#AND the combine hand has been pretty swell so far

[excusemebutiquit]

I started playing Tears of the Kingdom yesterday!!!

[robo-writing]

NSFW Alphabet - Logan Howlett Edition

Pairing: Logan Howlett/Reader Warnings: AFAB pronouns, breeding mention, pet names, bodily fluids, p in v actions, no protection, overall horniness, 18+ MDNI. Author's Note: This man is renting space in my synapses, send help.

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

He is so gentle with you, it almost makes you feel like you’re made out of glass. He prefers to hold you close once you’re thoroughly satisfied, enjoying how your body folds into him to be as close as possible.

If you ask him for water and snacks he’s gone within the second, bringing you whatever you need, and then immediately putting you back on his lap so he can feed you. Don’t argue with him on this, he won’t take no for an answer.

You collapse against the sheets with a sigh, legs still shaky from Logan’s excellent bedside service. You’re practically boneless when he pulls you onto his chest, the dark hair tickling your cheek as he cages you in his embrace.

“Logan, I’m sweaty—“

“Do I look like I give a damn princess?” He grumbles, his hands reaching down to smooth over your hair. “Just let me take care of you, alright?”

Your whining is just for show and he knows this, a small part of you feeling guilty because he always treats you with such respect. He’s not sure what kind of assholes you’ve been dating before but he’s damn certain he’ll be the one to teach you how you should be treated.

You melt in his arms, eyes fluttering closed at the feeling of his large hands running down your back. His voice cuts through the silence, far more gentle than you’re used to. 

“Need anything else doll?” He asks, to which you shake your head. 

No, tonight you just need him. 

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

He’s an all around man, asking him that is like asking a man to choose between air and food to survive.

He loves playing with your tits, loves biting at the swell of your breasts before sucking on them, loves burying his face in the valley of them—

He loves using your thighs as an anchor when he eats your pussy, rolling his eyes when they squeeze around his head—

He loves the sight of your ass bouncing back when he fucks you into the mattress, the sound of your combined hips ringing loudly in his head—

He really just loves you.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

It only took one time for him to be utterly addicted to your pussy. He refuses to cum anywhere that isn’t inside you at least once, just the sight of it falling from your abuser cunt has him going back for seconds. The sloppy sound of your juices and his cum as he thrusts into you is like asmr.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Masochist to the extreme. You kind of had a feeling with the way he shrugs off pain but you didn’t know how bad it was until you scratched him just a bit too hard while getting your guts rearranged. 

Your nails dig into the meat of his arms, a deep-seated groan erupting from the back of his throat at the feeling. Immediately you look down to see the angry red marks left behind that heal within seconds, an apology on your lips interrupted by his voice growling in your ear.

“Do that again.”

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

The man is over two hundred years old, he lays down pipe like a master plumber. Knows all your spots better than you do, knows exactly what gets you going because he can practically taste the arousal in the air. Those senses of his are no joke.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Missionary so he can see your face, doggystyle so he can fuck a hole into the mattress and breed you. 

Prefers missionary normally if only for the fact that when he puts even half his full weight on your body you’re forced to lie there and take it, unable to so much as squirm while he fucks you within an inch of your life. Enjoys doggy when the beast inside needs to scratch a particular itch that only seeing you ass up with cum dripping down your thighs can reach.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

A wholesome 50/50 of being love-struck and horny, he has his moments of laughter but they’re almost always immediately followed by pure lust. You’d think he’d be super serious all the time but he’s surprisingly gentle. He prefers to watch you enjoy yourself, he’s much more of a service top in that regard.

Want him to eat you out until you’re pushing his head away? Want him to fuck you nice and slow, keeping you right on the edge? Whatever your flavor is, he’s down for a taste.

That’s not to say he doesn’t have his rough moments as well. It’s very easy for him to lose himself so he tries not to go overboard for your safety, but if you ask him to let loose he’s not going easy on you. Just remember when you wake up unable to walk that you asked for this.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Not groomed at all, just an overall hairy man. He’s got the prettiest happy trail from his navel to his dick that makes his eyes roll when you drag your nails across it. If it made you uncomfortable he’d make an effort to trim.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Very intimate, wants you to know just how much you mean to him. Even when he’s being rough with you he makes sure that your comfort is priority. Talks you through it.

You’re face down, ass up, just the way he likes it. Your thighs tremble with the aftershocks of your orgasm, pussy practically drooling for him as your slick dribbles down the plushness of them.

It’s a sight that Logan could never get tired of. 

His fingers rub soothing circles around your sensitive clit, gathering your wetness between two fingers and listening to your breath hitch when he replaces them with his cock, lightly prodding at your entrance.

“How we feelin’ princess?” He asks, coating his length with your juices. 

You mumble praise into the pillow, and sure he can hear it with his enhanced senses, but that’s not the point—he wants you loud and clear.

Gently he lifts you off the bed, a strong arm around your waist as he rocks himself between your swollen folds, lips trailing at your ear as your head rolls back.

