#i think the best scenario would be to pair up Spike with someone hes age...like Sweetie Belle..that ship is good

[kingexpl0sionmurder]

Body Electric - Kaminari Denki - Smut

Author: @kingexpl0sionmurder Pairing: Kaminari Denki/F!Reader Rating: 18+ (contains smut) Words: 5,491 Warnings: Sex work (Cam boy/girl), Quirkless AU, Aged-up Adult characters (someone is in grad school! wow!), mentions of masturbation (both male and female), mentions of casual ShinKami, established KiriBaku, Idk they are all just really sexually liberated and don’t care about watching each other cum. Is that voyeurism? I’m bad at tagging things. Title taken from a Lana Del Rey song. AN: Another BNHarem collab piece! The theme was sex work, and I have wanted to do a camboy Denki for a long time so here we go. This was really smutty in my head but Denki makes me soft and it turned out really cute in the end, I’m sorry? He’s such a dork I feel like any sexual encounter with him would just turn out like this in some way, idk.  Thanks to @unbreakablekiribaku​ and @sailorsero​ as usual for being supportive of me. Happy birthday to @lady-bakuhoe and @burnedbyshoto​ 🎂🎂 There is no one else I would rather be birthday triplets with!

Please check out the Collab Masterlist: HERE Look 👀 at My Masterlist: HERE Buy me a Kofi if you’re scared of clowns too: HERE

---

Sighing, you sat up on your elbows, squinting at the chat on the screen, willing your heart to stop pounding and your breath to even out. The donations were pouring in, the chat moving so fast you couldn’t even read it. “Alright, lovelies, I hope you enjoyed that. Be right back and we’ll chat a little bit, okay?”

Donations popped up, the chat slowing a little as the clients who only came to jerk off to you left, leaving those who considered themselves true fans. You stood and made your way to the bathroom to pee, rinsing your toy off in the sink and washing your hands. You went back to your room, pulling on a hoodie and settling in front of the screen again.

“Alright, I’m back! I have some time for a few questions and then I have to go for the night. Let me see what we got!” You scanned the chat, ignoring the normal inappropriate questions. Mindfucker:  Do you know who Chargebolt is? Cause I heard he watches your stream.

Your heart, which had finally slowed to a normal rhythm, picked up again. You most definitely knew who Chargebolt was. You gave him a good amount of money from your donations when you watched his cam shows yourself. “I do actually, he’s pretty popular on here, isn’t he?” You sat back a little, furrowing your brows. “How do you know he watches me?”

RedDaddy: He did a Q&A and mentioned your channel! Told everyone to check you out.

You recognized the names of the viewers and knew they were also regulars on Chargebolt’s streams as well, so you believed them. Chargebolt was gorgeous and funny, just your type. The knowledge that he was interested in you enough to watch you get off on camera was flattering. You hoped your blush wasn’t showing on your face. 

“I’m surprised he knows who I am!” You had missed the last Q&A he’d done, since it hadn’t been on his normal streaming day, and you’d been stuck at work late. Leaning forward again, you bit your lip, looking into the camera from under your lashes. “Can I tell you guys a secret? I watch him, too. Why do you think I never do shows on Thursdays? That’s Chargebolt day.” With a wink you sat back, trying to will the blush from your cheeks. Mindfucker: I knew it! I bet he’s watching right now. You smiled, shrugging. “I hope he enjoyed the show, then!” You tried to hold it together, suppressing the urge to burst into a fit of giggles at the thought, answering a few more silly questions from your regulars, before signing off for the night, promising to be back again the following week.

You let out a breath you didn’t even know you were holding, leaning your head back and groaning. It was wild that the guy whose cam shows you watched on the regular, the one who had inspired you to start your own, who you thought of half the time when you were filming yourself getting off on camera for strangers, knew who you were and was one of your viewers. 

It brought you down a whole rabbit hole for a second, wondering if he got off on you getting off. Why else would he watch? Did he ever donate? You assumed he had a secondary account so you wouldn’t know it was him even if you tried to look at your past viewers, just like you had a secret account so you could watch him as well. 

Cracking your eyes open, you clicked to view the donation tallies for the evening. You’d made enough to pay the rent on your apartment for the month in just one night. Sometimes you wondered how you ever managed to survive before you started doing this. It was meant to be a temporary side job, but you’d been running this cam channel under the screen name Neko for over six months, and you had clawed your way out of debt in such a short time, it didn’t make sense for you to stop.

You viewed a few more visitor stats with interest, before logging off the computer and shutting the laptop. You had to get to sleep for your real job in the morning, so you figured it was time for bed, pushing thoughts of Chargebolt to the back of your mind for now.

It wasn’t until later when you were lying down to sleep, that you thought of him again. Your eyes closed as you ran through a scenario in your head, wondering if he would mention you on Thursday, and what would come of all this? You had noticed your viewer numbers had spiked that day, so it was definitely beneficial that you’d caught his eye. You just weren’t sure what would happen next.

--

Denki was grinning into the camera, wiping the cum off of his abs with the towel he kept beside him, his chest and cheeks flushed pink. He adjusted in his chair, tugging the toy out of his hole and chucking it to the side, pulling his boxers back up over his softening cock. “I hope it was as good for you as it was for me, babes.” 

He chuckled at the comments flooding the chat as he reached for his water and took a sip. 

Tapeman: As always, you never disappoint me, Chargebolt.

“Hey thanks, Tapeman! I appreciate you always coming to hang out...get it? Coming?”

Mindfucker: Ridiculous.

“Aw, you love me, Mindfucker.” He winked at the camera. “So, did you guys enjoy my Q&A the other day?”

The chat filled with praise, making him grin. He loved to talk to his fans, and sometimes they had some great questions for him. He knew a lot of people just watched him as a way to get off, but he liked to give a little piece of himself to them because he knew that most of the people who watched were probably lonely, and he wanted to help with that in some way. He kept things laid back, joking and laughing with his viewers before and after the show, taking requests and doing his best to remember some of the regulars. Some of the few who had been with him from the beginning he’d made into moderators to help with keeping things somewhat orderly in the chat. Some of them he actually knew in real life, like his roommate Hitoshi, who used the alias Mindfucker.

Mindfucker: So are we going to talk about Neko? Denki’s eyebrows rose. “Oh, you mean the stream the other day? It was…” He made the appropriate motion as he said it. “Chef’s kiss, immaculate. She’s so beautiful…” Trailing off, he let himself think back to the way your chest heaved and the face you made when you came. “I would do anything for her, man.”

RedDaddy: Dude, I agree! She’s also super sweet, like, the total package.

Sighing, he leaned his elbow on the desk, his cheek resting on his palm. “I am a simp, my guy.” He sat up, squinting at the chat. “She said she watches, right? Is she here right now?” He scanned the names of the viewers, frowning. “She probably has a second account. Well, if you’re here, Neko, you should hit me up. I read all of my DM’s okay?” He grinned, winking again. “Alright, I have to go feed the cats so I’m outie 5000, thanks for hanging out and I’ll see you guys next week!”

He said his goodbyes, ending the stream and sighing. He wiped off his toy with the towel and clicked through his stats for the day, smiling at some of the comments that came with the donations. Hitoshi came into his room a few minutes later, holding one of the cats, an orange tabby named Miso, in his arms. “I fed them, you don’t have to.”

Was it weird that his roommate watched him fuck himself on toys and jerk off on the internet on a weekly basis? Nope. Denki had forgone all sense of modesty when it came to sex a long time ago, and Hitoshi was the same. It helped that they fucked around on occasion, best friends who got lonely and lived together sometimes did that, he guessed. Or maybe they were weird. It was whatever, he didn’t like to think about it too much. 

“What would I do without you, Toshi?”

“Kill the cats, probably.” He deadpanned, leaning in the doorway. “Burn all the toast you try to make, buy the wrong peanut butter, eat Cheese-Itz for breakfast every day, forget to pay the cable bill.” He raised his eyebrows. “I can keep going.”

“Fuck off, I got the all-natural peanut butter once, it was an accident!” Denki threw his soiled towel into the laundry basket by the closet and picked up the toy he’d used, waving it around a bit. “Did you enjoy the stream?”

Hitoshi snorted, eyeing the dildo warily. “I didn’t really watch, I had my eye on the chat. I was looking for Neko.”

“Man, I can’t believe she’s a fan!” He waved the dildo some more, watching as it jiggled. “I would let her do unspeakable things to me.”

“Look out, your sub is showing, Denki.” Hitoshi teased. “But I agree, she’s pretty great. I wonder if she’ll ever do private shows.” Pausing to scritch Miso behind the ears, he continued. “I’m sure they’d be in high demand.”

Denki stood, pointing at Hitoshi with the dildo. He really needed to put it down somewhere and stop brandishing it around like a sword. “Don’t even, I’d spend all my money on that girl.” 

“I know you would.” He chuckled. “I did try to go through the usernames and see if I could find out who she could be, but I didn’t have any luck.”

“It’s okay! I’m leaving it up to fate now, man. If the universe wants us to know each other, we will.” He stuck his thumb towards the ensuite. “I’m going to wash my ass and then we can play Among Us if you want.”

Hitoshi, completely unphased as usual, nodded. “I’ll get a team together. Check the discord when you get out.”

Humming, Denki made his way to the bathroom, picking up his phone on the way. It buzzed as he closed the door, and he glanced down to see he had a message from his other moderator and friend, Eijirou, aka RedDaddy. Tossing the dildo in the sink, he looked down at the screen and opened the message.

Eiji: No luck on finding Neko on the stream, but she said she never misses a Thursday, so I bet she was there.

Denki: Thanks for keeping an eye out, man. I appreciate you. Among us in 30?

Eiji: Bet. I’ll ask Kats to play too.

--

Your next stream day had you feeling nervous. Chargebolt had talked directly at you on his last stream, asking you to slide into his DMs, and you had yet to take him up on it. You didn’t know what you were so scared of, Chargebolt was a nice guy. You chalked it up to the fear of the unknown. If you sent him a message, what would you even say? ‘Hey dude, nice cock?’ It was bound to be a disaster.

Pushing your nerves back down, you made sure you were ready for your stream, excited for the news you were about to drop on your viewers. You were needing a little extra cash due to some unfortunate car trouble, and you’d figured out a way to make up what you needed in record time.

“Hey everyone, welcome!” You smiled at the camera, waving your fingers. “Thanks for coming! I see a lot of familiar names here tonight. Hi Mindfucker, Dynamight, RedDaddy, Tapeman, LightningMcQueen!”

LightningMcQueen: Hey, beautiful! I’ve been looking forward to this all week.

Dynamight: Chill out, McQueen, you look desperate.

RedDaddy: Be nice, Dynamight. Hi, Neko!

Dynamight: Fuck off, Shittyhair.

Mindfucker: How’s your cat, Neko?

“Be good, Dynamight. You’re lucky I know you don’t mean that!” You giggled at the antics of your regulars, smiling at the question about your cat. “Ichigo is doing good, Mindfucker, thanks for asking! I’ll bring her on camera after the show if you want to say hi!”

Minfucker just sent a cat emoji and you laughed, shaking your head. “I’m beginning to think that you’re just here for Ichigo and not me.”

The chat went crazy with people denying it, telling you how much they loved watching you every week. You lit up, feeling more excited about your news.

“So I have something I want to discuss before we get started today. I’ve decided I want to try out doing some private shows, so I’m going to be offering up a few spots. I’m going to give some of my longest and most frequent supporters a shot first, and if all goes well, then I’ll open them up to the rest of you! I’ll be adding a signup link at the bottom of my page after tonight’s stream, so if you’re interested you can apply and I’ll pick a few of you and we’ll work out a schedule! How does that sound?”

Dynamight: McQueen already has his credit card ready I bet.

“Aw, you don’t want to play with me, Dynamight?” You teased, giving the camera your best pout.

Dynamight: You couldn’t handle me, Princess.

LightningMcQueen: Hush. You’re a bottom, Dyna.

Dynamight: Die you fucking extra.

LightningMcQueen: Love you too, blasty.

“I was going to let you pick the toy today, Dynamight, but if you can’t behave then I’m just going to have to let someone else have a turn.” You gave the camera a disapproving look, frowning. You’d picked up that these guys were friends, so you knew they were just messing with each other.

A donation popped up from Dynamight with a comment attached. 

Let McQueen choose this time, babe.

“It looks like Dynamight is going to let you choose, McQueen. Which one?” You pulled over the box you kept your toys in and showed it to the camera. “Pick a color.”

LightningMcQueen: Yellow

You pulled the yellow silicone out of the box and showed it to the chat, smirking. “I call this one Chargebolt because it’s the same color as his hair. Are you sure this is the one you want me to use?”

--

When your stream ended, Denki leaned back in his chair, taking a deep breath. The fact that he’d watched you fuck yourself with a dildo that you’d named after him was the hottest thing he could have imagined. He was jealous of that piece of bright yellow silicone more than he should be. He’d still enjoyed it, if the mess across his abs and chest were any indication. 

He cleaned himself up and pulled on a shirt, clicking on the link for the private show signup. It was pretty straightforward, listing the price and how long the show would be, and asking for his username and what he would be interested in doing or seeing and what day would work best.

Staring at the form for a moment, he contemplated his options. He could sign up with his LightningMcQueen account, and he might have a chance. He was the first one out of his friends to find your channel one night when he was bored and horny. Then he’d shown it to Hitoshi and then shared your info with Eijirou, Katsuki, and Hanta. He would be considered one of the longest and loyal viewers like you had said.

However, if you got a request from Chargebolt? What would you do? Would you ignore it? 

“Toshi!” He called out, knowing his roommate would hear him without him having to get up. “I’m having a crisis!”

The door opened, and the purple-haired man stood in the doorway. “I am not prepared to handle your bi panic right now, Denki.”

“Are you going to put in for a private show from Neko?” Denki pushed on, ignoring his friend’s exasperation. 

“I spoke that into existence last week, you know. You’re welcome.”

Flopping back in his chair, Denki closed his eyes. “Should I send in the request with this account or with the Chargebolt one?”

Hitoshi shrugged, watching their cat Sashimi wander into the room. “You’ve wanted to talk to her for ages, man. You could have messaged her forever ago and you wouldn’t be playing this game with her. Sign up with your actual account.”

“I mean, she must think I’m cute, right? Otherwise, she wouldn’t watch.” He sat up, logging out of his secondary account and into his main one. He had a few unread DM’s, so he clicked, his breath catching in his throat. “Dude, look.”

There was a message from you, short but sweet.

Hi, Chargebolt. I don’t know if you saw the stream today, but you should check it out if you haven’t. I left it up for you.”

“She wants you to see her use that dildo she named after you.” Hitoshi patted his shoulder, and then bent down to pick up Sashimi. “I signed up but I told her I just wanted to have a date with her cat. She probably won’t pick me.”

“She will, she loves cats.” Denki clicked on your page and scrolled down to the bottom where the signup was again, letting it populate his main account in the information, and writing ‘any day except Thursday’ in the section for the time that worked for him. “I’m going to get this girl to date me, just you watch.”

Snorting, his roommate closed the door behind him as he left. “I believe in you, Pikachu.”

Once his request was submitted, he went back to his DM’s and sent you a message back.

“I was there, Neko. I never miss a stream. I submitted for a private show, so I hope you’ll pick me. I’ve been one of your viewers since the beginning, you know.”

---

In your head, you tried to plan what you would say once you were face to face (via camera) with the one and only Chargebolt. Everything your brain seemed to come up with fell short. What did you say to this guy, who you’d been simping over for over 9 months, who lit up your screen every Thursday with terrible puns and panty-dropping smiles? You knew exactly what he looked like and sounded like when he came. It was a strange thing to think that you knew that but you’d never actually spoken to him before.

It made you feel a little better when you realized he knew just as much about you. That he watched you fuck yourself on a dildo you’d named after him, and then spent the rest of the stream showing off your fluffy white cat Ichigo. 

It was time to put on your big girl panties. You could do this. 

Chargebolt had been one of the few that you’d chosen to do these shows with. He was also the last one. You’d met with 4 others, the ones who were the most active in your chat, the ones you assumed were actually friends. 

Your first one was with Tapeman, who asked you to call him Sero. He was cute, with the widest, prettiest smile you’d ever seen. He made you laugh, and called you beautiful, and spoke to you in Spanish. You didn’t feel uncomfortable once with him, and the experience gave you hope that the rest would be just as nice.

Mindfucker was next, whose name was Shinsou and lowkey your favorite one. He didn’t want anything sexual at all, which surprised you. You sat with him and drank tea and you got to meet his two fur children, Miso and Sashimi, while he told you about his roommate. You let him admire Ichigo, and talked about music. He was sarcastic, but not in a mean way, and you were pretty sure he was going to be your new best friend.

RedDaddy and Dynamight had asked to do theirs together since they were dating. You wanted to question why they both watched your stream but RedDaddy, who was actually named Kirishima, answered it for you.

“We’re both bi, and we think you’re cute!”

“Yeah, plus McQueen has a thing for you so we like to be in the chat to help him out.” Dynamite, aka Bakugou, added in his gruff voice, folding his arms across his chest.

“Aw, that’s sweet!” You smiled at them. “He didn’t request a private show though, so I guess he doesn’t like me that much.”

Bakugou coughed and Kirishima grinned. “Maybe he was nervous! I’m sure you’ll meet him in one of these someday!”

“Enough about that dumbass.” Bakugou leaned forward, his hand on Kirishima’s knee. “Give us a show and we’ll give you one in return. Use that orange and green one for me, Princess.”

And give you a show they did. You got lost in how they looked at each other while they jerked each other off, and you were pretty sure they forgot you were even there at some point. When it was over, you suggested that they start their own channel.

Bakugou scoffed, but you could tell he was blushing a bit.

“I don’t know, Neko. I don’t think I could share him with anyone else. Except you, you’re the exception.” Kirishima grinned, winking at you.

But now it was Chargebolt’s turn. You made sure you had everything you needed, making sure Ichigo was out of the room, and then signed into your account. 

Chargebolt was online, so you made the private room and sent him the request. You felt like you were shaking, and you checked yourself in the camera to make sure you didn’t look like a wreck.

You barely had time to breathe before he entered the chat, his camera screen coming to life and showing you his smiling face. You melted a bit, biting your lip, gazing at how attractive he was. 

“Hey, Neko!” Chargebolt was as vibrant as ever, tucking his hair behind his ears, the black lightning bolt in his hair dark against the bright yellow of the rest of it.

“It’s nice to see you, Chargebolt.” You tried to relax, rolling your shoulders back. “It’s kind of weird knowing you can see me too.”

He laughed, leaning back in his chair. You tried not to stare at his arms in the tank top he was wearing. Chargebolt had a small frame, but his muscles were defined. You’d seen him plow through an entire bag of chips on stream once, without pausing to breathe, so you assumed he must be one of those people with amazing metabolism that you envied. “You can call me Denki if you want, kitten.”

You choked on air at the nickname, trying to compose yourself. “Kitten?”

“Well, Neko means cat, doesn’t it?” He raised an eyebrow. “I won’t call you that if you don’t like it.”

“No!” You practically shouted. “No, I mean, it’s fine. I like it.���

“Sweet.” He grinned. “Man, I’ve wanted to get you alone like this for so long, and now I’m just feeling really nervous.”

“You’re nervous?” You were surprised. The always cool but super dorky Chargebolt was nervous because of you? “So am I.”

Chargebolt- sorry, Denki, rested his elbow on the desk, propping his head in his hand. “Well, glad to know I’m not the only disaster here. I’ve been trying to get the courage to talk to you for months, and then finally Hitoshi got me to talk about you on stream a few weeks ago, and now here we are.”

“Who’s Hitoshi? One of your regulars?” Knowing that you weren’t the only one who was sweating bullets had you relaxing a bit. 

“Oh yeah, Mindfucker! You know him right? He did a thing with you the other day, didn’t he?”

Eyes wide, you stared at him. “Shinsou?”

“Yeah, that’s my best friend and my roommate. He said he showed you the cats.” He shrugged. “You picked all my friends for your private shows. Sero, Kiri, Bakugou, Shinsou.” He paused, smirking. “I forgot that you don’t know that I’m LightningMcQueen.”

“That’s you? I was wondering why they didn’t send me a request, but it all makes sense now.”

Denki shot you finger guns and winked. “Kachow!”

“Oh god, stop it.” You rolled your eyes.

He chuckled, grinning at you. “So, did Shinsou talk about me?”

You giggled, remembering back. “He told me a story about how his roommate mistook a fuzzball for a spider and spent the afternoon sitting on a table waiting for him to come home and kill it.”

“It looked like one of those freaky poisonous ones from where I was sitting. I was afraid to let it out of my sight in case it got away and then multiplied and killed me in my sleep or something.” He took a deep breath. “Spiders are terrifying.”

This man was amazing. “You are everything I always thought you’d be, you know that?”

“I’m going to take that as a compliment.” He sighed. “You have to have some kind of embarrassing story to tell me so I don’t feel like a fool. You’ve got to make it even.”

“One year my dad hired a clown to come to my birthday party. He walked in the front door and I jetted out the back door and hid in the garden until he left. Clowns are just as terrifying as spiders.”

Chargebolt laughed, and the sound made your stomach do a somersault. It was just as bright and happy as he was. “That is the cutest shit I’ve ever heard!”

“I’m glad my childhood trauma is amusing you.” You deadpanned, trying to keep the smile off your face.

“Aw, don’t be like that kitten! I’m glad we can bond over our irrational fears like this, you know?” He 

You shivered happily. “Okay, okay.” You cleared your throat. “So, you didn’t write anything down here for what you wanted out of our chat today.”

“Oh, okay, down to business then.” He sat up straight. “Well, I wanted to tell you myself instead of submitting it on the form.”

Intrigued, you raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t want to give me a chance to back out?”

Snorting, and shook his head. “Nah, I think you’ll like it, kitten.” He folded his hands behind his head. “I want you to tell me what to do. I’m at your mercy.”

Swallowing thickly, you blinked at him. That was...really hot. “You like being told what to do?”

“I would love nothing more for you to pull my hair and peg me within an inch of my life while calling me your little cock slut.” He stared at you with an eyebrow raised, looking pleased with himself when he saw your expression.

Your thighs clenched together involuntarily. “Fuck.”

“Yeah, right? I mean, I’m a switch, I’d do the same to you if you asked.  But we can save that for next time.” He smirked. “So, you down?”

Next time? This man was going to kill you. “Take off your shirt, Denki.”

“Fuck yes.” He groaned, reaching behind him and tugging the garment over his head. 

His chest and abs came into view, and you let your eyes linger on the barbells through his nipples. “Pants too.”

He pushed his chair away from his desk and shimmied out of his shorts, kicking them to the side. You gazed at him in his blue boxer briefs, eyes lingering on his thin waist, strong thighs, and the outline of his cock. He was a sight to behold, honestly.

You held the fangirling back, leaning forward to get a better look at him. “Do you have any toys, Denki?”

“Of course, Kitten.” He moved out of view for a moment, coming back with a box. 

“Let me see.” He tilted the box towards the camera, your eyes flitting over the different colors and shapes inside. “The pink one.” 

“Okay, hang on, let me-” He cut off, standing up and throwing the pink toy on the bed. He picked up the laptop and moved it, laying down beside it and angling the camera so you could see what he was doing.

“Did you stretch yourself, baby?” 

He made a noise that sounded like a whine in the back of his throat at the pet name, obviously pleased by it. “Yeah, of course I did.” He glanced at the screen. “You should, uh, take your shirt off too.”

“I thought you wanted me to tell you what to do, not the other way around.” Teasing him, you crossed your arms over your chest.

He pouted slightly. “I’ve been good so far though, right?”

“All you’ve done is take off two items of clothing and move to the bed. You’re gonna have to work harder than that!”

Huffing, he lifted his ass off the bed and tugged his underwear down his legs, kicking them off, his hand already moving to wrap around his already hard cock.

“Did I say you could touch yourself, Denki?” It was getting hard to keep up the stern act you were putting on, but you knew it was what he wanted. You wanted to watch him touch himself, watch the way his eyes fluttered closed when his thumb brushed over the leaking head of his cock, and the way he would bite his lip when he moved his wrist a certain way.

You could be patient though, so you continued.

“If I was there right now, what would you want me to do first?”

He stilled, blinking at you a few times. “I would want your mouth first, I think.”

Humming, you sat back, pulling your shirt over your head, letting him admire the lacey purple bra covering your chest. “You’d want my mouth on your cock? Trace my tongue along that vein along the underside and suck on the head a little?”

Denki groaned, closing his eyes, his grip visibly tightening around his shaft. He looked like he was trying not to get worked up too fast. You were amazed at how your words were affecting him, so you pressed on.

“I’d take you all the way down until I was choking on it, and I’d let you hold onto my hair and fuck my face. God, you don’t know how many times I've dreamed about doing that for you. What would you say to that?”

