One More Time! - Michael Kaiser . . Kaiser Thinks That He Was Destined To Meet You In This Lifetime.

❊ one more time! - michael kaiser . . kaiser thinks that he was destined to meet you in this lifetime.

it's january when kaiser firsts asks you out. and it's january, when, in response, you laugh in his face and decline.

he'd met you in a coffee shop. your aunt's coffee shop, to be specific. he'd been a regular for a while but had never seen you there before. sitting at a booth in the back, by a window, rare winter sunlight kissed your cheeks and bathed you in a brilliant soft white light.

eyes dead-set on your textbook and laptop, sitting on the small table in front of you, he watches. kaiser thinks you're just so cute, with your fingers thrumming against the ceramic mug that holds something light brown and steaming, and with your headphones blocking everything but your notes out. actually, he's so enamoured that he ends up walking right into a table.

with a rather unattractive 'oof,' he hunches and grabs the table with both hands to stop it from rattling; unfortunately for him, the damage is done. the sweet older barista is laughing at him. customers in line snicker. and you? you look up from your work, blink, and then crack a small smile. and oh, kaiser thinks his bruised ego and battered side are all worth it now. because you smiled at him. and god, it was the prettiest thing he's ever seen.

in line to order, he's thinking about you the whole time, and stealing furtive glances (that he hopes are more subtle than they feel) back at your table. and at the counter, he orders a caffé mocha instead of his usual large iced chai latte with oat milk, 1 pump of caramel syrup, and 3 pumps of sugar-free vanilla syrup. the barista, who knows him from his daily overly-complex orders, gives him a raised eyebrow. kaiser simply shrugs and smiles. he tells her that he's testing a hypothesis. she gives him the stink eye and upcharges him.

once his drink is up, he's on the move, taking confident strides over to your table, where he asks, "is it okay if i sit here?"

and karma is in his favour today, because when you look up and around, the café is busy and bustling and the tables are all full. and he thinks that if cool guys swooned, he'd be swooning hard as you give him the tiniest, polite smile and a brief "sure" in response.

he thinks he's the smoothest man in the world, really, as he takes a seat across from you (like a date) and glances at your beverage. it's the same shade of caramel-ly brown, same kind of mug, same everything. he's fairly sure he's got the same drink as you-- a perfect conversation starter, just like he planned. kaiser clears his throat. "you order a caffé mocha? me too."

you look up again and glance at his drink before turning to him. "uh, no. not quite."

damn. kaiser's really done himself in, now. but he's cool. he can play it smooth. "really? what do you order, then?"

he then moves to shift his hands and, with an incredible lack of grace for a professionally-trained sportsman, he knocks his drink into his lap, spilling the lukewarm beverage all over his white sweater and jeans. he curses under his breath, and then remembers he has a really, really cute person he wants to impress, so he sucks up the embarrassment and grins (grimaces, more like) at you. "i don't suppose you ordered some napkins, too."

you let out a huff of laughter that makes him forget about his permanently ruined sweater as you fish around in your bag for a small, cloth napkin which you hand to him. "hopefully your sweater isn't too stained."

he hums. and a small smile takes over his face. "so, do you give a handkerchief to every guy who spills his coffee, or am i special?"

you raise your eyebrows in amusement. "you're the first guy whose spilled his coffee on himself while trying to talk to me. so i guess you're special."

kaiser beams, and he's sure satisfaction makes his grin grow on his face when he catches you flustering ever-so-slightly at his smile. "that's what i like to hear."

"what about you? you come here to impress strangers often?"

"only the ones i want to take out on a date."

and that's when it happens. that's where you laugh. and he's sure he looks appalled, absolutely shocked, when you stop, and say "sorry, no thanks."

he's a little speechless, when you look at him next, so you very helpfully fill in the silence. you offer, "any guy who drinks a caffé mocha isn't my kind of guy."

he splutters, cheeks likely redder than he'd like, reeling from embarrassment. "that was only because i thought you liked them!"

