falters slightly as he takes your hands in his, “i’m sorry that i scared you. promise i won’t do it again.”

“hn.” you don’t make to pull away, and umemiya takes that as permission to tug you into his chest, wrapping both arms around you. he buries his face in your hair and breathes in, out, in —

“hm… you really think you have that much power over me?” umemiya asks, a wanton sort of amusement underlying his voice as he finally lets you go, if only to revel in the way your cheeks flood with color.

“shut up! i was — i was freaked out and you were unconscious and i —”

“cause you do.”

your words cut off as abruptly as a dropped call.

umemiya chuckles, scratching at the back of his head, ruffling up his already pillow-mussed hair.

“been meaning to tell you but… i figured you already knew — “ and for once, he sounds his age — young and halting and shy.

after a breath that feels like a century, you finally break into a helpless fit of laughter.

“i can’t believe it…” you say, burying your face in your hands.

“can’t… believe what?” umemiya blinks at you.

“that it took you nearly dying for you to admit that you liked me.”

“hey! in case you haven’t noticed, i’ve been kinda busy this year!”

you roll your eyes, “yeah, yeah — had to go save the world first. then you get to kiss the girl, right? end movie, roll credits.”

umemiya cocks his head, “well, i dunno about the world but definitely — wait, what did you say about kissing me?”

you crinkle your nose, “i didn’t.”

“yeah you did.”

“i did not — i was just making a general statement about cliches in superhero movies —”

“oh, so you think i’m a superhero?”

“ume! stop it — mph!”

later, umemiya would recall fondly to anyone who will listen that yeah, he does get to kiss the girl after all.

006. fahrenheit 451

“451,” you say, standing at the door of the newly minted makochi library.

it’s dark outside, and umemiya stands by your side, stretching his arms over his head with a wide yawn.

“huh?”

“451 degrees,” you say again, turning to press a small silver lighter into his hands. he stares owlishly at it before looking back at you, clearly at a loss.

“that’s how hot it has to be for paper to catch fire.”

umemiya stares.

“i was thinking,” you say, turning back to the dark, but pristine library.

“uh-oh — oof — ow!” umemiya makes a show of clutching his side as you jerk your elbow back for another blow. he dodges out of your way with a dopey grin.

you sigh, turning back to the library, “but i was thinking that… there’s gotta be a better way — an easier way, right?”

this time, he stays quiet to let you speak.

“because yeah, it’d be nice to melt all the weapons in the world and turn them all into nicer things but… there’s a better way to do things.”

“yeah? and what’s that?” umemiya turns the lighter around and around in his palm.

you turn and head for the door, locking it behind you. the moonlight washes your skin in a ghostly silver as you turn to face him.

“we rewrite the story,” you say.

umemiya flicks on the lighter and lets the fire dance between them. his breath catches on the liquid gold in your eyes.

“is… that even possible?” he asks.

you reach out a steady hand, letting the tips of your fingers barely skim over the shifting flame.

“sure it is. all of human history is just a story written by the victors. and… 451 degrees isn’t nearly as hot as 2,700.”

umemiya smiles then, letting the lid of the lighter click shut. the fire snuffs out, leaving only a thin trail of spiraling smoke behind.

“sounds a lot more reasonable, too. much less scary,” he says.

you laugh, turning towards the main street. he watches you go for a second before pocketing the lighter and making to catch up. when he levels himself with you, he reaches out to take your hand.

“fires don’t have to be scary,” you say, giving his hand a quick squeeze, “for most of human history… it’s brought people together — over a hot meal or a good story. a lot of the time… it’s the only reason we get to survive.”

umemiya pulls you in to loop his arm around your shoulder.

“hm. i like the sound of that way, way better.”

bonus:

“so… just makin’ sure — you don’t want me to burn down the new library you spent all this time setting up, right?”

“no you dumbass! it was just a metaphor.”

“oh. right — yeah, a metaphor, duh.”

[dailyadventureprompts]

DM Tip: Creating a Campaign Skeleton

Learning to be a better dungeonmaster was a protracted process. A younger me was often so stressed out by the desire to be a better artist that I'd have legitimately mauled a person if it would've revealed to me the wisdom I sought (with my hands or even an actual maul given the chance).

One of my biggest hurdles was the idea of a universal framework for d&d adventures, a guideline that would tell me if the things I was creating were on the right track. It was sorely needed, I loved the process of being creative but without an understanding of how my creative energy was best used I ended up sinking days, weeks, or even months worth of energy into projects that went nowhere. Worse yet, when I DID get a chance to put my ideas into practice at the table they'd frequently spiral out of control and crash, resulting in even more stress.

Over time I learned from these mistakes, I got better, and then I got good. I moved from conscious incompetence to competence, and I ended up having a run of absolutely stellar campaigns that were everything my younger self could have dreamed of: stable, enjoyable, meaningful, and most importantly an absolute delight to my players. Routinely I'd have people, including folks that'd only played with me a few times, mention that getting together to roll dice and listen to me babel on in silly voices was a highlight of their week.

It was as one of these campaigns began to wind down (three years! a satisfying conclusion on the horizon!) and I started looking for a followup scenario that I decided to study all my really successful campaigns and figure out what connected them. The end result was something I'd been looking for for nearly a decade, a reliable format that I could build campaigns around.

I want to preface this section with the understanding that while this information is laid out in a vaguely chronological fashion there's no guarantee that these ideas will occur to you in any particular order. Inspiration is a funny thing, and each idea flows into the others to make a cohesive whole. Due to foreshadowing and setup reasons you're also going to need a pretty solid idea about all of these when starting a campaign, though exact details will likely change/ can be vague up until the moment they're needed.

The Reason: Who are we and what are we doing?

Gives your players a solid background to build their characters around and give them a reason to travel together, rather than having to ad lib one on the spot. Likewise sets expectations of what the campaign is "about" that you can build on or subvert in time. The reason doesn't need to hold true for the entire game, just long enough to serve as a framing device. EG: The Witcher starts out as a "monster of the week" setup and then uses that framework to pivot into politics and prophecy once we've seen the premise play out.

The Pilot/Crashtest Adventure: What's first?

I’ve already written about these, but the general concept is to give your party a mostly contained first outing that doesn’t have any larger bearing on the plot so they can focus on learning how their characters play/building the party dynamic.  By the time the party's finished this first adventure they'll have already started putting down roots in the world: they'll have in jokes, npcs they've started to care about, an understanding of what's on the horizon, and an idea of where they want to go next.

The Central Gameplay Pillar: How does this all work?

It's important to have an idea what your campaign is going to be about in a mechanical sense in addition to its plot and themes. There is a difference between an adventure that has the party delve a dungeon, and a dungeoncrawling focused campaign. I like to lead with these outright during the campaign pitch so that players can know what they're getting into. Your playgroup will likely have strong opinions about what they like and dislike, even if they don't have the words to describe it, so you might need to explain the ideas for them.

The Hub: Where are we?

I think every good campaign has a hub, some kind of settlement that the party returns to between adventures to offload loot, pick up supplies, and sift through the latest gossip to look for the next questhook. Letting the party return to the same place lets them build up a relationship with it, clarifying the picture in their mind as new details are added and they grow more and more attached. It's possible to have multiple hubs over the course of a campaign, but I'd advise really only having one per arc to best concentrate your efforts. Fill up your hub with distractions and side adventures, shorter stories that the party can get tangled up in while the larger adventure slowly reveals itself. Returning to the same hub also means returning to a familiar and expanding cast of NPCs, which helps your party become more and more invested in the setting

The Main Event: What's going to happen?

Here we get to the meat of the issue, the big story you want to be telling using this campaign. To pull off the sick narrative kickflip you wish to perform, you're going to need to lay a lot of groundwork, seeding in details left and right as well as giving the party a chance to stumble across evidence of your schemes without ever realizing the whole thing. To do this, you're going to work in the building blocks of your big reveal/twist/pending disaster into the setting along with those side adventures from the hub. This will give your party an idea that something is going on, but with more pressing matters to take care of they're going to be distracted up until the moment you decide to pull the trigger.

The Setting: What's over there?

While things like genre and tone are definitely things you should have a handle on from the outset, I personally feel like the details of a setting are best constructed on an ad hoc basis, either in a direct response to something required by part of the narrative (be it side story or main event), or pencilled in at the margins as the party explores the world.. That said, creation of the hub and setting often go hand in hand because it's important to match the settlement to the environment and then shape the environment to the quests inside the settlement. As for what's beyond your hub, I happen to have just written something about building out settings.

Now, this next option is one that I recommend you start thinking about only once your campaign is fully underway, so it doesn't clog up your creative process by focusing on something that you might not even get to

The Change: What the fuck?

A little while after the main event has kicked off and your party is off on the quest that will turn them from mere adventurers into heroes, they start to hear rumours of strange happenings. It's certainly not related to the present scenario, it may even be an unexpected windfall, but it's not something they have time to look into. Time ticks on, the land is saved, and the party is able to enjoy their victory lap as well as some dearly needed time off. Before they can get comfortable however they're slammed by some strange occurrence that they could have never predicted that changes the state of the world. A neighbouring kingdom invades, an important ally is murdered and they're blamed for it, a dragon starts rampaging through the realm. Its important that this event is outside the party's skillset, not necessarily diametrically opposed, but counter to what they were planning

artsource

[holybibly]

Hi Mommy, I hope you're feeling good today 🩷 Can I please request something for Sugar Weekend? 🥺 I've been thinking about Mingi a lot, especially about riding his thigh... He's busy, he's working in his studio but I'm a bit naughty and impatient so he's doing his stuff while I hump him like a desperate little Bunny (that in fact I am).

Love you 🩷

Oh, the cute little bunny is feeling needy and desperate to rub against Mingi's thick, muscular thigh? Baby, follow me; I'll make your wish come true.

This is absolutely not enough for your satisfaction. In your aroused mind, you realize that it's not enough—rocking your hips and grinding against Mingi's thick thigh—to make you come. And Mingi knows it too; even in this vague, needy state, you can easily see the self-satisfied, amused gleam in his eyes as he watches you desperately trying to come without him helping. 

The new track he was working on is long forgotten, and all his attention is now focused on you, and you don't know whether you are grateful or not for that.