The blush spreading down his neck and chest made him look so pretty. “Ugh, fuck kitten, you’re killing me.” He swallowed hard, opening his eyes to look at you again. “I’d tell you how good you made me feel, but I wouldn’t let you finish me off that way.”

“Oh no? Tell me what else you’d do.” You took the opportunity to move to the bed yourself, pulling off your leggings and panties all at once. 

Eyes glued to you while you unclipped your bra and threw it across the room, he continued. “Fuck, um, I would...god, you’re beautiful.”

Flushing at the compliment, you looked down shyly, breaking character. “I’ve heard you say that before and I still don’t believe it.”

Denki scoffed. “If you need a daily reminder, I’d be happy to be the one to tell you, kitten.” You could hear the sincerity in his voice, and it made your heart do a little flip. “I might seem like a dumbass but I’m using this camboy money to pay off my student loans for my masters in English lit so I can quote you entire sonnets from Shakespeare without hesitation if that will help you believe me.”

Your eyebrows shot up, impressed. Realizing you’d ruined the moment, you sighed, covering your eyes with your hand. “I’m sorry, I’m crap at this. I really just want to watch you cum.”

Chuckling, you heard him shifting on the bed. “Okay, how about this? Forget the toys. Just close your eyes and listen to me.”

“Okay.”

“If you were here with me right now, just like that, I’d spend so much time exploring every inch of you with my tongue. I’d start with your lips, your jaw, your neck. Collarbones, shoulders, your chest, those cute nipples-”

“How are nipples cute?” You interrupted with a snort.

You could hear him trying not to laugh, his voice pitched a bit higher. “Shh, don’t ruin it.”

“I think you just did when you said ‘cute nipples’.” You’d never had this much fun with someone in a situation like this. “If I had a dick, my boner would have just died.”

Denki wheezed, and you opened your eyes to look over at him. He was gazing back at you, his eyes bright as he laughed into his palm. “God, I like you so much, kitten.”

Your grin softened, your heart pounding at his words. “Me too, Denki.” 

#kaminari denki #kaminari denki x reader #kaminari denki smut #denki kaminari #denki kaminari x reader #denki kaminari smut #bnha x reader #mha x reader #bnha smut #mha smut #kingexpl0sionmurder writes #bnharem collab

[jeonbunnie]

between you & me

pairing: reader x taehyung

anon requested: “could you write a fluff (and smut if you’d like) with idol!kim taehyung x non!idol reader piece with the song “between you and me” by betty who?”

summary: testing out a new dating app leaves you with more than just a online connection.

genre: fluff, smut; blind date au

soundtrack: between you and me— betty who

content/warnings: 18+, strangers to lovers, POV shifts, dirty talk, protected sex

a/n: this was supposed to be a lil drabble…but my hand slipped lol. also reader is wild for this don’t go home with strangers! do as I say not as I write lol. ty for being patient anon I hope u like it!

word count: 4.4k

♪ Just between you and me I can feel something here, wondering if you do, too ♪

Going on a date with a celebrity was the last scenario you imagined when you first joined Vibez. 

Initially, you didn’t have any interest in signing up for yet another trending dating app. But you couldn’t watch Youtube without their commercial popping up or scroll through your feed without coming across their slogan: “love is blind.” 

Maybe you were feeling a bit lonely, or you had too much wine, but in a moment of absolute insanity, you downloaded Vibez. There were no photos. Profiles only consisted of a person's bio and anonymous icon of their choice. 

You were starting to resent that fact as you had no idea what to expect or who you were meeting on your date tonight. You only had a name.  

Kim Taehyung.

You tugged on the hem of your little black dress then internally cursed yourself for fidgeting. You wanted to appear sexy, confident, and open—not like some awkward girl on her phone at the bar—but your anxiety was getting the best of you. You opened the app and sent him a text. 

[ 7:01pm] 🦋: You're late.  

You were joking. Kind of. Technically, it was only a minute past 7 p.m. but that minute started to feel like an hour. Sitting at a crowded restaurant alone on a Saturday night only seemed to edge on your nervous state. You got there a little early and ordered yourself a drink, but as the minutes passed on you were starting to wonder if your date stood you up. Just as soon as the thought crossed your mind you got a text back.

[ 7:02pm] 🐻: I would never show up late to our date.

[ 7:02pm] 🐻: I’m here. 

You looked up from your phone, heart spiking in your throat as you scanned the crowd around you. You hated that he could be anywhere and you wouldn’t know it. 

[ 7:04pm] 🦋:  Here where? 

[ 7:0pm] 🐻: I’m at the bar.

At the bar? You hadn’t noticed a man near your age around you. To your left, a group of party girls laughed amongst themselves and clinked champagne glasses. You looked to your right. Next to you, there was a man around his fifties cradling a beer in his palms. You shuddered at the thought. No. . . it couldn’t be, right? 

You quickly turned away from him, already regretting your decision to come out on this blind date at all. You briefly covered your face with your hands and prepared yourself to sneak out as quickly as possible, ready to abandon ship. But when you looked up, the group of girls were gone, and someone else was there in their place.  

His back was turned to you, and you couldn’t see his face, but he was tall, with a slim build and dark hair. This could be him? Maybe it was wishful thinking, but you hoped so; he looked like your type, and he was around your age. Your nerves took over again, but this time you fought against the instinct to run and crossed the space between you to tap him on the shoulder.

“Kim Taehyung?”

When he turned around, and you saw his face, the world seemed to slow all around you. Because he wasn't a stranger to you at all, you knew this face. You’d seen it on countless magazines, album covers, and across the red carpet. But now that he was standing in front of you, it felt like a dream, like you could hardly recognize him as real. 

How could it be that your Kim Taehyung was the Kim Taehyung?

I mean, what were the odds?

“Y/n?” The rumble of your name in that dark voice you knew all too well had you weak in the knees. 

“No way,” You said. “Is this some kind of joke? You’re not my blind date, are you?”

Taehyung laughed, the sound deep and hearty. “Wow, I wasn’t expecting that reaction. Would it be so bad if I was your date?

You startled, waving your hands as if to wave away any offense you might have dealt him. “Not at all! Sorry, it’s just? A little hard to believe.” When the algorithm matched you with a bear emoji named Kim Taehyung, you didn’t think twice about the name. Maybe you should have. But you were more focused on figuring out what to say when your phone pinned, letting you know he initiated a chat with you.

You never would've thought answering that message would have led you here, to him. He looked too good to be true sitting in front of you in a black dress shirt and jeans. You couldn’t help but eye him. Only someone as famous as him had the power to look so handsome while dressed casually.

Even if you had figured out the truth based on his name alone, you still wouldn’t have thought it to be true. Part of you felt like it was a prank; any second now a TV crew would pop up. 

You felt silly even thinking that, but still, you had to ask: “Is this really happening?”

Taehyung read the look on your face. He thought of this scenario so many times. People reacted strangely when it came to his fame, and he figured you’d either be starstruck or repulsed. It was the whole reason Vibez appealed to him in the first place. He wanted to get to know someone honestly, without the haze of the lights clouding his image.

Texting you felt more like checking up on a friend than anything else. Phone calls became texts, and pretty soon, he’d stopped saying hello and started answering the phone with ‘hey you.’ It wasn’t long before he quickly found himself up all kinds of hours, laying on your side in bed with the phone pressed to his cheek and the biggest smile on his face.

There was something different about getting to know someone with only their words and the sound of their voice. He liked learning all your little tells; when your voice filled with worry or sleep. The pause on the line right before you’d let out a big laugh. The steady sound of your breath after you’d fallen off to sleep. 

He liked putting a face to all that information, too. And though he hadn’t expected the disbelief on your pretty face, he was more amused than offended by your skepticism.

He offered you a genuine smile. “I am your blind date,” he said. “I know my identity comes as a surprise, but if it’s any consolation, I’m surprised by you, too. You’re even more beautiful than I imagined.”

Had anyone else had said that to you, the compliment would’ve been cloying, but coming from his lips, the words were saccharine sugar. “That’s so sweet of you to say, thank you.” 

“I mean it,” he said, brown eyes so open and honest, you couldn't help but believe him. 

So when he took your hand in his, you let him guide you to the empty barstool beside him, almost in a trance. You tried not to blush at the warmth of his hand and the heated eye contact he maintained. His eyes were magnetic, pulling you in; no wonder he was a teenage heartthrob. If he looked at fan cams the way he looked into your eyes, then you pitied the poor soul on the other end of that lens.

Still, you found the reality of your meetup all so strange. “I don’t get it. Why would—“

“—Someone like me ever use a dating app?” 

You nodded, grateful that he knew exactly where your mind was at.

“Well, I was hoping you’d let me buy you a drink and give me a chance to explain.” 

You narrowed your eyes at him playfully. “First, prove it.”

“Prove it?”

“I’ll let you buy me a drink if you can prove you’re the Taehyung I know online. Tell me something only the real Taehyung would know.”

“Okay. I picked the bear emoji in our Vibez chat.”

It took all your strength not to roll your eyes. “That doesn’t mean anything; it's a popular emoji. Anyone could have the same one.”

Taehyung cocked an eyebrow, amusement filling his eyes. “Okay, then. During your high school graduation, you tripped and fell in front of everyone and—”

You covered his mouth before he could finish. “How could you say something so embarrassing out loud?” When you told him about the public embarrassment months ago in private, you never imagined he’d repeat out loud.

“You forced my hand; you asked me to prove it?” He laughed, the sound of his voice muffled underneath your hands. 

You pulled away from him, stunned. “I—it’s really you isn’t it?” All this time you’d been spilling your heart out to one of the most famous men in the world. You felt embarrassed and enamored at the same time. 

Taehyung winked at you before he caught the eye of the bartender and ordered champagne for both of you. When your drinks came, and you took a sip of the sweet, sparkling wine, you realized he knew your taste exactly. You couldn’t help but be impressed.

“Okay, you won me over. Now tell me why.” 

He gave you a sheepish smile. “It’s hard to get close to people and have them see me. I mean, see me. Not some image they made up in their heads.”

When you first started talking, there were some things he kept private. He wasn’t very specific about his job, obscurely telling you he worked in the entertainment industry. He avoided any talk about work with smooth transitions asking about your workday. Sometimes you let him get away with it. Other times you pushed back. 

“You could’ve told me,” you said. “I would’ve understood.”

You heard the smile in his voice when he answered. “I know that. You’re my safe place. I just didn’t want anything outside of us to taint that.”

You could understand that. Taehyung was your safe place, too. You could confide in him, tell him anything, and your secrets would be safe with him.  

“I don’t know. You make me feel like I’m not alone. And when we talk, everything else falls away. It's like. . . Right now, we’re in a crowded room, but it feels like we’re alone. Like it’s just you and me.” He paused, leaning in close. 

You mirrored his body language till you were close enough to see the dark curl of his lashes, till you felt the heat radiate off his body in waves. 

Taehyung looked down and licked his lips, pink tongue darting out. You knew it was probably a sign of him being nervous but the action had your thoughts straying elsewhere and it gave you butterflies. God, you only met him for five minutes and you already wanted him. You willed yourself to get it together enough to focus on his words. 

“Am I crazy?” He whispered, making eye contact again. “Or is it like that for you too?”

You felt the same way. Something pieced together through all the late-night phone calls and the midday check-ins. The energy between you was like magic. There was an intimacy, one you’d never known with anyone else before. Normally on a date like this, you’d feel all kinds of nervous and awkward around someone new. But you didn’t feel that now. He felt so familiar. 

“You’re not crazy. . . ” You said, heart thrumming in your chest.

For so long, the thought of meeting him frightened you. Talking to him was fine and all when it was just you, alone in your room. But you worried about what it would be like to bring your relationship outside into the real world. 

If you were completely honest with yourself, you were a bit in love. You fell for him months ago getting to know him online. You fell for his heart, his character. His dreams and his worries and even the silly way he used emojis. You only hoped the feeling was mutual.

Dinner went by in a perfect blur. The champagne helped you relax, loosening any nerves you had, and once you started talking, you realized how little you had to fear. He was the same in person as he was in your private chats. The truth was—you liked him. He was funny and charming and down to earth in a way you hadn’t thought possible for a star of his magnitude.

And even though you were meeting for the first time, you could feel yourself falling for him a little more. 

It took a little for you to get used to being in his presence. He was gorgeous, so good looking it almost hurt to look at him. Your attraction to him was through the roof. And the chemistry. . .You only had one drink, but you felt drunk from his presence alone. 

As you winded down, a comfortable quiet drifted between you two. Somehow you ended up curled into each other, close but not close enough. You wanted more.  To be closer, but any further, and you’d practically be on the man’s lap. Right now, the thought seemed tempting. If it were anyone else, the idea wouldn’t have ever crossed your mind. But it was Taehyung, your Taehyung. And after tonight, he felt so real, so personable to you it didn’t feel strange to want to connect with him at a deeper level.

Staring into his eyes, you felt completely and totally seen. To be known by such a perfect stranger. . .the irony didn’t escape you. You laughed to yourself, amused at the notion.

Taehyung smiled at the sound of your voice, eyes crinkling up in confusion.  “What?”

“It’s nothing. I just had a thought.”

“Tell me? Please?”

You shook your head, suddenly bashful. “It’s too much for a first date.”

You didn’t want to scare him off with your feelings. Or be the first one to admit to having feelings, because what if he didn’t feel the same?

But Taehyung was persistent. He held your hand, rubbing small circles on the back. “Tell me anyway,” he said in that deep soothing voice.

You did your best to ignore the butterflies he gave you and tried to pull our thoughts together. “I feel like I know you. We just met, but it feels like I’ve known you forever. And…”

“And?”

You bite your lip. “I more than like you.”

Taehyug couldn’t believe his luck. He knew there was a slim chance of the date going right, of you wanting to see him at all. He’d thought as much but so much can be misconstrued over text. But to know his feelings weren't one sided, that he wasn’t the only one falling over the phone—

“Too much?” you asked, nervous. 

He was so quiet for a moment you wondered if you made a mistake. Then something ignited in his eyes. The heat of his gaze stunned you, but you didn’t dare look away. 

“I more than like you too.”

He was so close. The musky scent of his cologne—warm and woodsy— flooded your senses. Taehyung closed the gap, till there was nothing between you and him, till his warm lips met yours.

And then you were kissing him. His tongue slipped in your mouth, and you sighed at the taste of him, bittersweet from the champagne. And when his hand came up to cup your jaw, you all but melted in his palm. 

You’d imagined this kiss so many times, and it didn’t disappoint. It was everything you expected and more. Maybe it was your connection, but the desire you felt for him was unreal. As sweet as the kiss started, it quickly turned into something hungry. when he licked into your mouth, swirling his tongue just right, you felt your stomach dip, pleasure building there.

And just like that, you were over the small talk. Suddenly you weren’t close enough. You wanted more. You’d risk it all if it meant you could feel his touch, his lips traveling elsewhere, your neck, your breasts, your thighs. . .

When he pulled away, you were flushed, panting, and desperate for more.

Girl, get a grip! You hoped he couldn’t see the look in your eye how badly you wanted him.

If the look in his eye was any indication, you weren’t the only one aroused after the kiss. Taehyung smiled, eyes glinting devilishly in the dark. “Do you wanna get outta here?”

You knew it was crazy and stupid to go home with someone on a first date. But one look at Taehyung, and you couldn’t care less. 

Before you knew it, you’d gotten in his sleek black Porsche and were already en route to his apartment. 

When Taehyung looked over to you at the red light, it made your heart stop. No one's ever looked at you like that.  His stare sent a shiver down your spine. 

“You're nervous?”

“I don’t normally do this,” you blurted out. You didn’t know if it was adrenaline or endorphins or what but you couldn't help but be honest right now. 

“I know,” he said, smoothing a hand down your thigh soothingly. “Me neither.”

You couldn’t stop thinking about his huge hand, the veins there, and those long slender fingers resting on your inner thigh. 

You squirmed in your seat a bit, thighs pressing together. 

The touch was innocent enough, but when the tips  of his fingers slipped past your dress and rubbed against your center, you couldn’t contain your moan. 

Taehyung sucked in a breath, “You're so wet,” he said, fingers sliding your underwear to the side. When he rubbed against your soaping entrance, you threw your head back against the seat.

“Don’t tease me. It’s your fault,” you pant.

‘My fault, huh? You’re saying I made this mess?”

Yes. “You can’t look at me like that and expect me not to lose it.”

Taehyung cocked an eyebrow. “Oh? How did I look at you?”

“Like you wanted to eat me up.”

“I do. I can’t look at you without wanting to spread your thighs apart and eating you out till you come apart, till you beg me to stop.”

“But that’ll have to wait until later—I want you right now.”

It’s a miracle you made it from the restaurant to his place without crashing. All you can do is try not to melt when you share a glance with him in the glassy mirror of the elevator, but Taehyung was so composed.

No one would ever guess the dirty things he said to you in the car ride over. 

Standing before you, he was the perfect gentleman, civil, calm, the only hint being the sly smirk on his mouth. 

That mouth. You want it all over you. You want everything he promised. You can’t stop thinking about it.

As soon as the lock clicked in the door, you got what you wanted; he was all over you. Kissing down your neck, sucking hickeys into your skin that you knew would leave marks later.

His hands dug into your thighs, hiking your legs up to wrap around his legs, and then you were pressed between him and the door in the most delicious way.

You arched your back and rolled your hips forward, aching to feel more of him, and Taehyung moaned in your mouth, the sound making you clench around nothing. 

“Fuck,” he said, pulling back. “Now, who’s teasing?”

You giggled and cupped the back of his neck, kissing him again. You couldn’t get enough of him. You hadn’t meant to tease him, but you’d do it all night if it meant you’d get to hear that sound again.

Taehyung, however, had other plans. He couldn’t go another minute without feeling your skin on his; he carried you to his bedroom and laid you down on his plush sheets. 

All at once, you felt incredibly vulnerable, incredibly aware of what was about to happen between you. You fantasized about having Taehyung so many times; you almost didn’t know what to do with him and now that it was real.

Taehyung saw it all over your face. He took a step back from the bed. “If you don’t want this, just say the word. Tell me to stop; and I’ll walk away.”

That was the farthest thing from your mind. You wanted him to stay. You wanted it to mean more than just a hookup, more than just a one-night stand. You couldn’t bear it if the electricity you thought flowed between you was one-sided. But you were willing to take the risk.

“I don’t want you to stop.”

Taehyung leaned down and kissed you as he climbed on the bed, the slightest smile on his lips, “That’s all I wanted to hear.” His hands traced up your thighs, sliding your dress up as you lift your arms, letting him tug the garment off you. You followed suit, ripping him out of his clothes as well. 

You felt hot under his eyes lingering over your body now that you were bare before him. 

Taehyung touched you gently, hands grazing up your sides as he looked at you in awe. You were beautiful; art made flesh. His fingers swept across every curve, taking in the masterpiece that was your body.

“You’re breathtaking. . .” he said. 

You couldn't respond, too wrapped up in the feeling of Taehyung's hot, wet, mouth trailing down your chest while his hand explored between your thighs, dipping a finger inside you. You’re so wet it's easy for him to slip one inside you. And even though he’s easing inside you just right, you’re craving something else.

“Taehyung, I want you now.”

He paused, pulling back to look at your face. “Are you sure? I don’t wanna hurt you.”

You both knew he could. You could feel him hard against you now, long and thick. Somehow you didn’t care. Touching wasn’t enough. You needed him inside you.

“Please? I can take it.”

“Fuck.” When you begged for him like that, how could he say no? You didn’t need to ask him twice. 

Taehyung shifted, grabbing a condom from the bedside table and rolling it on before he crawled over to you, spreading your thighs apart with his knee. You felt the tip of his cock nudge against your entrance, then he pushed into you slowly, inch by inch, until he was fully seated inside you. You gasped, eyes screwed shut, as you felt the burn of him stretching you. 

Taehyung kissed you sweetly, sidetracking you from any pain. Though  you certainly felt it, you couldn’t help but feel full and satisfied being closer to him than ever before. You were forehead to forehead, nose to nose. 

You felt those butterflies again, doubled with the pleasure of feeling him inside you. 

When you felt your body relax against his, Taehyung moved, grinding deep and drawing a moan from you both. You were so tight; the feel of your walls squeezing him was dizzying. 

“You feel so good,” he rasped, voice rough, “Like you were made for me.” 

You wrapped your legs around his waist, drawing him even closer as he picked up the pace. Taehyung thrusts were sensual, hips rolling against yours in a way that made you cry out. Every stroke had you falling closer to the edge. 

With chests pressed together, you weren’t sure if the thumping beat between you was his heart or yours. Everything molded into one; his pleasure was yours, and yours his. 

You wanted to stay in the moment, blissed out and bound to him, but you already felt yourself getting lost in the feeling of being filled in the most perfect way, over and over again. 

Taehyung could feel you getting close—he was too. He hooked his hand behind your knees, folding you in half and somehow reaching new depths inside you. The reaction was instant, your pussy clenching down on him.

You threw your head back at the new angle,  your orgasm cresting. “Taehyung!” 

“I know, baby. I’m coming too. Come with me.” 

When he hit that sweet spot inside you, you came, toes curling as your eyes rolled back, warmth spreading all over your body. Even then, he kept pounding into you, working you through your orgasm so the pleasure went on and on. 

Taehyung thrust once, twice before coming himself, hands gripping your ass as he buried himself inside you. His brows pulled together and he bit down on his bottom lip, groaning deeply as he slowed down. You felt him throbbing inside you as his hips still. 

He released your thighs from his grip instead, wrapping them around his waist, and rolled to the side, taking you with him to avoid crushing you with his weight. 

You laughed at the sudden change in position, still trying to catch your breath.  In his arms, you relaxed, becoming familiar with the intimacy of how he held you to his heart. 

Taehyung kissed your forehead, your cheek, then finally your lips. He reveled in the feeling of you kissing him back. You kissed him passionately like you were his. God, did he want you to be.

Taehyung nuzzled his nose against yours. “Stay,” he breathed. “I want you here when I wake up in the morning.”

“Okay,” you nodded, snuggling in his arms.

You couldn’t move even if you wanted to, already feeling yourself sinking into the sleepiness of your afterglow. But you were happy to know whatever the two of you had would last more than just one night.

#ksmutclub #ficscafe #btshoneyhive #ficswithluv #taehyung x reader #taehyung smut #bts smut #taehyung fic #bts fic #bts scenario #taehyung scenarios #poc reader #song fic #my fics.🍪 #req fill.📦

[everafterkeiji]

Song: Getting Over You by Lauv

Summary: Unexpected things happen all the time but meeting him was one of the best parts of it.

Pairings: Atsumu Miya x gn!reader

Word count: 7.1k

Tags, Genre: implied enemies to semi lovers! trope, slight angst, curse words, timeskip! Atsumu

A/N: pls i didn't intend to change it last minute but pls let me know if u liked it cuz im still having second thoughts <3

“No- I’m sorry.” Atsumu says as you felt your heart snap and break into two distant pieces. You already limited your expectations but there was a miniature amount of hope that you held onto and that was when you should’ve lost your grip.

“It’s fine, ‘Tsumu.”

It obviously wasn’t. No matter how loud the cries of your heart were, what mattered to you in this moment was to forget it ever happened- to run away and never face another failed trial of love. Atsumu can see past your smile and he hated the way it had to end in a way he avoided. There would be a time where his feelings would be up to confrontation but when it finally happened, he’d became a coward.

He was late to realize what the outcomes could lead to. How certain was he that your paths would meet again? How was he sure that he can revert this scenario in a better way that he wanted when you were losing your hold onto him?

“I have to go but it was nice knowing you, Miya.” Your lips were tugged in a weak smile while he questions why his body lacked the power to move but what resumes to play in his mind was the way his name escaped your lips like it was a curse to say it.

Turning your heel, there was an ache in Atsumu’s head. Was it regret? His decisions tied in knots? His emotions unable to declutter themselves? Hesitantly, he reaches for you. His hand wrapped around yours as you glanced down on his soft skin you used to despise to get near to.

His eyes told you stories that were hard to decipher all at once. His stories didn’t start with a setting, it started and ended with you, not a single page where you weren’t there but it seems like the chapters you had in your own story were being torn off to erase the traces of false hope.

“Y/N, I'm so sorry.” He whispers while you felt his hand tighten to make sure that you could stay- even if it lasted for a minute because he wasn’t sure fate could spare you two another moment.

But then, you softly removed his hold on you while the cold sweat runs down his forehead.

“It’s okay, ‘Tsumu. We were just never meant for each other.”

We could’ve been.

-

“Thank you for your time.” You bid the player as both bow each other as a way of manner. You gathered your bag as the athlete turns to you with a kind smile.

“I enjoyed the interview. I’m impressed at how prepared and professional you are. How long have you been doing this?” He asks, adjusting his outfit while you toss your bag on your shoulder with your camera slung around your neck.

“There was a journalism club back in my high school and I joined in ever since I was a first year.”

“You’re in college now?”

“Yes, sir.” He chuckles at your formality while he gives a pat to your shoulder.