"why would you think that?"

kaiser doesn't reply. he's dug his grave, he knows, as you blink. in real time, he watches you connect the dots. "oh. you walked into the table because you were trying to see what i got. so you could talk to me, right?"

maybe he could still salvage this. if not his chance with you, then his dignity. "maybe i did. it worked, at least."

you're staring at him again, a contemplative look on your face. and he's willing his heart to stop racing under your gaze, and he's begging his face to return to a normal colour, and he's practically praying for the butterflies to stop churning windstorms in his stomach, when you say, "it's hot chocolate. and i'll be here tomorrow. same time, same table. if you want to try again with the right drink."

he's never believed in fate. kaiser is a realist. he's practical. he knows, or at least, pretends to know what he's doing. kaiser believes life is what you make it. kaiser believes his future is in his hands. but then you smile at him again. and it's a different kind of smile; one where your eyes crease and it's more on your left side than your right, and he thinks that maybe, if one thing was bound to happen in this lifetime, it was to walk into this café and meet you this winter morning.

"hot chocolate," he smiles back at you, "i'll remember that."

you take your textbook and slide it into your bag before standing. "i'll see you then."

you're already gone when he realises that he still has your napkin. but, he smiles to himself, it's okay. he can just give it back to you tomorrow.

flowers chosen: sweetpea & tarragon . . thank you for the lovely time & lasting interest

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Savium

Warnings: none, g/n reader, just a short something about Astarion's smooches 🖤

At first, Astarion’s kisses are passionate, intense and…clinical. His hands roaming up and down your body, his tongue impatiently caressing yours – all serve a purpose. His body moves with surgical precision, coaxing pathetic sounds out of you, making your body feel as heavy as a lead by the time he places himself above you. There is nothing remotely tender and genuine about them – pure passion at best, but realistically all a ruse. It wasn’t obvious at first, but each subsequent kiss proves your gut feeling to be correct. When he senses your hesitation, his touch becomes more persistent, yet there is no variance in his movements, and you wonder if the consummate lover of yours knows how to stop performing. Or if he even wants to.  

Then his kisses grow wary. Hesitant. Timid. Feather-Light. Clumsy. They feel like kisses of young love. Unpracticed, nervous. Tender. You can’t help yourself but zealously indulge in him, eagerly leading the shared moments those times. Each kiss is breathy, each tender caress leaves him trembling and gasping. He’s not leading now – he is all acceptance. He purrs into you one second and twitches away the next one. Yet his affections somehow linger inside you now. His unexpressed feelings linger between you.

The man is a menace. The kiss he gives you before the battle knocks out all the air out of your lungs – it’s desperate, longing and doesn’t in the least lack sincerity now. His lips the contrast of cool and soft. His embrace – anything short of calculated or clinical. Seeing the streams of tears on your cheeks prompts him to change it into a loud and absurd smooch accompanied by loud theatrical “Mwah”s to coax the nervous relieved giggles out of you. He still cannot stop performing, since what you see in his eyes is a crystal-clear reflection of your own worries and fears, yet he is still putting the most radiant smile on his face he can muster. And for once you’re grateful for it, feeling your lips slightly tugging up when you face him again.   

“can you cancel my meeting for thursday?”

“sure, just let me-“ your eyes narrow at the laptop you had been typing on minutes earlier. “no, i can’t cancel that.”

sakusa pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs.

“what’s the point of having an assistant if you can’t manage my schedule?”

his dig is meaningless, and you know it. it’s been a few months as his assistant and despite your best efforts, he’s been a tough egg to crack. lately though, he’s been a bit better about letting his personality shine through.

which is both a blessing and a curse.

“sakusa-“

“kiyoomi,”

“okay kiyoomi,” you roll your eyes. “i can’t cancel that and you know it. it’s way too close and besides, it will be good for you!”

about a month or so, sakusa and a couple other members of MSBY got asked to attend a sponsorship dinner. this dinner was much larger than the others, hosting almost five hundred of japans best athletes. it was going to be huge. since the day it got added to his schedule, sakusa has been trying to get out of it.

“im starting to not feel good,” sakusa comments, fidgeting with his water bottle in front of his kitchen counter that you’ve set up at.

“really? not feeling good enough to go out with bokuto-san tonight then, right?”

he huffs. “no, it’s not that bad.”

“great! then you can come on thursday.”

sakusa gives you an irritated glare, then groans. he gets even more annoyed when you don’t respond to that, either.

he shuffles over to the couch, flopping down to mess around on his phone. a few minutes pass by before he decides to speak up again.

“what if i just don’t show up?”