“Come on doll, I need to be able to hear you,” he breathes. “Tell me what you want.”

Your hands grab at his arm, a desperate whine on your lips. “Fuck me, please.”

His chuckle reverberates in your ear. “That’s my girl.”

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

When he was younger and still learning how to fight his animal instincts, absolutely. Nowadays he doesn’t really think about it, but occasionally Logan will struggle with keeping his thoughts off of you, especially when you’re wearing something nice and he doesn’t have the time to drag you back to the bedroom. 

He’d prefer if you were the one touching him, but his hand will do for now, if at the very least to hold him over until you get home.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Praise - Like mentioned before, adores talking you through it. Favorite nicknames for you are princess, baby, and sweetheart, and his voice in your ear is like heaven.

Pain Kink - BIG masochist. Use him like a scratching post, he loves it. He’ll never admit it but if you bite his lip hard enough to bleed he’ll moan like a whore.

Primal Play - Come on now, the man is an animal at the best of times and downright feral at the worst. This extends beyond the bedroom too, he’s very protective of his mate girlfriend and would move mountains for her.

Breeding - This is an extension of his primal play, he adores filling you up with his cum, whether or not you get pregnant. Something about the sight of it just screams at him like a claim that only he can give you. It’s his cum that paints your pussy, and no one else gets to have that honor.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Ideally the bedroom but he’s one of those people that couldn’t care less, if he wants you he wants you. It’s going to be up to you to be the voice of reason, and if that fails? Better learn to keep your volume down.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Domestic acts, making him feel like a normal man rather than the weapon the world wants him to be. 

Making him breakfast? His hands are playing with your hips the whole time, whispering sweet nothings against the skin of your neck, swaying to the imaginary rhythm he sets. Cleaning the countertops? He drapes his wide frame across your back, pinning you to the cold granite while he tells you how good your ass looks in your pants, heavy hands making it known just how much he appreciates your attire. Bring him breakfast in bed in nothing but an apron? He’s pulling you into the sheets and not letting you go until you’re screaming his name.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

As much as a masochist he is, the last thing he’d ever do is hurt you. The most you could ever convince him to do is manhandling you or spanking, but the moment he senses anything but enjoyment he’s on his knees apologizing.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Y’all remember what Doja Cat said about big noses? 

If he passes out between your legs he’ll die smiling, if he makes you pass out then he’s never going to let you hear the end of it. Very likely to overstimulate you until you’re pushing him off you, only to pin your hips down and keep on going. Enjoys palming your thighs and burying his face as far into your pussy as he can, his philosophy is if you can still speak he’s not doing well enough.

As for him, he becomes so submissive when you suck him off. It’s the only time he’s guaranteed to let you take the reins, he prefers watching you work rather than taking over. Tucks your hair back, strokes your head, whispers how good you make him feel and how your mouth feels like heaven. When he cums he’ll ask you to open your mouth before swallowing and the sight of your cum-stained lips gets him hard like nothing else.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Normally very sensual, can easily change with the drop of a hat. Long, deep strokes that reach all the right places and make you see stars. Massive service top vibes, one of those lovers that always knows what you need at the moment (he totally can’t hear your heart pounding in your chest, no sir.)

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Yes, and proud to admit it too. Always promises that he’ll be quick, but it never is. He can’t help it, y’know? You make him feel too good.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Yes, but the catch is you have to tell him. You can throw him every hint in the world but he won’t so much as touch you until you use your words. Logan likes hearing how desperate you are, he’s a bit mean like that.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Why would you ever bother asking that? His limit is when you decide to tap out, if even that. 

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Didn’t really understand and thought you were insulting him at first by offering to use toys in the bedroom. It wasn’t until you gave him a show that he realized just how much he was missing before.

If anything, he doesn’t feel the need to use them on you, but loves watching you use them on yourself.

The small toy buzzes in your hand, the sound of it ringing loudly in the four walls you call a bedroom. Soft sighs accentuated by needy whines, baby pink sheets snaking around your soft thighs, the muffled sounds of your moans when you bite your lip—

“Fuckin’ Christ,” Logan says, mesmerized at the view, eyes glued to where the vibrator meets your swollen clit. He palms at the tent in his jeans, cock twitching when your back arches off the bed with a cry of his name.

He can fucking smell it—your arousal, your need—it makes him drunk, intoxicated off your pleasure. It makes his throat go dry, makes him want to crawl over you and keep you locked beneath him, greedily wringing out every last bit of it.

Your voice cuts through the fog of carnality, a gentle distraction from the beast that threatens to break loose with every passing second.

“Enjoying the view?”

He can only bring himself to nod.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

He’s such a fucking tease it’s unreal, but he’s also very impatient. It leads to moments where you’ve been edged for so long that tears are brimming your eyes, and when you look at him with those puppy-dog eyes he can’t bring himself to hold off any longer, all previous plans discarded in favor of folding you in half and exposing your puffy cunt to his hungry gaze.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

He gets louder and louder the longer you go on as his animal side overpowers him. He’s no stranger to noise but when he’s deep inside you he can’t help but resort to grunts and growls of your name, makes it known just how good you feel wrapped around his cock.

