#upwas

[spicyvegrecipes]

Vrat Wali Aloo Mungfali ki Sookhi Sabzi

Vrat Wali Aloo Mungfali ki Sookhi Sabzi Vrat Wali Aloo Mungfali ki Sookhi Sabzi is a traditional Indian dish commonly prepared during fasting periods, particularly during Hindu festivals like Navratri, Shivratri, Janmashtami, and Ekadashi where certain dietary restrictions are observed. This dish meets the fasting requirements of those who follow the vrat (fasting) food guidelines, which exclude…

[phantomfingers]

The Champion, Vol. 8, April 1955; Pamphlet from UPWA Anti-Discrimination Committee. Both issued by United Packinghouse Workers of America District 1.

[minminbunny]

Best Friends to Lovers AU - Big Cock! Lee Felix/Unexperienced Gender Neutral! Reader

*smut part - AFAB/AMAB

💕Drabble Masterlist

❤️Ultimate Masterlist

"Lix!" you exclaimed, waving your arm. Felix chuckled, "Done with classes?" he asked, tossing his back over his shoulder. You nodded, "Ahm. Last lect of the day. What about you?" you asked, scrolling next to him. "Same," he said, ruffling your hair. You squinted, pushing his hand off, "I put effort into my hair today," you grumbled, pushing your hair back. Felix smirked, "You look the exact same anyway," he teased, leaning against the traffic pole. You rolled your eyes, "It's the little things, Lix. Imagine a lover noticing that you trimmed of just an inch of hair," you said, looking lovesick. Felix scoffed, "No one's going to notice," he said, eyeing said self trimmed hair. You elbowed his side, "You always ruin my delusion," you groaned, crossing your arms. Felix hissed and chuckled, "Someone's going to have to. Can't have you falling for the book trope i.e bad boys," he teased, pinching your cheek. You swat at his hand, "Ow! They aren't my type anymore," you whined, rubbing your cheek. Felix smirked, "You gushed over one just a day ago. What was his name? Stylus? Sylus? Something," he said, poking your forehead.

You scoffed, "He's a dating otome. It doesn't count. I like losercore boys now," you said, covering your face. Felix grimaced at your behavior, "Losercore?" he said, blinking at you in disbelief. You nodded, "Yeah. Guys that kick their feet at the thought of their crush. That notice everything their crush likes but acts passive aggressive to be cool in public. The type that would stare at your lips and ki-," you said when Felix covered your mouth. "TMI," he exclaimed, shaking his head. You licked his palm, forcing him to pull off, "Kiss possessive, grip their waist and tug them close," you teased, leaning closer. Felix clenched his jaw, "You're playing with fire," he said, glaring down at you. "Then he grips their waist, slowly grazing upwa- Hic!" you hiccuped when Felix pinned you to the wall. Your eyes widened at the sudden position. Felix scoffed out a smirk, "I warned you," he said, his voice a bit breathy. You gulped, your voice failing to speak up. Felix cooed, "Cat got your tongue?" he hummed, pinning you there for a bit before pulling away. "Best not to rile me up again," he said, patting your head.

"Got a lover?" you asked, popping a gummy in your mouth. Felix raised an eyebrow, "No. Why?" he questioned, setting down his pen. You murmured, "No reason," you said, looking away. Felix stretched out his legs, his feet rubbing against your calves, "No reason, huh?" he said, watching your expression turn red. You gulped, tucking your legs to your chest, "Stop that," you grumbled, placing your chin between your knees. "Why should i?" Felix asked, pulling his legs from under the floor table and kneeled. You furrowed your eyebrows, "Because it's pervy," you said, flipping him off. Felix grabbed your wrist, "But you liked it," he said, kissing your middle finger. You gulped, "We shouldn't," you said, trying to tug your wrist back. Felix stared at your lips then back at your eyes, "I want you. I know you want me to," he said, knowing the way your gaze on him changed after that day. "I do," you whimpered, looking away. Felix smirked, tucking his palm under your chin, forcing you to look at him, "Good. I do too," he said, squishing your cheeks.

NFSW BELOW CUT

AFAB

"That's it, Atta' girl," he growled, gripping your waist. You hiccuped, clawing the sheets below, "You're too big!" you whined, glaring at him with glossy eyes. Felix chuckled, "You're the one with the big cock fantasy. Don't tell me you're backing out now," he teased, easing another inch into your ribbed fluttering cunt. "Hah, mmhm," you sobbed, taking deep breaths just to adjust around his size. Felix kissed down your back, "I'll go slow," he whispered, thrusting his cock to the hilt. Your back arched as his cockhead pressed against those sensitive bundle of nerves, "Hic, hah ah," you hiccuped, cumming around his shaft. Felix stared at you in surprised, your ribbed walls fluttered around his hot veiny cock. You looked back at him, tears dripping down your nose, "Felt too good," you sniffled, gripping the sheets tighter. Felix pressed his tongue against his upper left molar, "Fuck," he whispered, feeling his brain short circuit.

"Ah! Hhgh, hah, hah, ah," you cried out when he bounced you on his lap. His girthy throbbing cock pounded itself deeper and deeper up your cunt. Felix growled, thrusting up to your bounces, forcing your body to take as much as his length, "The shit you do to me," he groaned, rubbing your clit with his other hand. You sobbed into his shoulders, tears streaming down your cheeks at a steady rate. Felix bared his teeth and bit your collar, "Don't stop. Don't you fucking stop," he groaned, forcing your hips in tandem with his thrusts. "Too much, hhgh," you sniffled, pulling your face away from his shoulder to kiss him. Felix licked your bottom lip, "Mhm," he moaned, sucking on your tongue. You felt pleasure shiver down your spine, "Can I cum? Hic, please," you sniffled, broken sobs slipping past your lips. Felix nodded, bucking his hips harder, forcing a small bulge to form on your tummy, "Cum for me. Cum hard," he growled, pounding your cunt relentlessly. You sobbed against his lips as your orgasm broke. Slick dripping down his thighs. Felix groaned, the veins on his neck protruding as he pumped his load deep within your cunt, "Good girl. Rest. I'll take care of the rest," he rasped, kissing your forehead.

AMAB

"That's it, Atta boy," he growled, gripping your waist. You hiccuped, clawing the sheets below, "You're too big!" you whined, glaring at him with glossy eyes. Felix chuckled, "You're the one with the big cock fantasy. Don't tell me you're backing out now," he teased, easing another inch into your ribbed fluttering hole. "Hah, mmhm," you sobbed, taking deep breaths just to adjust around his size. Felix kissed down your back, "I'll go slow," he whispered, thrusting his cock to the hilt. Your back arched as his cockhead pressed against those sensitive bundle of nerves, "Hic, hah ah," you hiccuped, cumming onto your torso. Felix stared at you in surprise, your ribbed walls fluttering around his hot veiny cock. You looked back at him, tears dripping down your nose, "Felt too good," you sniffled, gripping the sheets tighter. Felix pressed his tongue against his upper left molar, "Fuck," he whispered, feeling his brain short circuit. 

"Ah! Hhgh, hah, hah, ah," you cried out when he bounced you on his lap. His girthy throbbing cock pounded itself deeper and deeper up your hole. Felix growled, thrusting up to your bounces, forcing your body to take as much as his length, "The shit you do to me," he groaned, stroking your cock with his other hand. You sobbed into his shoulders, tears streaming down your cheeks at a steady rate. Felix bared his teeth and bit your collar, "Don't stop. Don't you fucking stop," he groaned, forcing your hips in tandem with his thrusts. "Too much, hhgh," you sniffled, pulling your face away from his shoulder to kiss him. Felix licked your bottom lip, "Mhm," he moaned, sucking on your tongue. You felt pleasure shiver down your spine, "Can I cum? Hic, please," you sniffled, broken sobs slipping past your lips. Felix nodded, bucking his hips harder, forcing a small bulge to form on your tummy, "Cum for me. Cum hard," he growled, pounding your hole relentlessly. You sobbed against his lips as your orgasm broke. Slick dripping down his thighs. Felix groaned, the veins on his neck protruding as he pumped his load deep within your hole, "Good boy. Rest. I'll take care of the rest," he rasped, kissing your forehead.

[yandere-daydreams]

tw - modern!au, unhealthy relationships, obsessive behavior, nonconsensual touching, and stalking. written for a very lovely anonymous commissioner.

“I’ve been thinking about us, again.”

He was barely trying to whisper, his voice loud enough to earn several pointed looks from the people around you. You’d tried to put yourself at a distance from the rest of the class, to sit in a deserted corner of the near-empty lecture hall, but he wouldn’t have cared if you were in the first row. That was something you’d had to learn quickly about him – Kunikuzushi was shameless at the best of times, actively vitriolic at the worst. Your public humiliation wasn’t just a pleasant side-effect of his company, but an active goal he was striving towards during every minute you spent together.

“You don’t have to look so worried – if I was going to break up with you, you’d know.” You kept your eyes trained on the lecturer, your expression schooled to practiced disinterest, but his voice lulled like you’d broken into tears. You felt him shift that much closer to you – his thigh pressing into yours. “I just don’t think we spend enough time together. I know, I know, we’re both busy, but still. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were avoiding me.”

You were. Just last week, you’d spent two hours locked in your bedroom closet – lights off and knees pulled into your chest – because Kuni had somehow gotten your address and decided it would be a good use of his time to loiter on your doorstep and refuse to leave until you came out. You planned your day-to-day schedule meticulously to make sure it would never bleed into his, went out of your way not to have to go where you knew he would be, but there was only so much you could do to get away from someone willing to blow off his classes and skip work just to spend the better part of a day sending you candid pictures from one of his countless burner phones. You could only be thankful he was too caught up in his own delusions to ever let his obsession turn violent. Lashing out at you for never acknowledging whatever relationship he thought you were in would be akin to admitting you didn’t have a relationship at all, he would never do that.

He took up your hand, his fingers soon intertwined with yours. You tried, weakly, to pull away from him, but he only let out a breathy chuckle, his head soon resting on your shoulder. Compared to how he’d acted when you first met – standoffish, bristly, constantly on the verge of losing his temper – he was practically a touch-starved puppy, happy so long as he could sit in your lap and bask in your attention, positive or negative.

If only you’d ever wanted a pet.

“I don’t know why I can’t just come out and say it.” Another laugh, a playful squeeze to your hand. “I think we should move in together.”

You snapped in his direction, your knees jolting against the bottom of your desk and earning a few pointed glares. After mouthing a sheepish apology, you dug your nails into the back of his hand, keeping your voice as low as possible. “Kuni, I— I don’t think that’s—”

“Don’t think it’s practical?” Predictably, he cut you off. “I knew you’d say that. If it wasn’t for me, you wouldn’t be able to find the nerve to leave your apartment.” You felt his smile against the dip of your shoulder, then the crook of your neck as he nuzzled against you. “I’ve already handled it. By the time that moron—“ He rolled his eyes towards your professor. “—shuts up, everything should be taken care of.”

You felt something heavy and sharp drop into the pit of your stomach. “But, you don’t have a key—”

“I made myself a key a couple weeks ago – got tired of waiting for you to offer. I love you, babe, but you’re too timid for your own good.” His grin, pressed the curve of your throat. “You can thank me later on, after I’ve shown you our new place.”

His hand fell to your thigh, just a touch too high not to trigger some buried, primal instinct inside of you. You didn’t think, didn’t hesitate – bolting upward and tearing yourself away from him. Your chair scaped against the tile floor, your palms slamming against the desk, and in an instant, every pair of eyes in the lecture hall were on you. The professor scowled in your direction, his ire tangible. “Do you have something to say, (L/n)?”

You opened your mouth, but your mouth was dry, your throat suddenly swollen shut. Your gaze fell back to Kuni – his smile still wide and his eyes still so, so dark.

Wordlessly, you shook your head and collapsed back into your seat. As the lecture picked back up and all concentration was returned to the front of the rom, Kuni latched onto you once again, his hold twice as strong and twice as suffocating as it had been.

It was almost a comfort to know that, this time, there wasn’t anything you could do to get away from him.

[rxzennia]

oral sex

✎𓂃 in the case of aventurine giving | m! reader

it’s taking everything in you to stay still. aventurine has you spread out in bed, his mouth around your dick and his hands on your thighs. your back is arched into the mattress and you’re trying your best to not whimper, but there really isn’t much you can do when he’s got your hips held down firmly.

