One of my favourite official Qifrey arts, which will probably go into my all-time favourites, or even my current first place in ranking, is this one from volume 16.
(Slight wha ch. 88+ spoilers under the picture)
He is so peaceful, broken here, so open in his vulnerability, exhaustion, imperfection. This is not a teacher with a smile here to charm you, induce you to continue struggling, or inspire you to share love through sigils. This is not a picture of a loved man covered in ribbons, beautiful, elegant, enticing. This is not a mask — it is a shred of it, a smile on his lips the only remains. And yet even the smile is no more fake — genuine, soft, barely noticeable, difficult, traced not with joy, but pain. Qifrey smiles because he knows his fate and accepts how hard his life is, but moves on — life is still beautiful to him. Even with a rain of torture, there’s something in this life that still makes him smile. His fragile inner peace seeps through — he can find no rest in the arms of the other, he is forced to carve a space to rest inside his heart. Nowhere else is safe — he lets the truth shine through his features. And for the first time, he lets the reader see it, too. And we finally see Qifrey not only as a grey character from the pages of a favored story, but a human, a broken, tired human like us who wishes only to live — who wishes to be honest. He is honest here, just for a moment, before the girls come in, before Olruggio witnesses him. In his solitude, he is honest. In his solitude, he finally smiles unwillingly.
' all the ways we say i love you ' pt.3
wherein the men get jealous, possessive and painfully aware of their own mistakes.
tw : jealousy, hurt/no comfort, poor communication, possessiveness, regret beginning to set in, men facing the fallout of their own actions, reader standing her ground
part 1 part 2
a/n : part 3 is finally hereeeeeeeee how are we feeling chat???
i owe everyone an apology for the alarming number of insta story reposts in this chapter. i swear i spent HOURS trying to figure out how to translate five different jealousy scenarios into a smau format without making them all feel identical 😭
what do we think? do we call it off or forgive them?
' all the ways we say i love you ' pt.2
wherein the reader finally takes them at their word and the men are left to deal with the consequences.
tw : unmet expectations, emotional withdrawal, changed dynamics, unresolved tension, hurt/no comfort
part 1 part 3
a/n : how are we feeling ab this one?? wanted them to feel stung before they get punished heheh + YES there will be a part 3 cause hell yeah i want them to regret their actions so bad
' all the ways we say i love you '
wherein the men discover that being loved is not the same thing as appreciating it.
tw : established relationships, arguments, emotional neglect, taking their partner for granted, hurt/no comfort, the jjk men being profoundly stupid
part 2 part3
a/n : thoughts and prayers to the boys. they're gonna need them.
satoru laughs when you're practically ripping his clothes off when you're ovulating, an amused, mocking laugh. breathless against your mouth as you kiss him hungrily. eager for his touch, for him.
and when you ask him to fuck you harder, he's crooning with such a saccharine lilt you wouldn't think that he's pounding his hips into yours. enough that you already know your hips will be sore the next day.
"oh my poor baby. you needed me so bad, look at the mess you're making," he's cooing but he can't help the ruined groans from slipping out when you clench around him so sinfully, leaking all over his cock in a way that only makes him bully his cock against your cervix even meaner.
your boyfriend has become accustomed to your bush. in fact, he can barely remember what you look like down there without one.
when you first started dating satoru, before seeing him, you’d spend at least two hours in the shower, plucking and shaving away every hair on your body, desperate to look your best for him.
what you eventually realised after a few months, is satoru couldn’t care less how much or how little hair you have down there.
so, naturally, you stopped shaving. honestly? with how busy life had become, you stopped making extra effort for him at all.
hence why tonight, you felt like surprising him.
you remember your extensive shower routine like the back of your hand, washing and conditioning your hair three times over, scrubbing your body with various products until your skin was red — oh, and gliding your razor across every body part until you were smooth as a baby.
once you were satisfied with your efforts, you slipped on some blue lacy lingerie for good measure, then a white satin nightdress.
soon enough, satoru returns home, shutting the door behind him before shouting "i’m homeeee" obnoxiously loud.
you pad over to him with a smile on your face, wrapping your arms around his neck. "i can see that," you say, pecking his lips.
two large hands grip your hips, feeling the smooth fabric beneath them. “damn, baby. look at you," he grins, tilting his glasses down before taking your hand and spinning you to get a good look.
"like what you see?" you tease, looking up at him as he towers over you.