I personally like the idea that because of his mutation he follows mating rituals like real wolverines do, so if you’re into that he’s extra loud during mating season, to the point that he has to bury his face into your neck or else the whole building will hear him.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Likes it when you wear his clothes because they smell like you afterward. Encourages you to do so, and maybe hides your shirts during laundry day as an excuse (but he’ll never admit it.) When you’re not around he’ll even hold the fabric to his nose and take a deep inhale, imagining it was you.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

As mentioned before, an overall hairy man. Strong muscles with a healthy layer of fat, likes to laugh at you when you bury your face between his tits because they’re nice and soft.

When it comes to his dick he leaves nothing to be desired—it’s heavy, like real heavy. Nice and girthy with a fat tip that makes your breath catch in your chest every time he glides it in, the slap of his balls against your ass soon following suit. A nice pretty pink with a couple of veins running throughout.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Always when he’s around you, but trained enough to know there’s a time and place. If he had his way you’d never leave his house, but that’s also his protective nature talking.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Likes watch you fall asleep first to make sure you’re safe and sound—a bit paranoid and overprotective in that sense, but he can’t really help it. You’re the best thing that’s happened to him, so it calms him down to know that you’re not going anywhere. Once he’s sure you’re alright he’ll go to sleep, preferably with you on his chest.

[mychlapci]

Prowl should have to make it up to Fortress Maximus with his body tbh. Max wears him like an accessory around the moon base, I’m sure. It took a while for Prowl to get his full length inside, but a pretty pink harness kept him safely pinned to Max until his valve finally gave in and let that huge spike dominate him. Just imagine the burn as his wet, stretched pussy took it ever deeper. The sound of his t-cog unlocking, initializing, accepting new configurations as charge crackles between their frames. Fort Max moans, holding Prowl’s hips in his huge hands just to feel them widen. Smirking when his little accessory gasps as that tight valve swallows another little bit of Max’s spike. Caressing Prowl’s belly just to pet his own spike through the distended plating. And, of course, mocking Prowl’s angry looking spike for drooling all over the place. And when the last of his spike finally slides into Prowl’s frame, there’s one last click as the mech’s t-cog accepts his place as a spike sleeve.

Of course, just warming Max’s spike isn’t enough of an apology. Prowl’s meant to please him. It’s hard work for Prowl’s poor calipers at first, barely able to clench down. But Fort Max doesn’t mind training that boring valve. He doesn’t even need to touch Prowl to do it, although he delights in rubbing between the mech’s legs with his fingers, teasing both that spike and node until Prowl tries to squirm. The simple fact of the matter is that Max’s much larger frame generates far more charge. Charge that has a direct outlet in Prowl. The battle computer very quickly realizes that when Max feels good, Prowl gets overloads. It won’t be long before the proud mech is Fort Max’s perfect toy. Calipers worshipping his shaft is spirals, in circles, in waves. Varying patterns to ensure that Max stays hard and aroused. Bot a hard thing to accomplish, when Prowl is docile and drooling with pleasure from being worn as a spike accessory. Belly distended from the size of the intrusion. It’s especially noticeable after Max has overloaded a few times in a day, leaving Prowl looking pregnant from the sheer volume of transfluid trapped in his valve and forge.

That belly has been growing chubby lately, aft and tits both swelling from a combination of Max’s transfluid and all of the energon the mech handfeeds him. Prowl’s arms stay limp by his sides unless otherwise directed. All he needs to do is take what Fort Max gives him.

Prowl has no work to do other than be a good toy for Max, and he’s becoming very dedicated. With all that processor power and no distractions from the constant arousal, Prowl’s training himself into quite the spike slut for Max. He’s got the schedule worked out so that Fortress Maximus gets to overload on all of his breaks, but stays comfortable during his productive hours. At the end of the day Max will stroke Prowl’s spike with his fingertips until the mech squeals and squirts as a reward for good behavior. Then he’ll pull out and help clean the fluid out of Prowl before they part ways for the night. This has two purposes: maintaining Prowl’s health (and making sure his valve stays deliciously tight for Max’s spike) and ensuring Prowl feels empty all night and is craving Max’s spike by morning. Even though it humiliates him, Prowl tends to wake Max up right on time with a blowjob so he can have his breakfast and beg Fort Max to put him in his pretty pink harness for another day of spike warming. Their routine has Prowl well trained.

By the time Fort Max feels like Prowl’s “apologized” enough neither of them will want to stop.

hrghh spikesleeve Prowl... He's a nice hot pocket for Fort Max's spike, why would he ever want to stop wearing him around? He's such a pretty accessory <3

[quietblueriver]

Don't Ever Turn It Down (Ch. 3)

“Are you fucking kidding? Not one fucking grub?” Lilith looks murderous, eyes first on the toy bird feeder and then on Ava, as if Lilith’s disappointing roll could be blamed on her. Beatrice takes a sip of her wine to hide her smile as she feels Ava’s foot nudge hers under the table. 