“w-wait, babe, wait,” you hiss, shuddering and twitching so beautifully under him, “not there, it feels weird…”

“weird?” aventurine repeats slowly, lifting his head and staring up at you with hazy eyes. “how weird?”

you inhale sharply; your precum is all over his tongue and slowly dripping from his parted lips. he’s so adorable like this, panting and dazed as he goes down on you. such a shame that you’d promised to let him do all the work tonight, because all you’re itching to do is to shove him down onto the bed and fuck his tight throat.

aeons, he’s such a sight that you almost missed the question entirely. “good weird. c’mon, back to work.” you caress his cheek with one hand, gently trying to coax him back to giving you the head of your life. “you’re doing so well, give me more.”

you don’t need to tell him twice. aventurine doesn’t hesitate to lick and tease around your tip, his tongue digging carefully into your slit and feeling the veins on the side, until he slowly lowers his mouth and deepthroats you.

“oh, oh, aven,” you moan, physically restraining yourself from grabbing his head and doing whatever you want. “mm, that’s good,” you sigh loudly as your hips buck involuntarily, “you feel so good, i don’t think i can-”

“shh, you can,” aventurine coos, moving one hand to play with your balls as he bobs his head, “be good for me, hm? you promised.”

so pretty.

your boyfriend is so fucking pretty. your cock bulging in his throat every time he takes it all the way, his swollen lips covered in saliva and precum, his face colored a dark pink as tears bead at his eyes, and his own arousal straining against his pants…

you want to mess him up. 

“you,” aventurine stutters when he feels you get bigger in his mouth, “you, hngh, why’d you-”

“sorry, baby,” you say between gritted teeth. you’re about to lose it; you sit up and carefully slip your hands into his hair, and you hold him in place as you thrust into his mouth. “ah, your mouth is so warm,” you groan, tugging lightly at his hair while you move, “i can’t help it, you feel too damn good.”

the way you bite your bottom lip as you move is so intoxicating, the way your skin glistens with sweat as you pick up the pace and abuse his throat, aventurine can’t think anymore. like a possessed man, he seeks out your thick cock in his mouth, your taste, your body, and your affection. 

“ah, augh, hngh, please,” aventurine gags, with how rough you’re going, but he absolutely loves it. “harder, fuck me harder.” his words come out muffled, slurping and swirling his tongue like he just can’t get enough of your liquids. “please, please, i need, i…”

“oh, you need it?” your soft smile twists into a smirk, your grip tightening ever so slightly in his hair. “what do you need?” you’re feeling mischievous; you pull him off of you and take some time admiring his teary eyes, messy lips, and the sticky semi-clear liquid dripping down his chin. “aeons, you’re absolutely divine,” you say as you swipe away the beading tears with your thumbs, “tell me, baby. tell me and i’ll give it to you.”

“i need to taste you,” aventurine whines, a cute sound of annoyance when he doesn’t feel your cock between his lips, “i want your cum down my throat. please?” he adds, as if that would make you tease him less, “please?”

you stare at your lovely boyfriend, almost gasping at how desperate he is. you’ve gotten him all hot and bothered before, but it’s rare that he gets so needy for you. your hands slide down his face and you caress him gently, until you decide to slip your hands into his hair once more and shove him down your throbbing cock the exact moment you thrust upwards. 

“attaboy, that’s it,” you purr, holding aventurine’s head firmly as you take a moment to revel in the snug velvet of his mouth. “mm, that’s it, good boy, is this what you want?” 

“gah-eugh, hngh, mmf! y-yes!” he chokes, but he refuses to tap out. he allows you to push past his gag reflex and make him cry with each and every motion of yours. “i, i, augh, yes, i love it.” he ruts his hips harder, grinding against nothing as he sobs and moans, “aah, i can’t help myself… you’re so big!”

“like being called a good boy, huh?” you chuckle; aventurine likes to act tough, but whenever you give him what he likes, he melts into such a pretty puddle for you. “good boy, rinnie, you’re such a good boy,” you breath out between pleasured moans, “i’m, i’m close, oh, i’m going to come inside,” you ramble, your hips stuttering as you struggle to keep up the pace, “can i? rinnie, please, can i?”

he nods, his hands groping all over your thighs, your ass, all while he tries his very best to work harder for your cum in his mouth. he absolutely adores this sight, you’re drowning in feelings only he can give you, and you’re enjoying it so much that you can’t help but whimper for him.

“yes, yes, do it,” aventurine chokes out around your cock, his fingers gliding along your arched back. “do it, c’mon, lemme taste you…”

you keen sharply, bucking your hips one last time and grabbing onto your boyfriend’s head tightly. “fuck, i can’t, i can’t, baby, aah–” your thrusts become sporadic as you twitch helplessly, hot cum shooting straight down aventurine’s throat as you keep grinding yourself against his face– “oh, oh, that’s so good, fuck, rinnie, you’re so good, you’re doing so well.”

“hn, hmf, mh?” aventurine moans at how much you’re pouring into him, but he isn’t complaining, he swallows with practiced ease before he slowly eases off of you, a strand of milky white dangling from his lips. “bleh… you came so much…” he pants, crawling up the bed and laying down on top of you, “your turn to take care of me, you bastard.”

you laugh heartily, your hands are already reaching for the drawer on the nightstand. “of course, just sit back and relax,” you whisper, giving your sweet lover a kiss on his cheek. “we have the entire night still in front of us.”

[callmehopeless]

A Recounting Of Moments

Ominis Gaunt x Reader

AO3 LINK | OR BELOW THE CUT

Plot: Ominis Gaunt gives MC cunnilingus. No other plot. It's just horny, man. (Below the cut because 18+)

Word Count: 1,500

He's loved her since those very first days.

Since the threads of him first tangled with the threads of her - tentative. A curious meeting outside of the Undercroft; he was angry, then, at the intrusion of the thing. It felt like the twisting knife that curled in his heart, and he was blinded (if you'll forgive him that one) by a rage too thick to see through.

It's always been the three of them, you see.

Sebastian, and Anne, and Ominis. A triad of troublemakers; or friends, at the least of it. Three people who have trusted eachother, beyond all recognition. Beyond sense, or sanity, or any which ways you turn the dial.

But then there was her.

Oh, Merlin--he never expected this.

It's the way she kisses him. The way her lips press to his that makes him drunk on it; on the madness that can barely be contained in him. Ominis Gaunt has grown around the madness: a pox of his family, and he's the pox on that, too. Stains upon stains, until you become lost in the fabric of an addled tapestry that doesn't make you a Gaunt. Doesn't make you anything else, either - but he's not sure where he fits, anymore.

Between her lips, though: he fits there just fine.

He thinks he'd like to stay there forever. Build a home in the space between those places; write poetic lines right into the cords of her throat. Tell her she's magical; tell her she's shaking the very fabric of him into misery and madness, just by the way her back arches against this window.

He shouldn't be fucking her here.

But he's fucking her all the same.

Not yet: not quite. But his lips drag up her ankle: her back pressed against the window of the Common Room like it's solid enough to support the way their souls vibrate. He can feel the way she's trembling against it; how the water pushes and pulls against the glass as she hitches her skirt, and Ominis Gaunt is lost in kissing upward. Upward, inch by inch: as slowly as one can kiss, when all is said and done.

"You don't know, do you?" he asks her, between smattered promises on her skin, "don't know what I've held back from doing to you all day?"

Of course she doesn't.

If she did - she'd hardly be threading her fingers through his hair and dragging her nails over his scalp like this. She'd be shredding her voice on his name; aching, wild: she'd be tearing the tapestries from the walls with screams of his name. There's a strength to the thoughts he's brimming with: too deep and dark to explain to her, in the heat of this moment.

"Tell me," she begs him, and it drips like honey. Right down his spine; right over the fabric of his clothes. Drenches him.

He kisses up towards her knee, now. Sucks a kiss on the inside of her right one, pulling it just up over his shoulder. His hands thread higher to the curves of her; he can see her in perfect detail like this. The way she'd fill a uniform to perfection. Fill a skirt to absolution.

Fit around him like she was made to.

Perhaps that's too crass of him. Filth and dirt: not befitting a man of his station.

Ominis cares little for it.

He cares for the way gooseflesh pricks under his fingers, though. And that's far more real than any suppositions might be.

"First," he tells her, his voice husky in his throat, "I thought of you at breakfast. Sitting in my lap. The way you like to put those delicate lips to my neck."

He tells her it without any need to compose himself: he's already lost in her. His trousers are too tight, when he kisses upward. Bites, a little bit, at her left leg first. He moves to the right to give it equal attention, and his nails dig crescents ever so gently against the outside of her thigh. She intakes sharply; a lungful of air that feels almost reverent.

"Go on," she implores, and he feels rather lost in it all.

"Then; Charms."

Ominis lets his breath flutter on her as he moves upward; it's warmer, here. Softer. The skin is tender and untouched by anyone but him - he's maddened by the salty taste of the sweat against his lips.

"You held that wand deftly," he feels almost wild, now. His cock throbs in his trousers; spitting. Spilling. "Agony. All agony. You're a vision; and I wish your hands had been on me in much the same way."

He can feel her heartbeat in her thigh, and it's enough to bring him further into a deep, agonising place.

Merlin; but this worship is better than what his body craves.

To show her what this is is bliss in of itself. The denial is half of the prize: a man earns his keep, after all.

"I wish I had, now." Her voice cracks on the last word; his nails drag on the inside of her thighs, and there is no fabric to bar him at all.

"At dinner," he swallows, desperate for air, "I craved only this."

I craved only you.

He thinks he says it in English, at first. But there's a brilliant tremble to her body as he breathes it, so close to the wet heat of her - and it's not English at all. It's a hiss, and a flick of the tongue; the language of snakes, and a blessed relief to finally let free from himself. Like a breath he's been holding for far too long; he feels the tip of his tongue ache with the sound of it.

Or, perhaps, the desire to taste her.

She's trembling beneath his touch, and Ominis can barely contain it, as he kneels in blissful reverence before her. He's never been one for sermons, but it feels like something of a pledge; a promise, and a hymnal, and a tempestuous force from his lungs that wants to swallow him whole.

She whimpers at the touch, and he nibbles just so.

"Ominis," she begs, her pulse fluttering, "please. Please."

Ominis Gaunt is many things.

But no - he will never deny her this.

So his mouth creeps upward; lips parted, teeth nibbling. Gentle and slow, as he feels the fabric of her skirt against the nape of his neck. He breathes in the scent of her, and it makes him just about mad with the promise of the whole bloody thing.

"Oh; you have no idea how delicious you are, do you?"

She can't ever know.

There are no words for it. None he knows; none that matter. None that would make sense  - not to him, not to her, nor to anyone. But his nails grab at the curve of her: higher, feeling the flesh ooze around his fingernails, and he's no longer a devout follower.

He's a reverent, repentant sinner.

His tongue comes first - stretches out. The tip of it is ever so gentle: he wants and wants, begging for a taste of her as though it'll cure every ill in his body. Maps her with his hands; but his tongue is the true vision of the peace. When he finds her; she trembles with a whine, and Ominis wishes he were a stronger man.

He isn't. No man is this strong.

He buries his face into her cunt: presses his lips to it in absolute, agonizing want. The feeling is ecstasy; the taste is madness. Keening, pure absolution - incomprehensible, in all that it is.

His groan is loud enough to wake half the Common Room; but that's half of the daring of it.

The other half is deep within her; and he'll gladly lick it out. Spread the flat of his tongue clean against her, until she's writhing and wild against his face; fisting his hair and begging with his name upon her lips.

He's loved her all along, after all.

[irisintheafterglow]

love me from your point of view

↻ ◁ II ▷ ↺ now playing: ariana grande - "pov"

summary: you teach sakusa kiyoomi how to love, in spite of the cameras and the gossip.

wc: 8.45k

cw/tags: pro!sakusa x rockstar!reader, fem!reader in mind but no specific pronouns used, strangers to lovers, character study, explicit language, minor injury (blood/glass tw), mentions of drinking and alcohol, angst with happy ending <3

note: this is my contribution for the lovely sel's "and there's something, this feeling" collab to celebrate one year of @seiwas ! this is the longest fic i've written to date because i tried my best to go a character-driven route that i've always admired sel for rather than my usual plot-driven route. i hope you like this and happiest of anniversaries my wonderful sel :))))

likes, reblogs, and replies are appreciated :) check out the rest of sel's event here!