“then you can say goodbye to any sponsorships in the future, is that what you want?”

you turn around on the bar stool and face him. he won’t meet your eye, pouting from the couch. on one hand you understand. crowds aren’t really his thing, neither is pointless socialization and rubbing elbows in behalf of faux-support and the hope of donations. but, this would be really great for him and the others invited. a chance to see other sponsors, get their face out there while getting a free meal out of it.

“how about we make a compromise?”

“unless it involves me not going, im not interested.”

you stand up, walking over to his place on the couch. he moves his long legs to let you sit down.

“you need a new suit for this, that the team is paying for,” you add before he has a second to open his mouth. “how about tomorrow, we pick up a new one, get some new shoes, stop by the restaurant you like, and i’ll cancel the rest of your meetings for the week.”

this piques his interest. it’s only monday and each day has at least two, maybe three stupid meetings at some point. this is of course in addition to the two personal training sessions, practices, scrimmage, and psychical therapy appointments scattered around. a week off would be a dream come true.

sakusa hums. “fine.”

you smile, getting up to return back to your seat and start working on making calls to cancel the various extra things going on.

“see, now we both get what we want. i’ll move everything around now.”

“what would i ever do without you,” sakusa sighs, voice sarcastic and dry. you laugh, not thinking twice about it, but he means every word.

now all he needs to worry about is getting his suit, and asking you to be his plus one.

when you’re inebriated and don’t recognize them — gyomei, kyojuro, sanemi, giyuu

Author’s Note: a lil lighthearted (+hopefully humorous) fluff for tn. 🥰

when you’re inebriated and don’t recognize them — gyomei, kyojuro, sanemi, giyuu

Himejima Gyomei x Reader, Rengoku Kyojuro x Reader, Shinazugawa Sanemi x Reader, Tomioka Giyuu x Reader

Word Count: ~1,400

CW: alcohol, explicit language

Suggestion Fulfilled: how do you think the hashira will react when you're clearly drunk and they want to help you, but you push the away, clearly not recognizing them, and then you say something along the lines of, " No I have a S/o, don't touch me”

~faqs~

“Don’t touch me! You! Gigantic! Oaf!”

*big sigh* 🥲

Smiling gently to himself, Gyomei takes another slow step forward

Thank goodness we’re home he thinks to himself, well aware of how this current situation would appear to unknowing onlookers 🙃 

“I’ll bite you!” 😤

Newsflash: slapping at his outstretched hands is doing next to nothing 🥴

The man is a wall 🧱

“Please,” he tries again, “Let me help you.”

You huff, eyes rolling, “I don’t need help.”

“Your shoes are still on, as is your coat, and you’re heading in the opposite direction of the bedroom.” 🤨

Somehow, the calmness of his voice riles you even further 😒

“How do you know?” you scoff, “Maybe I’m taking the long way around.” 🙄

“Love, I live here,” he can’t help the fond exasperation creeping into his tone, “I live here with you.”

“No,” you snort, “You wish you lived here with me, but that honor belongs to my amaaazing boyfriend.” 😌

“And where might he be?” Gyomei asks politely

“He-” your eyes narrow, confusion clouding your vision as you frown slightly, “I’m not sure.” 😖

“Well how about you call him?”

Glaring at the looming (actually, Gyomei is standing quite casually and relaxed) man in front of you, you tug your phone out of your pocket

“Hey Siri, call The Love of my Life.”

Interesting Gyomei’s heart flutters —> you’ve never actually showed him his contact info

—Fortunately for you, he’s too much of a sweetheart to ever hold this secret against you

—What happens when you’re drunk, stays with when you were drunk 😉

“NO WAY!” you exclaim as his phone begins ringing, “YOU’RE HIM?!” 😳🤯😭

“Yes, love,” Gyomei chuckles tiredly, “I’m him.”

“I’m sooooo sorry,” you whimper, suddenly falling willingly and clingy into his arms, whining now as you pout up at him, “I’m going to have the worst hangover eeeverrr,” gasping dramatically, “Gyyyomeeeei!!!!!”