“Oof, tough break there, Lil.”  Ava makes a show of ordering her own food tokens, pushing the stack of four grubs to the front. Her board is frankly outrageous—birds and eggs everywhere and a large cache of food. There’s absolutely no chance now that she won’t win, but Lilith would never admit that. 

“Oh, fuck you, Silva. You hardly know how to play.”

“I mean,” Ava gestures at her board and then stands slightly from her chair to take an exaggerated look at Lilith’s, “seems like I’m doing pretty well. Eggs-ellent, even.”

Beatrice snorts and Ava beams at her as she sits back down, turning slightly and holding her hand up, palm flat, to Beatrice. It takes her a second, but when Ava wiggles her fingers expectantly and raises her hand slightly higher, she understands and slaps their palms together. “Nice technique, Bea.” Someone complimenting her on her high-five prowess should not feel this good, but it’s Ava, who says it like Beatrice has truly accomplished something and pairs it with additional contact, her high-five hand now resting on Beatrice’s bicep. The result is that Beatrice, who has multiple black belts and incredibly well-developed hand-eye coordination, feels proud of that high-five. At Ava’s touch, the pride compounds because Beatrice had made what she now realizes was a brilliant decision to wear a short-sleeved button-down tonight. It means that Ava is touching her skin, and it’s very, very nice. 

Thanks to the wine, Beatrice doesn’t flush red at the compliment and contact as she usually would; instead, she sits a little taller, and, thinking of the way that Ava’s eyes had lingered on her arms when she’d helped Lilith adjust the table earlier, she flexes her bicep. It’s subtle, just enough tension that Ava, whose hand is resting there, will notice. And she does notice, eyes going a little wide and fingers squeezing. Beatrice thinks she might be flustered. Ava Silva is flustered. She’s fairly certain that is something to feel proud of. 

There’s a scoff from the other side of the table and both of them turn to the source. Lilith’s face is accusatory, eyes darting between Beatrice’s own and her bicep, as if Beatrice has committed a great betrayal. It’s so genuine and so melodramatic and so very Lilith, and Beatrice’s chest swells with affection. She loves this absolutely absurd human very much. Ava’s hand retreats, and Beatrice drops into disappointment. It’s quite the emotional up-and-down. Clearly, she’s had too much wine. She takes another sip anyway. 

“Really, Beatrice? She’s beating you, too.”

Normally, this is something that would bother Beatrice. She doesn’t like to lose, and she would be especially displeased to lose to someone like Ava, who she’s almost entirely certain is demolishing them all without any intentional strategy. From what Beatrice can tell, she is playing the birds she finds to be prettiest and spending her time between turns thinking about color combinations for her eggs.  

Tonight, though, Beatrice could not care less about whether she wins. It’s the first time she’s been to game night in more than a year, and she’s having fun. She tracks Ava as she tosses a small handful of popcorn and M&Ms into her mouth and bounces in her chair. She’s having more fun than she’s had in a very long time. She is happy and a little drunk and entirely unbothered by the thoroughly mediocre game she’s played so far. 

She shrugs, watching as Lilith’s scowl grows deeper. “Fair’s fair. She’s clearly got an im-peck-able strategy.” She can’t help but look at Ava, for whom she told that punny lie, and it’s all the reward Beatrice had hoped. She’s staring in delight and slight disbelief, bright smile paired with a gently furrowed brow. “Oh my god, Beatrice. Was that a pun?” At the same time, Lilith bites out, “Oh, fuck off. You know she doesn’t have a strategy.” 

“Whoa, Lilith. Such fowl language.” Ava’s got her eyes on Lilith now, voice and expression mock-serious, but she leans toward Beatrice, elbows her gently as if to make sure she’s heard the joke. “Nice one,” Beatrice offers quietly, and Ava gives her a lopsided smile. “Also,” Ava picks up her hand and shuffles her cards around, “harsh. I totally have a strategy.” 

Before Lilith can say anything, Camila places a soothing hand on her back, redirects with an amused but gentle, “Lil. Do you want to finish your turn?” Lilith settles with a last glare at Ava and says, begrudgingly, “I’ll take two mice.” She sulks into her whisky as Yasmine plays an American Avocet and Camila and Ava pick up their conversation about Love Island. 

As Beatrice expected, Ava wins by a landslide. After Yasmine announces the scores, she stands and holds out a hand to Lilith with a solemn, “Good game.”  

Lilith flips her off and, noticing Ava’s grin, puts her finger back down and says, eyes hot, “Not a word, Silva.” Ava holds her hands up placatingly and begins to put her cards away. It’s Yasmine, folding the game boards, who speaks next. “If you’d been that quick to play birds in the game, Lilith, you might’ve done better.” Ava cackles as Lilith gapes. 

__

Beatrice is busying herself in the kitchen, pouring a glass of water and making more popcorn, when Ava hops up onto the counter beside her. 

“Hey, Bea. What’s popping?” 