“That’s good to hear. Goodluck with everything- I believe that you’ve got bright things ahead of you.” Your heart fluttered at the compliment while you bid your goodbyes. You step out of the hotel feeling the satisfaction hit you like a prize. The report can finally be simplified into a few more subtle fixes and maybe by 1am, you’d be able to present it to your professor without doubting your work.

Sighing happily, you decided to reward yourself to a lovely lunch with a view you often visited due to a reminiscent feeling that bubbles in your system. After ordering, you sat outside admiring the way the sun sets and leaves a lasting beauty before the moon shows.

The stress was fading from you. You had expected that the project would’ve taken weeks for you to finish knowing that some retired athletes usually avoid questions to why they left the sport they used to love. You had called a few, a struck of confidence was enough to make you do so but they often cancel your request because they either paid attention to your young age or because they weren’t ready to be asked such personal questions about them. You were lucky to score and interview with a well-known athlete whose had his fair share of the spotlight during his early 20’s. Sadly, his retirement was due to an accident and his weak body levels couldn’t bare the adrenaline of the sport. He was kind, patient, and understanding. Ever since he agreed, your attention was on the questions you’d lay upon him seeing that this was an opportunity you can’t waste. After gathering some of his past glories, you narrowed down your interrogation on what remains important to benefit the topic of your project. You were more than proud because of the compliment he had given you and the fact that you might be able to catch a break after a hectic week.

Opening your camera and flicking through the photos to decide on which you were going to use. Suddenly, a photo meets your sight. The peak of blonde and gray hair with a uniform that you missed.

The Inarizaki Volleyball Team.

Most especially, him.

A few years has passed since you’ve seen him and his brother. Osamu’s last interaction with you was filled with nothing but sweet memories and a hug that you could never forget the warmth of, while Atsumu’s last memory with you remained bittersweet- like a sour flavor in his tongue that never left. You tried too hard to forget fragments of your time with him but because of how much work you put yourself through, you lost time to reflect on the moments that didn’t hurt.

Half of your high school life was compressed into confusing parts of your story.

But the chapter that seems to be the most influential part of it, was where you got to meet the blonde who has stomped on your heart.

It was funny to be remembered as a person who had the guts to sneeze during the great Miya setters serve.

“Achoo!”

You immediately cover your face with your handkerchief as your sneeze echoed through the gym making Atsumu’s hand lose its power because he was stunned by the sound, the ball hitting the net instead as he almost hits Aran who was wide eyed that ball went his way. The team could hear Osamu’s ‘uh-oh’ and it was enough for them to know what the setter feels after the unfortunate event.

Atsumu grits his teeth as the other team cheers knowing they got the score while his head jolts to the crowd, aggressively searching for the one who messed up his serve. Even eyeing his fans who got scared by the way he turned his head in their direction.

Meanwhile, you’ve got glares surrounding you as your friend nudges you, letting out an exhale of disbelief that you’ve got death stares.

“We’ll get the next point ‘Tsumu, don’t worry.” Osamu says landing a hand to his brothers' shoulder while Atsumu readies himself for the serve of the opposite team.

“Whatever.”

After that certain match, Atsumu was more than determined to hunt down whoever caused the flunk of his serve. Silly as it is, he’s never heard someone dare to speak during his serve. He’d always let out a hand signal for them to be quiet- let it be known that if someone spoke, he’d be fine with it but a whole sneeze? He’d never let it go, especially when it resonated in his ears.

So, imagine the look on his face when he hears the exact same sound when he was just stopping by his locker.

“Fucking dust.” You said sniffling as you closed the door to your locker, and you were face to face with a wide-eyed Miya Atsumu holding out his finger and pointing it to you, as if he was accusing you of murder.

“It’s you!” He shouts making you raise your eyebrow at him, but the raise of his voice had intimidated you.

“What?” You asked him, not finding a single clue on whatever he was pertaining to.

“You messed up my serve by sneezing.” He says in the tone of ‘as-a-matter-of-fact’ making you lick your lips, a hand to your hip as you looked at him.

“I’m not apologizing for something I can’t control.” You were completely baffled by this man. Sure, you were his classmate, but this was your first year and you barely cared to take notice of all of them, only focusing on your school group that had you busy.

“You could’ve held it for like 2 more seconds at least.” You blinked before letting out a tired exhale as you eye him up and down. The setter of the school's volleyball team, you were aware of that because of how many matches you’ve been dragged to, but he’s never come up to you before.

This was a whole other introduction.

“Miya, right?” You asked him as he steps forward, looking down on you with a sly smirk.

“I guess I’m sorry.”

Atsumu stays silent for a few seconds but returns to his angry pout as he continues to stare at you.

“What’s your name?” Atsumu asks, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

“Y/N.”

From thereon, it looked like your life’s plot had spiked up. Atsumu was- you could call it as a miscalculation. Someone so loud and had his ego constantly fed was not someone you would stick around due to your strict schedule of balancing schoolwork and papers from your club. It was like a bump in the road wherein the objects in your car would’ve been juggled around because of the impact- that's what it felt like. Thinking that two years would’ve passed by like a breeze, time slowed down with him. The constant bickering and arguments were embedded in you like a tattoo. The way his cackle would echo through your ears when he’d struck a nerve to you, the way he’d purposely call you nicknames you swore you hated, to the same jokes can be dragged on for hours, and how every fiber of your body promised you’d leave when you’ve had enough.

But promises were always broken.

You stuck around and he did too. Atsumu provided you with his trust and company whenever you needed it. It’s a pleasant experience but it surely wasn’t at its best. What comes with it were headaches and harsh words but having a person who knew you until graduation and stayed was a different reason. He was a familiar, a person who isn’t a call away when you needed it but being in their presence would give you a pinch of comfort.

Maybe the only thing you can thank Atsumu for is getting to know his twin brother.

You accidentally sent a text to Osamu about you panicking about a missing file to be passed the following day and Osamu was up and ready to help you locate it. After finding it, you decided to treat him for being a life saver and he of course, was having the time of his life for the free food- it was also his favorite restaurant at that moment. During this time, you’ve got to talk more about each other. Months pass now Osamu and you were way better friends than you and his brother.

You and Osamus’ bond were the type that was just so serene, hardly any type of judgement when you’d bring up a problem, and all secrets were kept tight.

Osamu was the shoulder you can lean on, while Atsumu’s would shove your head away when you do so.

Your friendship drifted away when Atsumu stabbed your heart with the words “No.” and “I’m sorry.” You hesitated that day, to dial Osamu’s phone the way you used to, but it never happened. Your sobs muffled your voice and if you called him, he’d never understand a word that you’d say.

The opposite is that Osamu would understand everything.

Because you and Atsumu mirrored the same amount of pain.

He’d never seen his brother so- ruined. Atsumu’s thin walls didn’t shield his shouts of sorrow while Osamu withstood every bit of the torture show his brother had. Checking him on the next day, the setter was fast asleep with bags under his eyes and a red nose, clutching onto his pillow so tightly.

Osamu knew that day that the damage has been done and not a single band aid would mend the two shattered hearts.

-

Atsumu strolls to the around looking for a restaurant along with his teammates. The sun has fully set making the streets of Japan light up with how busy and crowded they were. Bokuto and Hinata were busy pointing at stands that had their favorite slabs of meat while Sakusa trails behind them with a mask, wanting to be removed from the push of people. As the eyes of the blonde land on a certain stand with multiple notes stuck onto a board, he smiles fondly. He then sees two kids running with smiles on their lips as they held each other's hand, obviously excited to explore the night.

“Come on, don’t be a wuss.” Atsumu says as you rolled your eyes and thought hard about his hand that was held out in front of you. Atsumu grunts before taking your hand in his before you could even decide properly. You followed his lead as he walked you through the sea of people. You were nervous that he had left practice to accompany you. Observing you from afar, you looked devastated, but you continued the rest of the day with a smile like nothing happened. Seeing that you looked dull talking to Karou, he pulled you away from whatever void of sadness you surrounded yourself in.

“Atsumu shouldn’t you be at practice?” You asked sighing, still with his hand in yours as you stopped by a stand.

“I should be but whatever that Karou did is obviously hurting you, you idiot.” Your eyes widened at his statement and this reaction confirmed his suspicions as anger forms inside of him. What could that boy have done to get you this upset? Did he physically hurt you? Atsumu hated how he cared- it wasn’t his business to meddle with but the frown on your lips was something he wanted to remove from you.

“Thank you.” You muttered as he buys you the same thing he ordered. He sees how you weren’t as colorless as before. The lights of the night brought saturation to your features as his eyes adored every feature of yours.

“It’s nothing.”

“Atsumu-san?” Hinata asks, tapping the boy on the shoulder while the blonde awakens from his escape.

Atsumu looks around once more, seeing that there wasn’t a trace of you, he moves on.

Like he was supposed to do in the first place.

-

“For our new assignment, why don’t we take the vice versa of your last project. Retirement is inescapable but why not find the reason they’d got into the sport. What makes it so exhilarating and unforgettable? That will be our topic this week. I’m giving you a week for interviews, photos, and articles. Video format is more suited for this task. Is that clear?” You all nodded as you wrote down the list of possible athletes to meet, jotting down an outline of some key points to remember.

“A tip for you all: look for the younger generations. It doesn’t matter to me what status the athlete stands in right now, it could be a friend or even a child. What I’m looking for the depths of the details in your research.” The professor stands making all of you bid him goodbye as he walks out of the room. You gathered your notebooks, sighing that you won’t have the time to properly rest- an exam was near right at the submission of your new task. You realized that you needed to sort out the things you were required to do before everything would pile up and get tangled in the short amount of time.

Who should I interview? God, everyone is so busy at this season. You thought. It’s true- you realized that matches were always lined up by this month. You also had classes to attend to and your mind could collapse at any given moment. You were more than worried about organizing your time properly but the feeling that you’d have several sleepless nights haunts you. You wished he could have extended the submission- though it didn’t get any better since after exams you tended to be drained from studying all night.

Going back to your apartment, you decided to put sticky notes all over your wall to help you sort out your priorities. Tomorrow would be Saturday meaning that you’ve done all the works to be passed on Monday and that you had zero meetings or classes. Saturday and Sunday would be divided to work parts, by Monday you should be up and running to work again.

You couldn’t let go of this group. It had given you countless of opportunities- even an offering to be an editor at a well-known magazine agency. You were in queue for the letter, so you decided to continue with the tasks of the group. You were thankful that you got used to the craziness of it all. The ability to multitask, to put the phone down once in a while, managing your time, those were just one of the benefits of getting used to it. The things you hated was that you barely had time for yourself. To lounge and just do nothing never met with what you were doing. You envied how some people from your group would plan some hang outs during a busy week and you always questioned how they managed to do it all without panicking.

You yawned as you felt your stomach growl at the scent of the delicious street food. Seeing that you fell short on money because the amount that was in your wallet was enough for your way home, it meant you’d have to wait to eat dinner until you came home. Letting out a groan you decided to walk your way even if you get shoved. God, you were starving and exhausted. The emotions were starting to fill you the more you moved. It didn’t help that everyone was so loud. You could hear the sound of the cackles from the drunken men in the corner, the cries of the baby that brought irritation to your eardrums and even the off-key singing of a (possibly) drunk girl at karaoke. You just wanted to cover your ears and crawl back to your bed not caring if you’d only be able to get 2 or 3 hours of sleep.

As you walked, you felt a boiling pile of liquid drip to your stomach making you let out a yelp as your clothes were drenched in the coffee stain that you despised. The liquid got to your skin making you wince at just how it impacted on your skin. You felt your eyes water as the woman tried to pat away the drink but instead made it worse because you wanted the fabric to be away from you as possible- which was the opposite of what she was doing.

“Oh my god- I'm so sorry.” She kept saying while patting your abdomen while you tried to wave her off, but she kept going making the tears flow from your eyes as you chose to walk away, covering your face at how humiliated you were. You sobbed in your hands as you bumped into someone before removing them from your face to find a bench to sit on but seeing that people were already turning their heads to look at you, you’ve had enough already.

Finally finding your bus stop, you sat down burying your face in the palm of your hands sobbing as your mind replays how you’ve made a fool out of yourself for the last time. Everything was going terribly and you didn’t know how to control it without losing your cool. Sure, you’ve managed to escape the people but the feeling is still badly glued to you.

“Is everything okay?”

Someone asks but the voice became a blur to you because you were so focused on your sobs and the unstable breathing.

“Go away.” You whispered but there was a weight added to your left side as you kept your face hidden behind your hands.

“I shouldn’t have asked.” The man says looking down before standing up to leave the bench, making you intake in a sharp exhale, relieved he left.

“Why does everything have to be so fucking difficult? How am I gonna interview a volleyball player at this state?” You rambled on thinking that guy has exited your business and was free from companion.

“I mean- we’re not close- but I’m a volleyball player?”

You wiped your eyes as your heart started to run a mile now that you’ve familiarized yourself with his voice.

Lifting your head, there in front of you was the one thing that your heart had wished to see.

“Atsumu?”

His eyes widen as his chest expands, his heart growing ten times bigger than it was while it beats like a drum on heavy metal song.

“Y/N- I didn’t know- wow.” Breathless, speechless, weak- those were the words that defined your emotions. You wanted to pass out- to act like you just mistaken him for a person but he was real and you had a hard time believing it.

“Atsumu?" God, he missed it. The way his name would fall of those taunting lips of yours. The tone in your voice leading him back to the memories that he couldn’t push away.

You had to believe it. There was no other way that your starvation can make you this delusional. You called his name like you were unsure that he was ever real- like a character your brain had developed to cope with your sorrows. You dared to touch him, maybe if you did it would be a wisp of air but you were scared that if you reached out to him, you could feel his skin and remember how you wanted it to be within your grasp all the time.

Perhaps it’s a dream but this time you’d never want to wake up if this was the only way you can be together.

“Y/N..I- how are you?” How could he manage to act so civil? Your presence shocked him like electricity in his veins, pumping his heart at an unusual speed. His voice was unsteady and low, experiencing the same thoughts like you.

It’s like he was dragged back to your last encounter. Seeing your eyes filled with so much agony and how you looked so torn from his rejection, it’s the same look that you had now. It’s like his eyes were playing a risky game with him but he couldn’t complain since he’s been wanting to see you ever since you let go.

“Well, I’m burned-out that’s for sure.” You said with a light chuckle as he sits back down, wondering if it’d be alright to be close to you.

“What’s this interview about?” He asks, fiddling with the strings of his jacket while you tore your eyes away from him because you knew the admiration for him would erupt anytime soon.

“What got athletes into the sport in the first place.” Atsumu places his finger under his chin, thinking deeply about what offer he just made.

It’d mean that he could be in the same room with you for more than the hours he spent crying to himself but why waste the chance? You needed it- heck you wouldn’t be this distraught if you weren’t so affected by it. There was a never-ending list of things to do but meeting with Atsumu wasn’t even in your list of expectations because you were over with hoping into something that takes a miracle.

But he is the miracle.

“Atsumu..I don’t want you to see me like this.” You said, looking down on your hands that were on your lap, letting your hair fall in front of you to avoid his concerned gaze.

“What do you mean?”

“I haven’t seen you in years, this is not what I planned to look like when I first see you.” Atsumu feels his heart frown at how low you spoke of yourself, but he understood. If you saw him in the state that you were in right now, he too would feel like he could’ve done or look better, even at least handle the situation without crumbling apart.

He knew you were in a troubled place of your mind but he just wonders where you could talk about why everything fell apart.

He missed the way it was casual to talk to you. Maybe an insult as a greeting, or a flick to the arm but he never expected to talk to you with his heart dropping in your hands. He just couldn’t forget the way you’d let him go that day during graduation, it’s almost like the sensation was still lingering around his palm even if he held a ball.

He just wished he said yes, only then, you’d be meant for each other.

“Do you mean it?” You asked sighing, not baring the weight of his silence. The pace of his heart quickens as he starts to worry if this was the confrontation that he held back all these years.

“The interview.” He was more than glad to do it. He was thankful that you weren’t talking about the bad memories or the circle of tension you two were in.

He looks at you while another strike was given to his heart seeing you this way. He’d do everything to bring back the color in your features.

“Of course.”

You smiled at his words as you both stand up but you felt conscious about the stain that was still stuck to your shirt making you desperately try to hide it by pulling your bag to the messed up section. Atsumu didn’t know that the person he had followed was the same person that got coffee dipped down on them. He didn’t recognize you at first because you had your hands covering your cries. He was worried for you when you ran off but when he knew it was you, he couldn’t believe if it was luck or a granted wish.

“Just wear this.” He says, handing you placing his jacket on your shoulders as your heart flutters at how he looked at you, completely filled with sincerity and the way his hand stayed on your shoulder.

“What the fuck do you want?” He asks you with a knife-like stare, purposely bumping harshly into you.

“Wow Miya, I was just walking.” You said returning the same fuel that he had.

“Then get out of my way then.”

“Thank you.” You said smiling lightly. He catches a glimpse of your smile and he feels his world light up at the sight of it.

I missed you.

“So where to?” He asks as you walk beside him just like old times. His height still intimidating you but it was still difficult to believe that this was the same Atsumu you had fallen for in high school.

“My apartment. We missed the bus so I hope it’s okay for you to wait.”

“I can always drive us there.” You’ve never whipped your head faster than this moment. You always trusted Osamu when he said that Atsumu couldn’t be a better driver than his own brother because Atsumu liked to rev up the engine like one of those scenes in a movie.

With the thought in your mind, you laughed.

Atsumu stops walking as he lets himself dwell at the sound of it.

Then there was a smile that he couldn’t contain.

“Sorry for laughing, ‘Tsumu. Never pictured you to have a car earlier than ‘Samu that’s all.” You explained as he chuckles, continuing to be beside you, a place that he finds himself to be the happiest.

“Yeah yeah I get it- I’m a little careless but not all the time y’know?” He says while he leads the way. The breeze felt comfortable now, it had a tweak of coldness but maybe it was just the atmosphere of you two.

When you walked to his car and told him your address, there was another silence but you tried to tell yourself that this was just Atsumu. Nothing to be worried about because you’ve known him for too long to act like all distant.

This is Atsumu- that's every reason that there is to feel nervous around him.

“How long have you been living there?” He asks while you started to feel just how badly you wanted to give in to sleepiness. You shifted once in a while to control yourself from falling asleep in his damn car. Every urge to just lay quiet for a while but you knew this would lead to a deep slumber.

“Ever since graduation.” You answered, annoyed that his jacket was inviting you to lay there and sleep away your stress though you were scared that once you wake up- Atsumu would be gone again.

“And you didn’t call to tell me about it?” He jokes but the chuckle that he expected never came because he knew just how awkward it’d be if you actually called just for that sole reason. Atsumu bites his lip at his failed attempt to drag the conversation on.

Then you giggled.

“I wanted to but I wouldn’t wanna bother the famous MSBY player.” You said smiling at him, proud that he continued on. You knew from Osamu of course, a single update when he had mentioned how well his restaurant had become, you also saw them in a poster once, even recognizing a few of his past opponents.

“Well, it would be a shame.”

There you are.

You finally arrived at your apartment and again you felt the slice of satisfaction as you removed your shoes and placed them on the table. You were partly thankful that your apartment was clean since you never have the time to spend a whole day in it only coming home late at night. Atsumu looks around as you prepare him a drink and a few snacks-it'd be rude not to.

Atsumu sees the photos where you won several awards for your loyalty and hardwork at your club. He sees how time passes and you grew into a version of you that he finds even more flawless then before. Your equipment and how everything was organized on your desk, he knew how much things changed because he used to see you doubt yourself every time you’d finish a paper but now you won awards because of them.

“Atsumu, is it alright if I shower real fast?” You asked while he raises a brow at you confused that you had to ask for his permission.

“Of course, Y/N- you didn’t have to ask.” He said chuckling while he sits on the couch, letting his eyes wonder around.

“I promise I’ll be back.”

“Please don’t rush yourself. Take yer time. “ He says while you smile at him before dashing to your room to gather new clothes, feeling like you’ve won a lottery with how happy you were to remove the coffee drenched top, tossing it to your laundry bin while you step into the shower enjoying the way the water decorated your skin, cleansing it from all the worries. While Atsumu scrolls on his phone to ease himself from the anxiousness. His finger would casually glide over Osamu’s phone number, to ask him what to do.

After a few minutes, you stepped out of the shower like a whole new person. You saw the way Atsumu’s eyes lit up when you walked in but you pushed the thought away. He pats the seat next to him while you grabbed your notebook and pen, ready to scribble down the questions.

“Are there any uncomfortable questions you’d want to avoid?” You asked him while he shakes his head while you took note of the possible questions.

“Is it okay for the interview to be filmed?” He nodded while you leaned onto the pillow, sighing happily at how you’ve managed to calm down from the pile of embarrassment earlier.

“Thank you for doing this, ‘Tsumu- really you don’t know how much I appreciate you for this.” You said leaning your cheek on the side of the couch as Atsumu copies your actions staring at you lovingly.

“You’re welcome, Y/N.” He says smiling while you returned to write a list of questions for him. With every time you look down on your notebook, Atsumu’s eyes never left you while his mind recalls every moment where he msised the opportunity to tell you just how beautiful you were.

Soon, you’ve fallen asleep while he lets the feeling sink in.

I’ve never wanted to hold you more than I do now.

He sighs before placing the blanket on your body while he kneels down and tucks a piece of hair behind your ear, his finger tracing your cheek.

“You’ll never know how much I missed you.” He whispers while you shifted in your sleep meeting his face. Before he stands up, he feels you reach for him while he’s left surprise at your touch.

“Stay please.” You whispered while he smiles weakly, placing a kiss on your forehead.

“I always will.”

-

The morning comes and you felt the blush creep on your cheeks remembering how easily you felt asleep. You wondered if Atsumu stayed, if he left- you couldn’t really blame him. So yawning and stretching when you woke up, you certainly didn’t expect to see Atsumu cooking you some breakfast. You couldn’t even move your legs, every part of you has gone stiff just admiring the way he moves.

“Hey, good morning.” He greets with a wave, a spatula in his hand, a bright smile tugged on his lips.

“Atsumu- oh god I’m so sorry.” You said as you went to him. You caught a whiff of what he was cooking and you swore you could’ve drooled knowing you didn’t even got the chance to eat dinner. Atsumu knew that of course so he called Osamu up in the morning to serve you the best breakfast he could ever make. He was initially supposed to make you dinner but you fell asleep before he could do it so this was his rebound.

“Idiot, it’s fine. Just sit down on the table and I’ll prepare the food.”

“Atsumu-“

“Just go, Y/N. I promise it’s okay- you deserve to rest before you work again.” You couldn’t even think properly with his words. It was so minimum but it was something you’d forget to do- rest. Hearing him remind you that sets a new feeling in your system. You did obey him though, you sat on the table as he even handed you coffee for him and you, placing the breakfast on the table. God, he was everything. You thought that after a few years, you two would completely drift apart but it seems like you were wrong for the hundredth time.

“Please don’t even think about ways to thank me, it’s nothing to me. “ He says taking the seat next to you while you place the food on his plate. You couldn’t even utter a word at how grateful you were for him and he’d be happy to get used to seeing you first thing in the morning.

“Atsumu, after breakfast can we have a run down of the questions first?” You asked him, growing more comfortable.

“Yeah sure.”

-

You sat on the couch, placing your camera on the table aligning it to the best possible angle as Atsumu sits down in front of you. You had your notebook on your lap as he praises how you looked so professional even if it was just a practice.

“Ready?” You asked while he nods with a smile as you pressed the camera to shoot so you could keep your composure, even if you struggled to.

“What does the sport mean to you?” You asked him, your eyes glimmering with the suns rays hitting it perfectly, while the words were removed from Atsumus mind. Seeing his hesitation, you decided to reassure him.

“It’s fine if you can’t answer straight away. I can always change the question if you like.” You commented, smiling at him to make sure he doesn’t feel rushed to answer. He nods, still not finding the exact same words to describe what he wanted to say.

“I’ll change the question for now.” You said while he let’s out a sigh before listening to you once again.

“What was the biggest struggle in your career?” He sends you a worried stare but his mind nearly bursts at his answer.

“Getting over you.”

You dropped your pen on the couch as Atsumu continued to speak since this was the answer his heart was sure of responding to.

“I tried to forget- I did. For every year that passes, the more fucking harder it gets to act like I didn’t love you back when you walked away.”

“Atsumu-“

“I know I said no- I was too late to realize how stupid I was to be scared of falling for you. I couldn’t let myself be the man who could love you when all this time I tried to hate you because I knew I would hurt you- and I already did.”

We get hurt a lot but it doesn’t mean I won’t come back to you.

Love grew and died during your second year at Inarizaki.