Sakusa Kiyoomi hated cameras. Unfortunately, in his line of work, they were essentially gnats buzzing constantly around his head. They were always trying to make him do something, look here or there, pose with his shoulders angling this way or that. After the commands came the interrogations, nosy reporters sniffing around his private life for something sellable. Then there were the phone cameras and the fans behind them, and they could be a hit or miss depending on if they respected his boundaries. When he was in highschool, he could get away with avoiding socialization; but now, as a striker for one of the most famous teams in the country, socialization was a required skill. 

“I’m happy you agreed to go with us, Sakusa,” Bokuto says for the fifth time since they parked at the venue in the heart of Tokyo. It was a little irritating, the way they kept thanking him for his presence like he’d back out if they didn’t continue expressing their gratitude. He couldn’t leave, even if he wanted to; Atsumu insisted on being the one behind the wheel and the car narrowly avoided a collision after Hinata said he’d missed the exit. “We know you’re still a little grumpy because of the drive, so don’t feel the need to talk to us right now.” 

“Hey, if you wanted to leave so badly, you could just call a car,” Atsumu points out, “but I know you secretly like spending time with us.” Sakusa fixes his teammate with a stare that could be perceived as a grimace, but his friends know him better than that. Sakusa wasn’t angry, he was bored. It was originally Bokuto and Hinata’s idea to see some artist he didn’t listen to in concert, saying that it was ‘a once in a lifetime experience’ and that the artist hadn’t played in the country in over a decade. He was vaguely aware of some songs, mostly because his teammates cranked the speaker volume during conditioning. Still, it wasn’t his ideal Saturday night, especially before a big game. “And, guess what?”

“Holy shit, box seats!” 

“We have our own bathroom!” Bokuto and Hinata’s shouts of excitement drown out the rest of Atsumu’s sentence and the security guards are barely able to open the doors as they tumble into the private section. 

“Yo, Shoyo. Be careful of that railing or you’ll fall into the general audience,” Atsumu warns while Hinata willfully ignores him, staring out over the crowds slowly filing into their seats. “Pretty cool, ain’t it?” Sakusa nods once, approaching the balcony and then deciding against it when he catches the telltale flash of a phone camera. Like clockwork, he and the other Jackals would be on every update page within ten minutes. A small object appears from behind the balcony wall, floating upwards in a thin arc before falling back to the seats below.

“The hell are they doing?”

“Sakusa, fans are trying to give us bracelets,” Bokuto beams, holding up his forearm halfway-covered in colorful beads. “Apparently it’s a tradition with this artist.”

“I don’t like gifts,” Sakusa deadpans, his mouth taut in a frown. “Tell them I can’t take it.”

“Too late,” Atsumu says, snagging a vibrant purple bracelet as it’s tossed upwards. He looks down at the eager fans below and claps, gesturing for them to throw more. “We’re already taking ‘em, so they’re gonna wonder why you’re not taking them too.”

“If they’re real fans, they’ll know I don’t like gifts,” he counters with narrowed eyes. 

“C’mon, Sakusa. Take one, at least,” Hinata says. His shorter teammate carefully pulls one off and slides it onto his wrist. The pattern alternates between yellow and lime green beads, with letter beads in the center spelling ‘NOKMLYDANOEW.’ It looked like Bokuto and Akaashi’s cat stepped on their computer keyboard. “The letters are an acronym for a song, I think. It’s an inside thing with the artist,” Hinata explains, leaning his bracelet-covered arms against the railing and waving to excited fans. 

“I’m gonna see if they have time to meet us backstage. The fans’ll go berserk.” Bokuto’s words make Sakusa’s eye twitch involuntarily. Staying longer than expected of him was a surefire way to make him irritated and they knew that. 

“Yeah, they’re not the only ones who will benefit from a little meet and greet,” Atsumu whispers cryptically and it’s impossible not to see the way he looks Sakusa up and down. 

“The hell is that supposed to mean?” 

“It’s nothing, really. Don’t worry about it, man,” Bokuto reassures him with a pat on the back, but he doesn’t budge. 

“No, I’m interested. What’re you on about, Miya?” 

“Trust us, it’s nothing!”

“Just grab a soju and relax, Sakusa–”

“They’re trying to set you up with the artist!” Sakusa flinches, turning slowly to his teammates that shrink away like vampires in direct sunlight. Hinata looks mortified, his hands slapped over his mouth as if to seal off what was already revealed. Atsumu and Bokuto shrug, giving him guilty smiles and showing their palms to convey their surrender. “That’s…that’s what they were talking about before we picked you up,” Hinata continues sheepishly. 

“This whole thing is a blind date?” He seethes through gritted teeth, the lights of the stadium starting to give him a migraine. “You guys brought me here to set me up?” 

“All we’re trying to do is have you meet someone new,” Atsumu says gently, stepping forward and then abruptly backward when Sakusa looks like he’s about to commit a homicide. “We think it’ll be good for you.” 

“I don’t care about new people. I have work and you idiots to keep me busy,” Sakusa argues, crossing his arms over his chest. The beads on his arm press into his skin and he fights the urge to rip the entire thing off. “Why would I wanna meet some musician I don’t listen to?” 

“Even if you don’t listen to their music,” Bokuto replies without hesitation, “You should read through their lyrics sometime; I think you’ll find a lot of stuff you can relate to. I bet they get just as much bad publicity as we do.” 

“As if,” he scoffs. “I don’t need someone with a purple guitar telling me what I think.” 

—

“You said there were volleyball guys in attendance, right? If they’re still here, I should probably meet them,” you say to your publicist as you step out from the automatic riser that brought you below the stage following the last song of the show. The sound of your platform boots echo on the linoleum in the back halls of the stadium, your exit music faintly audible from above. “Who are they?” 

“There’s four in total, along with some managers and press. They’re on a team called the MSBY Jackals, with an outstanding record in the sport. From what I’ve seen, three of them are pretty nice.” The two of you, along with a handful of security guards, climb into a waiting golf cart. 

“And the other one?” 

“Toss-up. He might not even talk to you.” You take a sip from your water bottle and briefly glance at the photo your publicist has pulled up on her phone. You can guess which one is the quiet one from his face in the photo alone, staring blankly at the camera while his other teammates smile brightly. 

“He looks like he’d kill me in my sleep,” you observe bluntly. “The type of serial killer people make fan accounts about.” 

“In his defense, I don’t think this is his type of crowd,” she shrugs, her attention flicking to the way you stretch your legs in the seat of the small vehicle. “Sore?”

“Beyond belief,” you chuckle, wincing as a small stab of pain shoots through your calf. “I think I might need a little more padding on the soles, if possible. Chunky heels, in all their wonder, were not made for three hour shows.”

“I’ll see what I can do. You focus on turning back on for the players.” 

After a few more minutes of sipping water and stretching out your legs in the backseat of the golf cart, you pull up to the loading dock where the four athletes are waiting. Two of them, one with iced tips and the other with vibrantly orange hair, practically jump in place when you arrive. The grumpy one lingers at the back of the group; the blonde player extends his hand to you as you step out. 

“Thank you so much.” You greet them with a practiced smile and hope your exhaustion isn’t too visible. “Did you enjoy the show?”

“I couldn’t stop screaming the entire time and I think my voice is shot.” 

“You are incredibly talented.” 

“It was wonderful!” 

“Oh, I’m so glad. It’s such a pleasure to meet you all,” you say warmly, truly wanting nothing more than to curl up in bed and sleep for 24 hours straight. Even when his friends chatter your ear off, the curly-haired one at the back doesn’t say anything. The short one with orange hair and the widest smile introduces himself as Hinata Shoyo, excitedly leading you to each of his teammates: loud Bokuto, flirty Atsumu, and reclusive Sakusa. You’re left alone with Sakusa when the other three rush off to find a bathroom, having been too excited to use one during your show. 

“I didn’t take you for the bracelet type, Sakusa,” you comment, clocking the single bracelet on his wrist. “The colors are nice, though. They go with your eyes.” You let some of your facade come down, mostly because you figured you didn’t need to be as energetic around this one compared to the others. 

“Yeah, Shoyo let me have one of his. Didn’t realize you had such a passionate fanbase,” he states and you fight the urge to laugh. “Or such a large one.”

“You didn’t think I had fans, Sakusa?” His eyes widen ever so slightly and the chuckle slips out before you can stop it, his ears turning a shade pinker. 

“Not what I said,” he backtracks, avoiding eye contact. “The show was good,” he continues unexpectedly, and you find yourself appreciating his praise more than you should. It was a triumph, in your mind, every time you won over a new listener, and he was no different. At least he wasn’t one of the guys harassing you in your Instagram messages. 

“I appreciate the compliment,” you say and catch his ears turning even redder. As much as he was trying to seem offputting, you could read him like a book. “You guys are in town for a game?”

“We’re playing not tomorrow night, but the night after. Coach would kill us if he knew we were going out before a big game,” he answers and you nod, gears starting to turn in your brain. It would be a headline tomorrow that the four players came to your show, but it would break the Internet entirely if you attended their game, especially in the middle of a sold-out tour. It was the kind of publicity you needed to drown out the tabloids. 

“My last show of this city is tomorrow night, but I can get away with skipping a rest day. Would it be weird if I came to watch you play?”

“You want to watch me play?” Sakusa echoes. The tiniest little smirk plays on the corner of his lips. Ugh. For all his introvertedness, he still had the ego of a pro athlete. “That’s what you’re saying?”

“I meant you guys. Don’t think I forgot about the players that actually came to talk to me,” you correct quickly. You exhale through your nose and shake your head with a small smile. The enthusiastic conversation behind you tells you that the rest of the team is returning. “Fine. Maybe I do wanna see who you are under all that antisocial attitude.” 

“Have fun with that. I don’t like new people,” he says, testing you. Too bad you were used to men that probably weren’t healthy for you. “There’s no changing that.” Your forehead throbs at his pure audacity, but you manage to keep an unbothered expression. 

“Good thing I love a challenge.” 

—

“I didn’t think they’d actually show up,” he mutters, taking another look at the large screens projecting the image of you in a VIP box. Sakusa didn’t recognize you without your concert makeup and stage outfit until Shoyo practically knocked him over in excitement. Seeing you smiling and catching your eye, even from at the bottom of the court, made his stomach turn in a way he wasn’t used to. 

“I can’t believe we didn’t think of that first,” Bokuto beams, sending a powerful serve that barely cilps the top of the net. Sakusa finds his eyes drifting to your box, his scowl deepening when you blow an exaggerated kiss to his teammate. His next serve he puts more effort into, but when he looks up, you’re not even watching. Not only were you crashing his game, you were distracting his team. “Nice plan, Sakusa! Maybe we can become friends with them and go to each others’ events.” 

“That wasn’t my intention,” he cringes, the idea of spending more time with you making him nauseous. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but the fact that you were making an effort to engage with him and his friends was outlandish. And all because he invited you to a game? Didn’t you have anything better to do?

“You thought inviting them to the game would scare them away, huh?” Atsumu’s watching Sakusa carefully, inspecting his disgruntled expression under a microscope. “Believe it or not, Omi, some people actually want to be around you…despite how difficult you make it sometimes.” 

“I don’t remember asking for your input,” he threatens, but the blonde Miya merely shrugs, impervious to Sakusa’s warnings. “Can we agree to ignore their presence? Focus on the game. It’s your job.” Atsumu and Bokuto share a look, with typical Hinata none the wiser. Whether they knew it or not, your attendance was throwing off Sakusa’s entire concentration. The average spectator wouldn’t notice the change in Sakusa’s behavior; if anything, they would think he was functioning at a higher level than he usually plays. His serves are stronger, his spikes are sharper, and his steps are quicker than any other player on the court. Fans rave on social media about how focused he is in the game, and the reporters scribble in their notebooks the pressing question for the post-game press conference: Why are you playing so well today? 

“I always play that well,” he mutters, his lie drowned out by the lively conversation around the booth in the corner of the restaurant. The Jackals had cinched an easy victory and Bokuto and Hinata dragged you from your box to get dinner with them. Sakusa sits at the edge of the booth, flanked by Atsumu, followed by Bokuto and Hinata. You sit at the other end, laughing at some dumb story being recounted. It made his forehead pound. “You just don’t notice.” 