"Feeling okay, doll?" Mingi coos sweetly, his big hand squeezing your bottom, his lacquered nails digging into your skin, and it's the only touch you'll get from him. He looks completely content with where he's sitting, leaning back in his chair and spreading his legs wide, allowing you to do whatever you want. It is clear that you are struggling to get the orgasm that you want, but Mingi is doing absolutely nothing to help you with that.

"Yes, that is so good. Really..." You manage to say this as you feel your clit rubbing pleasantly against the soft, gray fabric of his trousers. You bend your head down to hide your burning cheeks just a little bit. It's really nice, and you're feeling good; it's just... awkward. But there's nothing you can do about it; your body reacts in that way every time Mingi is around, and sometimes you remind yourself of a bunny in heat.

You look so fucked up; your clothes and underwear are a mess on the floor at Mingi's feet, but you're wearing his unbuttoned hoodie, which keeps falling off your shoulders. But you think it's sexy as hell to wear his clothes on your naked body, and damn, Mingi thinks so too.

"Is that all? Are you going to cum without any help from me, my little bunny? Will you cum on my thigh?" He teases, and even with your head down you know Mingi has a big grin on his face, and you can hear it in his deep, husky voice. It makes you feel embarrassed, but at the same time it sends a wave of pleasure down your spine and you squeeze your pussy even harder against Mingi's thick thigh.

You move your hips, shifting your weight slightly on Mingi's thigh, a pitiful whimper escaping your soft lips as your clit clings to the fabric of his trousers. They are darker than they were before; a large wet patch has formed on the under your naked cunt. Does Mingi care about that? He doesn't fucking care; you can get your cum all over his clothes, and he'll thank you for it. But you blush even more—hot and bright—as you see your arousal confirmed on the gray fabric of his trouser leg.

"It's not enough. I can't do it, Mingi." You whine, finally lifting your head to meet his gaze. The sheer desire you see in his eyes makes you want to look away, but for some reason you can't do it.

"You're a bit greedy. Aren't you? But I get it, baby; obviously, that's not enough for your little cunt. Tell me what your needs are."

Mingi's hand moves from your ass to the curve of your thigh, gently guiding your movements, his touch soothing the burning heat that is simmering beneath your skin. You lean forward, and your lips brush against Mingi's collarbone, your hot breath tickling his skin. You twist his t-shirt in your fists, a little out of breath. Holy shit.

"I need you to touch me, Mingi." You say.

You're hoping that'll be enough for the satisfaction of his ego, but that doesn't seem to be the case. You squirm as his hand slides up your body and squeezes your left tit, the pad of his thumb rubbing the swollen pink nipple as he does so.

"But aren't I touching you already, doll?"

You fucking hate it; it's so humiliating that he makes you beg and plead every time you want something from him, but you know that Mingi won't lay a finger on you if you don't do it. Sometimes you really have second thoughts about your choice of boyfriend in life.

"I want you to rub my clit. Please do. I need it so badly, Mingi." You whisper it into his skin.

As his thumb brushes against your throbbing clit, your thighs tremble, and you press harder against Mingi's thigh. This simple, light pressure is much better than all the trying you've done to come without him helping you. Damn it, you've become so dependent on him touching you, it's even funny.

"Like this, baby? Do you want it like that?"

You whimper and nod your head yes as Mingi begins to slowly rub your needy clit in steady circles.

"That's my baby doll. You look so beautiful, Y/N." Mingi praises you and leans down to kiss your neck, and in spite of the fact that your whole throat was already covered in purple and black hickeys, Mingi is busy leaving new marks on the skin. He continues to play with your clit, and your hips find a steady rhythm as you slide your oozing cunt up and over his juicy, meaty thigh. Your hands are tightening on his t-shirt at how good all of this is making you feel.

"More, I need more..." You moan, and all his movements stop. You groan in disappointment at the knowledge of the reason for his actions. "Please, Mingi, I need you so badly."

"This is my good girl." You let out a sigh of relief as his fingers began to rub over your clit again, this time at a more rapid pace.

You loudly moan, and if it weren't for the soundproofing of Mingi's studio, you'd be worrying more. Not without embarrassment, you remember your recent conversation with San. He had been terribly embarrassed when he asked you to "be a bit quieter" when you had spent the night in their dorm. Your hips roll faster and faster against Mingi's thigh in pursuit of the pleasure that is on the edge of your arousal.

"Be a good girl and come on top of my thigh, baby. I want to see how beautiful you look, filling me with cum. Come on, baby doll. Do it." He moans deep into your neck and bites your sensitive skin.

You clap your hand over your mouth and stifle a high-pitched scream. White hot pleasure washes over you in a wave as you cum profusely. Mingi guides you through your orgasm. He gently plays with your clit and the delicate folds of your pussy with his long fingers. It is only when you begin to moan pitifully from the overstimulation that he removes his hand. You shudder as you feel the light touch of his fingers as they glide over your plump, sensitive cunt. Trying to catch your breath from the orgasm you have just experienced, you press your face into the crook of his neck.

"Don't relax, baby; now you're going to make me cum."

[duskrosecreatesstuff]

When Nature Calls

Astarion has learned that cold nights in the Elfsong are better with a warm Tiefling to curl up with. But when that warmth turns to heat, he's going to need Halsin's help to satisfy her desires.

Read on AO3

NSFW. Astarion/Halsin/Female Tiefling Reader. 3.8k words

CW: Heat cycles, Oral sex, Biting / Mating bites, Tiefling tail play, PiV Sex.

Astarion shifted against the warmth of his tieflings back.  He was no longer in his trance, but did not want to leave the warmth of their shared bed.  Some nights, the cold of his body didn't bother him.  Some nights, he wanted nothing more than to indulge in the heat being freely given.  And tonight, her body felt exceptionally warm, despite her only wearing a thin shirt and her underwear, and having wriggled out from the blankets.

He drifted a hand over her ribs and across her stomach, pulling her in close as he nuzzled his cold cheek against her shoulder, and her body responded, a slightly deeper breath, a shift of her hips against him.  Her tail drifted lazily over his thigh, wrapping over him with light pressure.  Astarion smiled against her skin.  He’d be content to stay like this until the new day woke her.

Moments passed, perhaps minutes, perhaps an hour? He wasn’t sure.  What he was sure of, was that her body was moving against him, a gentle movement of her hips against his.  He froze.  She had to be dreaming, surely?  This wasn’t in their current agreement.  He braced himself and tried to pull his hips away.  Her tail clenched and stiffened where it had wrapped around him.  Her body clearly had other ideas.  As he tried again to press himself away from her, he noticed her temperature had risen.  Where before she had been pleasantly warm to his touch, now she felt hot, almost feverish.  He frowned and put his hands on her hips, pushing hard.

Instead of moving away, her body writhed and rolled, changing position to face him, all without ever letting him go.  Her tail had a powerful grip on him, and he felt trapped.  As his panic started to rise, he hissed her name.  When that failed to wake her, he leaned over to bite at her ear.

*******

Your eyes opened to a sharp pain in your ear. As you roused yourself from your slumber, you noticed you had moved in your sleep, and were holding your vampire lover in a death grip, your thigh thrown over his, your tail wrapped tightly around his waist.  As you met his deep crimson gaze, a wave of lust washed over you, and you realised with dismay, that you had awoken to your heat cycle starting.  And starting hard.  

In a flash, you pulled away, scrambling backwards across the bed, tugging your shirt down over yourself, and dragging your tail off his body.

“Shit!” you gasped out. “Gods, Astarion, I’m sorry … I didn’t .. I’m sorry … shit!”

“What’s wrong?” he asked, puzzled.  He’d been on the brink of panic at how tightly you had been holding him, but now you were awake, he was more confused by your actions.

“I- “ you waved a hand vaguely, “this … I didn’t think …”

“Shhh, it’s alright.  Take your time.” He reached out to touch you reassuringly, but you flinched away.

“Don’t touch me!” You took a deep breath, then another, your shoulders shaking as you tried to hold back tears, your hands gripping your knees tightly to your chest.

“What is going on with you? Are you sick? You’re certainly feverish.  Should I get Halsin?”  he was babbling, partly with concern, partly to cover his fear at what could be happening to you.

“No! Nothing like that!  Hells …” you clenched your teeth.  “Actually … yes.  Please bring Halsin”

“Of course, you must need healing,” he muttered, sliding off the bed and walking quickly across the room.

You watched him go, waiting until the door closed to let the tears loose.  How could you have lost track of the timing so badly?  You had been sure you had more time before you were going to have make arrangements for this, that you had time to discuss this with Astarion, to warn him.  As you counted back the days, the only conclusion you could come to, was that you had to have been trapped on the nautiloid longer than you had originally thought.

You dropped your forehead to your knees, rocking gently, your tail switching against the blankets, clenching your thighs together as you waited for Astarion to return with Halsin.  It gave you the tiniest amount of relief, a bucket of water on the raging inferno of desire that was crawling over every inch of your skin.

You didn’t look up as you heard the soft click of the door opening, so you didn’t see the looks on the two men as your scent hit them.  But you did hear Halsin take a deep breath, followed by the soft rumble of his voice.

“Oak Father preserve us.”

“What is it?  Do you know what’s wrong with her?” There was a panicked urgency in the vampire’s usually smooth voice.  “Can you help her?”

“I do know.  She’s in her heat cycle, So technically, there’s nothing wrong with her, exactly.  Just … ” Halsin’s voice trailed off as he looked at you thoughtfully.

“Just what?” Astarion’s brows knitted as he tried and failed to recall anything about tieflings having heat cycles.  To be expected, he’d never spent much time with a living one before.

“Just that she’s going to be insatiable for the next few days.  As for helping her?  There’s no potion or healing spell for this.” Halsin huffed a gentle laugh.  “But I’d be delighted to help, if you’re both willing.”

You looked up at Astarion, your expression miserable, but your eyes dark with lust.  “I’m sorry.  I should have warned you.  The timing is terrible, given that you … we … aren’t … y’know…”  

“I know, love.  It’s alright.”  Astarion thought for a moment.  Now he knew what was going on, his worry subsided, and he felt calmer.  This was to do with sex, and in that, at least, he was in familiar territory.  He was back in control, his voice once again smooth and sensual.

“Do you want Halsin to help?”  He watched your response closely, your tail curling, a rush of your scent filling his nostrils, the little spike in your heartbeat that gave you away.