Before Atsumu, you found Karou. A boy who was a new recruit to your group whose helped you multiple times and has shared a conversation with you about your similar likes. There was this strange infatuation with him that even Osamu had to question how deep was the bite of love on you. You’ve fallen, of course. Occasionally leaving notes on his desk to just let him know how he made your day but it never worked. He would only paste the note on another persons desk like it was nothing. Not even getting the reaction you wanted, it felt too normal when it shouldn’t be. Realizing how this was just rejection in the shadows, you gave up. Obviously heart broken at the mere thought of how your chances were blown away. When Atsumu saw how gloomy you were that day, he had to show you how much you didn’t need Karou and there grew a different bond between the both of you.

And with a bond like that, you became attached to him.

It was all becoming clearer and clearer as you realized that you fell for the wrong person first.

“You’re too stupid to fall for a douche like him. “ He says kicking the rock that was in front of him.

“You’re lucky with that admirer of yours, Miya. I’ve never seen someone stick around you for so long.” You teased. It’s true the half of the twin hearthrob has gotten himself a sincere admire. It wasn’t one of his crazy fans- this was a person who genuinely cared for him and the words on every note he received would make the poor boy blush uncontrollably and you envied how he’s yet to realize that he too was falling for this unknown person.

While you two were oblivious to the slip up of the universe, it took a toll on you.

Because the notes you’d leave on Karous desk, always ended up on Atsumu’s instead.

“I wanna meet them so bad. Just to see if they actually care and it’s not a prank. They haven’t given me a note and it’s been what a month? I doubt it was ever real.”

“With the amount of effort they gave, I’m sure it was real.”

It’s real for me even if it shouldn’t be.

There wasn’t any other way then to accept the feelings that stayed on your skin. The moments where you thought that being around Atsumu would bring you stressful banters and more, it turned into butterflies that surrounded your room. You chose to deny it at first but remembering that graduation and good-byes were near, you had to tell him at some point.

And when you did, you poured your heart out and not even a single drop was caught.

“Last words before I forget your dumbass?” He taunts while you felt your sweat drip down the side of your forehead as you couldn’t control it anymore. You wondered if there was a simple word to describe just how much you adored him without turning it into a whole speech. This was it- you had to do it or else you’d end up being stuck on the feeling of loving him.

“I..like you Atsumu and I can’t say good-bye without telling you.”

Then there was the awful silence that he gave making you clutch onto your shirt, preparing you for the worst.

But by the way he looked so terrified and frozen, you knew.

“Atsumu?”

“No- I’m sorry.”

“And I don’t know what I’d do if I let you leave again.” He whispers as he leans closer to you, taking your hands in his while your ability to speak has been taken away by how gentle he was as his thumb caresses your hand and a look that looked so fragile.

He takes his hand and cups your cheek, pulling you close to him as his vulnerability increases.

“Do you feel the same too?” He was being so careful because a wrong choice of a word could make it all fall apart again and you could feel how tense he was but he holds you like a gem- something so beautiful that it’d cost him his life if he ever dropped you.

Your hand lands on the same hand that was on your cheek while Atsumu’s eyes widen remembering how you neglected to hold his hand before.

But it stayed.

Closing your eyes and melting in his touch, you spoke.

“I never stopped loving you, Atsumu.”

He lets his forehead rest on yours, a smile on his lips, who was soon to be on yours.

“Then be mine all over again.”

#haikyu x reader #haikyuu!! #miya atsumu #atsumu x y/n #atsumu x reader #hq atsumu #msby atsumu #atsumu imagines #miya osamu #inarizaki

[concussed-to-pieces]

Late July

Fandom: Kingsman: The Golden Circle

Pairing: Agent Whiskey [Jack Daniels]/Reader

Rating: Holy shit explicit.

Summary: Upon hearing about you from Tequila, Jack Daniels seeks you out with a full set of emotional baggage to work through. You happily oblige, helping him craft a scene that just might grant him some peace of mind. Enjoy!

Tag List: @huliabitch @wrestlingfae @cookiethewriter @culturalrebel @jackierey09 @crookedmoonsaultpunk @duker42 @agirllovespasta @nelba @pedrosbigdorkenergy @lestrange2703 @youmeanmybrain @luvley-shadow @theocatkov @miscellaneousjunkk @reluctantlyresponsibleadult @buttons-beads-lace @gooddaykate @lackofhonor

[!TRIGGER WARNING!: This installment contains consensual non-consent (surrender play), light domination, roleplay, unprotected sex, frank discussion of safe words, usage of safe words, dirty talk and light bondage. Remember that fanfictions are not research and that you should never engage in any activity if you do not trust your partner. Stay safe!]

There was just something about you that put people at ease, and Ginger Ale noticed during the interview process. "You have a gift!" She had praised you, her smile unexpected and bright. "I can see why Tequila recommended you for this position."

Granted, being the 'head of first impressions' at a distillery that was actually a front for a secret intelligence agency had its ups and downs, but you enjoyed the work and (if you were honest) the exciting interactions with the Statesman agents. 

Tequila, of course, would practically drape himself across your desk as he regaled you with (hopefully) exaggerated tales of his heroics. The two of you were sexually involved but preferred to keep each other at arm's length out of the bedroom, neither party particularly keen on surrendering your freedom and committing to anything serious at this point of your lives. You admired his dedication to Statesman, and he in turn respected your desire to have a successful career. He also was blatantly mooning over a certain analyst.

Ginger Ale was quieter and sharper than Tequila, her dry humor a joy to witness. She was the one who had done your interview, and she had given you the full behind the scenes tour once your background check went through. She was beautiful, charismatic and smart as a whip. You hoped to one day be as self-assured as she was.

Champ tended to keep to himself for the most part, though you had encountered him several times in the past when he dozed off in a certain chair at the end of a sunlit hallway. The elderly man was like an old tomcat, you decided, able to prowl but more than willing to take it easy.

Whiskey was often away managing the affairs of their New York headquarters and as such, was the one that you interacted with the least. He would come breezing in at all hours, a slow smile and a wink directed your way before he would saunter past. The rare occasions that he engaged you in conversation were nerve-wracking, as you were a little starstruck due to the glowing accounts both Champ and Tequila had given of his prowess in the past.

Ginger Ale was a bit more down to earth, thankfully. "He's just a man who's lost a lot, and his reasons for wanting to change things for the better may not be entirely altruistic." She had informed you concisely when you queried about the origin of one Jack Daniels. You had picked up on the veiled sadness in his dark eyes, the age that seemed to weigh him down that wasn't entirely related to years.

So when the aforementioned Statesman agent had drunkenly expressed a certain desire to you at a company party, you couldn't hide a little spike of curiosity. Mainly because the two of you interacted so rarely. Hell, you wouldn't even call yourselves friends. Tequila must have told him about your side activities.

"Ever since I lost her, I can't fuckin' bring myself to raw anyone else." The confession had come out of left field, but you had done your best to play it off like it was normal. Lord knew you had done enough paperwork in your career at Statesman to understand that agents would just kind of…say things thoughtlessly if they believed they were in a safe environment. A hazard of the job.

"What do you mean, Mr. Daniels?" 

"Call me Jack. Jesus, I ain't that old." He had hiccupped sharply, grimacing. "I just mean I...it's like a mental block. I wanna', I'm excited about it, and everything's fine until I try to come and boom. Python shrivels up like a damn salted slug and I'm left holdin' the bag tryin' to explain myself." He stared into his glass, looking pensive. "Real mood killer."

"Any idea why this might be?" You had prompted, leaning against the bar and idly scanning the throngs of people around you. It wasn't every day that so many of the company's rank and file rubbed elbows with the higher-ups, but you had to assume these economic mixers were what had kept the company (and intelligence agency) on such an even keel. It was a grounding experience, a way to remind the suits of their humble beginnings.

He scoffed out a breath. "Oh I know exactly why. When I lost her, I...we had only learned a little while before that she was havin' a baby. We'd been havin' a rocky time and we were actually thinkin' of breakin' up, but that news…" Jack had tilted his head to glance your way, his brown eyes distant. "If I hadn't gotten her pregnant, she wouldn't have been out shoppin' that day, y'know?" A sad smile had quirked his mouth beneath his mustache. "My fault."

At the time, you had made a noise of sympathy and gone to lay a hand on his arm before you could think better of it. He, instead of shrugging off your touch, actually ended up twining his fingers through your own and giving your hand a light squeeze.

Agent Whiskey's past was a shadowy affair in the Statesman organization. Though to be fair, no one really asked anything about anyone. Ginger Ale reasoned that the less people knew, the safer they and Statesman were in the event of a security breach. 

Anything you learned from any of the agents, you tended to keep close to your heart. It was your nature to gather useful information and foster trust for a rainy day. That personality facet had served you well as you had climbed the ranks from intern to head of first impressions, and knowing that you were someone that could be counted on to hold your cards close put many people at ease.

Including one Agent Whiskey.

"Tequila said you were good at helpin'. I'd be much obliged if you'd consider takin' a crack at my sexual baggage."

...

"Alright so for your words, you've decided on 'sixth' as your 'yes I'm into this', followed by second for 'slow down but don't break character', first for 'slow down and do break character' and finally neutral for 'full stop'." You tapped the customary notepad on your lap, glancing over at the man across the table. The two of you were currently sitting in the kitchen of the vacation cabin that your parents had willed to you, the modest dwelling often your staging ground for affairs like this. The warm wooden decor tended to make your partners feel more at ease and less vulnerable. Perceived safety was, after all, incredibly important when crafting scenarios.

Jack nodded. "Gears are easy for me to remember. Simple." 

"Got it. And no kissing on the mouth. Can I kiss you in other places, or would you prefer I didn't at all?"

"Kissin's fine." Jack allowed. "Whatever you wanna' do is fine, just not on my mouth." You jotted that down. "Hey, I uh...I just wanted you to know that I really appreciate you agreein' to help. I dunno' if this will work, but…" Whiskey rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. "Thanks. When Tequila mentioned your...extracurriculars, I figured he was jus' bein' outta' pocket again."

You grinned at that, giggling a little. "Does he get weird a lot?"

"I mean, he's uh...well, he's got his moments." Jack replied with a smile of his own.

"So," you hummed once you had checked your notes again, "after looking over all the information we've compiled, and the ideas you gave me an outline of, I'm thinking that you may want more of a 'surrender-play' kind of experience." 

Jack raised an eyebrow. "Dare I ask how that's different from what I already suggested?" 

"Look, you and I both know that I couldn't keep you from moving if you wanted to. Now, if we had a real working dynamic going on and I believed that you would listen and trust me implicitly so that you don't end up hurting yourself or me, then we might have something. But as we are right now, that's not gonna' happen." Whiskey inclined his head with a rueful chuckle, acknowledging the truth of your words. "So I propose that it's more of a scenario where all the agency is removed."

The agent leaned forward, folding his hands on the table. "Explain."

"You need a scenario where you aren't in control and there's not even a chance of you being in control, taking any responsibility or guilt from the equation." You elaborated. "Basically, you would surrender your control so that you can indulge guilt-free. A lot of people do this coupled with a roleplay aspect in order to test new things that may be out of character for them."

"You coulda' jus' said you wanted to tie me up, sugar." Jack drawled. "I'll show you some good knots."

"You don't have any issues with being secured to...I guess a chair, probably? We'll keep you upright. If we sprawl you out on a bed that might be a little too vulnerable." You reasoned, waiting for his nod before you wrote it down. "I know it sounds contradictory, but I want you to be comfortable in what we do. Should I leave your clothes on?"

"If you can stand to, I'd appreciate it." The man answered with a cheeky wink. "Bein' naked and restrained is a little too close to the job description." He sighed after a moment, tipping the chair backwards as he laced his fingers behind his head. "Now I warn you, if I'm supposed to be an unwillin' party, I may display a little less Southern hospitality and a little more Southern history with my language, if you catch my drift."

You pursed your lips, squinting at him. "...is that your way of saying you might use a naughty word or two?"

You received a lazy finger-gun in reply, "bingo, cherry pie. You got any names you ain't a fan of bein' called?"

"Oh! I mean, I've heard just about everything in the book." You straightened up as a thought occurred to you, and then pointed back at him sternly. "No slurs."

"Ma'am," Jack sounded aghast, "I am not that breed of Southern gentleman. My lingo can verge on the spicy, but I sure as hell wouldn't stoop to that level." 

You narrowed your eyes to drive your point home. "I really hope not." The agent inclined his head once more, putting a hand over his heart in a display of sincerity.

The front legs of the chair met the floor with a soft clatter, once again putting him on stable footing. "Now, I been wrackin' my brain tryin' to drum up a good premise like you asked, but I ain't exactly big in the screenwritin' department. I figure it could be kinda' like I'd been kidnapped? Drawin' a blank on why my kidnapper would be rawdoggin' me, maybe you can come up with somethin'?" He queried hopefully. 

You furrowed your brow in thought, going silent as you carefully considered the hodgepodge of contributing factors. "Oh, I think I can manage."

...

This deck had been rigged from the start. In theory, you knew that he knew that. Still, he was certainly acting like it stung his pride a bit that he'd fallen into your 'trap' so cleanly. 

Everything was going according to plan. 

Whiskey struggled against the binds that secured him to the kitchen chair. His whip was safely confiscated. Lasso out of reach. Hat was still on his head. He had specifications, after all. 

You left him to wriggle for almost half an hour while you got yourself ready. The man was a secret agent, after all. If he hadn't been restrained for much longer than that at any given point you would be very surprised. 

You finally opened the bathroom door, sauntering out into the cabin's small kitchenette. "Miss me, love?" You crooned, committing to your role as villainous vamp stereotype number six. You had worn a plain set of underwear and an oversized white t-shirt, soft and see-through from the amount of times it had been washed. You got the feeling that if you went more elaborate, you might scare Whiskey off or make him too uncomfortable to really get into it. This scene was all about trust, and he hardly knew you. But he had sought you out for this. All you had to do was follow through.

"Was beginnin' to worry that you forgot about me, ma'am." The agent drawled back, his smile tightly sardonic and his low voice curling hot in your belly. "You fixin' to untie me yet?"

You clicked your tongue, the noise disappointed. "Whiskey, sweetheart, where's the fun in that? If I untie you, you'll just kill me."

"Can't blame a man for tryin'." Jack was absolutely in his element right now. He looked furious. 

You ambled around behind him, slinging your arms around his neck and resting your weight on him briefly. "Remember," you murmured in his ear. "If you need me to slow down, or need to stop entirely, you say…?"

"Second, first and neutral." The agent replied readily. You patted his cheek.

"Good boy." You praised. 

"Ain't my first rodeo." Whiskey's tongue darted out nervously to wet his lips and you wanted to reassure him, but you knew you had a job to do.

"Now, can I get you a light refreshment? Something to drink? Maybe some chips?" You offered, moving to the small refrigerator that you had stocked a little earlier in the day. Planning was imperative for engagements like this. "I have water, sweet tea, Coke…"

"Dammit woman, stop beatin' around the bush! Why the hell do you have me hogtied to this damn chair?!" Jack erupted. 

"So rude." You chided him, removing a water for yourself and then leaning casually against the counter. "You really want to know, Mr. Whiskey?"

"Obviously." He scowled.

"Well be a patient boy and maybe I'll tell you." You hummed, not making eye contact as you unscrewed the cap on the water bottle. "It was more than enough trouble for me to get you here in the first place, big shot. Don't rush me."

"Listen, I'll be the first to tell you that I probably ain't who you're lookin' for." He said bluntly. "I'm just a simple liquor tycoon, nothin' more."

"Mr. Whiskey, if you continue to insult my intelligence maybe I will decide I've got the wrong man. And then I'll just get rid of you." You swirled the water in the bottle, fixing him with a thoughtful look. 

"You're talkin' a mighty big game, woman." Jack grumbled. 

You sloshed some of the water on your thin white shirt as if by accident, and began daubing at the gauzy fabric aimlessly. "Whiskey-"

"It's Jack." He spat.

"Oh, we're on a first name basis? How exciting!" You teased him, laughing when he muttered angrily under his breath. He was clearly enjoying the role of 'belligerent definitely-not-a-spy'. "Alright then, Jack. I won't beat around the bush, as you so tactfully put it."

"Hallelujah, some goddamn cooperation." He replied in a sulky tone.

"So, Jack, I need you to come inside me. Strictly so I can bypass Statesman's biomechanical security systems. It's nothing personal, I just assumed you would be the easiest target, you know?" You remarked with a shrug. "The flirty cowboy with the filthy mouth." He stared at you and you raised an eyebrow, half-convinced that his reaction was legitimate. "What? You do have a reputation."

"I hate to break it to ya', but you got the wrong beverage. You're lookin' for Tequila, ma'am." Jack retorted, his voice a little raspy. "You want...what?"

"I need you to come inside me so I can use the your genetic signature to bypass the security." Granted, you were pretty certain that Statesman used exclusively fingerprints, retina scans and time locks, but Whiskey had told you to weave a good story for the setup, not necessarily an accurate one.

Jack swallowed hard. "You've got bats in your fuckin' belfry, woman. You expect me to-"

"Oh no, that's the beauty of this arrangement." You interrupted him, still smiling. "I don't expect you to do anything aside from sit there and stay still while I ride you." 

"Jesus fuck woman, you--shit, isn't there some other way to do this? I ain't keen on the prospect, but if there's literally any other way…" 

"Sorry. This is the only solution that my superiors could get behind." You sighed, feigning regret. "And we might be here a while, from what I've heard." Jack's eyes darted to yours and he flushed, working his jaw. "Don't look so glum! I'm one of the best in my field. I'm sure I'll be able to compensate for your...lack of investment."

"You touch me and I swear to God-"

"Ah ah, naughty boys get gagged." You threatened gently, walking your fingers up the side of his face to stroke them back down his jawline. Jack glared at you, his dark gaze fairly luminous with fury and maybe just a touch of poorly-veiled interest. "Be a good boy and I'll let you talk as much as you want. Maybe I'll even let you play with my tits, hmm?" You asked, cupping your breasts through your still-damp shirt. "Would you like that, love?"

"I…" Jack trailed off, then snapped his eyes back up from your chest. "No!"

You tapped his nose, winking. "Oh I think you would. Don't be so stubborn, Jack." You cocked your head to the side. "No one from Statesman even knows you're gone. No one is coming to rescue you." You informed him, all the playfulness evaporated from your voice. "You're mine now, Jack. My own personal key-card."

"You won't get away with this." Jack snarled.

"I think I already have." You knelt between his legs, running your hands over the jeans that covered his thighs. He squirmed, trying to dislodge you, but you just moved with him. You dug your nails into his thighs. "You keep wiggling and I'm going to have to tighten the ropes, Jack. Is that what you want?"

"Oh you filthy fuckin' woman, you absolute bitch, let me go!" 

"Hmm," you tapped your chin as he kept jerking and straining against the knots. "No." 

Jack froze when your fingers unbuttoned the button at the top of his fly. "Now wait, wait just a damn minute, y-you can't--" he tried to plead.

"Oh I can. And I will." You looked up at him. "As long as we're in the right gear?"

"Sixth, sixth." He affirmed, flashing you a quick smile. You nodded and seamlessly resumed your play.

The zipper of his fly opened devastatingly slow, the agent exhaling raggedly when you pulled up his shirt and palmed his groin gently through the fabric of his boxer briefs. His cock was already half-hard, and you pointed that out with a mean little smirk on your face. "Oh no, looks like someone's interested." You crooned, rubbing your index finger over the head of his still-clothed dick.

"Fuck off, you...y-you-" he swore, rolling his shoulders as if he was testing his bonds. "You little bitch."

"Temper temper." You chided, ducking your head down to mouth over the fabric of his boxers. Jack gasped out another swear over your head, his hips twitching up to meet you before he slammed them back down. "Methinks someone doth protest too much." You snorted, splaying your fingers on the newly-revealed skin of his stomach. "We could make this so much simpler if you would just give in, Jack." You didn't miss the way his skin jumped at your touch, and you smiled against his boxers.

"You'll--you'll have to do better than that." Whiskey breathed. "You think just any ol' woman can get me up?"

You stood, leaning in close and pressing your mouth to his ear. His whole body flinched when you wrapped your fingers around his cock and gave him a nice, slow stroke. "Oh, poor thing. You must believe you're really special, hmm? God's gift to mankind every time you take someone to bed." You mocked, your teeth and tongue laving over his earlobe. "We're all so lucky to have you, Jack."

"Hhn-" Jack's shoulders went stiff, the man obviously biting his tongue. 

"You don't have a choice, sweetheart. I'm going to get you hard. Then, I'm going to use your cock. And all you have to do, my lovely, handsome cowboy, is come inside me." You informed him, drawing a finger beneath his chin. "More than once, preferably."

"I'm not usually a man to voice my own shortcomin's, but I must warn you that this will be a futile-" Whiskey's words hitched in his throat when you stroked him again. "Fuck, no, don't touch me like that, you--"

"Stop playing hard to get, Jack." You murmured, slinking your free hand up the back of his neck to massage his scalp right beneath the band of his hat. "Give up."

"Never." He hissed even as his head lolled forward, granting you more access to rub his neck. 

"Pity." You settled back down between his legs and wrapped your lips around his cock. 

"No, no, dammit-" Whiskey growled, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. "Don't you fuckin'...no, no, don't use your tongue the-ah f-uck--" His protest died in a pitiful groan when his cock met the back of your throat. "Oh, you--fuckin'--you've got to be shittin' me woman, the whole-?" He grunted out haphazardly as you relaxed your throat and took him all the way down to the base. "You think y-you can take advantage of me jus' cuz' it's been a while since I got laid? Fuck you."

You hummed around his cock, wanting to giggle when he twitched and swore loudly. Your fingers dove past the hem of your underwear, and you moaned against him as you ran your index in slow, steady circles around your clit. 

"I ain't fuckin' you, and I sure as shit am not gonna' come in your pussy." Jack snarled. 

"Oh yes you are." You sang, rising to your feet and slipping your panties off. The white t-shirt came next, baring your breasts to the air-conditioned environment. 

Jack seemed to forget that he was supposed to be vehemently against this yet again as he just...watched while you teased your nipples. You tugged at the taut peaks, rolling them between your fingers and making a show out of the whole bit. 

"I can't wait to have you inside me, filling me up, just pumping me full of your come." You said with a smile, sauntering over until you would be in reach if his hands were free. Jack's tongue made a nervous reappearance and you tugged his chin upwards so you could see his eyes. "Are we still in gear? Or do we need to shift?" You asked. He seemed slightly dazed.

"Oh! Uh, sorry, s-sixth." He stammered. "Sixth, holy shit."

"Mm. Don't disappoint me and maybe I'll let you live." You remarked smoothly, swinging one leg over his lap and straddling him. Jack's shoulders were rigid again and you kneaded at them surreptitiously, trying your best to keep him in the scene and out of his own head.

You were well on your way to soaking wet with arousal. There was nothing better than when you had a partner that trusted you, regardless of whether you had truly earned that trust. Just the fact that they had blind faith in you to execute the endeavor that they needed...it was heady and sweet and you loved every second. 

You rutted your pussy against the underside of Jack's cock, the man snapping his teeth at the sensation. "Too good?" You taunted, laughing when he swore again.

"I can't believe that you think I'm fuckin' enjoyin' th--look, any dick perks up at heavy pet-" 

Cutting Whiskey off mid-sentence was quickly becoming a favorite pastime, you realized as you angled your hips and let the head of his cock push past your pussy lips. "In, just a little, give you a taste, sweetheart…" you sighed, rocking your hips forward and back but not allowing him to sink any deeper into you. "There, that's not so bad, is it?" You cajoled as he shuddered beneath you. "Just keep being good, my sweet cowboy, and this will all be over so much sooner." 

"No, no-" He struggled to move, to do anything, but you had made certain to tie him exactly as he had specified. "Dammit, when I get free of here, I'll--"

"Shh, you think too much." You tapped your index finger to his lips, smoothing it over the bristle of his mustache. "Focus on your job right now, and everything will be fine." 

Jack turned his face away, inadvertently presenting the thick column of his neck to you. And you, channeling your inner villain, leaped at the opportunity to lick and bite at the bared skin. He made a strange noise, a combination of a moan and a whine that had you raising an eyebrow. 

"Is someone a little sensitive there?" 

"No, I am not." He answered through gritted teeth. "I hate that you're touchin' me, that's all!"

"Hmm, it doesn't sound like you hate it." You mused, suckling gently at the spot where his jaw met his throat. You were very careful not to leave marks, as that had been another specification. Whiskey struggled underneath you again, only succeeding in pumping his cock up into you slightly.

"Don't, don't--" His voice actually cracked and you smiled, nuzzling your nose beneath his jawline and letting his dick settle deeper.

"Oh no, it seems like you do want to fuck me after all." You shrugged nonchalantly, leaning back and stroking over the base of his cock with two fingers. "Warming up to the idea of being my little fuck toy, Jack?" You teased, noting the way his knuckles whitened from his grip on the rope and his Adam's apple bobbed with the force of his convulsive swallow at your words. "I could just keep you here like this forever, you know. All tied up, helpless for me…" You squeezed the base of his cock and he gasped, trying to stifle the noise. "Soon, I'd have you trained so that you couldn't come from any other pussy aside from mine. Wouldn't that be fun?" 