“i’m about to show you how much i like it," he smirks. satoru instantly picks you up, encouraging your legs around his waist, leaving open-mouthed kisses down your throat as he carries you effortlessly over to the kitchen counter.
you giggle softly as he places you on the counter, beginning to kiss down your neck, to your collarbones, then your thighs.
he catches a glimpse of your light blue laced panties, his smirk growing bigger. “even put some pretty panties on for me, hm?"
you bite down on your lip needily, threading your fingers through his soft white hair before he licks a broad stripe over your panties.
he hooks two fingers under the side, pulling them to the left, ready to devour you.
then, he sees it.
“you shaved, baby?" he says, looking up at you, utterly shocked.
"yeah, figured i’d put in some effort since i haven’t in a while…" you respond, watching him trace his fingers over your soft, hairless pussy.
he hums.
"what, you don’t like it?" you ask nervously, suddenly mildly insecure without your bush shielding you down there.
"it’s not that, baby. it’s just weird not seeing her…"
"her??" you question, furriowing your brows.
"your bush, duh. i kinda miss her," he frowns, pressing a kiss to your mound. "awwwhh, it doesn’t tickle my face anymore"
you let out a loud sigh at his antics, trying to slip off the counter, when two hands pin your hips down. satoru leans in, licking a looonnggg stripe up your slit, groaning at the taste.
“where do you think you’re going, princess?" he purrs, sucking your clit into his wet, warm mouth, firm enough to make you yelp quietly.
"you know i love this pretty cunt no matter what, yeah?" he mumbles against your folds.
but ultimately, you knew he had a preference.
A/N; sorry this one’s a little longer LMAOO, who we doin next?
makoto tachibana screams tits guy to me, in the way that his big hands like to instinctively paw at your breasts and thumb at your nipples, because not only does he appreciate the many ways you body responds to pleasure, but also because he gets insanely flustered at the way you whine his name so sweetly when he does
vs…
sousuke yamazaki who feels more like an ass guy, in the way he’s not at all shy about taking both of his strong hands to grip the globes of your ass to grind you over his cock, because not only does he thoroughly enjoy being in control of your pleasure, but also because he really likes the way it reduces you to a stuttering moaning mess
Because her and her story mean more to me than she will ever know, I wanted to write my beloved @astroboots a special Homecoming drabble. I can't even touch the amazing universe that's she's created, but I hope she likes this one. I love you!
Frankie x Santi x f!reader
Series Masterlist
Rating: Explicit
--
“Frankie, what are you doing?”
His head bent, the manual open in his hands, you admire the dark waves that tumble over the crown of his head. You slide your fingers into them, the grey threaded with the rich brown slipping through your hold and you trail your hand down to cup his cheek, bringing his gaze up to yours.
“This is a party,” you say slowly. “You’re supposed to be talking to other people, not reading a –,” you look down, tilting your head to read the text and when you look back up at him, your eyebrows are raised. “A rice cooker manual? Really?”
He shrugs, looking back down at it. “I’ve wanted this one. Thought I would check out the settings on it.”
He stays silent, flipping a page and you take a sip of your wine, giving him an affectionate look.
“I think that is what Google is for, baby.” You place your hand over the page, a smirk curling at the edge of your lips.
He’s leaning against the counter, his worn shirt tight across his broad chest and over the rounds of his shoulders and the phantom feeling of his skin under your palms ghosts across them, your nails digging into those same shoulders as you rode him last night. He’s so handsome when he looks back up at you, those big brown eyes with those dark curling lashes, his beard a sparse cover that only he can make work and when you stare a bit too long, a knowing look flashes across his face.
He leans in, bringing his mouth next to your ear as his arm curls around your waist with a squeeze. You feel his breath hot on your neck, and glancing across the room, you see Santi looking directly at you.
“First,” he begins, his voice husky and low, “you rinse the rice.”
A laugh bubbles from you, his cheeks stretching with a grin at the sound of it, and when you start to pull away, he tugs you closer. “First,” he begins again, “you rinse the rice.”
You wait, taking a sip of wine and his nose skates along the edge of your hairline, nuzzling your skin. “Then, you put it in the pot. Equal parts rice and water.”
You hum, taking a sip of wine and you aren’t sure if it’s the alcohol or the sound of his voice that’s warming you low in your belly, but you press yourself tighter against him and listen with a shiver.
“The Cuckoo Rice –” he begins, and you pull away, laughing louder now.
“Are you serious? That’s the name of it?”
“Shhh,” he scolds you with a smile, “be quiet and get back here.”
You obey, tucking yourself pleasantly into his side and he continues.