“Yeah, right,” Atsumu snickers with another sip of beer. “Admit it, something’s pissing you off.” Maybe I do wanna see who you are under all that anti-social attitude. Your words linger in the back of his mind and fire him up again, unknowingly furrowing his eyebrows and incriminating him. “Yep. Knew it.” 

“Shut the hell up, Atsumu.” He hated that his normally-idiotic teammate was on the cusp of exposing the truth, not to mention the fact that he’d downed one too many soju bombs and was feeling pushier than usual. 

“Is it ‘cause they actually listened to you and showed up?”

“I told you to shut up,” he hisses through gritted teeth. You’re laughing so hard that tears are starting to prickle at the corner of your eyes. It’s the kind of laugh where no noise is actually leaving you and you’re fanning yourself with your hand. Gross. 

“Aww, look at little baby Omi-Omi, finally having a feeling over someone wanting to get to know him,” Atsumu gushes and Sakusa’s ears burn. He threatens his friend with an indescribable death to no avail. “I knew you had a heart under all that coldness!” 

Sakusa’s fist clenches around his glass and he realizes his mistake a split second before there’s a sharp crack! and sudden pain prickles in his palm. “Oh shit, man. I–” His teammate swears under his breath when drops of dark red and amber starts to trickle down Sakusa’s arm, staining the white napkin on his lap. He grinds his teeth down to keep from crying out, the whiskey in his shattered cup burning his raw skin. 

“What happened?” You’re by his side in an instant, your perfume flooding his senses in a way that makes him dizzy. “Jeez, Atsumu. What’d you do?” 

“Why are you blaming me? He’s the one who was holding the cup,” Atsumu says defensively and you shoot him a look. “Fine. I got him riled up and he did,” he gestures to the mess on the table, “that.” 

“Could one of you call your driver please? I think it’s time you three head back to your hotel,” you recommend calmly. 

“What about Sakusa?” Hinata asks as he climbs out from the booth, dragging an apologetic Atsumu and a very buzzed Bokuto toward the door. “He should probably get that checked out.”

“I know. I’ll stay with him,” you reassure him and, after a brief pause of thinking, the short spiker nods and heads for the exit. Sakusa is rigidly still, save for the involuntarily twitching of his injured fingers. “C’mon, let’s go,” you say, gently guiding him out of the booth and grabbing some unused napkins to catch the bleeding. He follows you wordlessly, a million thoughts stewing in his eyes that he refuses to verbalize. He knew he didn’t like you when you tried to read him after your show, but the alcohol in his system was making him despise you. 

You, sitting with him on the way to the nearest hospital. You, carefully looping the elastic bands of his mask over his face before leaving the car. You, politely declining a fan’s attempt to introduce themselves while you’re checking him in at the reception desk. You, listening intently to the doctor as she says that he’ll need stitches in his right hand and that they’ll need to pick every last particle of glass from his palm so that it doesn’t become infected. You, ignoring your vocal coach’s orders for a rest day and staying by his side from 11:00pm to 3:00am when the doctors finally finish his hand. 

He despises you and his pride becomes a gag in his mouth once you drop him off at the Jackals’ hotel, rendering him unable to choke out a simple ‘thank you’ as you continue to treat him with unending kindness. You’ll get hurt if you keep being nice, he thinks to himself, and the way you flinch like you’d been shot tells him he’d spoken his thoughts aloud. He hears you murmur Sleep well, Sakusa, as he shuts the door with his left hand and stalks away, lost in the trenches of his mind. 

—

“But, I’m not sure if it should be the A minor to keep with the chord progression or go to E to create some tension.” Your producer nods at you, his chin resting on his knuckles as you strum your latest song idea on your purple acoustic. It’d been a few days since your late-night trip to the emergency room with Sakusa, and you decided to spend a few hours in the studio before catching your flight to your next tour city. “And when I tried to do it on piano, I just wanted to change the key entirely.” He opens his mouth to speak but is abruptly cut off by three insistent raps on the doorframe of the control room.  

“You have a visitor,” your publicist informs you, peeking her head into the room with a slightly bewildered look in her eyes. “He says it’s urgent.” Your eyebrows dip but you stand anyways, walking through the halls of the recording space until you reach the lobby of the building and stop in your tracks. 

What the hell was he doing here?

“Hey,” Sakusa greets and you blink at him, like he was a figment of your imagination that would disappear if you ignored him. It’s impossible to ignore him, though, considering the outrageously large bundle of flowers cradled in his arm. He follows your eyeline, muttering, “I didn’t know which ones you liked, so I just…bought all of them.”

“I’ll, uh,” your publicist glances at you for a brief moment, giving you an unreadable look before gingerly taking the bouquet from the Olympian in the lobby. “I’ll take these and have them brought to your next hotel, okay?” She dismisses herself, leaving you alone with him. 

“Why are you here?”

“Are you busy right now?” You cross your arms over your chest, annoyed that he replied to your question with a question of his own. Since dropping him off at the team’s hotel, you’d come to peace with his hatred for you even though you’d tried to be nothing but cordial; maybe he could tell that you wanted to be friends for the publicity, you theorized. 

“I’m in a recording studio doing my job, so yeah,” you reply and allow all your suppressed attitude to rear its head. To your surprise, he doesn’t immediately fire back at you. If anything, Sakusa looked uneasy, nothing like the cold confidence you previously saw. “What do you want?”

“Do you have time for lunch?” 

“Oh, now you’re interested in my company,” you scoff, rolling your eyes. In the time following that night at the hospital, you hadn’t received any updates other than an unprompted photo of hungover Atsumu. “Unless you’re ready to apologize for how much of an asshole you’ve been, I don’t wanna hear it.”

“I wanna start over,” he says as you turn your back on him to return to the studio. “One meal,” he proposes, “and if you want nothing to do with me after that, I’ll leave you alone.” You check the wall-mounted clock and make your decision. 

“You get two hours.” 

By the time you sneak through the back of a restaurant and sit down to eat, your stomach is turning itself inside out. You thumb through the menu eagerly, ignoring your present company until water glasses are set out and orders are taken. 

“Look,” you begin, peering at him in the dim light, “I haven’t been completely honest with you.”

“That makes two of us,” he agrees. “You go first.”

“Truth is, I didn’t go to the game to see you, or any of the Jackals, for that matter,” you admit. “I went to get the tabloids off my back and give them a different reason to talk. I didn’t mean to mess up whatever dynamic you guys had going, so for that I am sorry.” You can’t see much of Sakusa’s expression, but you can tell his eyes are on you by the way they shine like a cat’s. It was off-putting, but also drew you in like a black hole. “Is your hand doing okay?”

“It’s better now,” he replies. “Doc’ told me that if we’d left that glass in for longer, it would’ve been more serious.” You nod and take a drink from your water as an excuse not to respond, to see if he would go further. “I, uh,” he swallows thickly, steadying his nerves. “I’m sorry for being avoidant and just being a general asshole. You didn’t deserve that, and I’m…incredibly remorseful.” A puff of air leaves your nostrils in amusement and he can hear you smirk from across the small table. 

“I appreciate the apology, and the apology lunch. Wanna start over without our respective teams breathing down our necks? Friends?” You stick your open hand toward him and he shakes it without hesitation, sealing your deal. “Awesome.” 

“You said ‘tabloids.’ What do they say about you?” Your smile fades and for a moment, he thinks he’s pushed too far too soon. He’s on the brink of apologizing again when you exhale an unsteady breath. 

“The tame ones call me an industry plant,” you explain awkwardly. “The–uh–bolder ones call me a slut.” His nostrils flare and he’s glad there’s no glass in his hand again, otherwise he couldn’t promise it wouldn’t be shattered. “The big drama came from me leaving the producer who’d helped me start my career. The media got the wrong idea, said I’d slept my way into working with him, and left when I’d had my fill.” Sakusa slowly stretches his neck from side to side, willing the sudden tension in his body to relax as he starts to see red. “I hope you can see why I wanted to give them a different reason to talk.” It’s more of a struggle than he expected to keep his voice steady. 

“What actually happened? With the original producer?” You hum in lieu of answering, grateful to catch the approaching servers out of the corner of your eye. 

“I’ll tell you another time,” you dodge, giving him a smile that he can tell is off. “For now, can we eat? I’m so hungry I’m about to eat these silly little herbs in the centerpiece.” 

—

Sakusa stays in Tokyo longer than the rest of his teammates, who depart on the team jet for the next game. He says he wants to do a little more sightseeing, despite having an apartment in the most expensive highrise in the city and knowing the streets like the back of his hand. The truth was, he wasn’t ready to give up the…thing…he’d established with you. He fell into an odd sort of routine: saying goodnight over text, calling you in the morning and telling you what time he’s picking you up, choosing the best places that can shut down for the world’s biggest rockstar on a day’s notice. You were in town for three more days and ended up spending every waking moment of them with Sakusa. 

“You’re really good at dodging the cameras,” you remark over a shared cup of ice cream on your last day, digging your spoon past the numerous toppings you’d insisted on adding. “How do you do it?”

“It helps when I’m not surrounded by the three biggest noisemakers on the planet,” he deadpans and you giggle, a sound he was increasingly becoming fond of the more time he spent with you. “I’m pretty good at laying low. People don’t know where I am unless I want them to know.” 

“Everyone seems to know where I am before even I know,” you frown. “I envy you; I really do.”

“I don’t,” he shrugs.

“Why not?” 

“When you’re trying so hard to avoid people, they tend to stop looking for you. Makes my job easier.” Your lips part in an oh of understanding. “But, I guess you’re here, so either you truly care about my wellbeing or you’re clinically insane.” You burst out laughing, so much so that you snort and have to cover your mouth with a napkin. “My running theory is that it’s a mix of both,” he declares with a rare upturn at the corner of his mouth. 

“Oh, shit,” you mutter once you’ve caught your breath and checked the time on your phone. “I should go. My plane leaves soon and my manager’ll kill me if I’m late. She’s already iffy about me staying in Tokyo this long.”

“What’s your next city?” 

“Madrid. I’m starting the European leg,” you reply while you pack up your things. He stands, walking you to the door of your waiting car. His eyes instinctively scan the surroundings street for cameras, and he subtly positions his body to block you from any passing eyes as you climb into the car. The window makes a humming noise as you roll it down. 

“Have a safe flight.” 

“Don’t be a stranger, yeah? I’ll miss you, even if you don’t want me to.” He memorizes the way the afternoon sunlight catches in your eyes, how each thump of his heartbeat seems louder when you’re near. Something is wrong in my brain, he thinks to himself. Once he’s completely sure your car isn’t being tailed, he dials Atsumu on the drive to the hotel to collect the rest of his things.

“You land already, Miya?” His car purrs beneath his fingertips as he speeds through the busy streets. 

“Safe and sound,” his teammate confirms. “Though jet lag is starting to hit Shoyo and Bo. How were the rest of your dates?” 

“They weren’t dates,” he argues, his hands unconsciously gripping the wheel tighter in indignance. “I was just thanking them for that night.” 

“Yeah, and a bit more than that, I figure.” 

“I don’t even know why I bothered calling you,” he groans.

“Because you want me to say ‘I told you so,’ right? That it was a good idea for me to bring you to that show. You know, a trip to that conveyor belt sushi place will suffice as repayment.”

“In your dreams, Atsumu,” Sakusa deadpans. 

“C’mon, Omi. I know you wouldn’t keep spending time with them if you didn’t feel some kind of tug.” 

“Tug?”

“Like you’re drawn to them,” Atsumu gushes and Sakusa feels like gagging. “Intimately.” Sakusa definitely didn’t think of you that way…right?

“You’re such a pervert.” His disgust is clear, and his speakers blow out with Atsumu’s screams of Not like that! and You don’t even pull enough for me to make fun of! “I’m at the hotel now so I’m gonna hang up. Not sure again why I even bother talking to you.”

“Because I’m your best friend,” Atsumu answers. “See you soon, my sweet Omi~” 

“Remind me to punch you when I touch down.”

—

“How was the show a few nights ago?” 