“As flattered as I am by your interest, I have a boyfriend,” you say, politely brushing off the warm hands of the stranger attempting to help you as you sit haunched on a bench 😮‍💨

Aforementioned stranger’s brow furrows, mouth pursing before stretching into a bright grin, laughter ringing through your ears 🤗

The hell is this guy on? 🧐

“I promise your boyfriend would be okay with me helping you,” Kyojuro chuckles, arms crossed as he watches you carefully 

“Oh yeah?” you mutter, hiding your confusion beneath a cool tone, “What’s his name then?”

“Rengoku Kyojuro!” he immediately answers, still grinning, “Not many people look like him…” ❤️‍🔥

Your face crinkles as you take in the man’s appearance once more, eventually shaking your head as you huff

“Nice try,” you smirk, “But if I was really drunk, then my Kyojuro wouldn’t think twice about getting me home, no matter how difficult I was being.” 😌

*cue a particularly fond memory of Kyojuro carrying you all the way home from the bar when you refused to get in a cab but didn’t want to walk and definitely wasn’t sober enough to sit on the handlebars of a bicycle* 😝

Kyojuro blames the blossoming warmth in his stomach at your my Kyojuro for his next actions

Aka scooping you into his arms and hoping his cologne does the trick 😅

(it usually does — he assumes his sweatshirts go missing for this exact reason 🫢)

“PUT ME DOW- 🤬 BAAABYYY! 😍” you squeal as soon as his sweaty, familiar scent hits your nose, “You do love meee!!!!!”

“I absolutely do,” he murmurs adoringly, unfazed by your sudden switch in demeanor, “After all, your Kyojuro always gets you home, right?” 🥺

“Right!” you beam up at him, your hostility all but dissipated as you nuzzle into the crook of his shoulder, “M’gonna sleep now, ‘kay?” 🥱

Kyojuro thinks about how long the walk home is, flexes his forearms, and smiles 🥰

“Of course. Sweet dreams, my heart.” 😴

Send help pls and ty 🙃

This man is at his wit’s end

On one hand, you’re refusing to Uber home with him 😕

On the other hand, he can’t just leave you at the bar 😒

And the last thing he wants is to order two separate rides home, and then have to patiently explain that he isn’t stalking you, nor is he breaking in, because 

“For fuck’s sake, I’m literally your boyfriend!” 😐

“My boyfriend would never speak to me like that!” you retort, eyes narrowed 😠

Actually Sanemi thinks wryly to himself Your boyfriend doesn’t know how to speak in any other way

“Because your boyfriend’s so damn perfect?” he growls, “Doesn’t ever cuss or lose his patience?”

“Well,” you begin pertly, “He is perfect! He brings me breakfast in bed, holds open doors for me, mends the holes in my socks, washes my back when we shower together…” ☺️

Sanemi is very pink rn 😃

He’s torn between wanting to kiss you square on the mouth and never doing a nice thing for you ever again 🫠

“... but he,” you trail off, tears abruptly brimming as you come to a startling realization, “But he’s so ruuude,” wailing as Sanemi simply watches you unfold, “He teases me whenever I stub my toe on something, pushes me off the bed when we wrestle, and, and, and-”

“And what?” he asks dryly

You gulp, refusing to meet the gaze of the handsome, persistent man still standing in front of you — despite your resolute rejections of him, “I think you might actually be my boyfriend.” 😭

He actually laughs, arms opening as you barrel into him, sobbing into his embrace, thin olive shirt sticking to his skin as you squeeze his sides

“Sanemi,” you whisper, embarrassment coating your voice

“Mmm, darling?” his own rich with amusement

“I want to go home,” you mumble 😔

“You sure?” he smirks fondly, “Even with me?”

Groaning loudly, you press your face harder into his chest, eyes closing as you focus on the steady warmth of his heartbeat 💓

Dismay might as well be Giyuu’s middle name

Because he has no idea how he’s going to get you home 😓

Shinobu abandoned you guys earlier, flitting from one bar to the next

And for the sake of his dwindling dignity and pride, Giyuu is not about to interrupt Tengen and his wives at their table to ask for ~assistance 😬

Kyojuro would be an option, if he wasn’t the lightest weight of all, and already home in bed (he left over an hour ago) 🙃

Shit

“Hey,” he waves at you, heart in his throat

“Hey yourself,” you glance up at him, frowning, “I told you like five minutes ago, I. Have. A. Boyfriend.” 😒

The urge to curl up into a ball and cry has never been stronger 😃

For Giyuu, that is 😭

“I know, I know,” he holds his hands up in a careful surrender, awkwardness in his movements as he ponders his next words, “I just… I think you should go home.”