“Oh, you do, don’t you?  You’d like him to help scratch this itch of yours, wouldn’t you?”  Astarion purred, a wicked grin spreading across his face.   “And I could watch …”

“You’d want that?” you whimpered.

“To see my ferociously horny lover come undone on our druid friend?  My sweet, you have no idea how much I’d enjoy watching that.” 

“Really?” you panted softly, looking up at him.  You’d become adept at recognising when he was masking, and you saw no hint of that on his face.  Only certainty.  And desire.  He nodded.

“Really.” he said, softly.

“Close the door.” you gasped out.  Halsin moved across the room to secure the door, while Astarion climbed up onto the bed, manoeuvring himself to sit behind you.  He reached for your shirt, helping you to discard it, then pulled you back to lay against his bare chest, making sure he had a clear view down the length of your body, and once again savouring the warmth of your skin.  He was cautious of having his hips too close to your writhing tail.  He looked up as Halsin approached the bed.

“She’s all yours.”

Halsin smiled down at you, a somewhat predatory look in his eyes.  He could feel the scent of you waking all his most primal senses, could feel his bear stirring deep within him.  He took a deep breath to steady himself.

He reached for your soaked underwear, dragging the ruined fabric off your body and tossing it to the side.  As he knelt between your legs, he was aware of the tightness building in his own trousers.  Your lips parted as you watched him with lustful eyes, nodding to him when he met your gaze, spreading your thighs for him.

He took a brief moment to admire the mess your heat had already made of you, your dripping core shining in the dimly lit room. With a soft growl, he dipped down between your thighs, his tongue sliding easily between your swollen folds, lapping at you as if starved.  You sighed at the relief his touch was giving you, tilting your hips up to him, offering yourself to him, your tail drifting to stroke over his shoulders.  He took that as encouragement, plunging his tongue into you, as you moaned in pleasure.

“Oh, you’re enjoying that, aren’t you?” Astarion purred in your ear.  “Does our lovely druid have a skilled tongue?  Is he making you feel so, so good?” He stroked his hands down your arms, wrapping his arms around you, gently but firmly pinning your arms to your sides, as his hands moved to cup your breasts, pinching lightly at your already sensitised nipples, enjoying the soft sounds you were gasping out. He peered down over your shoulder, admiring the way your nipples stiffened between his fingers, watching as Halsin bobbed between your thighs, feeling your body quiver in response to their combined movements.  He knew your body well enough to recognise your signs.

“So close, already, my love?  Are you going to be a good girl, and come on his tongue?”

You whimpered, as Halsin took the hint in Astarion’s words, and slid a hand along your thigh, reaching to press tight circles over your clit with this thumb.  Your back arched as your body tensed, your walls clenching against his tongue, as he continued to lap your juices.  Astarion held you gently, as you trembled and panted against him.

Halsin looked up, wiping your slick from his chin with the back of his hand.  “That should take a little of the edge off.  Although she will no doubt want more.” he grinned.  “If you wish to indulge her too.”

Astarion smiled as he pressed a light kiss to the side of your neck, noticing a difference in the scent of your blood, a quick thought brushing through his mind as to how you might taste right now, but pushed that to the side as a stronger scent of you filled his nostrils at Halsin’s words.

“Would you like that, my love?  Do you want us both to touch you?” Astarion whispered into your ear. You nodded, humming in agreement, as he drifted a hand down over your quivering stomach.

“Good Gods.” he whispered as he reached between your thighs, and felt for himself just how dripping wet you were.  It was nothing to coat his fingers in your slick, and move the pads of his fingers to drift in lazy circles over your swollen clit.  You whimpered, pushing your hips up against him.

“Already wanting more? You greedy little thing.”  You tilted your face to glance back over your shoulder at him, grinning wickedly.  With your arms still held against your sides, you moved your tail to wrap around his wrist, pulling his hand harder against you.  His eyes went a little wide, he’d hadn’t considered the possibilities of your tail like this.  You used your tail to tug his hand lower, guiding his fingers to your dripping entrance.

Meanwhile, Halsin quickly removed his clothing and joined the two of you on the bed.  Astarion couldn’t resist taking a peek as the larger man disrobed, and it took all his remaining willpower to not make some comment about “Nature’s gifts”.

The bed dipped slightly as Halsin moved up alongside you, leaning over to kiss you hungrily, the taste of your own juices still on his tongue, as one of his large hands brushed over your nipple.  You whimpered into his mouth, your back arching as Astarion slipped a finger into you, pressing your breast hard into Halsin’s palm.  He pulled away from your lips, his head dipping to take your nipple between his lips, alternating sucking on it, and lapping at it with his tongue.  His hand stroked lightly over your thigh, joining Astarions between your thighs, and you moaned at the feel of them both working inside you - one thick and warm, the other cool and slender.

Astarion nipped lightly at your neck, as he slid his finger back out of you, gliding it up to your swollen clit with a featherlight touch.  It was quickly replaced by Halsin, who took the opportunity to drive a second finger into you, working you open.  You wailed as he curled them inside you, catching that spot that made you see stars.

“Shhh,” Astarion whispered in your ear. “You don’t want to wake everyone, do you?”  He slid his free hand up to cover your mouth, and you lewdly licked at his fingers.  He smirked.

“Oh, do I need to give you something to keep you quiet?”  He pressed two fingers into your mouth, and you sucked on them greedily, suggestively. Your hips bucked as the two men worked in tandem, and you rolled your neck, pressing your head back against Astarion’s shoulder, perfectly offering your neck to him.  He increased the friction on your clit, as he pressed his lips to the pulse in your neck, his teeth lightly grazing your skin. You gave a small nod, which was all the permission he needed, and you felt the sharpness of his fangs puncturing your skin, and the icy numbness that followed.  You felt his lips work against you, felt the rush of your blood as he sucked your life essence into his mouth.

The taste was intoxicating.  It was still very much the blood he adored, that revived him, that made him feel almost alive.  But there was something else, an added spice to it.  A few more quick circles of his fingers, and your body quivered once more, your keening muffled by the fingers in your mouth as you fell over the edge again, clenching hard around Halsin’s fingers, while Astarion tasted your ecstasy in your blood.

He pulled away, lapping gently at the puncture wounds, watching for the blood to stop flowing.  A tendril of green flowed from Halsin’s free hand, helping the marks to fade faster.

“You know, that might not have been a wise decision, Astarion.”  Halsin observed, with a smirk as he gently slid his fingers out from your swollen walls. 

“Hmm?”  Astarion licked his lips, swallowing the last drops.

“Her blood.  That might not have been wise.”   

Astarion leaned his head back, as he realised he felt warm, warmer than usual after drinking your blood.  And that heat was pooling between his thighs, in a way that was demanding his attention.  He groaned, angling his hips against where the base of your tail was moving, a light friction to relieve the building pressure in his trousers.

You felt him shift against you, and you swiftly realised what was going on.  Your blood, and all its pheromones, was now coursing through him.  He was feeling what you were feeling.  Your heat, your need, was now his, too.  You rolled off him, scrambling to your knees next to him.

“Astarion? Are you alright?” you gasped, frantically searching his face.  His eyes were shut, and he gave a soft moan, moving his hand to cover the stiffened ridge clearly evident through his soft camp trousers.  You couldn’t tell if that was a yes or a no.  You placed a hand on his chest.  

“I want to help, my love.”  You dragged your fingertips lower, placing your hand over his.  “May I?”  His eyes stayed closed as he nodded.  You pushed his hand out of your way, as you tugged at the laces of his trousers, pulling them open and freeing his cock from the restriction.  You reached for him with your hand, stroking the unusually warm skin, pre-cum already beading at the tip.

“Astarion?”

“Hmm?”

“Look at me, please.” He opened his eyes, meeting yours.  “I want to help.” you repeated, earnestly.  You bit your lip coyly, and smiled at him.  “I want to taste you. May I?”

He cupped your jaw in one hand, and you leaned in to his touch. 

“Yes.” He whispered.  “Please, yes.”  You smiled, lowering yourself onto all fours and crawling to position yourself with your head in his lap.  His fingers stroked into your hair as you leaned down to his lap, cautiously running the tip of your tongue along the rock hard length.

He gave a soft sigh at the gentle relief, and you let your tail drift over his leg, stroking along his thigh, as gentle and calming as you could.  You felt him relax, and you moved to press your lips to the smooth tip in a gentle kiss, wrapping the fingers of one hand around his shaft You parted your lips to swirl your tongue over the tip, catching and tasting the little droplets of pre-cum forming.

You felt the bed dip behind you, and Halsin’s warm hands pressed against your ass.  Your tail curled up at the touch, offering Halsin a full view of your dripping cunt.  You gave a muffled squeal as he brushed his thumbs against the underside of your tail, and you subconsciously moved your knees farther apart in invitation.

“Oh you filthy little thing!” Astarion gasped.  “Is this what you’ve dreamed of?  Having us both like this?”

Your lips quirked in a small smile.  If Astarion was talking dirty, you knew he was back in his comfort zone.  You moaned against him, as you felt Halsin’s thick cock sliding between your folds, becoming slick with your fluids

“My heart. I want more of you.  I want to give you more.”

You lifted your head to glance over your shoulder at him, and whispered a very needy “please”, arching your back to press your hips against him.  He gripped the base of your tail as you turned back to take Astarion deeply into your mouth, felt him line himself up with your slick entrance, felt him tugging on your tail as he pushed slowly into you, his shallow thrusting pushing deeper and deeper into you, and you moaned as you felt him stretch and fill you.

Astarion gave a series of gasps, as he felt the vibration of your throat tingling against him with every sound you were making.  It didn’t take long before it became too much for him, and with a low moan, he bucked his hips up, hot ropes of cum shooting into your mouth.  You worked your throat to swallow it all, drinking him down much like he drank you barely minutes ago.

You opened your mouth to let Astarion’s cock slide out with one last swipe of your tongue.  As you lifted your head up, Halsin took the moment to drive deeply into you, and you arched back against him.  As your body raised slightly, you felt his powerful arms grip you, lifting you into his lap as he knelt behind you, your knees spread wide over him. 

“That’s it, my love, let him fill you.  You can take him, can’t you? I saw what he has, you must be feeling so full, darling. Is he making you feel good?”

Your eyes fluttered shut as you nodded, whimpering a soft “yes” to each of his questions.  Astarion lifted a hand to gently cup your chin, tilting your face to his.