Without waiting for an answer, you let the last few inches of his dick enter you. You leaned back on his thighs, feeling the muscles coil and strain beneath your touch as you reached down and grazed your clit. You could feel the heat of his gaze on you, those brown eyes fixated on the motions of your fingers even as his cock split you open. You were grateful that he was secured, you weren't sure if you would have been able to take him otherwise. His cock curved thickly against your back wall, the engorged head throbbing back and forth over the area that made your whole body shudder in delight. 

Whiskey's jaw was taut, his shoulders set in a rigid line that made you ache to get him to come undone in you.

"You're so quiet." You pouted, raising your hand and brushing your wet index finger over his slack lower lip. "Aren't you having a good time?"

His chest abruptly expanded, like he had forgotten to breathe for a moment or two. "Fuck you." Whiskey seethed, making you chuckle softly. "I ain't nobody's goddamn fuck toy."

"Sweetheart," you chided as you sat up. "That's not a very nice thing to say to the person warming your cock right now." You deliberately clenched down on him and Jack swore under his breath, shaking his head. "I can make you feel so good, Whiskey, if you just give me what I want." You insisted, cupping his face and pulling halfway off of his cock. 

"N-N...No." He replied weakly.

You sighed, rolling your eyes and shaking out your shoulders. "Well, I tried." Your hands landed on his shoulders and you gripped down to steady yourself, your hips meeting his own with a wet slap! of skin. Jack's chest heaved, his eyes closed and head tilted back as you began to ride him roughly. "All I wanted was for you to come in me. I don't feel like that's asking for much!" You complained petulantly, rolling your hips against his when he was hilted in you with an agonizingly slow grind of your body.

Jack bit out a low "fuck," those tense shoulders trembling under your touch. You tucked your face into his neck to tease the sensitive area even more, your tongue tracing random patterns that made him squirm and writhe underneath you. "I don't--can't, can't, don't make me--" he tried to protest, his words fractured and pitiful. 

"Yes you can, and you're going to." You snapped, taking a handful of hair at the nape of his neck so you could urge his head back further, leaving his throat at your mercy. "You're coming in me, Jack! Give up!"

...

"First!" He choked out, and you immediately slowed to a crawl. Your touch on him gentled significantly, no longer demanding but cradling, caressing. 

"Easy, easy." You soothed, the unrelenting assault of your perfect hips gone to a slow and careful rhythm, back and forth like a porch swing in the summer heat. Your eyes searched his own, concern shining through.

Jack was speechless, his blind panic melting away at the sound of your regular voice. What the hell just happened? He licked his lips, only now realizing how dry they had gotten. "Sorry, I uh-"

"No apologies." You murmured. "You have nothing to be sorry for. Would you like to stop now?"

Whiskey took a long moment, running a mental check on his body. Nothing was sore, nothing seemed out of line. Everything was raring to go. 

Everything aside from his brain, that is. The damn thing wouldn't stop conjuring up scenes of you pregnant and everything going to absolute fucking shit. It didn't matter that he had zero attachment to you, it didn't matter that you were on birth control. This was how it always was. 

Every damn time things got serious with a new interest, "oh, let's start a family," Whiskey just wanted to curl up into a ball. Without fail, like clockwork, he would shut down. 

And then the accusations would start, the distrust, "How come you can do it with protection but not without?" and it was disheartening, crushing to go through again and again. Explaining didn't seem to do a lick of good, it was always just that he was stringing people along, that he was a damn selfish prick, that he didn't care about what his partner wanted.

That couldn't be further from the truth, of course, but maybe that was his own fault for not dropping the bomb before getting attached to someone. He just couldn't ever seem to justify asking a person on their second or third date, "hey so what's your thoughts on having kids?" It felt manipulative, cheap, and if he was being honest, he knew for a fact that sometimes just the idea of having children was enough to scare a potential interest off. 

You were the first person to try and help Jack really wrap his head around this whole issue. And yeah, that was the whole point in sussing you out, but…

Tequila didn't tell him that you actually gave a shit, or at least you were damn good at acting like you did. Whiskey bit his lip. "I'm okay." He said finally, trying for a smile.

"Anything chafing? Do you need some water?"

"I…" Jack trailed off. "Huh, I admit I am a bit parched. But that means you'd have to get up." He realized unhappily.

"Were you enjoying yourself?" You asked, sounding curious. 

Whiskey got the hysterical idea in his head of you pulling out some sort of satisfaction survey at the end of your engagement, the notion making him smirk slightly. "God, yeah. I...yeah." He flushed a little bit. "Dunno' if I ever got this far after…after all my mental hangups and stuff. The fact that I don't have a say in the matter seems to be helpin', though."

"Okay, don't go anywhere. I'll get you some water." You patted his thigh, cautiously settling your feet on the floor and then going to stand with a quivery little gasp that absolutely stroked his ego.

Jack couldn't help his own groan at the loss of your heat, his eyes rolling into the back of his head. "Damn it woman, has anyone ever told you that your pussy is fuckin' perfect?" He muttered, his usual honeyed words suddenly clumsy in his mouth. "I mean, hell."

You laughed, bending over to dig in the small fridge for another water. Whiskey felt his entire body throb at the sight of you presenting yourself to him like that, and he sucked in a breath at your obvious teasing. Even in the soft light of the kitchen, he could see the glisten of the wetness between your legs. Hell yes, he found himself thinking stupidly as you turned back around. 

"I'm just glad that you're doing alright. That's the most important part to me, after all." You assured him, unscrewing the cap on the water and tipping it to his lips.

Jack gulped greedily, feeling a few droplets escape his mouth and run down his neck to blot his collar. "I am. One hundred percent." He said firmly after he had slaked his thirst. "Let's keep goin'."

"If you're sure, absolutely." You acquiesced, smiling again. Placing the water bottle on the kitchen table, you then swung your leg over his thighs like you were vaulting back into the saddle. Jack held his breath, waiting for you to welcome his cock back into your body. And God he was so hard, he couldn't remember ever being this hard, what the hell--

But strangely, you didn't immediately resume from where you had left off. Instead, you put your arms around his neck and actually rested your forehead against his own, bumping his hat upwards. 

Jack swallowed roughly, confused. 

"Let me take this from you." You whispered. Whiskey felt pinned by your stare, he felt as if you could see every terrible thing he had ever done, every transgression laid bare under the weight of your gaze. "Let go of it. I have you. I won't let anything happen to you." 

The words washed over him, soft and sweet. Your fingers slipped up into the hair at the nape of his neck to toy with the mussed ends that lurked there. The whole exchange was oddly intimate and Jack found himself at a loss yet again, simply grating out, "sixth," when he couldn't come up with anything else to say.

You reached down and stroked his cock, rubbing the head of it against your clit. And Jesus he could feel you, the difference in heat, the slick--

"Are you gonna' take it from me, sweet girl?" He hissed through his teeth like it wounded him to ask, trying desperately to cling to the illusion that he wasn't willing. "Take everythin' I've got?"

The blur between reality and this playdate was getting messier by the second. He wanted to fuck you, wanted to bury himself in you, spend every last drop inside the hot embrace of your quivering cunt. He wanted that. Jesus Christ, this wasn't part of the bargain.

This was a pantomime, specially designed pornography that existed only to coax a very specific reaction from his confused body. So why did he wish he had met you years ago? Why was he suddenly hoping and praying that the sounds you were making were legitimate instead of exclusively for his benefit, hoping that you were also enjoying this?

You angled your hips and sank back down on his lap, your hands going to your breasts where you proceeded to fondle and tease them until your nipples looked like they ached.

Whiskey fucking ached himself to wrap his lips around one pert little peak, swirl his tongue across the tip and make you come undone, rut his dick up into you until you cried out his name and soaked him--

Whoa cowboy, he chastised himself, a little startled by how sharp the longing was. You just kept fucking yourself on his cock, that hot, wet little pussy molded perfectly to every ridge of his member and he had never been this hard, this ready in his life. Despite the air conditioning in the cabin, your skin shone with sweat from all the work you were putting in and Whiskey couldn't recall a time where he had been more appreciative of someone else accomplishing a task within his field of vision.

Your hand slipped down, down, and Jack found himself following the trajectory until it delved between your legs and you started playing with yourself. "Jack," you crooned his name and it was like a prayer, reverent and soft, tender enough to coil itself around his lungs and choke him to death without a whisper of protest. You parted your legs even wider in his lap, exposing yourself to him so he could watch his cock slide in and out of you, so he could see himself fucking you open.

"Are you gonna' come for me, sweet girl?" He gasped, craning his neck and managing to tilt his head so he could mutter into your ear, "you just gonna' wrench one out for me, beautiful?"

"Mm, no, I'm not coming until after you come." You whimpered, still moving your hand. "But I'm so close, Jack. I want to come."

Your plaintive whine had him ablaze. God, he had never wanted to please someone so damn badly in his life. "I know you do, sweet girl." He murmured huskily, exhaling hot over the shell of your ear and loving the way you quivered in his lap. "You're so good, lettin' me blow my load before you get off--gonna' pump me dry when you come, aren't you? Just keep me inside you until that little pussy is all fucked out," he growled, barely aware of the words that tumbled from his mouth. 

All he knew is that you were all a-tremble at his voice, your body as hot as late July against his chest, your eyes heavy with adoration that he did not deserve and God, he couldn't get used to that look even if it was fake. What if you stayed? he wondered absently. What if you stayed?

Oh fuck, he was about to come. Panic jabbed like the blade of a knife between his shoulder blades and Whiskey went silent, his teeth bearing down on his lower lip and his eyes slamming shut as he focused harder than he ever had in his life.

The smell of you, the sounds, the heat, the little spasms of your cunt around his cock…

Yes. Yes, God yes, he could do this-- 

"Come in me, sweetheart." Begging him, pleading, demanding, "Jack-!" You cried his name.

Whiskey groaned hoarsely, so low it was almost painful, and let go. He bucked his hips up against you as best as he could, minute little thrusts while he came harder than he had in years. "Oh," he snarled, gritting his teeth, "fuckin' Christ woman, I think you've ruined me, Jesus fuck."

Your hands threaded through the hair at the nape of his neck again and you held him, not tightly, but just enough to keep him steady, anchored. "There," you said abruptly, the snide, put-upon tone of your role contrasting wildly with the gentleness of your touch, "was that so difficult?"

Jack burst out laughing, not overly concerned with how strange of a reaction that was. Hell, was he relieved? "Jesus fuckin' Christ, you're great." He remarked breathlessly. "I don't even know what just happened."

"Oh?" You replied, raising an eyebrow. "The mess between my legs seems to allude to you possibly having an orgasm. Jury's still out though."

He grimaced apologetically, glancing down. "Sorry darlin'. It's been a while, y'know?" You rose up off of him again and he grunted as his cock slipped free from your body. Whiskey felt half-drunk, relief and release combining into a potent cocktail that left him boneless in the chair. 

You quickly put your shirt back on and then crouched at his feet, beginning the arduous process of untying him. Jack just sat there, watching you drowsily. He couldn't do much else, really. "Any numbness or chafing?" You asked quietly, stirring him momentarily from his daze.

"Nah, nothin' yet." He replied, straightening his freed left leg and rotating his ankle in his boot. "A little stiff, but I've survived worse than that." 

"And how do you feel?" You questioned, "physically and emotionally."

Jack gnawed at his lower lip, trying to force his sluggish brain past the haze of serotonin in order to give you a satisfactory answer. "...good." He said finally, scrambling to elaborate, "or uh, better, I guess. More okay than I've been in a fuckin' while." It wasn't a lie, he was surprised to discover. He hadn't actually put much stock into this endeavor, figuring it would be a fun little diversion that would end just like every other time. Of course, it didn't hurt that you were easy on the eyes, prettier than a peach if he was being honest with himself.

Your smile was bright and Jack's stomach knotted confusingly. "I'm glad."

His right leg was released and he shifted his weight in the seat, groaning happily when his hip popped. "Hey, wait." The agent belatedly realized, "you didn't-?"

"We were here for you." You reminded him. "Not me."

"Whoa now, that don't seem fair at all!" Whiskey protested, taken aback by your nonchalance. "You just put in all the work!"

Your laugh tripped down his spine like an aftershock. "Don't get bent out of shape! It's standard policy, Mr. Whiskey. Once the desired result of the scene has been acquired, the scene ends and I start with aftercare."

"B-But--you didn't get to get off though!" 

"Me 'getting off' wasn't specified in our planning." 

"I needed to specify that shit?! I figured you'd just kinda'..." His right arm was free now and Jack seized the opportunity to make a certain gesture, raising his eyebrows. "I mean, I was at your mercy!" He continued, bewildered. "You totally coulda' just kept goin'-"

"Yes, and that's exactly why when the desired result has been achieved, the scene ends." You interjected firmly. "Because you trusted me enough to let me take control, and I'm not about to break that trust by doing something selfish on a whim."

Jack exhaled hard, scooting his hat a little further back on his head so he could study you. You didn't look disappointed, or annoyed with him. He wondered how many times you had fielded ignorant questions like his own and he cringed at himself. "I'm...shit, I'm sorry. I don't have any right to be all shitty about it." He apologized as you moved out of his field of view to untie the rope securing him to the back of the chair. "I just feel like you worked so hard an' got nothin' out of your end of the bargain."

"It's sweet of you to be concerned about that, but don't take it personally, okay?" You assured him, "I do this because I enjoy it. The whole experience, not just the finale." The ropes around his chest sagged and Jack slid forward a bit in the seat, relaxing. 

"Can I get that water again? Christ, I need a cigarette and a tumbler of the strong stuff after all that." He joked, clumsily tucking his cock back into his boxers. You pressed the bottle to his hands and he nearly dropped it, chuckling self-consciously. "Whups, sorry. I had my fists all bunched up so my fingers are stiff." Jack proceeded to down the rest of the bottle, wiping his mouth and mustache with the back of his hand after the fact. "So...what exactly is it you do for Tequila?" He queried nosily.

You laughed at him and God, God he loved the sound of your laugh. "That, Mr. Whiskey, is on a need-to-know basis. Just like this little soiree between the two of us." You chided, your eyes bright with good humor. "I would never violate a partner's trust in me."

Jack tipped the bottle in your direction, as if making a toast. "I'll drink to that, partner. What's next on the menu?"

"We'll talk out the scene and wind back down. Get cleaned up. I'll probably…" you paused, squinting at the clock over the sink. "You want some pizza? There's a joint not far from here that serves pies and chicken wings until midnight."

Jack groaned appreciatively, "I knew you were my kinda' gal. Lead the way to the debrief, ma'am."

It didn't really matter in the long run, he supposed. You obviously weren't interested in anything serious (if only because he figured that your flings with the stereotypical 'bad boy' Tequila would have become more regular in spite of the younger man's painful crush on Ginger Ale), and he could respect that. Still though, he couldn't help feeling a touch morose over the possibility of never engaging with you again. 

He toyed with the idea of asking you for another 'appointment', but dismissed the thought almost as quickly as it arrived. Better to quit while he was ahead.

Or rather, he amended ruefully as he settled down across from you in the diner booth, his hair still damp and curling slightly beneath his hat from the quick wash he had indulged in at your cabin, better to quit now before I make even more of a fool of myself.

Part Two

#jack daniels #jack daniels x reader #agent whiskey #agent whiskey x reader #kingsman: the golden circle #Pedro Pascal #pedro pascal character #agent whiskey imagine #consensual noncon #whew where did this come from #enjoy! #working things out

[keijikunn]

Fate’s work

Pairing: Iwaizumi Hajime x fem!reader (there’s a slightly platonic Oikawa x reader but anyway) Genre: a big mess of angst and fluffy and I don’t even know anymore Summary: you and Hajime have initiated a concluded two cycles of life together: elementary and middle school passed by in a breeze. Now, high school graduation was approaching faster than you wanted and a statement terrifies you: Iwaizumi Hajime will not start the college cycle beside you Word count: ~3.5k

Author’s note: well well well it’s me after a while to post something out of blue! Special thanks to @hidden-otaku-stuff​ @toorusushijima​

WARNING: none

If you enjoy it please leave a comment or a reblog!! 

The first time you saw Iwaizumi Hajime was when his best friend – and soon to be yours as well – had hit your face with a volleyball during a p.e class. Oikawa Tooru still thinks it was a funny incident, despite the fact he bawled his eyes out at the sight of blood coming from your nose. Iwa, being the responsible kid he has always been, called the teacher to help you out – while calm down his crying friend.

Later that day, after the club activities, the two boys searched you in every class of their grade so Oikawa could (quoting the exact same words Iwaizumi said) “to apologize to her because of your clumsy self, Idiotkawa”. They just found you by the gates, your face didn’t look swollen neither did your nose appeared to be in a weird position – which Tooru thanked the skies, he definitely wouldn’t be able to deal with the fact he broke someone else’s nose (not that it was possible given the fact he was 6).

“C’mon Oikawa, say it” Hajime demanded pushing the other boy towards you, catching your attention.

“Oh, you’re the boy who spiked on my face” you stated before cracking a teasing smile. “I thought it was cool, until you started to cry. I wondered if you felt my pain by the way you were screaming”

“Hey!” Tooru whined, which made you and Hajime laugh even harder. “I was worried and came here to apologize, but I take everything back”

“You haven’t even said anything, idiot” Iwaizumi snickered, eyeing you as you proceeded to laugh once again. For a young boy, hajime wondered why his chest felt so warm watching you smile with something he had said.

“It’s fine, Oikawa-kun, right?” your laughter died down a bit, a hand raising to your face and poking your nose lightly. “It hurt quite a lot- but it already passed! See? I can touch it without feeling pain. And the name is L/n Y/n, so if any of you try to kill me with a ball, you can apologize properly”

Oikawa kept complaining, as the years passed by, that you just joined their little group of friends because you and Iwaizumi bounded by bullying him. The other boy would snort at that comment and proceed to tease him, while you’d laugh at their interaction. Ever since Iwaizumi Hajime was 6 years old, he had found your laugh one of the best sounds he had ever heard. And up until today he still agrees with it.

On the next day, you found the two boys at the same spot they talked on the previous day. You could tell oikawa was whining at something iwaizumi said and couldn’t help but crack a smile. Indeed they were best friends, bickering to no end and still remain next to each other. Wow, I envy these two.

“Good morning L/n-san” Iwa greeted as you approached them with larger steps. “How’s your face?”

“Morning, you two” you answered back with a small wave, stopping in front of them. “And it’s fine, Iwaizumi-kun. It hurt a lot at that moment, but now it’s all good”

And together, the three of you walked side to side to their classroom – coming to realize you’ve been classmates before even knowing. You blended well between Oikawa’s somewhat difficult personality and Iwaizumi’s bluntness towards the other boy. In no time, the duo became a trio and that just made sense.

Just like the sudden ball on your face, the years passed by in a blink of an eye. When you noticed, the three of you were graduating elementary school and joining Kitagawa Daiichi. There, they’ve joined the volleyball club and you decided to follow them as well – becoming the manager (a position you would hold until the very end of high school). It was definitely a process of growth for you: Oikawa became more ambitious; Iwaizumi progressively became better and better at his position. And you grew as the responsibility to maintain energetic boys at bay demanded you. But, the most important, your feelings for none other than Iwaizumi Hajime flourished in your heart.

It was funny how cliché your very first love came out to be: falling in love with your best friend… you didn’t know what made you like Iwaizumi more than just friends. Could it be the way he’d always care for you, making sure you don’t get hurt? (he says he’s traumatized after your first encounter). Maybe the way he plays volleyball, with such passion and desire to progress in ability?

Perhaps it was everything and much more. But, on top of anything, what made you fall for Iwaizumi Hajime was because he was himself. The blunt, slightly violent towards Tooru – but just because he genuinely cares about him, the hardworking and loyal boy he has always been. It could be a silly childhood crush- heck, you didn’t even care if it was a one-time-thing, liking Hajime was easy. And it was the purest thing ever. 

In the deepest part of your brain, at some point while you were growing up, the possibility of parting ways with the two boys crossed your mind. How could you not think about that when they were so talented volleyball players at such a young age? If they applied to any powerhouse school the answer would be a big yes. 

That was the reason why you approached your best friends after practice, when everyone had already left the gym and only Oikawa was training his jump serves. Iwaizumi was on the side lines ready to stop the other boy- he claimed he could easily headbutt the brunet once again like he did previously. 

“Guys…” you called quietly, completely different from your usual self around them. Looking at them made your eyes swell with tears and the clear image of them using different uniforms from the best volleyball clubs in Miyagi prefecture had appeared on your mind. “Do you know which school you’ll attend next year?”

“Why the sudden question, Y/n-chan?” Tooru asked without looking at you, Hajime, on the other hand, noticed how you fiddle with the hem of your jacket. “We don’t have to think about it right now, we have some time”

“It’s important, Idiotkawa, Y/n has a point,” Iwaizumi retorted, taking the volleyball from his hands. “Unlike this dummy, I wasn’t accepted in many schools… though Aoba Johsai accepted me”

“Seijoh?! Really, Hajime?” the excitement didn’t pass unnoticed by them, even the hint of relief was hidden there. “Wow, congratulations!! And you, Tooru-chan? Did Shiratorizawa accept you?”

“I’m not going to the same school as Ushiwaka,” he huffed, crossing his arms, a pout forming on his face. “So I’m following Iwa-chan”

“As always, dumbass” his friend shot back with a teasing grin. It was enough for a bickering start between them, leaving you with your own thoughts. 

At the age of fourteen, you don’t have many worries about life. So, the thought of going to different schools as those two who you knew since you were six years old was terrifying. I’ll have three more years with them. You wouldn’t say goodbye to Oikawa and Iwaizumi. Not yet, at least. 

“And you Y/n- hey, why are you crying?” Hajime shouted surprised, he stopped on his tracks - with hands stopping Tooru. You wiped your tears quickly with the sleeve of the track, to no avail since they kept falling, and smiled. “Oi, why are you smiling and crying?”

“I’m just… happy” it was true. You were not ready to say goodbye to your best friends, especially your first love. Because, for someone who didn’t have much worries in mind, that situation was the worst scenario. “I’m happy we have three more years together”

Unfortunately, three years were not enough for you. 1095 days were not enough to calm your heart that, despite any distance, friendships don’t end just because you don’t see each other every day. But the most important, three years were not enough for you and Hajime; not when being with him felt so right. 

His confession surprised you, especially on White’s Day during the first year at Aoba Johsai. After years giving him (and Tooru) chocolates, you would never expect Iwaizumi to give you a necklace while saying “I like you more than just friends, please go out with me”. All you did at that moment was laugh- and laugh hard. It was so Iwaizumi to confess like that, bluntly and straightforward; and you appreciated even more because you fell in love with him the way he was. 

“I can’t believe I’ll be the third wheel everytime we go out” Tooru whined after Iwaizumi and you told him about the new label the two of you would have. “Fortunately I have Makki and Mattsun to keep me company while you two get all lovey-dovey”

“Oikawa Tooru, I spent almost ten years of my life being the third wheel of you and Haji” that comment made them snort. “Do not complain about it because it’s most likely that you’ll have my boyfriend most of the time” 

“Lies! You’re our manager, the whole team will need to deal with you kissing Iwa-chan” Oikawa teased you and a part of you was getting annoyed, but the soft smile he gave you and your boyfriend told you otherwise. “Seriously, though, I’m so happy for you two”

Hajime squeezed your hand at his best friend’s comment, grinning down at you with a sparkle inside his eyes. You felt at peace: your feelings were mutuals, your best friend supported your new relationship and it was only the first year. Your state of bliss numbed your constant fear of changes, especially those brought by the end of cycles. 

And gosh, dating Iwaizumi Hajime was probably the best decision you’ve ever made in your teenage years. He still was the same boy as before, but gentle kisses, holding his hand and nights spent in each other’s embrace maximized all the already-perfect traits your boyfriend had. At the same time dating Iwa was new, it felt like you’ve been doing it for ages judging by how comfortable you were around each other. 

Falling in love with your best friend was probably the best decision you’ve ever made.

Every achievement felt a thousand times better when you could jump into Hajime’s arms, wrapping your legs around his waist as he spinned twice cheering loudly. There was no better way to celebrate a deserved win after a difficult match or a good grade on a difficult test.

“Haji, you did it!” those were the first words that would come out of your mouth after the referee signaled the end of the game and the boys cheered between themselves. The ace would always wear a big grin on his face as he catches you when you jump on him. “Oh my, I’m so proud of you and the boys” 

“How could I not make it when my personal cheerleader was giving her best on the side lines?” Iwaizumi teased kissing the corner of your mouth, your response was a light punch on his shoulder, but your eyes expressed all the love and proudness you were feeling. “Thank you for all your efforts as well, manager-chan”

“Hey, you two” Oikawa called off, interrupting the sweet moment between you and your boyfriend. “Keep PDA to minimal, we’re still on court. Iwa-chan, we have to bow to the stands, you can be all gross and touchy on the bus”

“Don’t give them ideas, Oikawa!” Makki complained kicking the setter, their antics made you laugh and tap on Hajime’s arms to put you down. “Don’t you dare do anything with us nearby, you perv”

“Of course not, dumbass” Iwaizumi barked, the tip of his ears burned in embarrassment. You watched your team thank the audience that supported them with a tiny smile on your face.