“Amazing, as always. Almost fell on my ass running around to meet people at the barricade, but thankfully kept my balance,” you chuckle, running the pad of your thumb over the petal of a purple gladiolus. “You can probably see a clip of it on all the fan pages.”

“You think I follow fan pages about you?” 

“What? I follow fan pages about you,” you insist. “User ‘omi-omisbigtits’ has some pretty funny posts of you.” Sakusa groans from the other end of the line.

“That’s the one fan account I have blocked because they post such heinous things,” he recalls. “Did you scroll far enough to see the one where I’m at the zoo and–”

“You’re running away from the peacock, yep,” you finish. Out of the various presents and letters your fans gifted you, you find yourself drawn again and again to the pot of sword lilies. “I screenshotted it and made it your contact photo.”

“I’m never sending you flowers again,” he mutters, but you hear it, snapping your head upwards. 

“These were you?” Your jaw drops so forcefully that it aches. “You’re the mystery flower sender? No one would tell me who sent these!” 

“Because I told them I’d sue if you found out it was me,” he shrugs and you roll your eyes, a grin creeping onto your face. 

“Why’d you want to send them anonymously?” Upon inspecting the color further, you realize where you’ve seen the shade before. 

He’d sent you flowers that matched your favorite guitar. 

“I didn’t wanna distract you before your shows. I was aiming for subtlety.” You blink in disbelief. Sakusa had sent you flowers the night before you started your show run in Paris, knowing you would be at the venue for soundcheck. Maybe he did care about you and your career.

“Well, you failed,” you state, staring at the large bundle of purple taking up half the space on your dressing room’s side table. “This bouquet is the opposite of subtle.”

“Bouquet? I ordered you one stem.”

“No,” you restated. Even though you’d never video called Sakusa before, you switch on your phone’s camera anyway to show him the absolutely gargantuan amount of flowers he mistakenly sent you. “You ordered this.” To your surprise, he turns on his camera as well. His face contorts into such a shocked and puzzled expression that you snort out the water you were sipping, burning your nostrils as tears prickle your eyes. “Stop looking like that, I can’t breathe!”

“What do you mean, ‘stop looking like that?’ I didn’t mean to send you the whole rainforest!” You choke out another uncontrollable laugh, turning the camera to face yourself and setting it in front of your vanity mirror. “Alright, at least you got them.” 

“Yes, and I really appreciate you sending them.” You can tell he’s not used to having his camera on, as he keeps tilting the phone at odd angles and barely showing his face half the time. “What’re you doing right now?”

“Just in bed.” Or a snowstorm, from the looks of it. 

“Why does it look like your poor phone is in a typhoon?” 

“You’re literally so annoying,” he grumbles, reluctantly positioning himself so that he’s sitting against the headboard. With the new point of view, you also notice very quickly that he…is completely shirtless. “Better?”

“Yep, yeah. That’s fine,” you force out, clearing your throat aggressively while the image of his very broad shoulders assault your brain. “Sorry that I didn’t send you flowers for your game.” 

“The guys would give me shit about it if you do, so I’m glad you did not,” he replies. “Though, it does suck not having you around.” 

“This is the closest I’m ever getting to you saying you miss me. I should commemorate it with a plaque.” Sakusa clicks his tongue and rolls his eyes, but you can tell he’s trying not to smile. He must’ve taken a shower recently; his curls look slightly wet and dangle haphazardly across his eyes. You have the sudden urge to run your fingers through it, and then the even more sudden urge to slap yourself for thinking in such a way. 

“What city are you in now? I know you just finished up Dublin.” His voice snaps you out of your daydreaming. 

“Paris,” you manage to reply without too awkward of a pause. “You?”

“Paris.” 

“Huh? I thought your next game was in Brazil,” you ask. His face goes still for a moment and you figure it’s probably frozen from bad service, wherever he is. “Hello?”

“Sorry, you broke up for a second. What were you saying?”

“I was asking why you were in Paris.”

“I’m not in Paris,” he states. “I’m in Seoul.” 

“Isn’t your next game in Brazil?” He pauses for an almost imperceptible amount of time.

“Game schedule got rearranged. We’re in Seoul, then the States, then Brazil.” 

“Oh. I see.” A loud series of knocking on your dressing room door makes you jump. “Ah, I’m sorry. I need to go.” 

“Rockstar duties?”

“You know it,” you yawn, taking one last indulgent look at the exposed muscle on his shoulders. “Hopefully we both get some rest for the coming days.”

“Yep. G’night.” 

—

There was a little bit of lingering guilt on his end after you hang up; the fact that he’d lied to you about his whereabouts didn’t escape him. 

He wasn’t sure what came over him, what sentimental demon temporarily possessed him to take a plane to wherever you were (Paris, not the lie that he gaslit you into believing) and buy a last minute ticket to your show. His emotions and desires were thrown completely off balance; he truly didn’t care if he was up in the nosebleeds if it meant he got to see you. Thankfully, a wealthy couple had bought out an entire area of club seats for their granddaughter’s birthday, but decided last minute that they wanted to fly to Cancun. It made him a little anxious, having all that space to himself, but he figured he could have his guards and team invite family to make it a little less lonely. It didn’t matter how many strangers he needed to meet or how much he had to spend. 

He just wanted to see you. 

He finds himself in a familiar position from the first time he went to one of your shows, rooted under the awning of the expansive lounge area and just out of sight from fans. His arms unconsciously cross over his chest and the beads of the bracelet he’d dug through his luggage to find presses against his skin. But, this time, he isn’t annoyed by the pain; if anything, it reminds him that he’s actually here with you, even if you don’t know it yet. 

I’m pretty good at laying low. People don’t know where I am unless I want them to know. His words echo back to him and he makes his decision, stepping out into the stadium lights and resting his forearms on the railing. 

He wants you to know he’s there. 

The first fan to notice is a girl in purple, slapping her friend furiously until they both are gawking at him. One pair of eyes becomes two, which becomes five, which becomes twenty, until hundreds of phone cameras are pointed at him and snapping photos. The sentimental demon possesses him again and he sticks up an involuntary peace sign, even going so far as to smile to look less bored. They scream for him and he thinks the sentimental demon is Atsumu, because he finds himself imitating his teammate’s movements. His hands clap together and he gestures for fans to toss him bracelets, which become an impossible shower as dozens are thrown at once. By the time the lights dim and news of his presence is trending across the continent, his arms are covered in sleeves of rainbow beads. 

— 

The ache in your feet is immediately replaced by adrenaline when your head of security informs you who came to the show. You don’t bother waiting for the golf cart to bring you to the back of the stadium and take off sprinting, chunky heels and all. They’re calling after you to hold on to let the rest of your team catch up, but you don’t listen. The stadium staff look at you fondly but also have a reasonably startled reaction to you running like you’d escaped from an asylum. 

You round the corner absolutely heaving and his face breaks into a wide smile. You’d never seen him look like that before, never at his games or during any of the time you’d spent together. It was an expression reserved for only you in this moment. You don’t remember if he catches you or if you embrace him first, but soon enough your face is tucked into the crook of his neck, eyes squeezed shut and grinning like a lunatic. His arms are rock solid around your waist, pulling you impossibly closer until you can hear his heartbeat slamming against his ribcage. Neither of you speak for a few minutes because you don’t feel the need to; only when you pull away to hold his face with your hands do you manage to articulate words. 

“You’re here,” you breathe. “You’re actually here.” Recognition blinks onto your face and you suddenly frown, lightheartedly slapping his shoulder, saying, “You lied! Your dumb ass said you were in Seoul!” 

“I wanted it to be a surprise,” he concludes unapologetically. “I did slip up with my story a few times, though.”

“Yeah, you got your own game schedule wrong.” 

“To be fair, some games did get rescheduled, which is why I’m able to be here. Our next game’s in Seoul, which is why I blanked and said that instead,” he explains and you respond with an exasperated eyeroll. “Find it in your heart to forgive me?” 

“I see right through you, Sakusa Kiyoomi. You don’t…uhm…” He comes close enough that you can count his eyelashes and it takes you a few seconds to recompose yourself. “Mmm, you wanna kiss me so bad, it makes you look stupid,” you challenge and hope he doesn’t hear the butterflies going wild in your stomach. 

“Maybe I do,” he smirks and it only makes the situation more sweat-inducing. “I missed you, after all.” Your eyes flutter closed as he leans in but instantly shoot back open, gently pushing him away as he pouts. “What is it?”

“Take me out to dinner, first. If you apologize sufficiently for being a terrible liar, maybe you’ll get a kiss,” you propose and he’s already lacing his fingers in yours. 

“Good thing I love a challenge.” 

— 

In spite of his attempts to ignore the cameras and the footsteps that were always a few feet behind him, there was a pit in his stomach every time Sakusa was in public with you. He couldn’t figure out why he was so irked, but the feeling made it difficult to enjoy how you smiled at him in quiet moments and pointed out things he’d never think to notice before. Most perplexingly, you didn’t seem bothered at all by the cameras. It was like they disappeared as soon as he came into your proximity; you barely spared them a glance in favor of beaming up at him. 

Even though you agreed that there was a feeling more than platonic between you two, he hadn’t mustered up the urge to kiss you properly, opting for your forehead or your hands instead. It didn’t seem to bother you, the way he only reserved showing his affection when you were out of view. But, he slips up the night before you have to part ways, him for his next game and you for your final European date. The dread he’d experienced for days felt like intuition telling him something was inherently wrong, like he was teetering on the edge of a cliff he didn’t know the height of. 

It comes crashing down when the tabloids catch him holding your hand.

“Can you believe this?” You snort, showing Sakusa the headline as he forces down the bile in his throat. “They think you’re my next ‘big catch,’ like you’re a fish or something,” you chuckle obliviously, leaning into him on the living room couch of his hotel suite. He manages a pained mhmm and watches as you continue to scroll through the news site, the photos of him holding your hand and grabbing your waist flying by like a nightmarish film reel. He rubs his palms back and forth over the fabric of his sweats, feeling suddenly feverish from every single point where your body was touching his. Clearing his throat, he swallows thickly and you finally look at him, concern pinching in your eyebrows. Your voice is gentle and you reach up to feel his forehead; he dodges your hand and you carefully hide your disappointment. “Hey, are you feeling okay?”

“We can’t do this.” His heart sinks as you sit up and blink at him, his words registering slowly in your mind. “I can’t…I can’t do this with you,” he sputters out. You exhale a single time and he watches your eyes flick from side to side, your brain running a thousand miles a minute.

“I don’t understand.”

“We need to stop.” You laugh forcefully, like you were commanding your body to feel lighter. 

“If this is a joke, Kiyoomi, it isn’t funny–”

“It’s not a fucking joke; you need to stop being with me,” he snaps and the room falls silent. The only thing he can hear is his heartbeat rushing through his ears, his face hotter than the sun. 

“Why?” Your voice breaks and so does something in him, his jaw clenching unconsciously. 

“You need to stop being nice to me,” he says through gritted teeth, “because I can’t guarantee I’ll be nice back.” This is how it always ends. Push them away before things get messy. This is how it works for Sakusa Kiyoomi. 

“But you have been nice,” you fight back, your grief morphing into unfiltered rage as you stand and scream at him. “You sent me flowers. You bought me dinner. You flew across the world to see my fucking show!” 

“That doesn’t matter. None of it mattered.” His composure wavers momentarily, unreadable emotions flashing across his face. “You can’t be close to me without getting hurt.” He gestures to your phone, the paparazzi image of you two together brighter than a Times Square billboard. 

“Who said it needed to be that way?” 

“Everyone did!” He stands without warning and you flinch backward, stumbling against the coffee table. “People think I’m an asshole, so that’s how I choose to stay. At the very least, I can predict things and prevent people from getting too close. You’re too close.”

“But you’re not an asshole. You’ve shown me that much,” you insist, arguing with his back as he starts to retreat into the master suite. What you say next makes him freeze, trapped in an endless time loop with you. 

Tell me you care for your friends. 

“What?” He’s seething as he turns, meeting your eyes. “What the fuck do you mean, do I–”

“Do you care about your friends?” You repeat, stepping closer to him. His eyes are burning, molten to the core even when you refuse to shrink away. “If Bo, Shoyo, and Atsumu were dying in a fucking fire, would you save them?”