“No, no.  Eyes on me, darling.  Remember, I wanted to see you come undone.”

You opened your eyes again, meeting his gaze.  Halsin gave a low growl as he pulled your body close in against him, one arm wrapped around your waist, the other gripping your thigh.  He dipped to kiss the back of your shoulder, but the proximity to your scent gave his bear other ideas.  With a flash of gold in his eyes, you felt teeth against your shoulder, holding you in a mating bite.  You keened as he flexed his hips roughly against you, pounding deeply into you, over and over again. 

“Come on, my darling, let go for me.  For us.”

Astarion reached down, fingers expertly reaching for your clit again, and you squealed at the overstimulation, tears forming in your eyes.  He pushed his thumb into your open mouth, and you sucked noisily on it, your tongue moving against it in the same rhythm as your cunt clenched around Halsin, bringing him his own climax as he bucked his hips up, pumping you full. 

You collapsed onto your side with Halsin and lay there for a few moments, spent.  As your breathing returned to normal, you felt him soften and slip out of you.  He stood up and crossed the room, returning with your washbowl of water and a couple of cloths.  He dampened one, and used it to carefully clean the mess off your thighs.  Astarion took the other one, and wiped gently at your face, dabbing off the sweat, and the remnants of his spend that had dribbled on your chin.

“How do you feel, darling?”  he asked cautiously.

You gave a contented smile.  “Sated.  For now.” Your face changed to a look of concern as you asked him  “And you?  Are you alright?”

“I’m fine.  I think that was enough to make it pass for me.  And … thank you for helping.”

“It was the least I could do, I got you into that state, after all”

“Well, maybe if that neck of yours wasn’t so damned irresistible.”  He teased, with a wry smile.  “But, fair point.  Perhaps I would be wise to seek my meals elsewhere for the next few days.”

He touched a finger to the bruised bite mark blooming on your shoulder.  “And it looks like I wasn’t the only one who wanted to make a meal of you.”

Halsin laughed, a deep throaty rumble, and touched a healing tendril to the marks. “Indeed.  But at least I did not partake of her blood. I fear I would have lost control completely, and I don’t think this bed could handle the bear.”

Astarion looked at you, the blissed out look on your face as you lay there, unsure how to ask his next question.  “Love, should we leave?  Do you need to be alone?  In case it happens again?”

You yawned sleepily, and shook your head.  “No, I’ll be fine for a few hours.  You can stay.”  You glanced at Halsin. “You can both stay.  If you wish.”

You wrapped an arm over Astarion, as he shifted his body in against yours.  Halsin curled in behind you, and you smiled, feeling warm and safely held between your two lovers.

** A few nights later **

Astarion snuggled contentedly against your back.  He’d missed curling in against your warmth these past few nights.

“Darling?” he whispered in your ear.

“Mmhmm?”

“I’ve been thinking.  About that night, with Halsin.  About how you looked, how you tasted.”

You tensed, unsure what he was about to say.  You said nothing.

“I’d like … I want … to do that again sometime.  Only, next time, I want to enjoy you as much as he did.”

You relaxed again, smiling against the pillow.  You’d been hoping for this, you just hadn’t been certain that the time was right to ask him about it.  But you still weren’t quite prepared for his next words.

“I can’t wait to hear the sweet sounds you’re going to make with us both deep inside you.”

[awyeahitssam]

Harry giggles. His limbs feel lighter than usual, almost as if bubbles are making them float a bit. He can still control them, but it's a vague, interesting sort of control. Fun.

Harry lets sleep take him. The world whirls around him in sparks of disorienting colours, and Harry watches with a broad smile. It should make him dizzy, but he feels in the middle of something fantastic—a watercolour painting come to life. It's brilliant. Elating.

It stops as suddenly as it starts. Voldemort stares at him from across a desk. "Harry Potter," he sounds almost surprised.

Harry blinks at him. He still feels light, like he is floating, but also distantly sad. "Are you okay?" he asks thoughtlessly.

Confusion masks itself behind anger. Voldemort masks everything behind anger. "Pardon?"

"I’d never felt as good as I did a moment ago," Harry confesses, drawing closer to the Dark Lord. Red eyes track him suspiciously. Harry's chest aches. "But now, looking at you… it makes me so sad."

Thoughtlessly, Harry reaches out, and Voldemort lets him. It’s how Harry knows this can’t be real. That it’s just a silly, drunken dream. Their fingers intertwine, though Voldemort’s hand remains stiff and cold in his gentle grip.

"Aren’t you lonely?" Harry wonders. "Is that yours I feel pressing in, or my own? Even without you," Harry smiles, crooked and small, brushing an irreverent thumb over his scar, "I’m sure it’d be there. People always isolate the freak."

Voldemort’s hand twitches in Harry’s, and he hums, focus dropping from red eyes to trace the long fingers with his own.

"Everybody’s frightened of you. You isolate yourself from friendship, from love, from time itself... don’t you want, Voldemort? I can feel that you do—you’re never satisfied, are you? Will it ever be enough? The world at your feet, no attachments, nobody to challenge you—is that your dream, or your nightmare?"

"You’re speaking nonsense, boy," Voldemort says, but it comes out odd. Stilted. "You presume much."

"Is it presumption when I feel you?" Harry asks genuinely, brows drawing together, hand lifting to press over his heart. Voldemort is dragged with him, pulled a bit over the desk, and Harry blinks in surprise before realizing he still has a grip on the other’s hand. He lets go slowly, and Voldemort pulls back with a scowl.

"You are drunk," the wizard snaps with disgust. "You know nothing of what Lord Voldemort feels."

Harry finds the words… annoying.

"You feel so loudly, though," he returns sharply, moving forward, sliding onto Voldemort’s desk. Ink spills over—Voldemort hisses in annoyance and the stain is gone with a thought—dreams are a magic of their own—Voldemort’s forehead is cold and smooth. Harry bears the man's mark. He presses his scarred head to the smooth. Long, clawed fingers are wrapped around his wrist. His throat.

"Right here, always pressing in," Harry continues, heedless of his position, precarious as it is. "You feel so much it hurts, Voldemort. You hate so much. You’re never just happy. And I was, am, could be. So just take some, won’t you?"

Red eyes are narrow, intent, fascinated as they dart over Harry’s face, trying to gather his meaning. "How do you propose I do that?"

"How does one normally take pleasure?" Harry wonders. Voldemort grimaces, pulling away quickly, and it takes Harry’s bubbling mind a moment to put what he said to context.

"No," he chokes on a laugh, "I’m not asking you to—to snog. To fuck. Just open yourself up. You’re so good at taking, usually, but all you’re doing is giving. Don’t you want to feel like this? Light? Thrilled?"

"You don’t even know what you sound like, do you?" The question is rhetorical. Voldemort’s hand tightens over his throat, until Harry’s breathing grows thinner. "You wish for me to let your happiness pass my Occlumency, as though you have not just slipped through yourself. As if you have no method to make Lord Voldemort feel your pleasure; as if you want to give Lord Voldemort pleasure at all."

Harry touches the hand on his neck, slowly tightening with Voldemort’s rant, and a spark lights his fingers. Voldemort’s hand spasms before it drops. Harry takes a deep breath, glaring balefully. His light-hearted air has faded.

"Perhaps I would give you pleasure so your misery would be all the worse for it," he bites out. The world is fuzzy, but no longer from alcohol. From being choked. Even in his dreams, his life is threatened by this man.

"A pretty plot," says Voldemort. There is something very condescending in his voice; he is clearly looking down on Harry. Doubting him. It’s nothing new, but it makes the sting of anger grow in him. "Very well. If you can conjure happiness as you peer into the face of your death, Harry Potter, then do. Make me feel it, if you can."

Harry’s nails bite into his palm and release. He takes a breath and lets his eyes flutter closed. He focuses.

Happiness. What does it feel like? Like floating, as he was moments ago, or like getting an anticipated hug—not his first, not all the ones he flinched away from, but a hug from Hermione when they’ve almost just died. An arm around Ron’s waist as the boy drapes one around his shoulder. Laughing, hysterical and joyous, by the fireplace. Finding his wand. Finding out he was escaping the Dursleys. Happiness is a brief thing, drenched in the shadows of his life. Happiness is contentment, even if it is a momentary thing. It is the pleasure of a perfectly prepared cuppa; from—nonono, not going there.

Harry wraps the sensations up, one by one, like he’s re-wrapping hard candy, and throws them at Voldemort. Into Voldemort. All but one—his favourite one, his happiest one. That, he grasps, and it’s actual candy in his hand, a sweet that he looks down to, and then unwraps, and he’s moving forward, intent eyes raising, and Voldemort is already gasping, a bit, at the suddenness of it all—of pleasure.

Harry’s lips curl and he pushes the candy into the slightly agape mouth of the Dark Lord a bit cruelly, shoving it deep. He pulls back quickly, before sharp teeth can gnash on his fingers, and watches on as Voldemort experiences pleasure. As Voldemort softens, and sighs, relaxation in every hard line of him, mouth sucking almost greedily around the treasure that Harry has placed within it. Now he’s drunk on it, Harry thinks, horribly pleased to see Voldemort this way.

It’s not real, but still, he hovers on Voldemort’s desk and observes the pink brushing his cheekbones with fascination. He observes the way red eyes roll back a bit, and the way a long, pale throat swallows convulsively down on a slowly dissolving candy until there is nothing left.

Lashless eyes open, dark and suddenly staring. Red barely peeks out from behind the dilation of his pupil, and Harry’s smile is a smug thing.

“There’s your pleasure,” Harry whispers to him, like a secret. “I hope you enjoyed yourself. It can only get worse from here.”

“Worse?” murmurs Voldemort, staring at Harry intently. “You think there is worse you can do, Harry, then give me that and take it back?”

Belonging, thinks Harry, quite suddenly. He’d given Voldemort his favourite thing, the thing that he had been looking for, for a very long time. Longing, and peace, and laughter, and a burgeoning happiness that had very rarely managed to emanate past its conception. He had given Voldemort, too, his desperate hope for things to get better—and then he’d made them get better—and now Voldemort had lost it all.

Suddenly, impossibly, Harry’s eyes are liquid. I’m cruel, thinks Harry, gaze falling from red. There is nothing so cruel as what he has done, and he had done it so carelessly, so happily, so smugly, because he had felt slighted. Had felt wronged by this man who had ceaselessly wronged him.