“The Cuckoo Rice Cooker can make rice of all kinds, but it can also make oatmeal, barley, soybeans, sweet potatoes –”
“Shut up, no it can’t.” You pull away, reaching for the manual and he nods solemnly, snatching your hand in his and bringing it to rest on his chest.
“I swear to God.”
You’re still laughing when you hear music start in the other room and the two of you glance over. Santi is in the middle of a small group of people, a beer in one hand that he takes a pull from and he must feel you both watching him, but he doesn’t return the look. Instead, he seems to revel in it, standing a bit straighter.
“He looks good tonight, don’t you think?” You keep your hand on Frankie’s chest, the heat of his firm muscles felt under your touch and he hums in agreement.
“Yea, he really does. I like those pants.”
You look up at Frankie, watching his profile as his eyes follow the line of Santi’s body down and back up and you take another sip of wine, draining the glass.
“I know you do.”
He looks down at you, with a frown. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I know you love his ass.” You reach around him, resting the empty glass on the counter. “He knows it too. I bet he wore those pants just for you tonight.”
Frankie looks back at Santi with a newly assessing gaze, his eyebrows raising. “You think?”
As if the man himself can hear the two of you from across the room, you watch Santi turn around and bend over, placing his now empty beer bottle on an end table. Frankie’s hold tightens on your hip, his tongue running slowly across his lush lower lip and when Santi bends at the waist to tie his shoe, you can feel Frankie suck in a breath next to you.
You wait for a moment, suddenly recognizing Santi’s slow game. You wonder if he really did wear those pants just for Frankie tonight, and how far in advance he thought about whatever plan he’s hatched. You think back to this afternoon, looking at everything in a new light: the way he touched the small of your back when he reached around you to grab something off the bookshelf this morning, the way he insisted helping Frankie with yard work today, wiping the sweat from his face with the hem of his shirt, the way he stripped it completely as you both watched him walk down the hallway to the shower.
Heat comes up sharp between your thighs at the thought of his back - the strong muscular lines of it, the way it flexes between your knees when his face is buried between your thighs, the way it rounds taut when Frankie fucks him - and you bring your hand up to your mouth to take a sip of wine to steady yourself, when you remember that you aren’t holding the glass anymore.
“We should go,” you say, biting your lip and Frankie nods, already pushing off the counter.
–
“Sure seemed like you guys were in a hurry to get home tonight,” Santi teases, opening the front door and Frankie swats him sharp on the ass, pushing him through the entrance faster.
He waits for you to come in behind him, kicking the door shut with a booted heel slam and you watch him grab Santi by the back of his shirt, pulling him around to face him. The kiss he gives him is a fierce one, full of hunger and want, his tongue slipping messily into his mouth and his hand reaches out blindly for you, tugging you forward when you grasp it.
“Take your fucking clothes off,” Frankie commands, his hands already pulling at the hem of Santi’s shirt as you work on his belt buckle and he’s laughing at the desperate urgency in your movements, his cock stirring in his briefs. You shut him up with a kiss, your hand wrapping around the nape of his neck to pull him to you after Frankie tosses his shirt onto the floor. He moans into your mouth, his strong hands guiding you back into Frankie and for a moment, you’re sandwiched between them; Santi’s mouth devouring yours, Frankie’s hands skimming up under your skirt.
His fingers curl around the waist of your panties, sliding them down and off and when you step out of them, you lurch forward into Santi’s firm hold when Frankie pushes your legs apart from behind, spreading you for his mouth.
“Jesus,” you gasp into Santi’s mouth, your fingers digging into his skin as you try and steady yourself and Frankie is already relentless from behind you, his tongue dipping hungrily inside your tight warmth. He opens his mouth wide, his hand pushing on the inside of your thigh to get a better taste and when the tip of his tongue starts to circle your clit, you break your kiss with Santi, resting your forehead against his shoulder.
“Make her come,” Santi says, holding you in place and whether it’s the alcohol flowing through your veins or the tension in this room or the feeling of being so completely desired by the two of these men filling your body so full that you’re shamelessly grinding back against Frankie’s face, you’re already embarrassingly close to coming - something that happens with a breathless whine into Santi’s throat when Frankie sucks on your clit, hard.
You’re still breathing heavily when he stands back up, bracing yourself on Santi as he stands still in front of you and even though he’s tenderly collecting the hair at the nape of your neck and kissing your temple so sweetly that you can feel the rasp of his stubble against it, you feel a charge fill the room, like you’re standing on the edge of something about to break.