Beatrice smiles and rolls her eyes and offers Ava the bowl of peanut butter M&Ms, which seemed to be her favorite when they were playing. Ava takes it and hums happily as she puts two in her mouth.  

“You didn’t want to play?” Beatrice nods in the direction of the sofa, where Lilith, Dora, and Yasmine appear to be in heated conversation about something, Dora gesturing emphatically with a controller in her hand. 

“Eh. They decided on Smash. I’m more of a Mario Kart girl.” She puts the bowl of candy down and picks up a corkscrew, turning the handle and pulling at the lever. “What about you? Switch not your thing?” 

Beatrice notes a two-second gap between popping kernels and opens the microwave, using the dishtowel hanging from the oven to carefully remove the silicone bowl and sit it down to cool. 

“I prefer board games, but I do love to watch Camila play.”

Ava waves the corkscrew in the air in excitement, wincing in apology as Beatrice steps back slightly to avoid being gouged. She sits it down and presses her palms flat against the counter, lifting her body up slightly and swinging her legs. She’s wearing black jeans and a dark purple v-neck t-shirt cut low enough that Beatrice has had to admonish herself several times over the course of the night for staring, but it’s her arms she can’t look away from now. The flex of her muscles with the casual display of strength is so distracting that Beatrice almost misses her next words. “Oh my god, right? She gets so into it. It’s incredible. The first time I saw her play Smash I thought she and Lilith had done, like, some Freaky Friday body swap thing.”

Ava lowers herself and Beatrice laughs, picking up her glass of water and leaning her hip against the counter next to Ava. 

“I understood exactly how much Lilith loved Camila when I watched her lose graciously to her without even an ounce of resentment. It was the first time I’d ever seen it, in twenty-odd years of being in competitive environments with her.” 

“Ugh, they’re so cute.”  Ava leans closer, voice conspiratorial, and says, “Cam told me that you almost always beat Lilith when you spar?” 

Beatrice shrugs, pleased but trying not to let it show. “I don’t know about almost always, but I think I’d be ahead if we kept track.” This is a lie. It is almost always; she just doesn’t want to sound ungracious. Also, Beatrice does not keep count, but she would not be at all surprised if Lilith had a tally in the small Moleskine she keeps in her gym bag to track goals. 

Ava grins at her like she knows Beatrice is playing herself down. “Uh huh. Right. Got it, got it. Keeping it humble, yeah Bea.” She leans closer and says, eager, “I really want to watch you kick her ass.” 

Beatrice laughs and offers, going for casual, “You’re welcome to come to the gym with us if you’d like. Camila does sometimes. We’re able to spar much more often since I left the firm.” It’s selfish and prideful. She would like very much for Ava to see her beat Lilith. 

Beatrice isn’t sure what’s going on between the two of them. She’s had enough to drink that she can admit to herself that tonight there has been flirting, mutual flirting, but she’s sober enough to remember that she likes Ava and isn’t sure she wants to risk the friendship that’s developing, or the dynamic of their larger friend group, for something more. 

What’s more, flirting seems to be a preferred method of communication for Ava, so Beatrice isn’t certain whether Ava’s actually interested in her or if she’s just having fun the same way that she does with everyone. Beatrice had watched her charm a typically impassive barista at her favorite coffee shop into a stuttering mess a few days ago, complimenting his earrings and nail polish and turning the full force of her attention on him as he explained the quiche of the day. Beatrice had tucked a five into the tip jar in sympathy, aware of how long it might take him to recover. Sure enough, he’d fumbled over the order of the man behind them, apologizing as he asked him, twice, to repeat it. 

“Oh my god, yes. Should I bring a sign?” She waggles her eyebrows, spans her hands in front of her like she’s envisioning a marquee. “Float like a butterfly, sting like a Bea.” 

This is the problem, Beatrice thinks, as she smiles affectionately at Ava, who is biting her bottom lip and pressing her hands into her thighs, proud and excited. Right now, Beatrice’s impulse is to step in between Ava’s knees and pull her close, tuck the ever-escaping strands of her behind her ears, feel the shape of her grin against her mouth. It’s tender. It’s dangerous. She wouldn’t want something casual with Ava, and she’s not sure that Ava would want anything at all, much less something more than casual, with her. 

She keeps her hands to herself, reaching instead for the large ceramic bowl for the popcorn and transferring it from the popper. “Going for the gold with that one, Silva.” 

Ava laughs and claps her hands together. She is possibly the most physically expressive person Beatrice has ever met. She gestures between the two of them. “Is this our thing now?”

Beatrice smiles. “If trading terrible puns is wrong, then I don’t want to be right.” 

“Beatrice! Ava!” It’s Camila, holding a controller and looking very serious. “Bring the popcorn. It’s time.” 

Ava hops down from the counter and salutes in Camila’s direction. “Yes, ma’am.” She turns to Beatrice, grabs the bowl of M&Ms and the open wine bottle on the counter. “She’s kind of hot when she gets all Lilith-y.” 

“Go, Ava.” 

Ava lifts one of her shoulders but starts toward the living room. “You know it’s true.” 