Slowly, Harry looks back up at Voldemort, who is watching his tears with an expression of keen interest. 

“Has it made you sad to give your enemy your pleasure, Harry Potter?” Voldemort asks, gripping his wrist and drawing him near enough that Harry barely keeps his bottom on the desk rather than Voldemort’s lap.

“It makes me sad to treat you with such cruelty,” Harry corrects, “when I know you will never allow yourself to experience such pleasure again.”

“Would I not?” breathes Voldemort, eyes still dark instead of bright.

“You won’t,” whispers Harry. “It'd require you to trust someone. To have faith in them. And that, I know you’re incapable of, because you are a man but don’t see yourself as one, and gods do not have friends, nor equals.”

“Equals?” Voldemort’s breath brushes Harry’s brow, his stinging scar. “But what if Lord Voldemort were to draw you from the depths, Harry? Raise you from the pale mortality until you, too, are exalted? Then you may give Lord Voldemort what he so deserves; give me pleasure, Harry Potter,” Voldemort enunciates awfully. “Give me it all.”

I wrote this one of the first times I ever drank, and just expanded upon it a bit. I'm honestly really fond of finding these little things I've forgotten.

[all-pacas]

one random and irrelevant skill for each fellow:

Foreman is a very good baker and cook. He used to help his mother in the kitchen — she always liked to bake something to bring to church Sundays —and he found the precision that goes into baking relaxing and deeply satisfying. Sometimes he still will bake some cookies or a coffee cake from scratch, but he also finds this skill vaguely embarrassing and so has never shared the results or his ability with any of his coworkers.

Cameron was on the track team in high school and has run several 5ks. She's thought about training for a marathon, but she likes being able to not just run but go fast: the physical strength and skill of a marathon does appeal to her, but her event was always short distance sprints, going so fast you feel like you're flying. She does still make it a point to go running. She vaguely looks down on joggers, although she knows it's irrational.

Chase is pretty good at drawing. Like, not was going to art school good, he's never tried painting or picked up a set of pencils, but he'd draw all over his papers and tests growing up, he's got a good eye for sketching, has to put in effort not to doodle on his paperwork even now. It's really just one more way he fidgets.

Taub is a big reader. He is capable of reading and enjoying Literature, he likes nonfiction, he likes novels, he isn't just someone who says he likes to read but never really does, he actually does do it. He and his wife dipped in and out of book clubs over the years. He's capable of having very smart conversations about books and themes and narration. This never ever comes up at work.

13 is really good at video games. She's not even a huge gamer. She played with her brother growing up, she likes games, but she doesn't own a (checks dates) PS3 or anything. But she is uncannily good at fighting games, racing games, anything that involves reflexes and competition. She is unbeatable at Super Smash Bros, and competitive enough that she wants to kick everyone's ass at it. She finds RPGs and story-driven games interesting in theory and boring in practice. When she plays Sim City, she turns disaster intensity all the way up.

Kutner has an uncanny memory for TV shows and movies and trivia. He's a Fandom Nerd, although without the fandom. He remembers the details of things he watched years ago, he can and will argue character motivation and who portrayed what best. This does not really apply to doctor stuff. He struggles to keep the millions of diseases and progressions he's expected to know in diagnostics straight. But ask him the synopsis of an episode to a show he loves and he's there.

Adams is lowkey a Horse Girl. She had a horse growing up. She rode competitively. She is absolutely aware that bringing this up around House or Chase, who would tell House, or Taub, who would tell House, etc., would be absolute social suicide. She is saving up to buy not just a house, but one with a stable.

Park is really, really good at poker. All card games, really. She's played a lot with her grandmother and her old lady friends, and knows how to count cards, and is basically unbeatable and can rake in money. She'd give House a run for his, although she's a little 'over' it, since basically her entire childhood was spent playing cards and board games with her grandmother, who she loves and all, but, you know. Enough is a enough. She's also aware it's a useful hidden skill to have, in case she ever needs to take her boss to the cleaner's.

[brightgoat]

Hey hi! I’ve been an avid follower of yours for awhile for your Pucci art but, this green child au has me hooked more and more lately! Your art is stunning by the way, thank you for posting!! The final metamorphosis panel has me excited for the next installment you share ngl.

Anyways, I was wondering if I could ask a few things about it? Specifically, what has happened after O-moon came into the picture, and the buildup to part 13 and 14? Of course if you wish to keep things vague or don’t know, there’s no need to answer! I’m just curious.

When did Jotaro get alerted to the incident and decided to finally come around? Did he encounter Pucci first or Jolyne? After the revelations that O-moon revealed to Jolyne, how did her perceptions of her father and Pucci shift? Did Jolyne ever figure out what Pucci was most likely about to do to FF while they were cornered by him? Have you thought about how Weather Report factors into this AU at all (since he’s probably in prison at this point)?

Sorry for the bombardment, and again no pressure to answer these if you don’t wish to!

- Kimera

Greetings! Thank you very much for the compliment, hope the payoff to that comic was satisfying haha

So, I wanna keep things vague with this AU, telling the main story beats through images and short comics- not only cuz I like it that way but also cuz... I haven't decided a lot of the details hahaha-

Answering this via lore dump, hope you like reading, this can be just one of many ways it could've happened:

I imagined that while Pucci and Jolyne were out getting souls, Jotaro was studying whatever is left of Dio's followers, and eventually tracks down Pucci, and travels to the US. Perhaps he finds out Pucci has been tutoring Jolyne from Jolyne's mum (who knows maybe they reconnected).

Oh and yes, Jolyne's mum knows abt Pucci, but of course not who he really is.

During this, Jolyne has awakened the Green Baby and fused with it. Jotaro may even sense that something is wrong through their family psychic bond thing.

Jotaro, realizing Pucci is a step ahead of him by already taking in his own daughter, tracks Pucci down to the church and confronts him there, sparing no time and going straight to beating answers out of him, where's Jolyne, what happened to her, what's your plan etc.

I had this thought, that once Jolyne fuses with the green baby, she inherits a bit of Dio's knowledge, and it helps her realise she's been getting used by Pucci all along. Not only that, she inherits the will to go to Heaven, and it drives her to complete the plan, she's strung along by fate now.

Now obviously she feels betrayed by Pucci, but still sympathetic to him, and rescues him from Jotaro. She's conflicted, she's angry, the only reason both Pucci and Jotaro reached out was because of some bigger-than-her plot, and not because of herself. She doesn't know how much of what Pucci gave her was genuine or because of her use to him.

(had this idea for a scene that right after Jolyne rescues Pucci, all three of them are still in church and Pucci realises she's transformed, he yells for her to stay still so he can get Whitesnake to take whatever's inside her out, but as soon as Whitesnake reaches out, a hand bursts out, he thinks it's Stone Free and suddenly JUMPSCARE O-Moon jumps out at him and the reversed-gravity throws everyone away from her-)

The only friend she has left is FF, and yes she finds out what Pucci did to them, furthering her anger. So she drags FF along with her, they are eachothers' only allies here, and although FF doesn't fully understand what's happening to Jolyne, they'll stay by her side (cue the uhhhh 'oh jolyne gave me so many memories and memories make up my intellect so i owe her yadda yadda-')

Aaaaand as for Weather, yeah mf's still in prison lmao I haven't thought too much about him. I wanted this to focus on Jolyne and Pucci, though if I did turn this AU into an entire actual story, Weather would probably come up at some point. God knows how though lmao-

[thetxtdevil]

The Vampire Hunter pt. 1

Vampire Kai x Hunter Reader

summary: In a supernatural world, you find your city facing troubles with a particular vampire who is threatening many humans lives, luckily you're a hunter for the supernatural and you intend to capture the bloodsucker.

content: mentions of blood, vampires and other supernatural beings, soobin makes an appearance

word count: 1.5k

pt. 1 -> pt. 2 -> pt. 3

in a world of humans and the supernatural,

strange things become more normal as time goes on. ghosts roam the shelves of public libraries, werewolves guide other creatures and humans through woodsy trails, all lives became less segregated. while there is the police force patrolling the safety of humans, there are supernatural hunters keeping the balance of the supernatural race and human race. both sides find this beneficial as it kept humans from any harm of stronger beasts and creatures away from retaliating humans.

you were one of the said supernatural hunters, a good one at that. so to your dismay when you attend the city's hunter meeting you find out that there was a feral vampire in the area. the lead hunter shows a board of a map of the city showing where this vampire has been and pictures of victims the bloodsucker has close to having killed. you sit there squinting at the map in focus.

"and why haven't we captured this vampire yet?" you interrupt the speech.

the lead stops mid-sentence trying to find the words. "ah well, y/n you see they're too hard to track, we don't know their personal information, and no clan has claimed them"

you lean back at your chair nodding. you understand the hardships of a vampire without a clan, even though they are independent creatures they tend to do well with a support group.

"i'll take the assignment."

"y/n, many hunters have tried but as you can see some of them came back dangerously wounded"

you look at the board recognizing some faces, "really, i wonder why you didn't put me on this assignment in the first place."

you snatch the folder about the wild vampire out of the lead's hands. the leader roll his eyes at your cockiness.

"be careful y/n"

✥✥✥

it was a brisk night in the city, gusts of wind drifted litter from the ground into the air, people hugging themselves to keep warm. you walk the sidewalk that framed the many tall buildings of the city. citizens passing you minding their businesses not noticing your attired covered with classic vampire weapons and in your hand a heavy trash bag. you come upon an alleyway that seemed like a perfect place to satisfy the hunger of a blood-lust vampire. the first steps in the alley glowed golden hues from the street lights, but the further you went in it was dark radiating blue from the night sky.

when studying the vampire's whereabouts you concluded that this creature did not have a certain pattern other than drinking secretly in alleyways like this one. reaching in your pocket for gloves putting them on to open the black trash bag that held pig hearts. pig hearts were not only similar to size and appearance but the blood was also vaguely similar. one by one you laid the muscles zigzag until it reached the end of the lane. here you stood with a wooden stake in you hand pointing straight out to stab any visitors that come your way.

hours passing by you shift in your spot, becoming uncomfortable from standing in one position for a long time. you knew this could be an all nighter, but the cool weather and silence made you ache. then you hear pigeons from the street all at once taking flight, you knew someone was coming. you blink and open your eyes to see a silhouette of a tall man at the end of the alley. your grip on the stake was tight.

the man walks into the back alley investigating its current state. bending down to pick up one of the pig hearts taking a closer look. the man's eyes widen after smelling the muscle concluding that this is what he was smelling a few blocks back. he opens his mouth to snack on the bloody meat.

a gust of wind brushes against your skin, the air moving towards the preoccupied vampire. the creature's red eyes glows when he catches the scent of you. he looks over your way to see your shadowed figure standing at the end of the alley. you felt a flash of wind on your face but it wasn't the air it was the vampire himself now barely an inch from you.

the vampire hovers over you breathing heavy, looking down at you with his bright crimson eyes. his vision is blurry from your intoxicating scent, so blurry that he doesn't notice that he got too close to your stake. his chest impelled and his senses overloaded, you had enough strength to grab his arm to twist him around so now his back is towards your chest and fangs away from you. the pain engulfs the vampire which sends his in a downward spiral loosing conciseness.