“As in, go home with you?” 🤨

“Uh…” yes 😞

“Look, you’re super attractive and all, but you’re not my boyfriend.” 🙄

Giyuu is hitting his forehead against a brick wall 😵

Repeatedly 😵

Internally, ofc 💀

“What if I was?” he winces as his voice cracks at the end 🥲

Damn it 🫠

“Well that would mean breaking up with my boyfriend…”

He’s staring at you equally exasperated and in love 😖🥰

All you process, unfortunately, is deadpan 😐

“Speaking of which, where is he?” you mutter 😕

I! AM! RIGHT! HERE! 🫨

Giyuu is still hitting his forehead against a brick wall

+screaming every time he makes contact

Internally, ofc

“Can I at least give you my number?” 🥺

“How about this,”  you snap, “You find my boyfriend for me, and ask him if that’s okay.”

Regret isn’t an option as Giyuu immediately spins in a circle, striking a Tada! Pose when he faces you again 😎

🧐🧐🧐 <— you rn

“It’s me, your boyfriend. Tomioka Giyuu.” 🥳

You blink

He holds his breath

“Y’know what,” you finally say, “I believe you.”

Giyuu doesn’t bother digging for details

He grabs your hand (and exhales when you promptly intertwine your fingers with his, hugging his forearm to your chest 💞), and heads toward the exit

—

“Why did that convince you?” he asks the next morning, breath soft on your skin as he sprinkles soothing kisses across your forehead

You smile slyly—despite your pulsating headache—all four limbs squeezing tighter around his body to keep him in place as you murmur quietly, “Because only my boyfriend could make me cringe that hard.” 😌

“Heyyyyy,” he whines, pouting as he squirms in your embrace, exchanging his kisses for gentle bites as you shriek playfully, “That’s not very nice.” ☹️

don’t mess with a sorcerer’s beloved apprentice

ushi is so chew toy coded

he comes home from a run one day and he’s in a black compression shirt that you urged him to buy and god are you glad you did. your eyes lock onto his biceps, of course, which almost look like they’re bulging out of the sleeves.

“toshi, that shirt looks so good on you,” you tell him. you can almost see the outline of his six pack, and the way his pectorals stretch out the shirt a little.

“well, you did suggest i buy it, love, so i would hope so,” he replies, smiling softly as you stride towards him.

“like i literally just wanna…”

he doesn’t expect the way you take his arm, and bring his bicep to your mouth, and sink your teeth into it. you don’t do it hard or anything, just enough until you’re satisfied.

he’s puzzled, and he doesn’t hide that in his facial expression whatsoever. however he doesn’t have the heart to question you out loud. perhaps, he thinks, it’s equivalent to you kissing him. then again, why not just kiss him?

when you’ve had your fill, you blink up at him with an face he wants to keep in his mind forever.

“sorry, your arms look so biteable,” you explain.

“did you have fun?” he asks.

“i did, thank you,” you tell him, throwing your arms around his shoulders and pressing your lips to his.

it happens again when he gets out of the shower one evening. he walks into the living room where you’re watching some drama series, and he’s in sweats and nothing else. the tips of his hair are wet. he settles onto the couch next to you and in the corner of your eye, you see his pecs. plump. squishy.

“these look bigger,” you tell him, reaching over to squeeze one of them in your hand. “is that why you’ve been in the gym so much?”

“i’ve been going a normal amount i think,” he replies, unfazed by your groping.

“hmm,” you say, like you’re genuinely musing, and then with that you lean in to take his pec in your mouth.

this time wakatoshi chuckles with surprise, a short, deep rumble of laughter at the sensation of you nibbling at his skin.

“is this your… thing now?” he asks.

you sit back, smiling, a cat that got the cream. “mhm.”

after that he’s never safe from you ever again. his forearms, cheeks, neck, collarbones, thighs are all chewed on. he doesn’t complain though. he would never.

wakatoshi has struggled with intimacy and affection his entire life—it wasn’t something he came face to face with often. you, however, are showing him everything he’s missed out on. so now, every time you bite him, his heart flutters and he feels grateful.