“Of course I would,” he spits indignantly. “What kind of–”

“Then you have the capacity to love, Kiyoomi, as much as you don’t want to admit it.” You’re crying, tears streaming uncontrollably down your cheeks. Why are you crying? He never wanted to make you cry. What did he do to make you cry? 

“Because the last time you loved something, people scorned you.” They told him his passion was suffocating. They told him he was walking a path that one could only walk alone. He’s frozen, his feet left immobile on the hotel carpet. He makes no sound beside shaking exhales and can sense nothing but your voice coming closer.  

“You made it your career to prove that it’s worthy of your love…but you forgot how to love anything else.” Time slows. He doesn’t remember when your face appeared so close to his. He can see a universe behind your eyes and he wants nothing more than to hold you and call you his. His passion was suffocating. It would hurt you. It would burn you. It would–

“I wish you could love yourself as much as I love you.” 

One breath, and then another. 

A crack in an eggshell. A hole in a fortress. 

You are an asteroid completely obliterating the planet he considered himself. 

And when he finally kisses you properly, he understands just how freeing being destroyed could be. 

—

Sakusa Kiyoomi did not like cameras. They were gnats buzzing around his head, calling for him to look this way and that, catching his every reaction to whatever crossed his path. They were broken whispers that floated to his ears, unintelligible conversations that stayed as voices in his head. He did not like cameras, but he found that looking at you was infinitely better than looking at anything else. 

“You doing okay?” Your murmur is the only thing he hears, quieting the rest of the chatter around him. Swaths of dresses and suits brush against his arms and he fights the instinct to shield you from view, despite being sat in the very center of the huge theater. It was the biggest award show of the season, and he’d made a vow with himself that he wouldn’t ruin tonight for you. With your hand in his, as long as he had physical contact with you, it was easier to keep the doubts in his mind at bay. “I’m feeling fine, if that’s what you need to know.” 

“I’m doing okay as long as you’re okay,” he confirms softly, barely sparing a glance at the giant lens a few feet from his face. “I’m here to celebrate you. I won’t let them bother me tonight.” You beam at him, opening your mouth to say something when a commotion comes tumbling down the aisle. “Actually,” he mutters as his three teammates trip over themselves to find their seats in the rest of the row, “Do you think I can have one nasty scowl? I promise I’ll behave otherwise.” 

“Having a rockstar best friend is like, the best thing ever,” Bokuto declares before you can respond to Kiyoomi. 

“I’m so glad Omi finally got his head out of his ass, too,” Atsumu drawls with an unbothered yawn that makes Sakusa’s blood boil. The blonde Miya sibling had been very vocal with the press about playing as the matchmaker, pointedly dodging questions about his own romantic status. “I think I’ll secretly have ‘I told you so’ engraved on the inside of your wedding rings.”

“Over my dead body,” Kiyoomi grumbles and you smile, squeezing his hand once. He squeezes back, pressing a rare public kiss to the side of your head. You shift your body to lean more closely to his and your wrist presses down on something wrapped around his wrist. 

“What’s under your sleeve?”

“Hmm? Oh, this?” He pulls back the freshly ironed fabric to reveal a familiar pattern of green and yellow beads, out of place compared to the rest of his formal attire. “Got it from a concert,” he smirks knowingly. “The show was cool, but I think I’m in love with the artist.”

“Yeah? You never figured out what that acronym stands for, did you?” He shakes his head and you point at each letter bead, explaining, “No one knows me like you do, and no one ever will.” 

“Well, isn’t that fitting?” The lights dim and the orchestra starts to play its signature fanfare, spotlights gliding in aimless directions across the audience. “Thank you for helping me understand.”

“The meaning of the lyric? Of course, I think of you every time I sing it, now,” you smile. 

“No, about what you said that night when we argued.” He feels a familiar blush creeping up his cheeks. “About loving me how you love me.”

“And do you get it now?”

“I do,” he nods, glancing at the colorful bracelet on his wrist and your fingers intertwined with his. “I just needed a little bit of convincing.” Your head settles on his shoulder and he lets you, allowing himself to relax in spite of the sea of cameras surrounding him. 

“Good thing I love a challenge.”

if you enjoy my writing and would like to support me, you can buy me a coffee on my ko-fi! commissions and nsfw requests can be sent through my fiverr! you can also check out my full masterlist here :)

[nyctophiliq]

— 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐁𝐈𝐆 𝐒𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐊𝐍𝐎𝐖𝐒 𝐁𝐄𝐒𝐓

— “like a user, baby, i’m addicted to you.”

SYNOPSIS — you get a new boyfriend, but ellie just can't take the idea of you with someone else PAIRINGS — step-sister! ellie williams x afab! reader  NOTES — ellie is so jealous of your new boyfriend, DARK CONTENT, pre-established relationship, dub-con, step-cest, manipulation, dry humping, thigh riding, fingering, finger riding, clothed sex, cheating (?), 

"CAN YOU NEVER LEAVE ME, LIKE ALL OF THEM?"

“in a minute!” you answered after a few knocks disturbed the silence in your room. can’t a girl take underwear pictures for her boyfriend in peace? you had no privacy in this house, everyone always wanted to do something and that was fine, until like seven pm, after that, you wanted to have the same free time as everyone else got away from you.

you threw your pajama back on, tossed your phone on the bed, and hurried to the tall white door of your room. it was a mess on your floor after you flipped the whole place up on its head, trying to find the set of lingerie that you bought for just the moment like this, to send to your boyfriend.

“ellie?” she stood at your door, anger and sadness riddling her face. “what happened, are you okay?” despite hating your stepmother you loved her daughter, your step-sister, ellie. she was caring, she got you to stuff you only dreamed of getting because of how struct your father was. she took you out to eat whatever you wanted, drove you to school without having to ask, and always left some extra cash in your pocket if you wanted to buy something nice for yourself. ellie wasn’t like all those step-sisters in the movies, she wasn’t mean or a bully, she cared for you deeply, and she wanted to keep you safe no matter if it got her in trouble.

“why did you replace me, like all the others? you don’t love me anymore, y/n?”

ellie had her fair share of rejections and broke relationships even with how big her heart really was. you helped her home after riley dumped her, you sat next to her as she talked about how bad the last argument she had with dina was, letting her hold you after spilling her guts out, letting her kiss your cheek because you just felt sorry for your older sister- the one that had so much love to give, so much love she gives to you. but when that happens other things happen too… you always convinced yourself it was alright for that to happen, it only happened a couple of times that she pulled you onto her lap, and kissed you sweetly on the lips before pushing you on your back and kissing you some more.

“ellie- what are you, don’t…” you gasp, eyes till open in surprise at the sudden feeling of your step-sister’s lips against your and she feels the way your fingers stiffen in her oversized shirt, unmoving while she kisses you, moving her mouth against yours all while you gawk and freeze in front of her.

but she’s heartbroke, right? she was rejected yet again and her step-sister wouldn’t hurt her feelings too, would you? so you let her even if there is a feeling in your stomach that’s telling you this is wrong, that you have a boyfriend and you are cheating him on, with you step-sister out of all the people! but ellie was always so sweet to you and you don’t want to upset her by being like all the rest.

“aren’t you gonna kiss me back, you love me, don’cha?” ellie asks in earnest when she pulls away to frown at you, her voice slutted a bit as her hand grabs at the hem of your shirt, pulling on it like a needy child. “i d-do, i do…” you find the strength to respond, and it truly warms you from the inside out when she smiles at you softly and gives you another peck on the lips before taking your hand, dragging you towards the bed while kicking your door shut with her leg.

ellie sat down on the bed, her hands now resting on your waist, staring up at you before her hands slip under the shirt to caress your stomach and hips with her thumbs. her fingers play with the cloth before pushing it slightly upwards, revealing the underside of your lace bra. her fingers ball int oa fist, creating your shirt with it before both of her hands caught your pahama top and pulled it off of you, exposing the rest of your lewd udnerwear.

“you are wearing this for him, don’t you?” were you lying to me when you said you love me?” her anger takes the better of her, forcefully grabbing you by your bra straps and pulling you onto her lap. your knees rest on either side of her thighs, hands holding you up by her shoulders as you shake your head. “i do love you, ells, i-i promise- it’s for you…”

“i’m sorry for hurting you,” she says, her eyes fixed on your chest before her lips connect with the reddened skin, moving the strap aside to give her better access, sliding it down your arm and her hand reaching behind your back to undo the clasp of your bra.

“we should stop… ells, i have a b-boyfriend.” your voice is small and you feel just as small. how can you say that to her? you wanna please her because there is no way you want to hurt her feelings when she’s already so fragile.

“but i love you and you love me… this is what you dod when you love someone, y/n.” she grunts, chest heaving against yours as she breathes heavily against your skin and it’s almost too quick the way you’re replying, feeling as your bra loosens around your chest and then ellie helps you out of it, hastily tossing it to the side.

“yeah, you are right, i-i’m sorry ells…” ellie sighs as she watches your breasts hang free on your body. she wants to take them into her mouth, lick your nipples until they perk up, tug on them so they become nice and puffy, pinch them to hear you say her name so prettily.

taking shaky breaths as she tries to pull herself together. something dangerous turns inside of her when she looks up at your teary eyes and nods softly, biting nervously at the inside of your cheek. “it’s okay, i would never be angry at you, baby.” she slurs, stroking the top of your head, pushing the scattered strands of hair out of your face with an eager smile on her face. she leans in, slurring some kind of praise before kissing you again, prying your lips open with her own as she licks eagerly into your mouth, drinking up your moans while your fingers twist and pull in her hair, her clothed thigh rubbing against your panties.

“it’s alright, ells’ gonna make y a feel good, princess. so just… listen to your big sister, hm?” she asks, voice whispering directly into your ear causing a shiver to run down your spine. it was less of a question and more of a command, one you melted into, nodding briefly as you bit your lip, too nervous to talk. your reaction amused ellie and she smiled sweetly as she pressed a kiss against your collarbone eliciting a pleased exhale from you.

“does it feel good, hm?” ellie had thought about this before, thought about her lips against your skin, marking you as hers, hearing you say how much you liked it. she wanted to hear you say that you liked her delicate fingers running over your skin, the way you make yourself wet as she touches you. “y-yes!”

“does it feel better than him, your boyfriend, right? he knows nothing about how to touch you, i do… your big sister ells does.” she says as she rubs gentle circles into the plush of your thigh, slightly pinching it whenever inchings closer to your aching core. your mind is almost too foggy with lust to respond, all you can think about is her, feeling more, more of her now. “he k-knows nothing… you do e-ells.” you choke on your words, head falling on her shoulder when her fingers touch your lcothed entrance, poking the delicate fabric of your panties, toying with it for a second before pushing it aside.

ellie grins at your answer, her chest blooming with pride, her fingers slowly pushing inside of you and she chuckles when you let a strained moan out. poor you must have been waiting for this for a while, you wouldn’t touch yourself in the dead of night, right? your parents always bother you so late and you can never satisfy yourself, that’s why you tried to find a girlfriend because you were too scared to ask for ells’ help. “you feel amazing sissy, nice and warm… squishy.”

“s’good ells… feels s’good.” you moan mindlessly as she starts to pump her fingers inside. you can hear the faintest slick from your soaked cunt and you almost want to hide it, burying your face deeper into the crook of her neck. her two slim fingers slide smoothly in and out of you, your soft moans buzzing on her skin as she starts picking her pace up.

her eyes roll back as she feels something tickling the thin skin of her collarbones, your saliva trickling down until it hides in her shirt. she curls her finger up and your hips lift to meet the feeling, drive it deeper, pleasure flourishing through your body in waves. her other hand comes up to palm one of your breasts, squeezing them until the fat oozes out between her fingers, moving to flick your nipple with her thumb when you bite into her skin.

“yeah? you wanna cum on my fingers pretty?” ellie asks as she presses hot kisses against your cool, sweat-slicked neck.

you nod dumbly, words falling out of your mouth incoherently as you near your high. the heel of her palm presses against your clit, shooting electricity through your nerves, curling your toes, forcing your hips to roll faster, and all you can really focus on is how good it feels when she kisses your neck, leaving the lingering feeling of her lips behind. before you know it you are coming undone, cunt squeezing down on her fingers as you cream on them. you reach for the arm that is inside your panties, nails digging into her flesh as you ride out your high.