✥✥✥

in your cabin, you sit on your reading chair taking sips of your freshly made coffee. the rising sun seeps through the tall windows of the room making the space feel warm. you smile to yourself as you watch the news casting on your living room tv. the news anchor claims that the spontaneous vampire attacks that have been happening in the city has been subsided.

as soon as you get comfortable in your chair covering your body with a blanket and taking a big gulp of your coffee, you hear distinct noises. you sigh knowing your cozy morning will have to come to an end. you scramble out of your chair to walk to the noises of groans and chains clashing together. opening the door of what would be a guest room but now your supernatural jail.

the vampire was sitting up on the bed which was set in the middle of the room. handcuffed to make sure the reckless vampire doesn't use his powers for his sake. the man was wearing baggy clothes covering his lean physique only his top is torn from your chest stab. thanks to his immortal abilities the wound is now gone. he was slumped over, long dark brown hair hiding his face, his nose was the only facial feature you could see of his. from your experience you could tell this was a newly turned vampire as he had a modern look to him and no courtesy of his blood hunt.

"why... how am i here?" his raspy voice fills the room

"you know why and i brought you here"

the man clenches his jaw, tugging hard at the silver chains.

"i have my ways to get you the way you are now" you smirk to yourself, only you know the struggle you had dragging the tall stature out of that alley all the way to your cabin in the outskirts of the city. "listen, you will now live with me until you get your act together, i don't want to see anymore victims falling prey to you"

"but,,, it tastes so good" he dramatically lies down on the plush bed.

you refrain from chuckling at the pathetic sight before you. your suspicions of the man being a new vampire were being confirmed as a old vampires would instantly insert their dominance towards you. although his weak front was shown, you were not all too comfortable with the vampire so you keep your distance and leave him to sulk.

walking out of the groggy room that held the vampire. you close the door to the room and stood there leaning your forehead on the wood. this bloodsucker needed training and fast because you don't know how long those chains are going to last. reaching for your phone to look through your contacts many were mystical friends and it was time to call your good ol' vampire friend. you walk back to your blanketed reading chair with little knowledge that the captured man was watching intently to your shadowed footsteps from the crack of the closed door. i'll get a taste of that sweetness someday.

holding the phone up to your ear while you play with the loose strings of your blanket, a few rings went by until you hear a familiar voice, "y/n long time no see... i assume you caught that vampire"

"yeah no help from you, soobin" you roll your eyes, even though you're friends, vampires still have their antics. the supernatural lived equally with humans they still preferred to do what they did before modern days. that being said you weren't surprised that soobin, a well developed vampire, wouldn’t fret when there was a vampire going around having the time of their eternal life.

"since i have the baby vampire in custody could you help train him?"

"what do i get out of it?"

"hmm, you can add another vampire to your clan"

soobin hums through the phone, noticing the hesitation you let out an audible sigh.

"fine, i'll try to find a way to have a whole blood bank truck for you to have for a whole night"

"sounds good, but you know blood taste much better straight out of a human..."

"do you know who you're talking to?"

"yeah okay..." soobin sighs

just like that you two begin planning the training for the little bat. hoping you and the new vampire will someday become good friends.

✤✣✤ -> pt. 2

A nuisance,

TxT's Devil

[drabblesandsnippets]

Snippet #3

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Plus-size female character (unnamed)

Background: Edited scene of something I wrote for a friend

Summary: All Bucky wants is to make his girlfriend’s day better.

Warnings: 18+ Only. Sexual content. Romance/fluff. Praise.

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

From the second she walks in the door, Bucky can tell things had only gotten worse in the couple of hours since they talked. He knows better than to bombard her with questions, giving her space after they share a brief hello, letting her come to him after she changes into her normal oversized shirt and sweatpants. 

He gives her a warm smile when she reappears, the sight of her never ceasing to make his heart race, even with the messy bun atop her head and the t-shirt that’s seen better days. He loves every single part of her, and his favorite moments are when he gets to see the parts of her that she only shares with him. The vulnerable moments, the small pieces of her that she hides from others, scared of their judgements. She gets to let go of all the masks with him, and it’s one of the most beautiful things he gets to witness.

Bucky can tell all she needs right now is for him to listen, without the need to offer any sort of advice, and he's more than happy to be her sounding board. He actively listens to all the silly frustrations that managed to get under her skin today, the stupid things that made her ready to pull her hair out.

By the time she’s released all the pent up feelings, she’s finally beginning to relax, but Bucky’s still not satisfied. He ignores the old-fashioned part of him that wants her to quit her job, leave all the frustration behind, and be a house wife. He blinks away the brief image of coming home to her wearing nothing but an apron, his cock twitching at the thought, and instead talks her into a massage.

It doesn’t take much convincing. Within moments, she’s laying on their bed, Bucky straddling her legs as he rubs the tension out of her back and shoulders. She loses track of time, allowing him to take care of her, happily letting all other thoughts leave her, only vaguely aware of the almost pornographic noises coming out of her.

Bucky’s far from wanting to complain though. He’s getting to touch her, make her feel better, and listen to her moan - three of his favorite things. He ignores his growing erection for now and keeps his focus on the massage, paying attention to all her sore spots while easing up on the sensitive areas of her back. He smiles at the soft sounds leaving her with each movement of his hands, suddenly feeling grateful to have her trust. 

He slowly works his hands back up to her shoulders, leaning forward slightly as he rubs the tension there, telling her, “Thank you for letting me take care of you.” There’s no need for her to speak, her little noises of appreciation more than enough to satisfy him, his hands never stopping their magical touch. She can barely remember her name at this point, let alone anything else that’s happened today, and that’s exactly how Bucky wants it.

“You’re always taking care of everyone else,” he continues, the palms of his hands moving down the center of her back, letting up on the pressure just a bit. “But, I know it’s hard to let people take care of you, so thank you.” She turns her head slightly to hear him better, but keeps her eyes closed as a slight blush colors her cheeks.

She loves being praised by him, almost as much as Bucky loves praising her, but it still makes her flustered, especially if they’re not in the middle of sex. Sometimes even then too. She can’t see it, but Bucky’s smile grows at her reaction and he changes tactics, his fingertips starting to lightly trace up her back, sending a shiver down her spine. 

“How about you let me keep taking care of you?” he asks, the tenderness of his voice matching his touch, making her heart flutter. Coherent words left her a long time ago, but she still manages to voice her consent. And the moment she does, he leans forward again, his hand sliding up to rub against the back of her neck. “I’m gonna take my time,” he tells her, his breath warm against her ear, “give you everything you need tonight.”

She’s not even sure she responds, other than with a loud moan of need as her hips lift to reach him, his words making her body pulse with pleasure. Bucky’s body reacts to her desire, his own hips grinding against her, letting her feel how hard she makes him. As much as his cock wants him to just push her pants down and take her like this - she’d be more than willing - he’s a man of his word.

With the same measured pace, his hand slips underneath her shirt, the soft touch of his fingers along her waist causing goosebumps to spread across her skin. He undresses her slowly, his lips touching every inch of skin he exposes, whispering words of praise, leaving her panting for more. When he finally turns her over onto her back, he repeats the process, taking his time to pull her sweatpants down her legs, kissing a trail to her ankles.

“I’m so proud to call you mine,” he tells her once he settles back between her legs, his eyes roaming over her flushed body. She watches as his hand reaches down, almost subconsciously, to grab his cock through his jeans, clearly trying to relieve some of the pressure. She wants to tell him he’s too overdressed, that she wants to feel more of him, but all she can do is look up at him, silently pleading for more.

There’s time for teasing, but not tonight. With a quick pull, Bucky removes his shirt and tosses it off the bed, barely giving her a chance to appreciate his body before he’s on her again, meeting her in a passionate kiss. They lose themselves in the intimate connection, their need for each other growing until they finally part and Bucky rests his forehead gently against hers, breathing heavily. “You’re so incredible,” he tells her. “You’re so strong.”

He starts peppering kisses along her skin again, across her jaw before dipping down to her throat. “Intelligent.” His kisses move to her collarbone. “Kind.” With each word, her mind starts to fully relax again, accepting the praise, her body trembling with need. And just before his mouth closes over her nipple, he reminds her, “And the hottest fucking woman I’ve ever seen.”

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

Main Masterlist

[formosusiniquis]

when you're fifteen

Even as he hands over the platter of chocolate chip miracles he makes, Steve sighs. It's a full bodied affair that makes Eddie nervous on instinct. "We need to talk about Mike."

It is and isn't a surprise.

Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson; Steve Harrington & Mike Wheeler WC: 4044 | Rated T | Tags/Themes: Good Babysitter Steve, Period Atypical Depictions of DnD, HoH!Steve, Disabled!Eddie Ao3

Eddie prided himself on his ability to manage a table. A forever DM, four years into a lifetime sentence, he can keep a story on track and, more importantly, keep tempers in check for hours at a time. 

He kept track of a thousand little details across notebooks, binders, and just trapped in his own brain. He knew everything about his NPCs, the world, his player’s characters, and the things that drove his players nuts. He had plans, backup plans, and vague ideas of shit he could do if things went completely and totally off the rails despite all of those plans. That was one of the things he held fast on his tongue the first time he failed senior year. Of course he didn’t pass. He’d taken on the mantle of Dungeon Master. He had to put together a story that took into account: Jeff’s high stakes backstory with the missing mother and bounty on his head, Gareth’s need to flirt with anything age appropriate that had a pulse, and Joey’s tactical mind when it comes to battle. Wasn’t it enough that he was going to class, he had to do shit at home about it too?