__

Beatrice dries a wine glass and sits it on the towel spread over the counter, waiting for Camila to hand her the next. She’s the only one left, Ava having gone about ten minutes ago with a lingering hug and a quiet, “Night, Bea,” into the skin of her neck. Beatrice had suppressed the shiver but hadn’t been able to hide the gooseflesh on her arms. Ava hadn’t noticed, she’s fairly sure, but Camila had, crossing her arms and raising her eyebrows at Beatrice as she hugged Yasmine. 

“So,” Camila begins, “Are you going to do something about whatever is happening between you and Ava?” 

Beatrice takes the next glass and keeps drying. 

“Oh, come on, Beatrice. She likes you! It’s obvious. And I’m not sure I’ve ever seen you smile so much around someone.” She bumps her hip into Beatrice’s, softens her voice. “It’s very nice to see you so happy.”

She puts the glass down and turns slightly to face Camila. “I like her a lot, Camila.” Camila’s face lights up and Beatrice qualifies quickly. “As a friend.” 

“Bullshit,” Lilith snorts, strolling in with the remaining dirty plates and bowls from the living room and pressing a kiss to Camila’s hair as she sits the dishes by the sink. “I haven’t seen you moon over someone like that in like fifteen years. What was her name? Ali Brewer?” Beatrice groans and Lilith laughs. “Yeah, that’s the one. You’ve got it bad, Liu. It’s kind of fun to watch.” 

Beatrice abandons the towel when it becomes clear that Camila is taking a break from washing, having turned around to lean against the counter and into Lilith, who has made herself comfortable beside her. She’s relaxed, and Beatrice, far from the first time, gives thanks for Camila. Until they started dating, Beatrice had only ever seen Lilith let her guard down like this with Beatrice herself, and much more reluctantly than she does now. It’s good to see her friend, however insufferable, be this happy. 

“Fine. Yes. I am attracted to Ava.” Camila squeals and Lilith smirks and Beatrice sighs and pinches the bridge of her nose. “However.” Lilith rolls her eyes as Camila says, “Boooooooo.” Beatrice ignores them both. “However, I don’t want to risk our friendship to pursue that attraction. I’m not certain that she’s interested in me, and I don’t want to make her uncomfortable.” 

“Lame,” Lilith says. “Beatrice,” Camila tuts, almost chastising, “I’m not sure how you don’t see that she’s interested in you.” 

“First,” she looks at Lilith, “Grow up.” Lilith sticks her tongue out, defiant. “Second,” she turns to Camila and says, gentler, “She flirts with everyone, Camila.” Camila opens her mouth to respond but Beatrice continues before she can start, “Additionally.” 

Lilith interrupts, exasperated, “This isn’t oral argument, Beatrice.” 

“Additionally,” she continues, “I like spending time with her. I like spending time with all of us, together. I’m not willing to make that awkward. I like her more than I want to risk that.” She hesitates for a moment and then forces herself to say, because she trusts them and this is important, “We haven’t known each other that long but I…I like her. A lot. I would want to be…to be sure she wants the same things I think I do, before I said anything. If she…I would rather…I would rather be her friend. I am happy to be her friend, if that’s our common ground.” 

She turns her eyes to her navy socks, exhausted and slightly embarrassed, and wills them to understand and let it go. Of course, Lilith can’t.

“Okay, dumbass, listen, you are…” 

“Lil.” Camila grabs her arm and squeezes and Lilith shuts her mouth, quickly. Beatrice offers her a grateful smile. She inclines her head slightly at Beatrice before leaning up to kiss Lilith’s cheek. “Remember how long it took you to ask me out?” 

Lilith sighs. 

“Fine. Fine.” Camila kisses her again, a chaste press of their lips, and then turns back to the water. “But,” Beatrice sighs and picks the towel back up, bracing herself as Lilith takes a moment to get together whatever admonishment she’s surely concocting, “you’re fucking great, Beatrice, okay? You’re excellent, and I don’t like Silva…”

“Yes, you do,” Beatrice and Camila chorus, even as Beatrice feels her cheeks getting hot and, horrifyingly, tears building in her eyes.“I don’t like Silva, but I think she’s smart enough to realize how lucky she would be to date you. And if I’m wrong about that, well. Fuck her.” 

Camila hands Beatrice a plate and then squeezes at her hip. 

“Lilith’s right.”

“Of course I am.” 

Camila rolls her eyes. “You are a catch. And Ava knows it. But we,” she looks meaningfully at Lilith who tilts her head in acquiescence, “respect where you are right now.”

“Thank you,” Beatrice says, sitting down the plate and reaching for the next one.

“Always,” Camila says as Lilith grunts in acknowledgement. “I’ll put a towel on the dresser in the spare room. The sheets are clean.”  There’s no question in her voice, and Beatrice doesn’t fight it, because it’s late, and it would be nice, to wake up tomorrow and eat breakfast with her best friend and her partner. She says, instead, “Thanks, Cam,” and takes another plate. 