Frankie wanted your pussy, he always wants your pussy, but he also wants something else.
He leans over your shoulder, giving you a damp kiss there and then he slides his hands up through Santi’s curls, tugging harshly on them. He holds his gaze, and Santi looks back at him, almost defiant.
“I said I wanted you to take your fucking clothes off.”
There is a taut beat of time before Santi releases you, guiding you to sit down on the couch and you curl up on the cushion, watching them. Santi holds eye contact with Frankie as he slips his hands underneath the waistband of his jeans, his belt buckle a clink on the floor when he pushes them down with his briefs and when he stands bare in front of him, you watch the swallow of his tanned throat.
“Hands and knees.”
You prop up on your elbow, the urge to press your hand between your legs strong when you see Santi comply. It’s always fascinating, to you, the power dynamic between the two of them, and nothing makes you more feral than when Frankie’s voice gets that low, commanding tone. When he’s the one in charge.
You watch him slowly strip - his shirt over his head, his hands working his belt open, his pants dropping down and stepping out of them, you watch his hand palm the heft of his hardening cock as he looks down at Santi on the floor, waiting for him.
Frankie’s hooded eyes take in the curve of his ass, the firm roundness of it and the urge to feel it slamming against his hips makes him fully harden under his black cotton. You watch him stroke himself, circling his cock with a tight grip as he kneels down behind Santi and reaching into his briefs, he pulls his cock out.
It was already 1am, but you couldn't help yourself. Caleb was half asleep, but you were wide-eyed in the dark. Your imagination was getting the better of you and it was starting to consume you. Caleb told you before that it was alright to touch him when he slept, so your hands don't hesitate when they reach down to Caleb's softened member under his briefs, squeezing until he hardens under your ministrations.
"Pipsqueak," he mutters, eyes half shut. Even sleepy, you knew he wouldn't say no to you. "What are you doing? Do you want it?"
It. Of course you did. You nod back vehemently, and though he can't see you in the nighttime, you know he can hear the rustling of the sheets. He understands. He leans closer to you, leaving the domain of his side of the bed to invade into the space of your pillow. His lips find yours and the kiss is warm and wholehearted. His warm hand reaches out to you under the blankets. They slide under your shirt where his skin warms up your belly before he's reaching higher, up to your breasts, and squeezes the mounds of flesh. You relax as he massages you but suddenly tense when he grazes your nipple. He lightly pulls and rubs at one before moving onto the other. You help him by lifting your shirt up. When he spreads his fingers and grazes both of your nipples at the same time, you can't help the long, low moan you release into his mouth.
"You like that?" he says softly, eyes still shut. His breath is heavy against your lips. He feels soft and cozy next to you, but the movement of his fingers across your chest feels like sin. They spark pleasure up your spine and make it difficult to concentrate on kissing. He asked if you liked that, but you know answering is useless; it's rhetorical because he already knows the answer from the way you're shuddering, by how you're struggling to keep your lips on his since you can barely catch your breath. Your chest has always been your weak spot and Caleb loves to exploit it.
Not one to be selfish, you want Caleb to feel good too. So you stroke him again until you feel a bead of precum well up. You spread his precum across the entire head before stroking the shaft again. He swells under your hand, so erect that the foreskin stays peeled back. When he sharply pulls on one of your nipples, the cry he elicits from you seems to trigger something in him. His cock wells up with fluid again, and his breathing against your lips grows heavier. When you slip your tongue into his mouth, searching for his, his breathing roughens before he takes over to dominate the kiss.
Yes, you think. You've managed to rile him up and you moan to let him know of your receptivity.
Every time his fingers brush against both your nipples simultaneously, you feel yourself growing wetter in your underwear. Unable to take it any longer, you let go of his member only to slip your hand under your own waistband to furiously pleasure yourself. Caleb's disappointed by the loss of contact but hums in approval when he realizes what you're doing.
He detaches his lips from yours. Instead, he cups and squeezes one of your breasts before tilting his head down to suck on them. You whine when his teeth graze against the sensitive nub. They harden under his touch, even more so as his tongue laves against the skin, as he engulfs on them as if trying to draw milk out. He moves from one to the other before returning again. Your fingers are relentless where you're pleasuring yourself. The soft sounds Caleb makes as he has his way with you, the way electricity runs up your spine, it's all too much. Your toes curl into the sheets as your muscles tighten and you fall over the edge, your breath knocked out of your lungs.
Suddenly, you're much too sensitive. Each touch becomes almost painful and you push Caleb's mouth away.