You’ve created beautiful memories in three years.

However, the same way all cycles have a beginning point, they also have their ends. And they were coming faster than you thought. You firstly noticed that after Aoba Johsai lost to Karasuno after a difficult match. 

It was the last chance to go to nationals with this team, in your last year at Seijoh, and the look on Iwaizumi and Oikawa’s faces shattered your heart. It was upsetting that you couldn’t do anything more than pat their backs and praise their efforts, because you knew it wouldn’t help ease the anger caused by a loss. The tears streaming down Hajime’s face showed the vulnerability you would only see at the comfort of your or his house.

“You guys did everything you could have done today” became a ritual for the team to listen to a speech from their managers, a straightforward and honest one before the coach treated them to a meal. “Remember this frustration to get better, okay? I’m proud of all of you”

Little by little all the club members started to head home, except the third years - including you - that went to the school’s gym. You were quick to understand the reason why you were there: because you would leave the club to focus on college exams. That meant another cycle was coming to an end, and you were not ready for that.

You weren’t ready to hear Oikawa thanking his teammates for the past years they’ve been playing together. You weren’t ready to see them fall apart in tears. You weren’t ready to hold Iwaizumi as he cried his heart out, sobbing hard on the crook of your neck as you smoothed your hand up and down his back. 

Just like you, they were not ready to say goodbye to all of these.

It felt like yesterday when you worried about which school you three would attend after Kitagawa Daiichi. The silly tears you shared in front of your best friends could not compare to the waterfall you’re shedding at the information Hajime just shared with you, during a late-night phone call.

“I made to a college in America” 

The air left your lungs and you swore if you were standing, your legs would definitely give in. Your chest tightened as your feelings divided in being extremely happy and proud of your boyfriend, and being… lost. To say you grew accustomed with Iwaizumi’s constant presence in your life was an understatement, after more than 10 years, you have never pictured your future that wouldn’t have him by your side. 

“That’s amazing, babe! Oh my god” you exhaled mesmerized. “I’m so happy for you! I knew you’d make it”

“I still can’t believe it” he answered quietly, the following silence deafened you and that made you worry. It had never disturbed you how quiet sometimes your calls could get, but today it felt different. “Y/n, what about us, though?”

“Haji…” more silence. The truth was that you didn’t know, neither did Iwaizumi. Throughout the unstable mess that life is you and Hajime were the constant variable, just like in Maths. No matter how things changed, how the scenarios shifted, you two were always there for each other. But now… the only steady thing in your life wouldn’t be there anymore right next to you. “We should… think about what we want, yeah?”

“You’re right” Iwaizumi breathed slowly, letting what you said settle down inside his head. “I love you, Y/n”

“I love you too, Hajime” and with that, the call ended, leaving you to drown in the sea of your thoughts.

Ever since you were a kid, changes scared you. No monster under your bed or inside your wardrobe could beat the terrible villain that walks side to side with the changes of life. Guess a few fears stick with us for good, you thought laughing humorlessly. 

It was a fact that Iwaizumi would never cheat on you, his loyalty was marvelous ever since he was six years old. And you knew for sure he would move mountains just to talk to you for a few minutes, like you’d do to him. Carrying a long-distance relationship with Hajime would be challenging, but no impossible, because he was him and you were you. And you loved each other so damn much. 

You spent weeks thinking about it every night - because during the days your thoughts were 100% focused on the boy standing right next to you. Time would eventually pass by and the moment he would leave Japan to start college in America would arrive, and you won’t be able to do anything to stop or delay it. So, after debating with yourself, you have made your final decision. 

Graduation was filled with joy and the inevitable tears shared in your group of friends. The fellow volleyball club members were there to congratulate the now former third years, wishing them luck for their future paths. Surprisingly or not, you managed to keep your tears at bay - maybe because you ran out of them on the last night after having a bounding time with Oikawa, Hajime, Matsukawa and Hanamaki. 

In a month or so, Oikawa would fly to Argentina to pursue his professional career as a volleyball player, Iwaizumi would have his brand new start in America, Makki and Mattsun would stay in Miyagi; and you would leave to start your new cycle. A cycle without Tooru and Hajime. 

“Hey” your boyfriend tugged lightly at your hand, motioning you to go to another place, a quieter one. You two walked in silence until you'd reached the stairs that led to the club room, sitting on the step next to each other. “It’s over”

“We graduated” both of you laughed, thinking about it three years ago felt so far away, like this future would never come. Yet, here you were, ready to face the world. “We had a great time here, even dealing with Tooru’s annoying ass will be a fond memory”

“I can’t believe we are all parting ways like this” Hajime admitted quietly, however his tone was filled with nostalgia. “I feel like it was yesterday that Shittykawa smacked your face with a volleyball”

“I think it’s the only occasion I’m glad I got hurt” you admitted lightly. “Because of that day, we could spend many more together”

The silence hugged you two nicely, you rested your head against Hajime’s shoulder as he hugged you by your sides. You wanted to save the feeling of being so close to him in your memory, in a place where it would never fade away even after years. His smell of cologne that was his mark filled your nose and you let yourself be intoxicated by it. 

“I guess it’s the end” he said in a whisper, rubbing your shoulders in circle motions. After thinking for many nights, the decision of breaking up with Iwaizumi felt right - although extremely painful. “Sometimes I regret choosing America”

“Don’t start with this bullshit again, Iwaizumi!” you scolded him, creating enough space between you so you could face him. “It’s your future, for god’s sake!”

“But I want you to be part of it” his eyes were a bit shiny, just like on the day you brought up the decision of ending the relationship. A stray tear rolled down his cheek and you quickly cupped his face to dry it with your thumb, the boy responding to your touch by leaning closer to your palm.

“Hajime, we’ve been best friends ever since forever, way before we fell in love with each other… I love you so much - and I’ll probably always do - but I can’t find peace within myself knowing that I’m holding you back. We will remain best friends for life, you are my first love and will always be… so, if there’s a red string tied up around our pinkies” you wrapped the said finger around his much larger one, a gentle smile appearing on your not wet cheeks. “Let fate bring us back together, whether as friends or lovers”

The boy leaned down to capture your lips, your mostly likely last kiss before splitting for good. You could taste the salty tears you two shed, but nothing could top the amazing sensation that was being so close to Hajime. Nothing could top the sensation of love and being loved by Iwaizumi Hajime. 

You feared changes, the numerous cycles scared you ever since you were a kid. But it was fine now, that you understood that it was necessary, though not permanent. If you and Iwaizumi Hajime were meant to be, fate will do its work to bring you back to where your heart belongs.

#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu fanfiction #haikyuu fanfic #iwaizumi x reader #iwaizumi hajime fanfic #iwaizumi hajime x reader #hq fanfic #hq iwaizumi

[tiaragqueen]

may i request a scenario for yandere todoroki thats in a relationship with a reader that is powerful and older than him? (a third year) no violence tho. sorry if its a little weird :( i think a two year gap aint that bad. love your writing, thank u !

Eating His Heart Out

✂ Pairing: Yandere! Junior! Todoroki Shouto x Senior! Reader

✂ Word Count: 2k+

✂ Trigger Warning: Jealousy, possessive behavior, yandere theme.

***

The first boy who got me into BNHA fandom and because I’m a curious girl. I’m not sure if this what you wanted, since I quickly thought about violence when I saw the powerful part. Nonetheless, I hope you like it!

If you like my writing, please support me on ko-fi!

“Jealousy is that pain which a man feels from the apprehension that he is not equally beloved by the person whom he entirely loves.” – Joseph Addison

Never once in his life had Shouto doubted your love. He knew you were loyal, although a tad bit quiet at times. The latter was what connected the two of you in the first place. It allowed you to be together without the pressure of having a conversation to fill the silence and be completely content with peace. You could stay quiet for hours, just minding your businesses. You also never forced him to talk about his problems; instead opting to sit beside him until he was ready to speak.

Shouto loved you through and through. He accepted you as a whole, despite the two-years age gap and powers between you. The disparities weren’t something that he minded much, simply because he knew that everyone was different. In fact, he was kind of glad that you were able to protect yourself and matured enough to not be provoked easily. You were more of a peacemaker; preferring to negotiate instead of rushing headlong into a fight. Many of your classmates had mocked your ‘disgustingly pure’ way, but you remained stubborn. And Shouto admired you for it.

However, aside from the age gap and powers, there was another difference between you.

Interests.

Shouto wasn’t one to like mysterious, esoteric stuff such as supernatural or the afterlife. Not because he was a scaredy-cat, but because he simply wasn’t interested. He preferred being realistic and think about the future, instead of contemplating the existence of spirits and such.

You, however, were wholly fascinated by the idea of mystery. Very few people knew about your inquisitive nature; a side that you often concealed under a reserved facade. You were fond of learning about everything that spiked your interest, be it trivial or strange. The weirder a stuff was, the more curious you become. You liked to think that it was one of your many, hidden charms.

And you weren’t wrong.

Shouto did love your thirst for knowledge and was pleasantly surprised when he first found out. It was better than being with a jaded person who thought that they knew and had experienced everything from this world. He was supportive and often urged you to search more about a certain topic. After all, he only wanted the best for his beloved.

But there was one thing that he disliked from you.

“Hawks-san, where’s [Name]-senpai?”

The blond paused eating his favorite chicken wings that Shouto deemed rather ironic, considering his bird-like quirk, and looked up. “She’s left with Tokoyami just a while ago,” he replied with a mouthful of meat.

Shouto’s face hardened slightly, not that anyone could tell from his already stoic expression. “Is… that so?”

“Yeah,” Hawks nodded, averting his gaze back on to the food. “Should’ve seen them, y’know? They keep talkin’ about weird stuff, and Tokoyami-kun even chuckled. I’ve never heard that kid laughing before. Guess [Name]-chan just have that kind of influence on him, eh?”

The second pro hero giggled, but Shouto couldn’t bring himself to laugh as well. Not when his stomach kept churning at every word that left Hawks’ mouth.

“I see,” Shouto finally replied, breaking the one-sided conversation between them. “Thank you for the information then, Hawks-san. I should take my leave now.”

“Y’know, Todoroki-kun,” Hawks spoke up, watching Shouto’s rigid form stopped to listen to whatever he wanted to say. “Tokoyami-kun and [Name]-chan can make a good pair, don’t you think? She’s just as quiet and strange as him.”

Shouto was well aware that Hawks loved mocking people, and although Shouto hadn’t told him about his relationship with you, he knew that Hawks knew. After all, he was the only person who asked about you every day. Hawks was bound to pick up the connection anytime soon. He wasn’t dense to think that he was a mere friend of yours. Nobody would bother to wait on someone for so long like that.

That, and because Shouto could feel Hawks smirking at him. He didn’t need to look to confirm it.

“No,” Shouto muttered, clenching his fists. The act didn’t go unnoticed by the pro hero, who silently relished in his victory of ruling him up. It wasn’t every day that you would able to irritate the one and only Shouto Todoroki due to his ability to remain calm and composed at pretty much every moment. “[Name]-senpai is dating me, not him.”

“Oh, is that so? Well,” Hawks twirled a strip of meat in his hand. “I think [Name]-chan is more interested in Tokoyami-kun. After all, love is quick to blossom through similar interests. Am I right, Todoroki-kun?”

Shouto gritted his teeth, resisting the urge to attack the hero. Hawks was undeniably stronger than him, and to attack him would be a stupid move on Shouto’s part. Therefore, he decided to opt for a more… passive way, even though it hurt his pride a little. At least, it was better than being a fool in front of his superior.

Bowing to the man, Shouto left without another word. Thankfully, Hawks didn’t make anymore taunt, instead of simpering in triumph. Shouto tried his best not to take his attitude personally and went to search for you. It was rather hard to ignore what he said, especially the ‘good pair’ part.

It was indeed true that you have been spending more time with Tokoyami more than him. On one hand, Shouto was glad that you could get along with his classmate. But on the other hand, he didn’t want you to be focused solely on Tokoyami. Shouto was, and would always be, your boyfriend. He deserved your attention and affection too.

Hiding behind a corner, Shouto watched you chatting animatedly with Tokoyami. The way your hands flailed around to emphasize a point, the way your eyes twinkled under the setting sun, and the way your lips stretched into the widest smile he’d never seen before.

Shouto had never felt jealous before. He knew that you belonged to him, just like how he belonged to you. So, why? Why did his chest hurt so fucking much? Why did he feel like stomping over there and rip you off from that… that nasty bird? Or worse, doing all the terrible stuff that swirled in his head?

No, that wouldn’t be right. You had lectured him a hundred times before to always choose peace over violence, and to see him being careless – especially for the sake of quenching his jealousy – would greatly disappointed you. And he refused to let that happen. Shouto wanted you to be proud of him. He wanted you to be the boyfriend you’d always wished for; an honorable and peaceful guy. 

But it was so fucking hard when you were there, laughing with someone other than him.

“[Name]-senpai.”

You quickly turned around when a deep voice called out to you and sighed in relief. “Oh, it’s you. I thought it was a villain or something.” The sound of your chuckle ceased after you noticed his solemn features. “H-hey, Shouto-kun. Are you okay?”

Shouto said nothing in response. Instead, he stepped forward and grabbed your hand that was unknowingly lying on Tokoyami’s shoulder.

“Oh, sorry.” You grinned and rubbed your nape sheepishly. “We were just talking around and I guess I was being too excited. Sorry if it makes you angry, Shouto-kun. I assure you I don’t like Tokoyami-kun that way.”

“’kun’…” Shouto muttered the seemingly intimate nickname with pure distaste as if the word itself left a bitter sensation on his tongue.

You sighed, shooting your clueless junior a weary smile. “Hey, uh. Sorry, Tokoyami-kun, but I need to go ahead. We can resume our conversation tomorrow if you’d like to.” You didn’t know why you were being apologetic when Shouto should be the one who apologized to you both for interrupting your little discussion.

Not that you truly minded; you missed Shouto and couldn’t wait until you meet him. But the way he appeared out of nowhere and snatched you away was a bit rude in your opinion.

“Of course, I’d like to. Have a pleasant evening, [Name]-senpai.”

Tokoyami bowed before taking a turn towards his house. Once he was far away from you both, you immediately snapped your head to Shouto.

“What the heck was that?!” you hissed.

“You were talking to him,” the bi-colored haired boy stated the obvious. “And you went ahead without me.”

“I thought you wouldn’t wait for me,” you frowned in both frustration and confusion. “You didn’t even reply to my message!”

“My phone’s dead.”

You stared at him for a moment, searching for any sign of a lie. As always, his face remained unreadable. But you didn’t need to look deeper to know that he was telling the truth, and that was irritated you the most.

Sighing for the third time in mere minutes, you snatched your hand from his grasp and walked ahead of him. You wanted him to know that his actions weren’t appreciated by you, and luckily, it didn’t take long for him to take the hint.

“Look,” he exhaled tiredly. “I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t mean to be rude like that.”

“You certainly shouldn’t,” you said pettily.

“But you looked so happy around him and I’m just…” Shouto bit his bottom lip, ignoring your piercing gaze. “I was… jealous. I thought you didn’t love me anymore. Thought you liked him more than me. I was… I was afraid that you might choose him over me because… he shares the same interest as yours.”

You opened your mouth to counter his shocking statements, but he raised a hand to shut you up.

“Hawks-san even told me that you and Tokoyami-san made a ‘good pair’ and I guess, I kind of lost it in there. I know you’re dating me, and I know you’re loyal but–”

“Then, why are you doubting my loyalty?”

Shouto curbed his tongue in fear of accidentally blurt out the wrong things. He didn’t want you to misunderstand him, but he knew that your question was valid. Being jealous meant that he was doubting your love and loyalty, although that wasn’t what he intended for. He was merely afraid that you would grow bored of him due to not having the same interest as Tokoyami did.

It was ridiculous. Then again, what part of jealousy was logical anyway?

You shook your head, finding the whole situation to be rather humorous. However, you still had the decency of refraining from laughing. As laughable as the matter sounded, you needed to take him seriously because it had a connection to his deep-rooted fear. He had been hurt again and again by his closest ones, and you didn’t want to be a part of them. Shouto, however independent and stoic he seemed, looked up to you a lot. Therefore, it was already your duty to lead him to the ‘right’ way.

“Shouto-kun,” you put a hand on his shoulder, pursing your lips in contemplation on how to word your sentences correctly. “I am, and will always be, yours. Tokoyami-kun is just my junior. Sure, we have the same interest, but our relationship doesn’t go any deeper than that. He already knows that we’re dating, anyway, and he’s been very respectful in keeping his distance. So, please. Don’t stress yourself, okay? I don’t love him as I love you. I belong to you, remember? Just like you belong to me.”

Perhaps, a time would come when you regretted your words. But today, you just had to prove to him that you were still his.

“You promise?” he whispered, looking at you through his long eyelashes like a bashful child.

“Absolutely.” You slung an arm around his neck and pecked him on the lips. “Now, let’s go home. I’m hungry and sweaty. Maybe we can watch that movie you’ve been wanting to watch too.”

Shouto smiled; a beautiful sight that he reserved for your eyes only. “Okay.”

While you were busy listing off the activities that you would do tomorrow, the thin smile slowly disappeared from his face. You might have promised him that you still loved him, but who would say that you wouldn’t stray from him?

“Should’ve seen them, y’know? They keep talkin’ about weird stuff, and Tokoyami-kun even chuckled. I’ve never heard that kid laughing before. Guess [Name]-chan just have that kind of influence on him, eh?”

“Tokoyami-kun and [Name]-chan can make a good pair, don’t you think? She’s just as quiet and strange as him.”

It was decided; he needed to talk to Tokoyami soon. And, possibly, teaching him to keep his distance even further from you.

#yandere bnha #yandere mha #yandere todoroki #Yandere shouto #yandere shoto #Yandere shoto x Reader #Yandere shouto x Reader #Yandere todoroki x Reader #Yandere todoroki shouto x Reader #Yandere Todoroki Shouto #anime yandere #Yandere bnha one-shot #Yandere bnha story #Yandere bnha scenario #Bnha yandere #Mha yandere #Yandere mha story #Yandere mha one-shot #Yandere mha scenario #Anon #Request #Yandere request

[chiyuukiaru]

This post will not, in any way, try to offend anyone in the Haikyuu!! Fandom, who most probably still doesn’t like/doubt the new arc. Actually, I made this post just to answer a few questions from a friend of mine (who doesn’t have a Tumblr account, btw, but likes to open it anyway). They are, in fact, doubtful of the new arc (but still reading it even tho they said they wanna drop it for a while, lol. Babe, you’re such a DO-M, love you). If you found my analysis/rambling quite useful and somehow, able to satisfy your curiosity, thanks :-). It will be long, so I put Read More here.

“Didn’t Hinata go to Brazil, such a waste of time? Look, Kageyama has been playing professionally. That means, he’s gotten super better now. He was good before, he’s a monster now. Why Hinata couldn’t just, idk, join a pro team? I think his time with a pro team would be better for his improvement rather than training beach volley in Rio with some random people”

Probably, coz Hinata didn’t get any or little offers. He is short, period (for a volleyball player). His techniques and skills have gotten so much better since the first time he played. Especially in his 3rd year. Can’t forget that Karasuno placed 3rd in the entire nation then. But he still is, short. Most couches will try to find players who are as good as him, but taller.

Now, pro team aside, I do believe he at least had offers from universities with strong volleyball club. But, I don’t think Hinata was thrilled to continue to a higher education. He hates studying in class after all. Also, his promise to Kageyama is to face him even in the international level, so university route is not a solution (both because of the studying part and because it is risky to spend 4 years in college while he might or might not get pro offers after). This route, however, is the norm in Haikyuu!! universe. I believe most characters who I think want to play professionally will take this route.

As for deciding to go to Brazil and play beach volley, his reason has been explained. By Hinata himself at that. He has to be able to do everything. Spiking, serving, receiving, setting, blocking and all the techniques of those. Beach volley is played by 2 persons only. It is by far, the easiest and fastest way (subjective) for a person to learn anything about volleyball techniques. Also, don’t forget, you play in the sand! I personally know someone who switched from indoor court to beach and then went back to indoor, and you know what? His jumping, stamina, power, and spiking/blocking height have gotten so high! He accidentally let his rival team got a point coz the setter set the ball too low for him, lol. Tho, in all honesty, he did say he had to adjust to the indoor court first before playing well.

I don’t understand why a lot of people still confused by this, even tho it was shown clearly. Maybe because the chapter explaining that was too rushing? So, it didn’t sink well? Hmmm...

Oh and btw, Hinata doesn’t just play beach volley with random people. He was implied to play in tournaments/matches and get paid. Heitor also talked about points. Hinata is that good and famous that Heitor’s girlfriend suggested him to partner up with Hinata. Although, pairing is very casual in Brazil so Hinata definitely changed partner often. Also, when we were shown that Hinata played beach volley at night with random people then met Oikawa, it was not his training part (officially. Hinata still thought it’s a training, I think). He played coz he was depressed previously. And Brazilians play all the time, so he just wanted to release his stress.

“Hoshiumi is also short and he got invited to the Youth Camp. He probably plays pro too, now. Why Hinata can’t be like him?”

In the period when Nationals arc happened, he was taller than Hinata. Not by much, but he is still taller. And he has a far longer experience playing volleyball than Hinata. He started playing in 2nd grade (iirc, Kageyama started playing around the same age). I said above, that couches will search players who are taller but same or even better than him.

Hoshiumi might started volleyball coz he couldn’t join basketball and he wanted to get away from his tall brother’s influence, but the fact remains: he started early. We know what happened to a player who started early: their technique, skill, and game sense are superior. This, is the reason why Hoshiumi was invited to the U19 camp. He has one of the highest overall stats in the series.

Now, Hoshiumi being a pro or not, we don’t know yet. But, personally, I think it’s true. As for why he could be pro and Hinata couldn’t, even tho Hinata obviously was also “little” monster in his 3rd year, I had a hunch that it was because of the U19 camp. Idk in Japan, but if it’s the same like in my country (Asian country), the fact that you were invited to a prestigious camp/training like that, will boost your CV. Add to that, if you apply to the same organization board that managed your camp/training, 95% you will get accepted. I can only think this as the reason why Hoshiumi could be pro far faster than Hinata... Or maybe, Hoshiumi got taller, maybe reached 178 cm-ish. There is an actual player from Japan’s National men team that is 178 cm. He’s a Wing Spiker. His name is Asano Hiroaki.

We don’t know yet whether Hinata was ever invited to the same Youth Camp or not in his 2nd year (the camp is only for 1st and 2nd years), but the selection is tight (I’m still salty that Noya-san wasn’t invited even tho his name is super famous in Miyagi). With chapter 370 which consists of flashbacks, I think we could safely say that Hinata wasn’t invited. We didn’t see him in The Youth Camp building. Instead, he was at Miyagi 1st Year Training Camp building and asking around about opportunity to train beach volley (remember, The Youth Camp and  Miyagi 1st Year Training Camp happen around the same time).

“How Hinata can be pro now? Say, he switched back to indoor, how could he play with a Japanese pro team? Or even, National team considering Furudate wants to write Olympic arc? You said, he might not get offers! Then, it’s even harder for him to get offer now after being under the Japan radar for so long!” 

Honestly, idk too. I can make headcanons, but I still want to see what Furudate will do with that. It’s what makes Haikyuu!! arc fun, the journey and the revelation. So I’m not about to complain to Furudate, coz it’ll be exciting to see how they will execute the “Hinata Shouyou joins pro/National team” arc.

But, if you insist on asking, hmm,,, it’s my headcanon, but, I think it’ll be cool to see Hinata plays a ball boy again (lol, tribute to the best arc for me) for the National team or any pro team. He applied as a ball boy, but in actuality, he wanted to train (or adjust, actually) in indoor court with the best facility. Then, accidentally, there was a ball strayed far and high (kinda like the scene in Shiratorizawa) and he jumped to catch it (super awesome ball boy, lmao) and people saw him and like “WTF! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?! CAN YOU PLAY?!”. Then, he played and people like “HOLY SHIT! COUCH, PLEASE CALL THE OFFICIALS, LET’S SIGN A CONTRACT WITH HIM!”.

It’d be even better if Hinata, knowing Kageyama was there, used a mask and a cap just for the sake of being a smartass and fooling Kageyama. But when he jumped to catch the stray ball, the cap fell and showing his bright orange hair and Kageyama realized who he is and shouted: “YOU!? YOU TOOK TOO LONG, BOKE!!! WHAT HAVE YOU BEEN DOING THESE PAST 3 YEARS?! YOU CAN PLAY, RIGHT?! NOW I HAVE A SET I WANNA PRACTICE, IT’S FAST BUT YOU’RE FAST, YOU CAN REACH IT. C’MON!”. Cue the shocked faces of the others in the room, they were all thinking “Kageyama-kun, he’s not a player...”