[sashi-ya]

congrats on 200 followers!! (I love your blog btw, thank you for all your writing so far & for this event <3) could I ask for Ace, face sitting + squirting, with a female s/o? thank you again!

Anonymous asked: Congratulations on 200 followers! May I ask for overstimulation or face sitting with Ace and a female reader? Thanks so much!

Hi lovelies!! These two requests were similar, so I'm combining them! I hope you enjoy this little scenario were our freckled fire boy enjoys to be crushed by the thighs of his lover 🙊❤️‍🔥 Thank u so much for participating and your kind words! ❤️‍🔥

NSFW ~ Portgas D. Ace x F! Reader ~ Twister

Kinks:

🌶 #3: Face Sitting 🌶 #47: Squirting

TW: NSFW. Masturbation. Face sitting. Squirting. Oral sex.

WC: 807

“Boredom is consuming my guts, babeeee”, you say whining dramatically, while outside a huge tropical storm is blowing every possible palm tree on the coast. “Don’t be so dramatic, electricity is going to come back soon, honey”, says Ace while looking through the window and enjoying the spectacle of modern nature.

Ace and you are on a “romantic getaway” for your two year anniversary. The weather has been pretty good, but tonight a storm is hitting your cabin, and the power went off. You planned on going dinner, but, due to climate conditions you had to stay inside, watching some movies and cooking something.

You are lying on bed, rolling from left to right until you lose yourself in the reflection of your boyfriend’s freckled cheeks on the window. So handsome, so kissable.

Ace turns around and gives you a cute smile, and then he goes into a little wardrobe next to the entrance door. You hear him scrutinizing with almost his whole body inside, until something falls from an upper shell and hits his wavy black hair locks. “Auch”, he says while inspecting the box who attacked him. You can’t help but laugh at him, and he does the same, luckily the box wasn’t heavy.

“Twister…”, he says while showing and shaking the white box. “Ooooh, let’s play!!”, you say excited and jump off the bed. Soon you two are preparing the place, making space, and spreading the white dotted tarpaulin on the floor.

“Spin the wheel, babe. I’m gonna win so I’m letting you be first”, he says while mocking you. “Oh, you are going to win? well let’s see…” you answer him in a competitive way.

After a few turns, your limbs got all tangled around. You can’t help but laugh out loud, as you two fight not to lose balance. The first one to lose is Ace. He hits his back against the floor with a loud “FUCK!”. You are on all fours, and your ass lingers over Ace, while you make fun of him.

“Did you say you were going to win? hahaha!”, you tell him. Ace rises up his right brow and pulls from your legs. You struggle not to fall, but you fail.

Your whole core is over his face, and while you laugh uncontrollably, Ace has other intentions and bites the inside of your left thigh. He mumbles under the pressure your pelvis produces over his mouth, “I lost because I was distracted with your huge ass over my face, you know?”.

While your thighs press his cheeks you slightly stand up and look down. “That’s what I call strategy, babe. You are weak and I took advantage of it”, you tell him and stick your tongue out. He gasps and narrows his precious eyes, and bite your thigh once more, this time spanking you softly, too. You squeak and brush your fingers through his hair.

The satin shorts you are wearing are getting wet by the kisses of your lover. His thumb plays with your clit, up and down and tracing circles as he knows perfectly how you like the most. Your hand squeezes your right breast while your hips move grinding your sex against his face.

Your core dripping wet while you anticipate the feeling of his tongue devouring it. Ace’s free hand occasionally slaps your ass cheeks, and yours reaches back to massage his swelling bulge.

Ace slips down your shorts. You quickly stand up to take them off and sit back over his face. He receives your core with his tongue sticking out, ready to taste you completely. And so he does, and he does it with delicious dedication, pressing your hips against his face. He enjoys to be trapped under your wet sex, the feeling of your thighs pressing his freckled cheeks, the gasps for air because your weight slightly oppress his thorax. Ace is in heaven, and you are too.

His thumb keeps playing with your clit while his tongue sometimes penetrates your entrance. The climax is coming soon, and you know it. And he does know it too, so, his hand slaps your thigh a little and that’s the sign. You know what’s coming next… you stand a little from his face, while Ace fingers your entrance and you rub your clit in circular motions. An intense orgasm hit your guts and let yourself go, squirting all over his face, and even around.

You lovingly clean his face with your hand, as he smiles pleased. He loves to be bathed by your juices. “Luckily the carpet didn't get wet, but we should clean the twister”, Ace says laughing. You look at him with a lascivious smile and tell him “We will have time to clean it after, this hasn’t ended yet”.

Ace smirks and you are back for the second round… ~

[wwilloww]

point of no return | PJM

Pairing: Jimin x Reader

Rating: Explicit

Genre: Smut. Fluff. Friends to lovers. Roommates AU.

WC: 10.2k

Summary: Both Jimin and you are determined to never act on the feelings you hold for one another. Instead, you’d rather shove it down, somewhere deep, dark, and inaccessible. So what do you get when you mix a broken furnace, an old victorian home, a little bit of jealousy in the club, and a need to keep warm together? A mess.