"Please," you whisper. "I can't take it." He obliges, his head falling back against his own pillow again. Your body is still buzzing from your release, but you reach out for Caleb's cock again. This time, his entire member is soaked. Just from sucking on your breasts.
You coat his shaft with the fluids and listen to the gasps he makes. Without warning, you urge him to take off his briefs then rearrange yourself so you face where he's tumescent. You swallow him into your mouth and undulate your head. You can't see his expression, but you imagine it: eyebrows furrowed, mouth agape, face slack.
He runs fingers through your hair, trying to push back the strands so they're not in your face. He's salty and his body scent is slightly sweet. You bob your head as his sticky fluids coat your mouth. You even run your tongue over the wrinkled skin of his balls and feel them tighten up. Your hand caresses the shaft while you do this, even wrapping the palm of your hand over the slick head. Caleb practically curls in on himself when you do this, the tip too overstimulated. You only release him when he tugs harshly at your hair. Stars are swimming in his vision.
"C'mere," he says, breathless. He draws you back up and onto him so you're straddling his middle. He reaches under you, pulling aside your underwear and lining himself up. Slowly, you sink down. It's been awhile since you two have done this. His cock is stretching you open and you relish in the sensation of the intrusion. Once fully seated, you lean down for a quick kiss as you get used to his size. You rise up and start bouncing, feet planted firmly on the mattress, hands against his chest for leverage. When he tries to touch your breasts again, you whine in disapproval; your chest is too overstimulated now, nipples so stiff that it's bordering on pain. You redirect his hand down to your clit instead, and arch your back as he rubs your bud.
You never can manage to be in this position for long, so when he senses your tiredness, Caleb rolls you off him. Despite his drowsiness, he pulls you to the edge of the bed until your legs dangle off. He positions himself between your legs, aligns his member, and pushes in.
You don't make a sound as he starts thrusting, but your eyes are closed, savoring the movements and touch. You bite your lip so hard it leaves a bite-shaped indent.
Perhaps Caleb thinks your silentness is an inimical sign, so he lifts your legs until your ankles are on his shoulders. He pushes your thighs together and starts grinding deep into you, repeatedly pushing hips against hips until it feels like he's splitting you open. You can't help moaning at the pleasurable pain.
Relief washes over Caleb when sound finally leaves your lips. He wants to hear you coming apart for him, after all. For good measure, he grinds desperately into you unceasingly, angling his hips differently each time he presses in. You swear his tip is abusing the opening of your womb, pushing against your cervix like as if he's seeking entrance. He keeps it up until you're practically crying.
Finally, he draws your legs apart again and holds onto the back of your knees, bending your legs into your chest. He pistons his hips, dragging loud, sharp wails out of you. It's not enough for Caleb though. You got him all riled up and if he can't see your melting expressions in the dark, he at least wants to hear you and he wants to hear you loud. So he does what he knows you love.
His hands move away from your bent legs and reaches up to your throat. One hand on either side, fingers curling around you. He doesn't press down hard, just enough to put pressure on your windpipe, to show you who's boss. And you trust Caleb so wholly—trust that he'd never actually harm you—that the pressure cascades utter pleasure through you instead of fear. He holds you for leverage as he wildly jackhammers.
Your gasps are sharper and breathier from the lack of air and the occasional moans you emit are cut out each time he presses his fingers down a little harder. Every single sound you make is music to his ears.
At some point, it gets too much for you and you can't control how your cunt clamps down on him. Your muscles tighten around his cock so intensely that if you both weren't so wet and leaking for the other that Caleb wouldn't even be able to thrust any further. You squeeze around his cock until it feels like he's the one who's being choked.
Finally, his breath begins to stutter before his hips do. He lets go of your neck to grip your hips instead in a bruising hold, fingers digging into the soft flesh of your pelvis.
"Fuck," he swears, "I'm gonna cum."
You nod and whine in approval. Your hand moves down to rub against your own clit.
"Shit," he wheezes. "Are you touching yourself?"
You don't answer him because soon after, he lets out a choked sound and stills. His cock pulses against your walls as he releases ropes inside you. Even in his daze, he takes over for you. His thumb rubs against your clit over and over, and when you reach your second climax, you wrap your legs around him to pull him hither as your walls constrict his member. This movement collapses him over you, his body completely spent. When his cock softens and slips out, you feel his fingers push his release back into you, so a part of him remains inside you always. It's perverse, but you wouldn't have it any other way.
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