Another headcanon is, the high school coaches’ helping hands. Preferably, Washijou sensei. Idk, maybe they could introduce Hinata to someone or someone’s someone in a pro team. Similar to how Aoba Johsai’s coach introduced Oikawa to someone from Tachibana Red Falcons so that he could speak to Coach Flanco.

If not high school coaches, then maybe the players instead? The scenario of someone who was inspired by Hinata when facing him before helping him to get into a pro team is also good.

There you have it folks, my answers. I’m done. Damn, that’s long. I understand ya’ll don’t wanna read it, lol. But I should write it, hehe. My friend wanted my answer and analysis, so yeah. There it is.

To my friend: Babe, you better read all and stop whining. Asking is one thing, being noisy is another thing. Love you.

#haikyuu!! #haikyuu #haikyuu spoilers #haikyuu predictions #haikyuu analysis #or actually my rambling #sorry guys

[ckcker]

Fear of Being There

The scientists put 3D glasses on a cuttlefish I read in an article, which I pair with the unread email from a friend of twelve years sitting one tab away, it appears to partly be a link to some video.  Feeling brave, I gather speed and push to the open email, purposefully ignoring all of the friend’s written message to zoom into the thumbnail of the video link they shared with me, which shows on one side of the thumbnail the shocked open mouth of a drag queen reacting to what I assume to be the most heinous transgression.  On the other side, a porcupine’s needles blasting from inside the mid-section of what appears to be a burmese python.  “How could this scenario have ever happened,” I ask myself as I don’t click, then scan the message written above the link:

“are you still in Kansas City??”

“I saw our high school English teacher walking in the park with a huge clump of moss stuck on her ass, I’ve been wanting to tell you that for a long time”

“Carrie is in NA now and I never see her.  also I adopted a dog”

“I’m sad I haven’t heard from you in a long time but I respect that you are just doing your thing, doing what you think is best for you, I love you.  enjoy this video of a drag queen screaming as she watches a porcupine impale a boa constrictor from the inside, it really made me laugh.  It’s not real”

“I would love to visit some time if you’d have me, I would love a long road trip, no pressure.”  

All I ever felt towards this person was worry; they were frequently to be found painfully descending the valley of some knotty, unlubed parabola.  Suicide often seemed on the table though it was never openly discussed, and what was discussed and unburdened between us never seemed to offer this person any relief.  But, I had not seen them in almost two years — still, I worried.  The gristle of sympathy.  Though now I could only think this person a bit stupid for not electing revenge as the only compatible solution.  They wallowed, tried to make inroads on the community around them, multi-tasker, all I did was worry, wonder if there was no chance for them.  On my better days I in fact stopped worrying because I resolved to believe that there was no chance for them.  On worse days I used to encourage them to online date, to take classes in some technical craft and escape minimum wage, incredibly coming from me who has yet to escape minimum wage, I bloated them with the most despicable general advice most likely invented by some phantom community and popularized by rotating day time talk show cryptids.  I surprised myself, the self-help industry deluge came spilling readily from my own mouth, I had no other advice to give. No effect.  I had no idea what could help someone, I did not respond to the e-mail, the scientists put 3D glasses on the cuttlefish to study if it uses stereoscopic vision to hunt, love that.

I responded to the email by going out for a long walk.  The walk proceeded as planned.  And then, in front of my eyes, the glistening juice of a misdirected frappé bronzed itself on the sunlit sidewalk.  It was June.  The person who bought then dropped it when attempting to give their companion a lil sip seemed one or two involuntary grunts away from the most amateur keening. We did not know each other and passing by I said nothing, in another hour and a half it would be sunset and that was the daily alarm for my worst and most stupid memories.  

Walking without a plan for a couple miles had led me to nothing specific: a popular cafe with drive-thru option, and the entrance to some truncated nature preserve with an ample parking lot, that I barely observed.  The humiliated and frappé-less melody of the forlorn customer began to spread over my shoulder, I averted my gaze from the nature preserve to treat it as if an attractive face I was intimidated by.  The only use for such a pathetic nod to wilderness in an urban area should be frequent alien abduction.  I knew better than to hope for that, I was not a good multi-tasker and did best with a single plan of attack.  And I already had a good plan, through subtle make-up I was looking older by the day (more like the month).  Pretty soon I would dye my hair grey.  I considered it was something the young people of the era liked to do and not for the reason of appearing aged.  In fact, more than anything this coalition of young and old visual signifiers increased the proof of their wrinkle-free faces and accentuated the domineering stylistic awareness inherent to youth in a, unnaturally long energy-sucking sigh, capitalist country.  I continued to high step forward like a finickety markhor in a fugly mood. Then, finding myself facing a hard-to-cross state highway I concluded, “oh, haha…ok, ah……that’s fine” and turned back towards the unused nature preserve parking lot, “I am almost too far away from home anyway.” I sat on a curb on the side farthest away from the road.  Looking across the street I saw that the customer and friend had started to kiss.  A simple solution to the loss of the drink.  His body turned awkwardly, I allowed myself to espy the torque of the male’s twisted cargo short pocket and felt very little.  I was turned away from the forest preserve entrance, at sunset I would have the executioner’s urge to once again survey and prepare my Doha nights.  

The arrival of sunset did not derail my day, but it always succeeded in sequestering my concentration so as to remember that, perhaps, time — I felt fully sick of telling myself about it.  I would prefer an obsession more traditionally fun, there was something about the way the eyebrows (with near-unibrow between) met the sharp lines at the top of the hyrax-like nose of Q.C.’s gradually-hot-to-me face.  I did not spend too much time thinking on him, I had little control over my eyes when in his presence. Worse, attempting to appeal to him would mean calling off the whole ambitious deterioration project, which was fully under my control/the best path forward.  I did not spend much time thinking of him when not in his presence and the collective shimmy of maple tree leaves in the breeze appealed to my left side as it carried on through the row of trees behind me.  A sparrow bopped around the swath of thick grass to my right and was not interesting at all.  I knew I felt this about the sparrow because I turned away from it quickly.  Finally I rotated towards the nature preserve entrance.  Was this an opportunity for me to snag a poesis?  I wanted to be home in my bed alone.  I also wanted to pretend to be thriving, inspired and free.  I wanted to try to see the world for the first time again.  

I got up and started towards the forest path with the confidence and direction of the professional managerial class.  To appeal to Q.C. would involve a gravitational u-turn, I would have to cut my hair better, with more style and intention, I would have to once again attempt to wear clothes that mostly fit my body, with careful monitoring of the area where jeans could be hit firm with zested glute.  I would have to invest much mental analysis into determining how to embody his desire.  I would have to keep emphatic track of my body language and reactionary expressions when near him so as to appear at least some low level of confident and laid back.  The antithesis of an angry errant stump, sucking vengeance through an ancient straw lined with obsidian spikes that clacked ominously against dentures I did not need.  I could not appear as “depressed for two.” Again, and worst of all, I would have to deselect the only source of direction for the future, my only true idea for satisfaction: the pursuit of my literally new age.  My only chance to repair my original timeline, by controlling my own time.  The old tension between wanting badly to be noticed and desired by others, and wanting that definition of freedom which is the refusal of all external attention, both approval and disapproval, in order to bring about the most contained stability — of course that tension ran me ragged once again.  That wan zit, it really seemed scripted at this point, I worked very hard to send it to the background.  My body clearly sensed this when it activated the release of an ear wax ball the shape and weight of a gently used cheek piercing stud.  The feeling associated with its premiere and gruesome launch was similar to just catching the last concrete appearance and subsequent fadeout of a semi-interesting-but-ultimately-unremarkable ghost of a 52 year old coffee mug.

I entered the forest, which began with a layer of joyless mulch.  The opening of the trail had dimensions so wide even the most sexually depraved plant had little chance to gak its repressed gropeage on a passing body.  I looked up as I walked, realizing the only animal likely to be spotted here, at this time of day, would be a bird.  Perhaps I might see a hawk or turkey vulture.  My survey resulted only in the very soft swaying of stacked green branches in front of striated and unremarkable clouds.  After watching this gentle tableaux for about thirty seconds, I wanted to more than violently shake an in-his-prime Ansel Adams, ask him what in the unconscionably labyrinthine fauxhawk I’d just seen. Would he have looked twice at this sky — my glance still directed upwards, I heard its scabrous chirp before I saw it, and then I saw it and immediately hated its presence: a sparrow had landed on an oak branch forty feet above my head and wanted to stay there.  I refused to let it observe me, turning to it I suddenly screamed in the timbre of an aggressive synth orchestra hit.  Continuing my walk after compartmentalizing its non-reaction, I wondered how I might make these natural surroundings matter to me.  They made no inherent argument that profoundly engorged the fun bags, perhaps because I was generally hooked into things by chaos, aggression and arguments, not by continuity or bucolia.  I could identify the simpler trees at least.  Of course pines and maples were easy, birch too.  I could usually confirm oak and cherry through guesswork. Otherwise I wandered through a forest in a skein of unskilled silence, in some beta-level abyss that was never fact-checked.  I didn’t know if having the names of mosses and wildflowers and mushrooms made it easier to appreciate the woods I forced myself into.  That I recognized and questioned such absences in myself was part proof that I felt a large component missing in the ongoing construction of respect for humble surroundings, and part recall of an inherent tendency to not care much about my own construction.  Against the spirit of the times, I spurned the concept of “personal development,” both in the thought directives I gave myself, and in the level of base inertia and hatred of fitness that exposed me as down-low sirenia.  “Personal development” — I did not trust the idea.  But moderate walking was acceptable to me and I continued to walk.  All trees beside me were suddenly activated by a quite beefy breeze from inside the forest.  Mood was present.  And along the audio effects of the wind in heavy leaf-covered branches, I thought I heard a rustling in a different tempo one-hundred feet further along the path.  A clench shuttered my body.  Once, I was reckless.  I entered badly lit hotel rooms brimming with silhouettes of animatronic movements.  I took pills handed to me, only asking after I swallowed them what they were (bottom tier migraine medication).  These days nearly any situation outside my apartment brought the inflamed trance of cautious thoughts.  Where I seemed to hear the sound I saw nothing but the continuation of breeze, and felt fully the irregular welts of my prey mentality.  

But I did not turn to exit.  The introduction of humidity into early summer pumped a new game in me anyway, the godforsaken thirst for some swell of “possibility.”  Against my addiction to titanium cowardice, flicked this vague and acidic proposition for adventure — that most rancid word of careerist travel influencers and successful stunt doubles.  Heavy hot air seemed to ferment a perennial wildness of feeling that, in other weather conditions, remained neatly veiled in self-suck.  I hated that I could still be easily infiltrated by this hormonal illusion of “anything can happen,” despite all my malevolent associations with the phrase.  It was important to make a list of all the things that are possible. “Anything can happen” was a sloppy mantra full of menace and probably popularized at some point in the late 20th century to sell mini frozen bagels with pizza toppings.  The list of all the things that are possible is the list of most crucial truth, it is a list that serves as sublime prep for someone who has been through the full consummation of “anything can happen,” when the thing that happened was a mind-shedding, unmentionable thing.  I knew the culture at large was heavily against such a distrust of possibility, as the concept suggested monumental change and always for the better — the potential of fortune.  I also knew it was against the cosmetic grafting of extra skin to make what I suddenly decided to refer to as ‘my boys’ look especially wrinkled and saggy.  I stood still and surveyed the way partial sunlight glazed on and off the nearest bush of presumably poisonous berries.  I briefly turned around and took in the forest entrance in the distance, and beyond it the suggestion of abridged midwestern meadow, now also washing in and out of sunlight with an unpunished laze, that I felt very unused to.  Nowhere else in my life, to which I paid attention, obeyed that kind of rhythm.  This statement was immediately wrong and a direct contradiction of my slow motion lifestyle.  I allowed the statement to stand because its wistful gush was enjoyable, roughly spiritual, and juicy.  

It brought thoughts of a nightmare I once had that eventually, through sustained lack of action, curdled into just a dream, a dream that had a trolled atmosphere of never-ending.  A dream that felt three years long.  A nightmare-incubated dream that appeared seven months after that moment of apex possibility and only the second dream after.  

There was a group of us.  We were in a house, we didn’t know we were in a slasher movie, we had thought it was a self-liberation biopic.  We were pursued by a presence we did not expect.  But every time there was a shot of the killer, the killer had been deleted in post.  Only a tense and expectant camera followed us around, and we screamed at empty spaces at the top of the staircase and in corners of rooms.  Dissonant music accompanied us, which, now knowing we were in a horror movie, we expected and rolled our eyes at. But we never saw the killer and nobody ever died.  

I also remembered the first dream I had after the event, it was very short and involved me waking up at 7am to give a dog one cup of dry food.  The density of hanging leaves in the forest began to inch a feeling of haunch and ceiling overhead, the light landing on the settled foliage only in splatters of rhapsodic dag.  The inevitable feeling of being alone in the woods, despite the steady wash of faraway highway motors, is intimacy with something.  You believe you are not being seen, when small and mundane animals see you, it means absolutely nothing.  With a bear or mountain lion in the mix, at last you will truly feel “seen.”  I was in a freely neglected and shrunken nature preserve on the edge of a midwestern city, I did not think it was possible to be seen by a bear and so I did not feel like I could be noticed.  Thus I felt intimacy.  

The content of that intimacy had zero intellectual value.  It was only the comfort of being fully hidden, safe and alone.  I was impressed by how much thick cover the trees supplied since the preserve itself was state park theater.  The trees hid me from the sky, repressed my existence from something that could watch me.  I basked.  I thought of the substantial bulge of an older male in tight-fitting jean shorts.  In this context of feeling unseen, it seemed the thru line of my consciousness in bringing up such an image was the keyphrase, “something hidden.”  The intimacy began to retreat as a counter.  Again, my head disenrolled me from a healing terrestrial feeling; it looked at nature with vast inexperience, it pursued a perspective of mountainscape print out.  I tried to recover the hypnotic sap of that momentary solitude and continued walking. Of course the interruption of erotica in mind is one of the more iconic nature moves.  And yet for some reason it seemed to unravel the hallmark atmospherics of a more investigative mystery.  Such a divide was proven by watching my pivots of attention between two tickles.  For instance, on one side, direct observation of a boner. The other side, fog covering an empty island highway at night.  I thought I knew well the narrative arc of a priapism, and I thought I did not yet know much about the carnage in my seeping memories.  It seemed obvious — of the things that controlled me, I prioritized with meaning the one I did not know much about.  And instinctively, being alone under thick canopy felt like good setup for that kind of self-irrigation.  I thought of the bulge again then saw another sparrow and after it reasonably bopped about for a skoach I suggested to it, “get away from me fuckface.” Again it did not move.  

I walked several paces off the path and leaned against a definite oak trunk, wondering if my old person stage makeup was still intact, glancing towards the voyeuristic rays of sun slipping through the trees, well diffused and beginning their noticeable descent.  I listened.  After approx. twenty seconds of listening I heard the long-churning spew of a motorcycle gunning down the road about a quarter mile away, somehow powerful enough to overwhelm the peaks of forest ambience with its quite rascally discharge, hunh, the streaks of horrific classic rock revival spraying after it.  I thought, “stop subverting me,” then felt the newly introduced stance of someone in my peripheral vision.  They did not advance or retreat but did fidget.  Probably, I could not be sure without glancing directly, pretending to look up something on their phone.  They seemed about fifteen feet away from me, I considered if I would have to kill them in self-defense.  

“How’s it going?” a man’s voice directed at me from the trail, giving me permission to look at him directly.  A balding but well-maintained buzz of greying black hair, glasses, a thin white-yellow-green-black button down tartan print department store shirt tucked into leather belt and loose fitting blue jeans, the eye eventually and uncontrollably being led down to the neon pink, orange and yellow running shoes with white laces low-key dusted in a sampling of diaphanous schmutz.  My “hi” was squeezed out with full defenses.  The man did not say anything back but immediately enacted some plan of his, made obvious in his eyes that pressed on my face with an unmistakable singularity. He pursued unbroken eye contact to evaluate the potentiality of the interaction. I responded by looking away, remembering it was a powerful move in the game. I also refused to believe he thought me attractive enough for whatever in-development future passed through his turgescent nethers.  As a mature adult, I was no longer available to rawk out with my cawk out but clearly the cast of desperation on the man made it possible for me to appear sexually acceptable, as evidenced by his not leaving.  Nor did I imagine that he produced much foregrounded desire in an m4m community; lastly he probably stayed because he was closeted.  I tried to maintain an appearance of clueless indifference, comparable in chillness to deciding to write ‘U R’ in a text message the same moment you observe a plastic bag fly in the wind towards a sleeping stray cat. Since the man did not leave or say anything, I also waited another 7-10 seconds in silence and downward glance.  Yet this tactic, usually so effective in social settings, had failed, and so I looked at him again.  And again the charged stare of non-verbal magic.  The humid air was beginning to slightly cool as the wind filled the space between my collar and neck, suggesting it might rain soon.  But behind the man’s head the sun, flanked by fleshy lard-swept clouds in various indigo exposures, was still visible.  I hoped if the increase in gusts continued that they might produce a temporary bald spot on the crown of my head as I said, “why are you looking at me?”

He did not immediately respond, but severed all links with my eyes.  I watched his glance minutely dart from one close location on my face to the next, “do you have makeup on?”

Each generation, freer than the last. The man did not know the answer for sure, but that he had noticed something was confirmed.  Very exciting, I beamed internally.  I controlled the beam.  There was still so much work to be done.  

Towards the man I projected breathtaking displeasure.  I assumed the keyed up tone of someone wanting to be regularly shared on the internet: “I’m just trying to enjoy the forest on my day off sis so don’t—” and shut off inexplicably, though recognizing as the system recoiled that the implication of this man’s advances had lightly cracked some automated timecode in my lower lefthand corner of frame.  My body — I had only felt it all of a sudden.  Shoulders were arched forward to protect my underbelly, chest was swollen and stuffed with the debris of a delayed reaction of terror, single inconsistent tingle in left leg suggested the tiniest strobing marquee aimed at the brain, suggesting “run.”  I had thought, this is not a dangerous situation at all.  A little unusual but not something I haven’t experienced before.  Something I could refuse and easily walk away from.  

The body had behaved differently.  Sunset mounted.  The body had believed it was going to die.  I hadn’t even noticed.  Internal monologue always suggested much to investigate when looking for a solution, it presented long interconnected hallways and sliding doors, considerations of escape and tactical movement.  It berated the body for not reading the situation correctly or at all, it hated the body’s spontaneous and inept mechanisms.  It relished any reference to the phrase “bassackwards” but in this case the body was right.  If I was to be killed by this person was still up in the air, I leaned towards no, but the body had not been reacting to my imminent death, only suggesting how relaxedly I pretended to advance through commercial district sidewalks, gas station candy aisles, cruisy chip bag-strewn forest preserves as if I’d never been reorganized by some sort of adaptation of death in which you survive. There was much work to be done, much work, to make the hair of my eyebrows more profuse and unkempt.  My nose hair, which was way too thin and manageable, samesies.  It was with the failure of a deep breath that the gauze of that summer sunset coaxed me back into the scene, despite the marquee now reading “Run II: Darkest Before Dawn.”  The man had not known how to respond to my ejection from the clapback.  I took stock, the forest appeared momentarily still and squirrelless.  His energy seemed as if grappling with the possible realities of what I was.  If crazy, at least in the way that interferes with verbal communication, I was no longer an option in his “mmm………damn”-ridden design.  If crazy but able to continue clear conversation, or if so shy as to appear only intermittently awkward in conversation with strangers, I was still a highly available mark.  

“Do you like it here?” he asked.  It seemed that micro makeup and abandoned sentences were not considered dealbreakers for someone in his position.  My body continued to want to leave and I stayed, he took a few steps forward, staring again with that binary intensity where the recipient must commit to its endgame or flash exit.  

A strap broke in me: I suggested, “I hate it here.”  The comment reached him. He looked as if to be re-processing me under a blank face but maintained his slow approach.  I was answering his questions coherently and so I was incredibly sexy, perhaps.  “I’m not doing well,” I followed up, using a long-acting smile-to-smirk succession in an attempt to muffle it.  

This was ignored, “I’ve got a pretty big one,” silence, breeze, sunset, wow — squirrel, “what are you looking for out here, alone?”  

Silence, squirrel, “you know where you are, right?”

Breeze, trees, sunset, reggaeton in the distance, instinct erupted — I stepped forward. “It’s not yet time for my annual anal,” my voice cracked.  “In fact, it won’t happen this year, or ever again.”  

A pause was produced, though it was clear he didn’t quite grasp my meaning.  I stood still, now staring at him in order to properly knead the info.  Finally a look of understanding on his face — “oh, I’m sorry” and he exited back up the trail, all spells dismantled.  

I remained in the woods.  I looked at the squirrel.  I even yearned to see a sparrow, uninterested in knowing why.  I allowed the intellectual regulations to rest, I listened to the joyous pump of prancing squirrel feet on twig-bedazzled forest floor.  I looked at the sunset, while blocking the word “beautiful,” and liked it.  I walked to the path, turning away from the exit with the rush of a recently liberated preteen spray-painting an anarchy symbol on the door of a rusty abandoned sedan next to discontinued freight train tracks that are overgrown with weeds and yellow wildflowers.  I wanted to walk deeper into the woods, I wanted to be in the woods when it got dark.  I wanted to be alone and without a mind.  Knowing it was untrue, I nevertheless proposed to myself, “I think I could cum just from being alone for 3 weeks.”  After a feisty fifty or sixty steps around the curving path, I met chain link fence separating the forest from a row of backyards and their respective single family homes.  I thought of the cliche of an evil character in a kid’s movie laughing maniacally for some time then very suddenly stopping to present a severe and unamused face.  It surfaced as a whimper.  

[haikyuulovercompany]

scenario where kuroo's fem crush starts developing a crush on tsukishima and starts talking about him 24/7 anD I WANT ALL THE ANGST GIVE ME PAIN GIVE ME SADNESS GIVE ME—

I’m not sure I made it as angsty as you wanted it to be :( 

I removed the ‘Keep Reading’ because I remembered people using the tumblr app usually can’t see it. So… sorry for the long post. 

——

With every thing one does, small or big, there is always the possibilitythat it could go wrong. We never have the entire reassurance that somethingwill go as planed, or imagined. Kuroo was aware of this, especially as thecaptain of a sport’s team, where losing was half of the possibilities in eachgame.   

So when he fell in love with one of his classmates, he made a list ofeverything that could go wrong. And more often than not, unrequited love didn’thave happy endings. And life didn’t disappoint him.  

She had always called his attention. She had something that his eyesfound attractive and soothing. If they were in the same room, his gaze woulddirectly go to her, so when she appeared around the training camp, he noticedher right away. She was walking with her friends on the street as he waswaiting for the bus that would bring Karasuno into the installations. At themoment he thought he was the luckiest guy on earth.

He politely had said hello to her, and she and her friends reciprocatedthe greeting before he started making small talk with her. They were goodfriends after all; there was nothing suspicious in that. 

But in the current state his life was, he wished he’d never stopped herright there. 

Within a couple minutes into their conversation, he had to interrupt itdue to the big yellow bus arriving. He smiled, and he let the girls know allabout the Nekoma long-time volleyball rival. He talked with confidence tryingto impress the girl for whom his heart had a special preference without knowinghe was digging his own grave. He should have told them it was time for him togo, so they could have done the same. But no, he wanted to impress her.

He received Karasuno with his casual pose, and a half smile. In his mindshe was looking at him attending his duties as a proud captain. It was silly,and almost stupid, however, he thought it was a unique chance. 

Sadly, and completely out of his knowledge, her eyes weren’t on him as hewas thinking. Her eyes had adverted someone else, and all of her attention wastaken away from him. She couldn’t stopstaring at the tall blonde that had stepped out of the bus. Her friends weresnickering as they saw their friend blushing. 

That was the day when his personal nightmare began.

The next Monday she had approached him with millions of questions aboutthe training camp. Kuroo felt excited. It seemed she was having a new intereston him, and that was more than he had hoped.

It was a short conversation before life grabbed his heart and smashedit against the cold hard floor. With a sweet and shy smile and flustered cheeksthat melted him to the core, she made the question that shattered him.

“I’m a little embarrassed for having to ask this but… uhm… who was thetall blond guy?” he must have made a funny face because she explained a littlefurther. “You know, from the team that came from Miyagi.” 

Kuroo knew whom she was talking about.

He damn well knew.

He cleared his throat aware that if he didn’t his voice was going tocome out shaken, almost broken.

“Why?” it was all he could pronounce. Now she was the one who lookedsurprised. He bet she didn’t expect him to question her, and he should not havedone it since he had no right to sneak his nose into her business.