He didn’t like saying it. He liked to bitch about it a lot, actually. Eddie wasn’t really sure what he’d do with himself if he wasn’t The DM. It was like a core part of his identity.

It made the current situation he was in more world rocking than he really wanted to deal with.

He liked to think, if he couldn’t feel the remaining muscles in his side screaming in agony because he was sitting wrong -- or for too long or both -- and if his lower back wasn’t seizing and spasming for the same or maybe a brand new reason it had decided to come up with today, that he’d be able to manage this table just as well as he always had. Eight really wasn’t that different from three.

Except that combat is impossible to manage, each round took forever and that’s when everyone was paying attention. Except that there hasn’t been a satisfying story moment for Jeffrey the Jovial or Dustin’s Sir Rathington in the last four sessions. Except that Erica has been scribbling something in her notebook that probably wasn’t campaign notes since she hadn’t called him on the plot hole he caught session planning a month ago and hasn’t been able to fix -- and is more likely to have something to do with the way he noticed her looking at Uhura and Chapel when she was watching Star Trek reruns with Steve.

Except that Mike has been screaming at Dustin and Lucas for the better part of five minutes and Eddie really isn’t sure how to fix it.

“The plan is stupid. Did you even spend more than ten seconds thinking about it or did you decide that Will could just roll another character and we could save the resources.”

“Will could roll another character. It's not the first time he's rolled another character.” Lucas points out for what might be the third time, Eddie’s lost count.

“This whole thing is about resources, Mike.” Dustin snaps, “We’ll all be rolling new characters if we go into this stupid fucking fight while Gareth has no spell slots, Lucas is down to three arrows, Joey’s already used his second wind, and half the party is below half health.”

“It doesn’t matter, if we don’t go into the fight now Will is going to turn into some bloodsucking vampire spawn.”

Eddie knows this is the point that he should grab the reins again. He should prompt one of them to make a decision, or better yet, take the decision away from them entirely. But there’s a numbness in his thigh that has somehow spread to his mouth; it’s different from the pain the rest of his body is in, not really better or worse, and just as distracting. 

The rest of the table is quiet, boredom and annoyance plain on their faces. But they’ve also stopped looking to him to fix the problem. That’s the worst thing the Upside Down took from him, he thinks, even as his body is radiating pain from places he used to be able to forget he had.

“Or maybe it’s a trap,” Lucas points out. And it should be, but Lucas is a far better tactician than Eddie who already knows he won’t want to deal with the work it would take to do that well. “Y’know since you made all your weak spots pretty clear to Lord Ellias.”

“Or,” Dustin drawls out with a Harrington’s level of bitch and ire, “we could trust Eddie to turn this into a fucking story moment.”

“You guys are both so full of shit, just-” Mike has his nose curled and lip snarled, Eddie can feel the breeze of the blade swinging down to deliver the death blow to this campaign and adventuring party.

“Alright time to take a break.” Steve claps his hands, an angel come from on high to save Eddie. “Get up, get a snack, move your feet. Give my dining room some time to air out before it smells like nerd forever.”

Mike turns the full weight of his aggression on to Steve, who hopefully has a damage immunity or advantage on saves at the very least otherwise this is looking like a short talk, “We can't just take a break. Do you not get what the stakes are here? We've got to save-”

“Save someone who will still be in danger in twenty minutes.” Steve steamrolls over Mike’s argument with an unaffected ease. Eddie can feel the mood of the table lift just a bit, now that they’re about to be rescued.

“You just don't get it.”

“I get that it's pretend.” In a pre-Vencapocalypse world that would have been enough to get Eddie fighting on Little Wheeler’s side, but much as DnD is still his life. Fuck, it is all just pretend. “Go take a lap.”

“Ugh why do we even come over here. We could do this at my house without washed up jocks interrupting us.” Mike says but he gets up. Storming off to god knows where in the monstrosity of Steve’s house. Will, quiet as he always seems to get when he’s the center of one of these drag outs, trails off after Mike with an eye roll at the other two sophomores and an apologetic shrug for Steve.

And Eddie has his table again. Quiet and still, waiting for him to say something. Like there’s even anything to say when his very own Deus Ex Machina is leaving the room without so much as a backward glance at the poor schmucks he’s saved. “Well,” he says with a clap of his hands, “My blood sugar is dropping, so I’m going to shove as many of those cookies I smelled earlier into my mouth as I can in twenty minutes.” Because as much as they weren’t looking to him before, they need the DM to break the spell of the table. That’s how the whole thing goes.

And they scatter once it breaks. Eddie’s original Hellfire boys stay at the table, their ease at the Harrington house has been hardwon and the argument has rekindled something nerdy and skittish in them. Erica has headed off to the corner of the house Steve has let her claim as her own, nose still buried in her notebook. He doesn’t know where Lucas and Dustin are, but wherever they’ve gone they aren’t around to watch him struggle to pull himself out of his throne with his cane. He should just give in and let Steve raise the seat, half the problem is that it sits too low -- but knowing that and being willing to admit it at any point other than when he’s in PT levels of misery from pulling himself up are very different things.

Steve has his back to the door again, by the time Eddie makes his way to the kitchen. He has a bizarre semi-awareness of his surroundings that can be hard to predict. Sometimes it’s freaky how Steve can call out Dustin or Erica from a different room with an almost parental ‘eyes in the back of his head’ sixth sense. Other times his own soulmate can get the drop on him, managing to get her arms wrapped around his middle before he even realizes they’re in the same room.

It’s better to slam his cane against the floor a couple times. To let Steve feel the vibrations through the floorboards with his sock feet, that way nobody has to get hurt or feel guilty for doing the hurting.

Getting to see Steve’s grin bloom across his face as he flips that famous hair and catches sight of Eddie isn’t so bad either.

Next to Steve, it’s safe to prop his cane against the counter. He can rest his hips against the sure, solid surface and relax in the presence of his boyfriend while the blood returns to his limbs and a new kind of discomfort settles in. A hand, warm and sudsy finds the back of his neck. A strong thumb digging into a knot that had been there since at least last week with an erotic precision.

“You’ve got to stop letting them keep you in that chair for so long.”

"If we take breaks we'll just be here longer."

He shrugs, pulling his other hand from the dish water to pull Eddie into a gentle hold. "So be here longer."

"You'd get sick of the fighting. I'd get sick of the fighting." Actually it was probably better not to remind Steve of that. "You know I really did want one of those famous Stevie Henderson cookies."

Even as he hands over the platter of chocolate chip miracles he makes, Steve sighs. It's a full bodied affair that makes Eddie nervous on instinct. "We need to talk about Mike."

It is and isn't a surprise. "I know the yelling is a lot, Sweetheart, I'm sorry. You don't have a migraine, do you? I can talk to him and make him chill out a bit." That last part is absolutely a lie; he doesn't think he could get Mike under control right now if he had a stun gun and half a pound of Argyle’s primo Cali weed.

Not that it matters Steve has on his scrunchy faced 'you're wrong about something,' look, Eddie just needs to give him the minute it'll take to get his thoughts together. "You know I love you right?"

“In this dimension and any others,” Eddie supplies.

Steve smiles, feather soft, and runs a soothing hand through Eddie's hair the way he always does right before he says something atrociously bitchy. "I turn my hearing aids off the second you all start playing. If I had to listen to your game three different times, three different ways I'd drive my car into a portal."

He keeps going the way he does when he's afraid he's been too mean and wants to try to soften his edges for general consumption, like Eddie hadn't fallen in love with him the first time he called Dusin a butthead. "This way you and Dust can still use me as a sounding board for your plots and theories and I don't have to listen to my favorite nerds try to remember if 5+7 is 11 or 12."

“So what’s?”

“I’m worried about him!” Steve insists. Eddie might pride himself on his ability to handle a table, but he knows Steve is proud of his way with the kids. His relationship with each of them is rich and distinct, the way he handles each of them unique.

But it’s Mike.

Something must cross his face. He can only call it something, because he’s honestly not sure what emotion he’s feeling other than headache and how many cookies can I eat before they start tasting like nausea. But something else must have been there that causes Steve to cross his arms and glare.

“Yeah, of course, you’re worried about him. We are worried about him. Why are we worried about him, other than worried about what an asshole he’s been lately?”

That was not the right thing to say either, Eddie’s really rolling straight ones today. Steve’s glare shutters even further closed, and seriously it’s Mike. The same kid who called Steve a washed up jock not ten minutes ago. Who takes every single offered opportunity, and even some that he makes himself, to bitch and glare at Hawkins own #1 babysitter and monster hunter. 

“He’s a teenager with more trauma than a ‘Nam vet. But even if he weren’t he’s not an asshole for being barely fifteen and not knowing when to shut the hell up. Do you remember the kind of shit you were saying back then?”

Big brother Steve has successfully landed a critical hit. Eddie does remember the kind of shit he used to say. Just like he knows Steve remembers the kind of shit he used to say. And they both remember the shit that they used to say to one another. How Eddie called Steve a braindead future Reganite who wouldn’t know good taste if it spit in his mouth. How Steve had called Eddie a tryhard that was so desperate to be different because that was the only way he could hide having nothing to offer.

“So we’re worried?”

“I just don’t want him to say something he can’t walk back because he forgot the thing he’s getting upset over is pretend.” He runs a finger down Eddie’s splayed hands. A tickling sensation he can feel down the path it traces from the back of his palm and down his middle finger and, in a phantom mirror, down his spine. “I know you get into your characters, or whatever, I’m sure this is bringing up a lot of memories but he’s going to regret lashing out if it means he pushes away Dustin or Lucas or one of the other guys.”

“I notice you left out Will.”

“Yeah well, Will is more likely to get hurt by something he says when lashing out while they aren’t playing exposure therapy the game. I mean seriously, you had to kidnap him? That’s where your, ‘Stevie, baby, what should I do with them this week? They decided to do something stupid,’ bitching and moaning landed you?”