“sissy, what do we say when somebody makes us cum?” she hummed while pulling out of you, kindly petting your entrance with her soaked fingers. you take a few short breaths, each of them cutting off as you begin to sob, your arms sliding around ellie’s shoulder to pull her closer, digging into her muscles as the last of your orgasm twitches through your body.

“tha-thank you… thank you ells...” you bawl as you try to pull her body closer to yours, trying to claim the warmth that she is emitting. it was so cold in the room now, without her fingers warming your insides… ellie really did know best.

[haddonfieldwhore]

eyes of the lamb - ii

ii (sleep token) x gn! reader

warnings: inhuman?ii, suggestive content, choking (slightly), mostlyfluffy

word count: 1k

another breathtaking ritual had just commenced, and you watched from side stage as vessel held his clasped hands out to thank the crowd, and iii and iv tossed their guitar picks out the mass of bodies. ii stood behind his drum set before also throwing his sticks out into the crowd. you smiled at the guys as they passed by you, exiting the stage. ii was the last to join you, and as soon as you were both out of sight of any crew or fans, his hands were on your hips and your back hit the wall with a gentle thud. his forehead rested against yours, his eyes meeting yours, sparkling as he maintained eye contact with you as your hands slid up his chest and rested on either side of his neck.

“your were amazing, as always,” you complimented, in awe of their performance everytime you got the chance to see them perform live. ii was a man of very few words, and you knew the gentle nod he gave in return was his way of saying thank you. his hands slid underneath the hem of your shirt just enough for his painted fingertips to ghost over your skin softly, just above your waist. you held either side of his face, asking permission to remove his mask. he hesitated, looking around to make sure nobody else was around, and decided to lead you into an empty room just to be safe, locking the door behind him. he pulled your hand gently, sitting down on the soft couch with a soft exhale, the adrenaline from the show wearing off and the tiredness catching up with him.

“come here,” ii mumbled under his breath, pulling you closer until you straddled his lap, your hands on his shoulders to steady yourself as his arms wrapped around your back, holding you tight. “now,” he instructed, permitting you to remove his mask now that you were alone.

your fingers found the bottom of the dark fabric and slid it over his head, freeing his hair and face from the shroud of mystery, and you admired the light scattering of freckles across the bridge of his nose. your fingers ran through his soft hair, slightly damp with a thin layer of sweat, and his eyes closed in contentment as he inhaled a deep breath through his nose. his eyes opened only for a second before he leaned forward to connect his lips to yours softly. you kissed him back deeply, your teeth pulling gently on his bottom lip, and he shifted his hips beneath you, his hands roaming up and down your back. you rolled your hips against his lap slightly, and you could feel him groan into your mouth, his hands gripping the material of your shirt tightly before he broke the kiss.

ii’s eyes we completely black as he stared up at you, his head leaned back against the backing of the couch, the whites of his eyes no longer there, along with his usually bright irises. his eyelashes fluttered softly as he looked at you through hooded eyes, his lips parted ever so slightly as he chest rose and fell quickly.

“your eyes…” you whispered, staring in awe at the man beneath you, completely captured by the beauty of his being.

“do they frighten you?” he asked softly, often so soft spoken that if you were in a crowded room you would not hear him. you shook your head, holding his jaw in your hands, your thumbs caressing the skin of his face softly.

“they’re beautiful,” you muttered, unable to look away. ii couldn’t stop a light chuckle from vibrating through his chest; humans were so easy to amaze, and yet he so often found himself bewildered by you that he would be a hypocrite to tease you too much for it. he closed the gap between you again, kissing you so tenderly, as if he was scared that you would break. you felt one of his hands slide fully underneath your top, fingernails digging into your back lightly as his other hand cradled your throat softly. wanting more, you slid your fingers through his hair again, tugging at it enough to make him jerk his hips upward, and you let out a soft moan at the contact between your lower bodies.

you placed your hand over his, making ii’s grip tighten around your throat, a soft grunt leaving his lips as you tugged at his hair again, his dark eyes wide as he looked up at you in adoration. a knock at the door drew both of your attention away, and you sighed in disappointment knowing your alone time was over as it was time to get back on the road.

you turned back to meet ii’s eyes again, now back to their normal hue, before he placed one last kiss on your swollen lips. you hummed in response as he took your hands in his and let you stand up, doing the same once you were steady on your feet. you began to walk towards the door but felt him pull you back, securing his arms around you in a tight hug. your arms snaked around his waist as he held you close to his chest, his soft lips kissing your forehead before he nuzzled his nose into your hair, taking in the scent of your shampoo. finally letting you go, he pulled his mask back over his head, unlocking and opening the door to allow you to step out into the hall, greeted by iii who tilted his head playfully at the two of you. you elbowed him softly and heard both him and ii laugh softly, before the taller man tossed his arms over both of your shoulders, pulling you and ii into either side of him as you walked down the hallway.

you made it back to the tour bus, the stars illuminating the night sky above as you curled up on the couch with a blanket over your frame. ii sat down next to you, tucking you under his arm and allowing you to snuggle into his side, using his other hand to remove his mask once again. you pressed an innocent kiss to the now exposed skin of his neck, and he sighed happily, resting his head on top of yours. iv looked up from his phone at the two of you from his seat across the bus, laughing to himself as he snapped a quick photo of you as both you and ii drifted off to sleep.

[todaynewspakistan0]

🚨 KP’s Health Crisis: 34,000+ Gastro and Diarrhea Cases in One Week 🚨

Khyber-Pakhtunkhwa is grappling with a severe public health emergency. The rapid rise in gastroenteritis and diarrhea cases demands urgent improvements in sanitation and hygiene practices. Awareness and action are key to controlling this outbreak.

Key Points:

34,000+ cases reported in a week.

Major areas affected: Peshawar, Swat, Bajaur.

Poor sanitation and contaminated water are major factors.

Let’s raise awareness and advocate for better public health measures!

[todaynewspakistan]

KP Reports 34,000+ Cases of Gastro and Diarrhea in One Week: A Public Health Crisis

[lapetiteshippeuse]

At Harrenhal (Modern AU)

Arthur : So you're moving to King's Landing tomorrow, huh ? Arthur : How do you feel ? Rhaegar : Uh, I'm looking forward to it. Rhaegar : The job's amazing. I got a great apartment lined up. Rhaegar : You know, it's...It's exciting. Rhaegar : Onwards and upwa... Rhaegar, *seeing Lyanna Stark for the first time* : Lyanna, *playing bass on the stage, smiling* : Rhaegar, *looking at her* :

[waugh-bao]

i saw your previous ask about keith's solo work and now i'm curious about your opinions on charlie's solo work! also, do you have any recommendations for charlie, i've only listened to from one charlie

If you discount session work (because Ronnie did a ton both before and after he joined the Stones), Charlie actually has the most extensive solo/non-Stones catalogue. It’s very diverse and I think the vast majority of it is very high quality.

So in terms of his session work, far and away his best contribution (that we know of - this isn’t even listed on his Wiki) was as the drummer for The London Howlin’ Wolf Sessions. He, Bill, Stu, Steve Winwood, and Eric Clapton acted as the backing band for Howlin’ Wolf on a Chess Records-Rolling Stones Records collaboration covering some of his most famous songs in 1971. For my money it’s one of Wolf’s best albums and showcases beautifully what a talented blues drummer Charlie was. He could have gone toe to toe with the old Chess guys like Fred Below if he wanted to.

It was only for one song, not an entire album, but he, Keith, and Ronnie were the backing band for Marianne Faithfull’s cover of “Ghost Dance” by Patti Smith in 1993:

Charlie was in a few non-Stones bands. Probably the most famous, although it’s really not terribly well known, is Rocket 88. The founding line-upwas Stu, Charlie, Alexis Korner, and Dick Morrissey and membership fluctuated during different projects and concerts during its active period (1978-1981). You can find a couple videos of their performances on YouTube, but their one released album, from a live concert in 1981, is really fantastic. Jack Bruce does bass and vocals on it and he and Charlie make an absolutely amazing rhythm section. 20x times better than anything he ever did with Wyman.

He was also associated with another boogie woogie band, The ABC&D of Boogie Woogie, which he didn’t co-found, but which he got into through Dave Green (his childhood best friend and the bass player for most of his solo work). That band also unfortunately only has one album, but there’s a lot more available on YouTube to enjoy because they were around in the early 2010s. This is my favorite song they covered:

It’s never been entirely explained how it came about, except that it was initially facilitated through one of his friends, the trumpeter Gerald Presencer, but Charlie did an album with the Danish Radio Big Band in 2010 that was released in 2017. The 7 tracks include 2 original compositions and 5 re-arranged Stones songs. Whoever did the arrangements and composition did a wonderful job and it’s great highlight of Charlie’s flexibility and originality as a drummer.

In the late 1980s, he and Keith did a cover of Charles Mingus’ “Don’t Let Them Drop That Bomb on Me”, it’s worth it just for the little documentary clips of the two of them, never mind the song itself, which is also well done:

That’s not everything Charlie ever did which wasn’t explicitly his own project, but it’s the highlights.

As far as his own bands/albums go, unfortunately his first album, Live At Fulham Town Hall (1986) isn’t available to stream, but you can find the tracks on YouTube and a neat little documentary/live performance clip:

(This would also be a good time to mention that there’s a beautiful, very high quality segment of Charlie playing a Duke Ellington composition on BBC4 in 2019 along with Dave and some American jazz musicians, as well as a cute little interview with the two of them after):

Everything that follows that album, with one exception, is a variation on The Charlie Watts Quintet, the group which appears on 1990’s From One Charlie to Another:

The biggest difference between his jazz albums, other than the number of players (it tended to range between a quartet, a quintet, and a tenet), is whether or not they have a vocalist. The last one, Watts at Scott’s (2004) is the one which does not and it’s a mixture of original compositions (generally written by his pianist Brian Lemon) and covers of jazz standards, including Ellington’s “A Train”:

1991’s A Tribute to Charlie Parker with Strings is a really neat, original project. It has Bernard Fowler narrating the story of Parker’s life through Charlie’s book about him from the ‘60s and covers songs which were on Parker’s own With Strings album as well as original compositions like “Terra de Pajaro.” There is one song “Lover Man”, which has vocals provided by Bernard, the rest is purely instrumental. Pete King was the saxophonist for all of Charlie’s jazz projects and he absolutely kills it on this album.

The two albums which really showcase his collaboration with Bernard and his skills as an accompanist to a vocalist, Warm & Tender (1993) and Long Ago & Far Away (1996), are lovely collections of jazz standards and standouts from the Great American Songbook. I love them both, I think which one you want to listen to just depends on your mood. The second album is definitely more melancholy:

It also has Charlie’s only solo music video, for “I’ve Got a Crush on You”, which is gorgeous and good humored:

The weirdest album in Charlie’s oeuvre, to put it bluntly, is the Charlie Watts/Jim Keltner Project (1999). It’s very avant garde, probably the most purely creative but also least accessible thing he ever did. The album was made at the same time the Stones were recording Bridges to Babylon, so Mick and Keith pop up on two different tracks (separately), but the bulk is Charlie, Jim Keltner, and a few other percussionists who contributed bits and pieces. It’s a world music-jazz-techno-beats melange of original pieces, some of which were inspired by the work of certain jazz drummers and some of which are more entirely abstract. To be honest it’s not really something you can describe, you sort of just have to listen and see if it’s your thing.

[wojosubahjaldinahiuthti]

paani pi jaldi

do do jaldi do paani 🫶🏻🍶

aapka upwas kaisa raha 😭

[beardedmrbean]

On Thursday, Title 42 restrictions at the border will end. Fortunately, the Biden administration is on top of it, fully prepared to manage the coming crush of ...

Yeah, nobody’s buying that.

Even Democratic Rep. Ruben Gallego, a die-hard progressive, seems worried.

A year ago, Gallego was calling for an end to the pandemic-era policy that has been used more than 2.7 million times to expel border crossers since it was enacted in March 2020.

Now he’s sounding the alarm about what Biden’s plan — or possible lack of one — is going to mean for Arizona.

Sinema, Gallego expect Biden to act on immigration in a few days. He hasn't for years

“I’ve heard directly from leaders in our border communities and it’s abundantly clear that they, through no fault of their own, are simply unequipped to handle the surge of migrants that are expected when Title 42 ends,” Gallego said last week.