She shuffled a little on her place before answering. “I mean… I feelcurious, I just want to know his name.”

Kuroo closed his eyes and faked a smile like he had never faked onebefore. If he had already dug his grave, he was about to put the first nail onhis coffin.

“Tsukishima Kei. Middle blocker.” Her eyes shone with the name, and withthat he was about to give up the fight. Suddenly a little, but incrediblyimportant detail came to his mind. “And he is a first year. Two years youngerthan us.”

“Uh, really?” she asked. He could hear the slight disappointment in hertone, and he hated himself for finding satisfaction in that. “He looks older.”

“Well, he’s tall for his age.”

“He really is,” she showed a faint smile. “Well, thank you Tetsuro-san.”

“You’re welcome.” 

With that she disappeared. He then had a mix of emotions. He might haveruined her newfound crush in Tsukishima, but that didn’t make him feel anybetter. She still liked him, she still found him attractive.

He at least thought it was going to be over. She was going to forget himin a week or two like most girls did. 

Man, he was dead wrong.

Only a couple days later he had caught her talking with one of herfriends in class. She was cheery, and excited, and her hands flew everywhere asshe talked. People said that curiosity killed the cat, and it was painfullyironic how much that saying applied to him.

He heard what he shouldn’t have.

The age difference hadn’t done anything. She was talking aboutTsukishima, about how she loved his looks, and how she had finally found him insocial media. 

His hands became tight fists, and his nails clenched into his palms. Hefelt tears welling in his eyes, and he had to make a superhuman effort to keepthem in place, to not let his frustration show.

He stood up from his place, and left the room. He didn’t care if hemissed classes, or even volleyball practice. He didn’t care about any goddamnthing for the rest of the day.

Time went by and he kept hearing about him. Tsukishima’s name reachedhis ears more and more often. The way she pronounced his name killed him, andmade him feel despair. He cursed the day he met her on the street. If he onlyhad let her go her own way she would have never seen him. She would beunaware of his existence, and Kuroo would still have his shot with her.  

The next time Karasuno came around Tokyo for another training weekend,he couldn’t help the sea of emotions that was currently eating him away. Assoon as Nekoma had a match against Karasuno he aimed his best spikes atTsukishima. He was tactless with his attacks. So what if Kuroo hurt him? A bruiseon his arms, or a sprained finger was quick to heal. It wouldn’t compare to theway his heart broke every single day.

He ignored the inquisitive looks some of the Karasuno guys threw at him.He was being more aggressive than usual, so what? He would let them guess.

That was his initial attitude until Yaku practically yanked him againsta wall. He was small compared to Kuroo, but he was strong.  

“I don’t know what’sgot into you, but you don’t have to be an asshole to the others,” Yaku had saidwith a deep frowned.

And he was right; it wasn’t Tsukishima’s fault. He had no idea the girlKuroo loved was currently crushing on him. He even dared to say that even ifTsukishima knew, he wouldn’t bat an eye.

What else could he do? His was currently under control of his emotions.He had never felt such a thing. The pain he was feeling was a new experience,one he wanted to forget and never live again. His chest hurt every time he breath, and every time he looked at her, he felt as if a hammer was smashing against his system destroying his sanity. 

What used to be joy, now only felt like torture. Her face no longer meant happiness, being around her caused him nothing more than frustration. His chance with her had been ripped away from him in a matter of seconds. How was he supposed to deal with that?

And if Tsukishima wasn’t at fault, and he had no right to say something toher, what in the hell was he supposed to do? He needed to vent his pain, or hewould go insane. He was in genuine pain. 

He blamed himself, and blamed destiny, or coincidence or whatever forcehad brought her to that exact street, at that exact hour.

Couldn’t she understand he was younger? Or that he lived in anotherprefecture?

He wanted to scream those things to her face. Tsukishima didn’t know sheeven existed. The possibility of them meeting was close to impossible. So why? 

Whywas she crushing on someone so unattainable? he asked to himself. 

Then he looked at himself in his bathroom mirror. Tears were rollingdown his cheeks, and pouring like waterfalls from a pair of swollen eyes. Helooked defeated, and anyone who see him would be able to tell how shattered inside he was for that girl. 

His own answer was right there in his own reflection.

——

Thanks for the request! I hope you liked it. 

#kuroo tetsurou #kuroo #nekoma #scenario #scenarios #haikyuu scenario

[webcricket]

Nudge Theory

Characters: CastielXReader, Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester

Word Count:  3936 (Act III)

A/N: A five act mini-series. The reader and Castiel must work together to solve the curious case of the missing Winchesters. Fluff, smut, and a plot for kicks. Be warned - this act contains written erotica content. After all, the third act is nothing without a climax [or two].

Completed Series Masterlist:

webcricket.tumblr.com/post/162181272535/nudge-theory-masterlist

Nudge [verb] –

·       “Coax or gently encourage someone to do something.”

“How the hell did I miss this?” Vintage yellow photo thrust ahead at arm’s length, you squinted contemptuously between it and the modern angled shining building sitting on a rolling hill previously occupied by the notorious Clifton Springs Sanatorium - everything gleamed new right down to the freshly lain vibrant green sod.

Mapping uncharted recesses of thought at an overly decorous distance to your person, coat flapping in the grass-scented breeze, Castiel thumbed through the news clippings in John Winchester’s journal, comparing them to the small local newspaper he held announcing the grand opening of the Clifton Springs Senior Center – finally complete after five arduous years of construction setbacks. Holding a fluttering piece of paper to his nose, inhaling the smudged ink, his sky blues milled in confusion, “These clippings Sam collected about the sanatorium, they’re all very old. Ten, maybe eleven years.”

“Maybe even twelve or thirteen?” You peeped sidelong at the angel, jamming the old photo and your hands into your pockets, closing the distance to his side in a few short strides, “Maybe Sam decided to take up scrapbooking. Practical hobby for a hunter really, and certainly safer on his liver in the long run than Dean’s chosen one.”

“None of this makes sense,” Cas disregarded your sarcastic snipe at the Winchesters, refiling the paper in the journal, dark curls tickling his forehead in an errant gust of wind.

The more the angel ignored your efforts at teasing and prodding him out of his shell the more you felt inclined, obligated even, hell-bent one might say, to persist in re-establishing the flirtatious rapport you somehow lost in a random cornfield on the side of the highway at mile marker 156. You scratched your head thoughtfully, “You know, you’re absolutely right. Now that I think about it, he’s probably more of a paper mache guy.”

Cas squinted apathetically at you, unaware you interpreted this silence as a formal declaration of war.

Deciding it best to fall back for the moment and formulate a new line of attack, you shifted your concentration back to the case. “I hate small towns,” sighing, shrugging, lips thrumming as you exhaled, “news travels like lightening inside them, and at a snail’s pace out. But just because the sanatorium is history, doesn’t mean the curse, haunting, or whatever is scheduled to start killing people around here tomorrow is gone too.”

“Dear, why don’t you ask this sweet young couple for help,” a meek voice quivered behind your backs.

You and the angel turned around to find the source, discovering a deeply-lined frail woman in a wheelchair wringing her hands over and over and a hunchback pink-faced man panting and clutching knobby fingers at the handles of the chair.

“Hate to bother you,” the man wheezed, gesturing up toward the senior center, “but I’m afraid this incline has got the better of me. Old legs, old lungs, you know.”

“Oh, we’re not a…” You ceased your protest when Cas abruptly tossed the journal in your direction.

“Of course, allow me,” the angel smiled politely, assuming the elderly man’s place behind the wheelchair to relieve his burden, maneuvering up the walkway toward the center entrance.

“Thanks son,” the man waved him off, fissured countenance beaming when he faced you, “fine young man you have there.”

You accepted the man’s chivalrously proffered elbow, crooking your arm through his and shuffling forward up the hill. Your attention settled on the angel’s square shoulders as he walked several paces ahead, “And how can you tell?”

“Former army man I reckon,” the fellow spoke with an air of authority on the matter, “I can always spot a soldier. Ready to leap into action. Yes, indeed, fine young man you have.”

“You’re quite the keen observer,” you gave his arm a gentle squeeze, “mister?”

“Mr. Kinlay, Al,” he filled in the blank, pointing ahead, “my wife Marge. Sixty-two years we’ve been married.”

“Well it’s very nice to meet you both. I’m Y/N, and that fine young man you’ve so astutely identified is Castiel,” you couldn’t help but savor the feel of the angel’s name on your tongue.

“And how long have you two been together?” Mr. Kinlay innocently inquired.

The subtle rigidity hitching the angel’s gait informed you he could hear every word you exchanged with the old man - you decided to toy with him by revealing the thinly veiled truth. “Oh, it seems like we met only yesterday,” you chuckled, “I just knew he was an angel the moment I laid eyes on him.”

“Ah, young love, young love!” Mr. Kinlay bobbed his head, a nostalgic grin cracking his mouth. The center doors whined open on automatic hinges upon your approach. Mr. Kinlay excused himself from your side with a thankful pat on your hand, resuming his position behind his wife’s wheelchair, “Thank you, son. Much obliged.”

Mrs. Kinlay peered up between you and Cas, eyes twinkling beneath crepey skin as she looked the angel up and down approvingly, “He’s a dreamy one isn’t he? I remember when you were a strapping young lad like that, Al dear. And such a beautiful girl by his side.”

A rush of heat erupted across your chest, neck, and cheeks - the disremembered recollection of the erotic dream you had in the car on the drive here featuring the angel freed from seeming oblivion by the elderly woman’s words. Suddenly the whole waking up in an abandoned vehicle to find the angel in a field scenario made complete sense - he must know about the dream.

Mr. Kinlay wheeled his wife away with a parting wink, “I may not be a strapping young lad anymore, but Marge dear, you’re still the most beautiful woman in the world.”

“Y/N?”

You weren’t exactly a quiet dreamer according to past roommates - no wonder Cas balked when you touched him and went all business of the case. Your cheeks flushed impossibly redder.

“Y/N?” When you failed to respond to your name a second time, Cas’ fingers inquiringly touched your arm, “Is something wrong? You appear, unwell.”

You jumped, startled at the contact, heart and mind racing, somehow both losing as you barely suppressed the urge to flee, “No, uh.” Groping clumsily in your jacket pockets you produced an EMF reader, “Just thinking I should check for spirits as long as we’re here.” You bolted through the doors, mumbling, “Maybe you could ask around, see if anyone has felt cold spots, heard strange sounds, whatever. Meet back at the car in 15.”

Five minutes spent in the bathroom running cold water over your feverish face, and ten more wandering the halls fruitlessly searching for EMF spikes were enough to calm your nerves, at least the visible ones – or so you hoped. “I got nothing,” you huffed, approaching the car, striving to appear as casual as humanly possible while avoiding looking directly at the angel.

Cas leaned against the hood, arms folded across his chest, blankly staring across the parking lot. “Taking into account the poor circulation of the aged and infirmed and the tendency for hearing aids to malfunction,” he grumbled, “I got the same.”

You fished the phone from your pocket, scowling at the screen, “Nothing from Sam or Dean either.” On a whim, you scrolled through your contacts list and smashed your thumb on Dean’s smirking mug.

A nearby trash bin began to ring.

You exchanged a wide-eyed glance with the angel, immediately disconnecting and trying again.

The trash can rang ominously.

Cas strode over to the bin and wrenched off the top. Digging around, he produced a pair of discarded cell phones.

“I guess that explains why they aren’t answering,” you kicked the bin, groaning a combination of frustration and pain - the bin having been securely bolted to the cement walkway. For the moment, the pain gave you welcome distraction from your blundering sexual interest in the angel.

“It also tells us we’re on the right track,” Cas slipped the phones into his coat pocket for safekeeping.

“Right, silver lining,” your mind again wandered, wondering what else the angel had hidden in those bottomless pockets, and for that matter, under all those unnecessary layers of clothing. You mentally swatted the thought asunder, forcefully redirecting your brain to focus on the missing brothers, “Why the hell would they dump their phones?”

He narrowed his eyes, angling to read a tiny block print sign on the side of the bin, “I don’t know, but according to this town ordinance, these receptacles are required to be emptied every afternoon by 3PM.” He straightened up, gazing over at you, “That means Sam and Dean were here sometime during the past 24 hours.”

“It’s a small town, and those boys are nothing if not predictable,” a hopeful smile blossomed on your lips, “what do you say, angel? Do we check in to the kitschiest motel we can find, or grab burgers and pie at an all-night diner first?”

His nose crinkled, jaw slackening askance, uncertain if you were proposing tracking down the Winchesters based upon their well-known habits which somehow had not yet gotten them killed, or not so subtly propositioning him.

“Nevermind, let’s just go,” realizing the ambiguity of your phrasing in light of your apparent inability to control your oversexed brain, you spun on your heel, retreating to the car.

Twelve diners (in what you surmised must be a per capita ratio of 1 diner per 10 residents), one police station (the word station being quite generous for what amounted to a room smaller than most closets), and six motels (for some inexplicable reason all UFO themed) later, you found yourself sprawled face down on a bed in the last motel you’d canvased. You mumbled unintelligibly into the scratchy comforter, “I don’t understand how no one saw them. Sam is like 8 feet tall and they drive a freaking billboard advertisement for muscle cars.”

Cas sat on the opposite bed, slouched over, elbows resting on his knees, chin perched on folded hands, angelic ears managing to translate the intent of your mumbling, “Perhaps something prevented them from staying in town. Their father wasn’t exactly known for his tact and from the journal entry we know he has history here.”

You rolled over to glare at the ceiling, running your hands over your face and knotting them into your hair, “Maybe, maybe that’s why they needed backup. I don’t know Cas, it’s all so vague. All I know is we have to stay in town. If the kill cycle starts again tomorrow in spite of the sanatorium’s destruction, someone needs to be here to stop it and we’re on deck.”

“Agreed,” the angel pressed his hands to his knees and stood. Rummaging through his pockets he crossed the room to place the brothers’ phones and John Winchester’s journal on the dresser.

“I’m going to grab a quick shower,” you flopped from the creaky bed, shedding your jacket and toeing off your boots and socks before disappearing into the bathroom. Force of habit fostered as a lone hunter meant you didn’t bother to close the door; it simply didn’t occur to you as something to be done.

Cas began to tack up case notes and organize the spotty information you had collected regarding the 13 year cyclic deaths.

You drifted out of the bathroom after a few minutes, trailed by a cloud of steam, rivulets of water dripping from your hair and clad only in a loosely wrapped flimsy white towel which left nothing to the imagination, to search through your duffle whilst cursing under your breath about sub-par motel toiletries.

Eyes glossing over the old clippings and police reports, the angel caught sight of you in his periphery. He swallowed a low growl, unable to repress the involuntary reaction of his vessel to your exposed skin.

“Find something?” You glanced over, curious, alerted by the strange sound, triumphantly clutching lavender body wash to your bosom.

“No, um, it’s just very frustrating,” he stammered, fidgeting with a file folder and sheepishly looking everywhere but in your direction.

Quirking a bemused eyebrow, you shrugged off his odd behavior, returning to your shower.

The angel courageously endeavored not to allow his thoughts to dwell on you – naked, wet, attractive, and quite possibly thinking of him this very instant as you lathered your body. He resisted the urge to eavesdrop on your thoughts, instead valiantly reading and re-reading the gruesome autopsy details of victims, trying to dampen his arousal. The contented moaning noises you made as the hot water soothed your tense muscles making it increasingly difficult for him to do so. Overwhelmed to the point where he required retreat or relief, he dropped the case file to the dresser and made for the door.

“Where are you going?”

Your voice arrested his escape, mid-turn of the doorknob, “I, um, for a walk. To think, uh, about the case.”

“Wait up, let me get dressed. We can brainstorm,” you bent to grab clean clothes from your bag. When you glanced over at the angel to determine his response to your suggestion, he awkwardly stood sideways, fist still poised on the doorknob, shoulders rigid, staring at the dingy carpet between his feet as though he hoped it might open and swallow him whole. Eyes landing on the evident erection straining through his pants, you comprehended why he so urgently needed fresh air. Heart pounding in your throat, the change of clothes slipped forgotten from your fingers - the proverbial elephant in the room shattering any and all inhibitions you held. Drawing in a sharp breath, you embraced the route of boldness. Crossing the room, you reached out, laying a palm on his arm, speaking deliberately, “Castiel, you can go for that walk alone, or you can stay here and I can help you with your, predicament.”

He gulped hard, lust-blown pupils flitting to nervously regard you.

Edging nearer, fingers descending to suggestively tug at his belt buckle, you purred, “I think you already know what I’d prefer, angel.”

His expression darkened - seizing your waist, he pivoted and pinned your body to the door with a guttural growl, smashing chapped lips to yours.

Parting your lips, you submitted to the wanton dominance of his mouth with a moan, relishing the taste of late summer honey on his tongue. Shoving the trench coat and suit jacket over his shoulders, your fingers scrambled for purchase across the rippling muscles of his back.

His hands skimmed the curve of your hips to roughly knead your ass, lips breaking from yours to nuzzle and suck your neck, voice vibrating against your skin, “Is this what you want, human? Rough, like in your dream?” Stubble prickling delicate skin, he nipped and bruised the sensitive flesh of your pulse point.

Simpering, feigning shock, you rammed his chest with both palms, herding him backward with a dark glare until the backs of his knees hit the bed and he collapsed onto it, “Did you spy on me, angel?”

Shrinking into himself, his demeanor tempered apologetically, “I thought you were having a nightmare. I didn’t mean…”

“Shh, it’s alright,” you cooed, balancing your hands on his shoulders, straddling his thighs, settling into his lap and kissing the tip of his nose. He truly was a walking contradiction if you ever met one and you had no idea what to make of him - one moment he was a dominant, confident, virile seraph, and in the blink of an eye the uncertain, cautious, anxious, kind of pitiable, fallen angel re-emerged. You hooked a finger under his chin, lifting hooded eyes to meet yours, “Tell me, angel, did my dream excite you? Is that why you ran away?”

“Yes,” apprehension assuaged, his fingers nudged under your towel, thumbs rubbing small circles into your thighs, “and yes.”

You rocked your hips into his clothed arousal, eliciting a rumbling groan from his throat - the sinful noise inciting a rush of heat to your core.

“Y/N, wait…I,” he stuttered, higher reasoning battling carnal desire to regain composure. He firmly gripped your hips, thwarting the glorious friction you desperately sought, anxiety returning to trace his countenance.

“What’s wrong?” You studied the angel’s furrowed aspect, fingers tangling into the curls at his nape.

The line of his brow deepened, furtively meeting your questioning gaze, “I, uh, isn’t it customary for me to, um, buy you dinner first?”

An amused smile twisted up the side of your mouth, “Castiel, I don’t care what’s customary. I’ve wanted you since the moment we met. I trust what feels organic, do you understand?” Smile fading, you acknowledged the distinct possibility he didn’t feel the same, “If you don’t want this, just tell me.”

“I understand,” he relaxed his grip on your hips. Snaking warm hands up and around your back, he dislodged the towel from your torso with a small smile, “I do want this - want you. Very much.” His lips fell to pepper your collarbone with open-mouthed kisses, growling into your shower damp lavender-scented skin, he chided, “You never answered my question.”

“Hmm,” you tousled his hair, melting under his ministrations, shallowly undulating your hips as he bucked to meet your movements, “what question was that?”

“About your dream,” he lightly marked your collarbone with a nip, “how you want me to be.”

“Castiel,” hands falling to cup his cheeks, you pulled him up to your lips for a long tender kiss. Parting for air, softly gasping as you sucked and released his lower lip, your breath ghosted humid in his ear, whispering, “I want you to be you, angel.”

Your simple sentiment, a testament to the beauty contained within your soul, charged electrically through his celestial being. He grinned against your shoulder, in a fluid motion flipping you to your back and lying beside your languid figure. Gazing affectionately into your eyes, he swept a stray wisp of hair behind your ear. Pliant lips touched yours, unhurried, kissing you deep and slow and worshipfully. Burrowing his nose into your neck, he began to draw a meandering path down the center of your body, diverting to explore every divot and curve, attentively noting the locations which made you squirm with ticklish delight and those which caused you to writhe in pleasure, allowing his grace to linger tantalizingly at the latter spots as his fingers continued their keen exploration.

Eagerly anticipating his target as he inched below your navel, clenching and unclenching your thighs, you clutched at his hand, humming, ��Cas, please, angel-” You encouraged him to move lower, “I need more.”

His mouth captured yours, again sweetly passionate. You shivered, moaning, as he cupped your aching sex, praising you, “Such a stunning creation, the purest soul housed within a most exquisite vessel, but so impatient.” Leaning over to lavish your breast with his tongue, swirling and sucking the hardened bud, he mercifully eased a finger into your throbbing center. Every flick of his tongue across your sensitive nipple mirrored the come hither curl of his finger - first one, and then another, and another dipping to stretch and fill you completely, igniting a fire in your abdomen. He worked your body slowly, thoroughly, until every nerve ending blazed with pleasure.

“Cas, mmm-close,” you mewled, walls tensing around his long fingers as he stoked your g-spot again and again. The tingling heat of his grace licked and engulfed your clit, setting you fully aflame, the burn of release sucking the very oxygen from your lungs, leaving you dizzied and panting.

“So beautiful when you come undone,” the angel kissed your sweat sheened temple, gradually withdrawing his grace, now cooling and comforting in its wake.

Dazed senses returning to a semblance of normalcy, you snuggled to the angel’s chest, pressing arousal swollen lips lovingly to his, shaky fingers fumbling to unbutton the crisp white dress shirt still separating you from his bare skin, “Castiel, I need you, all of you.” Buttons conquered, your fingers swiftly sank to unfasten his belt, simultaneously delving your tongue to explore his intoxicatingly honeyed mouth.

He groaned low, breath hitching when you palmed his rock hard arousal through the thin material of his boxers, wantonly grinding against your hand. Fingers needful, digging into your waist, he pushed you back to the bed, crawling to hover over your body, aspect wrecked with desire.

Gazing steadily into nearly black pupils, your thumbs looped to slip the boxers and pants down his hips in one motion, freeing his thick perfectly curved cock.

Weight collapsing onto your body, caging you within his arms, he rutted rhythmically against your dripping folds. Quietly praying, tone melodious, he kissed the salty skin of your neck - the words those of an ancient tongue, yet somehow familiar.

Untangling your arms, trailing fingers down his back, you reached between your bodies, stroking his cock and lining the tip to your entrance.

With a final choked chant, he sank into you, grunting, frame shuddering with the restraint required to still himself, allowing you to adjust to his girth.

Bending your knees to your chest to take him even deeper, you raked your nails up his back, breathlessly clutching his torso, “Angel, move.”

Every powerful thrust sent pleasure coursing through your quaking frame, surging down your thighs, curling your toes. Crossing your ankles, your heels pressed into his buttocks, altering the angle of his thrusts to hit your sweet spot. Increasingly ragged breathing, grunts, moans, and the obscenely wet slap of skin on skin echoed in the room. “Castiel,” you panted, teetering on the edge of orgasm, his name carrying the weight of your desire. “Cas-,” name catching in your throat, gripping his sweat-slick shoulders, head lolling to the bed as he dropped his head to your neck. “Cas!” Sharply gasping, urgent, tide breaking, pleasure flooded your senses, your walls pulsating around him.

Pace faltering, muscles trembling, he cried out your name. Plunging deep, cock twitching, he spilled his warm release. Rolling to his back, he cuddled you close to his chest.

Stretching an arm across his waist, a pleasure drunk grin painted your face, “Cas, that, you, you’re amazing.”

He combed his fingers lazily through your shower wet hair, a soft chuckle convulsing his chest, calmly confessing, “I’m relieved to hear you say so. The only other woman I’ve been intimate with turned out to be a reaper maliciously seeking information she wrongly thought I possessed.”

You propped up on an elbow to stare at him in disbelief, “Hold on, you’re telling me you’ve only had sex once before?”

“Well, we had intercourse multiple times that night,” he offered earnestly, “she killed me in the morning. Did you know praying mantis females kill their mates after copulating?”

“I didn’t, and Cas, I’m sorry that happened to you,” you pecked his cheek, nestling back into the crook of his arm, “guess it’s a good thing I’m not a reaper, or an insect.”

Happily sighing, Cas turned into you, winding his arms securely about you, placing a kiss on your forehead which bloomed into a blanket of warmth spreading thoughout your entire body.

Sated, sleepy, and soothed by angelic grace, you slipped into a deep slumber.

Hours later, the buzzing of a phone roused you. Or maybe it was the absence of Cas’ touch. Either way, the harsh light of a phone screen stung your dark-adjusted vision when your eyes popped open in alarm. Blinking, you could make out the slumped figure of the angel illuminated at the edge of the bed, “Cas, who is it?”

“Dean?!” The angel’s deeply concerned tenor was a contained thunder clap which sent you bolting upright.

Continue Reading Act IV - Part I:

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