Eddie doesn’t even really have time to let himself feel the fluttery, squishy feeling he wants to feel -- cause Steve does actually listen when they’ve got their feet tangled on the sofa together, each working on their own things -- before it’s getting smacked by down by the paladin of his heart. “No, no, that isn’t where I landed. I had a perfectly acceptable diplomacy mission prepared, with a back up fight that they were supposed to run away from. What do you want me to do, Sunshine? I gotta give the game some stakes. It’s not exactly fun for Will if he knows he’s indestructible.”

Maybe, he thinks, he should just stop talking today. Just cancel the rest of the session entirely. Will gets carried off by the vampire spawn, half dead and unsaveable, the party on its last legs, unable to agree on a course of action; and actually that’s where we’re gonna end things come back next week and hope Steve even lets us in the house after the screaming we’ve all done. Why? Because he can feel every joint in his body and every one of them is in pain. Because there’s been the dull throb of a low grade headache beating an even pulse in his temples since he woke up this morning. But mostly because every time he opens his stupid fucking mouth to talk Steve stops touching him, and that sucks absolute balls.

“I maybe had an idea,” Steve says. His voice dips and slides while he keeps his hands small, quiet, and close to his chest. Something Robin told him, and he’s now noticing, means Steve has thought about this idea a lot, long enough that he’s convinced himself it’s bad. Eddie’s noticed that even when these ideas aren’t phrased well, they’re never bad.

“I know it’s like rule number one: don’t split the party,” Steve can’t help but roll his eyes when he says it, an instinctive bit of brotherly mockery of Dustin, he would guess. “But what if you split the group a bit. Mike can go after Will, I’m sure Erica would be down to kill some vampires. She loves a chance to test drive her new feats and shit. Then Jeff and Dustin and whoever else can finish up that thing? With the missing girlfriend or whatever? And once that’s done they reunite to do whatever’s next on the list, save the kingdom.”

Eddie sits with that for a bit.

Impulsive is still his middle name, but sometime between being eaten alive by other dimensional hell creatures and getting a thousand and six tiny, itchy stitches removed he’s started giving things second and even third thoughts. Though in this case the second thoughts are less ‘is this a good idea’ and more ‘will Steve bend me over that solid oak dining table and critique my DM notes while he rails me.’

As his stomach swoops, his lower body twinges in a much less enjoyable way. Letting him know that now he’d been standing too long, or leaning against the counter the wrong way, or maybe something else entirely that made his legs tired of doing one of the few things they were made to do. 

Figures he finally lands a hot boyfriend and he's got chronic pain keeping him from getting his dick wet.

“If you’ve already got another idea-”

“No,” he rushes to assure Steve, who needs to stay confident in his own ideas for all kinds of reasons but right now mostly so he’ll be willing to play into this new fantasy of Eddie’s once his body is willing to cooperate with the standing and the bending it’s going to require. “No, it’s a fantastic idea. I’m plotting as we speak.” 

And that isn’t a total lie. Forever DM, he can think about all the fun ways the love of his life and reason he’s still living could degrade his current campaign -- An oath of vengeance paladin questing to save a lost love, isn’t that a little played out. Oh wow, rat swarms in a dungeon, they’re never gonna see that coming -- and figure out how to trick the group into thinking splitting the party was their own idea.

“How long,” he asks his resident child expert, “do you think it would take Will to roll up a new character?”

The smile that tips the corners of Steve’s face is the best part of his day. “Will always has an extra character rolled up with the rest of his stuff in his folder."

Things are slotting together in his head now, and as Steve's hands come around to do something magical in a spot on his back that probably has a name but mostly makes his legs feel like they should really belong to a baby deer.

“So Will…”

“Can convince Mike, and get a chance to try out the new thingy he built. He’s been waiting to talk to you about it.”

Eddie’s getting excited now, hands shaking in the good way. He doesn’t even care that his knee locks as he tries to bounce on his toes, just lets his hands get out the excited energy. “And the band can go do the story side plot shit I’ve been putting off…” 

“With Dustin,” Steve reminds, “cause he’ll want to go wherever there’s the best chance to stir up shit. You already know Erica is going to go where there’s a chance to prove she’s the best at fighting, Lucas too. Not the fighting thing. He’ll go to round out the group, and so his mom doesn’t have to worry about keeping track of one more thing on the family calendar.”

“You’re a genius, Sweetheart.” He snags Steve by the collar, ignoring his bitching that the two fingered pinch he’s got it in is going to stretch it out, and pulls him close. Pressing a kiss on the corner of his perfect boyfriend’s pleased little smile. “I gotta go talk to Will about this character.”

“Send Mike down when you do?”

He’s surprised when he gets no argument, barely gets acknowledgement, when he finds Will and Mike in the guest bathroom and separates them. Mike slips from the room with nothing but a backward glance at Will, who smiles supportively. Once he clears the room, it takes next to zero prompting to get Will to talk about his backup character. The ‘thingy’ he'd been working on a tricked out ranger build that's going to annihilate. 

There's something fresh, brightening, about Will's enthusiasm for the character that infects Eddie too. It gets him excited, for the first time since everyone arrived, to sit down around their over crowded table and play the hour of set up it's going to take to get the party ready to be split. 

And Will doesn't duck his head anymore when Eddie pushes at him and his DnD expertise, he just pushes back. Together they work out a couple tweaks that will make the build fit better in the party, flesh out a backstory that they can integrate even if it doesn't end up going anywhere, and it doesn't really feel like time passes at all. Until Sinclair is sticking his head through the door, surprise artfully hidden at who he finds, as he asks if they're ready to go.

Mike is conspicuously absent from the table when Eddie makes his way to it, and that won't do at all. He's not an asshole, he's just 15. Something like shame crawls up the back of his throat as Steve's reminder sounds in his head. He remembers 15 and the things he said but more than that, as he looks around the table, he remembers being the last to arrive at a hangout of people you're already worried hate you only to find them having a good time without you. 

Eddie has always prided himself on his ability to run a good session. "Stevie, gimme back our paladin, do I need to bring in a hostage negotiator."

A cookie held in one hand while the other smooths down the ruffled fringe of his bangs, Mike re-enters the dining room. The back of his Hellfire shirt is bunched and, if that weren't sign enough he'd been on the receiving end of a perfect Harrington hug, he looks settled. A smile tugging at his face that Eddie hadn't realized how much he missed, he looks boyish and happy and if Eddie didn't before he understands Steve's mission to keep these kids kids by whatever means necessary.

"Alright, now where were we?” He says once Mike is back in his seat beside Will, “Ah yes, you all watch in horror as the vampire spawn, hastened, dash away from you all with the unconscious, but still alive, body of Sir William the Wizened." Before anyone can restart the shouting, and he knows there will be shouting now that they’ve all had a chance to look over their notes and their character sheets, he barrels on. “From the hill behind you comes a shot. An arrow flies, thwip thwip. It slices between you all, before sinking into the back of one of the spawn at the back of the pack. He stumbles to the ground and the rest of the pack leave him to die.”

“We can interrogate him!” 

“Worry about who’s behind us, dude.”

He doesn’t let Mike or Dustin derail him, Eddie continues, “As you turn the hill behind you is nothing but mist. You all know the range of an elven bow, but whoever fired it is nowhere to be seen. You wait, breath held, as a figure all in black slowly approaches. You get the feeling you see him now only because he wants to be seen.

“Will, describe your new character for us!”

[seokka0o]

홍승한 - Hong Seunghan //Contain: afab!reader // Smut - Unprotected sex; enemies to something like lovers; college au

You could have a lot of questions under the hood. Looks exchanged in the college hallway could be considered a mere decoration and this childish intrigue, Seunghan was no fool, much less you, all this accumulated hatred and this lack of tact in dealing with each other had a not very secret meaning behind it. .

It was too luxurious a party to be sponsored by the college alone, many students there were supported by their millionaire parents, the fraternities were the biggest providers of that whole exhibition, mainly from you and from Seunghan, both as leaders of the fraternity house and two entities with greater power in that place, complete opposites, there were no treaties, when one wins, it means the other is losing and this encourages disproportionate fights between the two blocs.

Everyone in the room and already drunk until they lose track of space, loud music , this kind of thing. You in the dorm, Seunghan between your legs and you moaning greedily as he fucks you with all his being.

“You're a joke” he mocked without no shame in the face, both completely left out and your morals on the floor along with the clothes he took off without any effort, in known waters. Seunghan grabbed your leg tightly, pushing it up eyes to watch your pussy receive his dick so easily.

“S-Shut up” you whined and bit your lower lip, wanting to punish him for even being so full of himself at times like this, but getting lost in Seunghan's low talk and the more precise thrust he gave, hitting you deep with his cock, crazy in the feeling of your insides compressing him and pulling away so easily.

You guys serve up too good of a facade, he smiled with his thin lips and released him to lean towards you, slowing down the speed in question to thrust into you slowly, eager to hear you moan softly, with your eyes fixed on his. Seunghan was close, cute smile plastered on his lips, his face sweaty with his hair pulled back, you have a vague mention of the black earring in his ear and it makes you roll your eyes. It was impossible not to give in to him, anyway.

“Easy as the little thing you are” Seunghan said, starting to kiss your jaw, big hands going up to your chest to touch your nipple and make fun.

“D-Don’t you dare” you moved your hips, looking for more aggressive contact, but seunghan just remained as usual, giving you nothing but despair. Seunghan ignored your order and bit your neck, ran the tip of his tongue and sucked the skin, confidently, your moan was shrill, the slap on the other's back was out of purpose, as a return of his grace.

“Damn, your slap hurts” he commented after letting go of your skin with a snap, the smile returned to his lips.

“F-Fuck, are you stupid?” You complained and he caressed your face.

"I? Who is losing their mind?” You didn't understand the sentence, before saying anything else he went back to fucking you like he should have been doing before, straight and right, the party was going wild and you felt Seunghan crush your insides, the words stopped in your throat, your nails started to score his back, making Seunghan moan into the curve of your neck, where he was at that moment, marks that you would leave for him to brag about when he looked in the mirror later.

“Fuck me… h-harder....please-” you whimpered to his aid, the moans mixing, the frames slamming, Seunghan didn’t need to go too far, he was included in it. You came first, Seunghan had this gift that any man would have had perhaps one day, That's why you hated him so much. Soon after, he jumped out of you, taking his hand to his hard member to masturbate and throw it all out, onto your belly, like a desperate man, moaning at the top of his lungs, panting and satisfied with the sight of you all filled with his cum.