“They need tangible resources like buses, beds, personnel and funds to both process asylum claims in an orderly way and keep their communities safe. …. With Title 42 set to end on May 11, we need the Biden administration to act, and to act fast.”

Do we really want Biden vs. Trump again? Americans need a third choice for president.

Russia's Ukraine war is security issue: American leaders must understand Russia's war with Ukraine is a threat to our security

Gallego — who is hoping to replace Democrat-turned-independent Sen. Kyrsten Sinema next year — is asking Biden to do, in a few days, what he hasn’t been able to do in a few years.

Sure, that’ll happen.

Right around the time when Biden catches up with those 85,000 unaccompanied migrant children his Department of Health and Human Services is supposed to be watching. A bunch of them are now working in factories and other sweatshops, according to The New York Times. (Welcome to the 19th century!)

“Everyone here in Arizona knows we are not prepared,” Sinema said on CBS’s “Face the Nation”, which aired on Sunday. “The Biden administration has had two years to prepare for this and did not do so. And our state is going to bear the brunt and migrants will be in crisis as soon as next week. It will be a humanitarian crisis because we are not prepared.”

We know what would fix the border, but politics get in the way

Last week, Sinema, along with Sen. Thom Tillis, R-N.C., introduced a bill to temporarily extend Biden’s authority to expel migrants without a hearing after Title 42 ends. This, to give the administration and Congress time to finally act like leaders and address the problem.

That won’t happen.

Yet it seems painfully obvious what needs to be done.

The elephant in the room is that hunk of Swiss cheese we call a border.

Exhibit A in the case that it needs shoring up was on display late last month in Texas where five innocents were executed by a Mexican national who had been deported twice in 2009 and again in 2012 and yet again in 2016. Along with hardening up the border, we need to update our visa system so that the workers we need can come here legally (and to ensure they leave if and when those visas expire).

We need to retool the asylum system to provide protection more quickly for those who qualify for it and turn away those who don’t.

And yes, we need to offer “Dreamers” the chance to become citizens in this, the only country many of them have ever known.

Biden has a border plan, but it could take a while

Sadly, none of that will happen because it’s always an election year or the year before an election year and there are political points to be made. We are far too entrenched in our respective foxholes to actually come to a compromise.

And so we wait for Thursday and the inevitable run for the border once Biden lifts Title 42.

The Department of Homeland Security has predicted that upward of 10,000 migrants will cross the border illegally every day after Title 42 ends. That’s nearly double the daily average in March.

Other internal government projections suggest it could go as high as 13,000 daily crossings.

Relax, we are told. The Biden administration has a plan.

One that includes Latin American processing centers, a phone app and a new regulation making it more difficult for non-Mexican migrants to get asylum if they did not first seek it in a country they crossed to get here.

Biden's immigration plan fools no one: Biden's new immigration policy has something for everyone to hate

What's the endgame? Biden's White House is fine with the chaos it created at the border. What's the endgame?

“It’s going to take our plan a while to really take hold, for people to understand that they can access lawful, safe, orderly pathways before they reach the border,” Homeland Security Secretary Alejandro Mayorkas said Sunday on “Face the Nation”. “And quite frankly, if they come to the border, they will receive a consequence under our enforcement authorities.

“We are prepared."

Title 42 end has disaster written all over it

It’s just that nobody on the front lines here in Arizona has apparently seen evidence of it.

Me? I’m remembering that time when overwhelmed Border Patrol agents, having no place to put people, dumped weary Venezuelans and Chileans in a park in Gila Bend.

This tiny town of 2,000 people, set deep in the desert, has no bus stop, no shelters and absolutely no ability to help immigrants in search of asylum.

One of the children, hoping to reunite with his mother, asked if this was Delaware.

Yeah, Thursday has disaster written all over it.

[buckyismybicycle]

CHAPTER 12

Pairing: WS!Bucky x Reader [AO3 LINK] Rating: Explicit Tags/Warnings: canon-typical violence, canon-divergent, angst, fluff, music soothes the soul y’all, soft boi Bucky, all the sex Summary:  You happen to get caught in the Winter Soldier’s attack one day, but you don’t expect to ever see him again. You definitely don’t expect him to show up at your home, bleeding. You definitely, definitely don’t expect to want to go on the run with him.

As you make your way through the channel of Istanbul and through Oslo, Bucky fidgets more than usual. Something isn’t quite sitting right with him, but he can’t quite place it. It doesn’t make sense, given that he’d been relatively careful, and it’s been quiet for months.

They end up in Ireland of all places, and get lost in the boisterous crowds and lively streets.

Kissed her on the neck and then I took her by the hand

Said, "Baby, I just want to dance"

With my pretty little Galway Girl

You're my pretty little Galway Girl

I never heard Carrickfergus ever sang so sweet

A capella in the bar using her feet for a beat

Oh, I could have that voice playing on repeat for a week

And in this packed out room swear she was singing to me

In hindsight, Bucky knows he should’ve listened to his gut instinct. There was something off about Paris, and even then he’d wanted to bolt, the pure joy on your face kept your feet from moving. He thought, hell, if this is the way to go, I’d be alright with that as he watched the lights of the Eiffel Tower fade away.

But he could see it in your face, in your eyes, how much you loved the romantic places you’d visited. He can see the way your eyes roam over art and your fingers twitch trying to hold yourself back from reaching out and touching.

You never do with him, though.

The both of you sit on the little balcony attached to your room at an inn that you were renting, with his arm around your shoulders. The ground was still hard, despite the blankets and pillows you’d brought out here to gaze at the city below.

The lights scattered across the city looked like fireflies, and they make your features look even softer.

“Hey, Buck?”

He’s caught off guard, wondering if you could feel him staring. “Yeah?”

“You think one day you’ll settle down? You know, if Hydra was gone, or they stopped looking for you?”

They might never stop, he thinks to himself. Even if they no longer consider him an Asset, he still has a wealth of knowledge of how they operate, their numbers and bases, and most importantly — their serum flowed through his veins. If not to drain it from him, they likely wouldn’t want anyone else getting their hands on it.

“Sorry,” you whisper softly, and that’s when he realizes that he’d been silent for too long.

“No, it’s okay,” he says quickly, giving your shoulders a squeeze. “Just thinking.”

You turn to him, leaning into him. “It’s okay if you don’t answer, too.”

“I… don’t think I know how,” he admits.

“That’s okay,” you assure him, hand resting over his chest.

He can’t help but feel he’s let you down.

—

You’re nearly out of Venice when the peace you’d built is shattered.

 Bucky knows what a gunshot sounds like. He could never forget it, actually. So when it rings out, his first instinct is: protect.

You grunt softly as he all but tackles you into a nearby alley, covering your body with his. Before you even catch your breath, he’s pushing you to run and you have no clue where you’re going, but as long as you can see a path, you run.

You don’t know how long you run for, but you can hear Bucky’s footsteps behind you, knowing he has no problem keeping up with you, of course, regardless of what path you take.

Eventually, the sounds die out behind you, and you wonder if you’ve lost them. Either way, Bucky doesn’t seem to care.

The shot had missed, miraculously, and when you two are far out of Venice, deep in the quieter streets of Slovenia, Bucky frantically checks you over again.

“I’m fine – Bucky? Bucky, look at me,” you plead, hands gently tipping his chin upward. “I’m okay, really. I promise.”

And you were. Aside from the weak feeling in your legs and a wild cramp you had from running, there wasn’t anything else. Not so much as a single mark.

Not until Bucky puts his own along your body that night, the both of you desperately reassuring yourselves – and each other – that they’re out of harm’s way.

For now.

 As you predicted, you’re only awake for a few minutes before Bucky is ushering you out and out of Slovenia, eager to put some distance between you and your assailants.

You make him stop in Croatia, just for a bit of a rest and restocking if not to coerce him into having some of the most delicious seafood you’ve ever encountered. Didn’t you two deserve to indulge, even when they’re on the run?

You skirt around the edge of Serbia, because Bucky doesn’t particularly want to set foot there either. Knowing better than to ask him, you simply agree and follow. It doesn’t take a lot to imagine that it’s probably related to his time with Hydra, just like everything else that spooks him.

Finally, you arrive in Romania. You pass by the beautiful architecture of Timișoara, and even though it’s getting dark, there’s something… light about the way all the colourful houses are just shy of whimsical and the way you clop along the cobblestone path. Bucky can feel it too, you’re pretty sure, because he finally slows a bit.

They’re greeted as they walk down the street and to your surprise, and possibly Bucky’s too, he responds in kind. He holds your hand as you continue walking, and Bucky suddenly changes direction.

“Are you alright?” You ask, because if Bucky knows the language, it means he’s spent time here and usually that doesn’t sit well with him.

He nods quietly. “I think so. Maybe we can stop for a bit? I… It’s possible I remember…”

There’s a squint of his eye as he tries to recall the memory into focus, and you don’t push. Rubbing your hand up and down his arm, you wait for him to sort out his thoughts before he confidently walks again, making a right turn.

It puts more distance between you and Serbia this way.

He’s right, of course. You hadn’t doubted him for even a second, but you could always tell when Bucky was nervous about something.

It takes a few days for it to pass, Bucky’s back losing some tension bit by bit as you slowly travel south-east. Bucky comes back to your room one day, a crumpled receipt for your lunch in hand with his writing on the back. At your curious peeking, Bucky runs his thumb over the slightly-smudged ink.

“It’s an apartment. Few blocks from here,” Bucky explains. Your eyebrows fly to your hairline; the last thing you expected was for Bucky to stop. If anything, you thought he’d mapped out the next few stops already. Not too far, of course — it’s hard to track someone if even they don’t know where they’re going.

You take his hands in yours “You sure?”

Bucky gives you a reassuring smile, though it doesn’t quite stretch across his face. “Yeah, sweetheart. I’m sure.”

Bucharest becomes the closest to home either of you feel since Indonesia. While it wasn’t a hut built out of Bucky’s bare hands, they did start to make it theirs.

Everything you owned came in bits and pieces, never quite a whole set, and yet it made it feel even more authentic. Bucky would bring home fresh fruits, and you’d scoop up some sort of mismatched thing at a local shop. None of your spoons or forks matched.

It was perfect.

—

“Hey, Buck?”

“Mm?” He slowly opens his eyes to look at you from where his head rests in your lap.

“We never celebrated your birthday,” you say, upset. In the whirlwind of your adventures, you hadn’t thought to ask Bucky when his birthday was. You had shared a small cake on the balcony of a villa in Morocco for yours just a few months prior, and you feel silly for not putting it together sooner.

Bucky bites his lip, fingers fidgeting with the hand you lay on his chest. “Truthfully doll? I don’t really know when it is. I think… May? Or March? One of those two, I’m pretty sure.”

You stop yourself from crying. He’s told you things that you had wanted the answers to, even though you weren’t so sure you did afterward. The horrors, the trauma, all the fucked up things that Bucky survived — he was able to recite it all like it was a movie he’d seen or a book he read, like they didn’t happen to him. You know that it’s his way of distancing himself from the terrible things they’d inflicted on him, but it hurt to know you couldn’t help him in any way.

Even still, when you think you’ve heard the worst possible things, every so often a small, innocent statement still breaks your heart. How do you erase someone’s identity so much so that they don’t know their name or their birthday.

Did Bucky remember any of his birthdays? What had Bucky’s family done to celebrate? What was his favourite kind of birthday cake?

“We missed it,” you say at last, voice cracking even if you weren’t crying. Yet. “And I never got you a gift!

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Bucky instantly says, propping himself up to come face-to-face with you. “It’s just a day, like any other, ain’t it? Besides, I already feel ancient.”

You let out a small, huffed laugh. He genuinely didn’t seem concerned, though you suppose that happens when you’re ninety years old in the body of someone in their thirties. “But…”

“And,” Bucky interrupts, closing in. “I got the best gift of all, right ‘ere.”

He distracts you momentarily, and you think about how unfair it is that even after all this time, you melt for his kisses all the same. It takes a second to recover, sure, but you haven’t forgotten.

“We still have catching up to do. I’m going to make you a cake!” You decide. “Maybe a fresh fruit one, we can go to the market together tomorrow.”

“Alright, alright,” Bucky concedes, a grin starting to form as his fingers trail up your side.. “Now come here, I’ve thought of something else I want.”