Warnings & Tags: Cursing. Reader is really freakin cold. Jimin sleeps in the nude. Spooning. Grinding. Obscene daydreaming about your best friend.  Sex dreams. Mentions of alcohol. Dancing. Jimin is a little jealous. Masterbation. Unexpected visual. Super soft makeout. Fingering. Orgasm denial. Sex. Slight power play. Creampie.  

AN: Oof! Finally! A Jimin fic! Thank you to @thatlongspringnight for guiding me through the last 6k of this fic, all written in one day and for being the most brilliant, queen of queens level beta reader. A big thanks to @triviasapphic too, for letting me use their likeness! 

This is very loosely based on this ask beautifully submitted by the loveliest @jinpanman for the milestone request party! 

©wwilloww Do not repost, translate, or use my stories without my permission.

point of no return 

“Fuckin’ shithead mutherfuckin cunt basket,” you hiss.

Nothing would turn it on.

You tried pressing the knob. You tried twisting it until your hand rubbed raw. You tried shaking it. You tried begging in your sweetest, most saccharine tone. You even tried giving it compliments.

“Have I ever told you how sexy you look with three coats of white paint? No?”

Fifteen minutes ago the antique radiator — so old it would probably be better in a museum of old technologies than as a functioning heat mechanism — stuttered to a halt and refused to turn back on.

When you had picked the house out with your best friend, Jimin, you’d loved it for it’s Victorian era charm. But now with the December cold creeping in through the thin window and your refusal to own more than one blanket you were shivering madly, teeth clattering cold. And wildly in doubt of your house hunting skills.

With a heavy sigh and slumped shoulders, you drag your comforter off of the mattress, wrap it tightly over your shivering shoulders, and pad barefoot down the hall. Instead of knocking, you just twist the door handle, letting the door swing open before you with a long, drawn-out squeak. You wince at the sound.

A dark figure sits up from the bed, squinting at you in the darkness.

“Is that—”

“It’s me,” you whisper. If it were anyone else, that response would be useless. But after years of friendship Jimin knows every tune and nook in your voice — the way it sounds when you’re upset, or scared, or — in this case — really fucking cold. “The heater broke.”

“What?” His voice is groggy and sleep-heavy.

“The heater broke. Can I stay here tonight?”

He scrunches his nose and wipes a hand across his face.

“Yeah, sure, uh—” He shifts a bit in bed and that’s when you realize he’s not wearing anything at all. You gulp. It’s the coldest month of the year and the fucker is naked in bed, nothing more than a top sheet thrown over his body, the rest of the duvet crumpled at the foot of the bed. Even though you know he’s one to sleep in the nude (“It invigorates your skin and keeps your body temperature regulated,” he had explained to you once) seeing it, in front of you, just the thinnest piece of fabric between you and your best friend’s junk is a whole other story.

As he moves, the sheet slips down, revealing his toned stomach, only visible by the moonlight flooding through the bay windows of his bedroom.

“Give me a minute to put something on?”

“Uh huh,” you mumble, turning around quickly to give him some semblance of privacy, your blanket whooshing out behind you.

You can hear him pad over to his dresser, just three feet behind you. You swallow hard as you imagine him, totally naked, so close to you. Literally within arms reach. If you could only—

“Turn around, I’m done.”

You peek over your shoulder before turning fully, only to see Jimin, now clothed in some pretty short black boxers, climbing back into bed. Blanket trailing, you shuffle after him, climbing into the warm bed from the other side.

You pull your comforter as tightly around you as you can, but you’re still cold. As you turn to face away from your friend, you can’t help but shiver, your shoulders shaking with the chill that’s settled deep in your bones.

“Can you stop shaking?” Jimin’s sleep-adled voice grunts from behind you.

“I’m too cold,” you whine.

“Come ‘ere—”

And before you know it, he’s wrapping an arm around your waist and dragging your body backwards until it meets his. He pulls the blanket up and slides in behind you, wrapping himself around your shivering form.

“Better?” he asks while you’re still in shock from the amount of contact he’s just put the two of you in.

“Mhmm,” you squeak out, even as your body continues to shake.

“You’re a liar,” he chuckles.

“I don’t know why you bothered to ask then,” you snap back, wrapping your arms tight around yourself.

You’re not sure if he sees this or if he’s acting on his own accord. You let out a small gasp as he tugs you even closer, his arm slipping under the blanket to press against the skin of your hip. He maneuvers you backwards, your body as limp as a puppet, while you lay there in shock (and a small bit of exhilaration). He presses the back of your body flush against his front and snakes his top arm up the front of your torso until it rests in the center of your chest, gripping your opposite shoulder.

Trapped.

You’re trapped in his arms, nowhere to move, nowhere to go. Only the sound of your combined breaths, his a little more slow and sleepy than your nervous pant. Trapped only with the idea of him so close, and the strange thing fluttering in your chest that only continues to grow bigger and bigger despite all the work you’ve done to push it away. All you can think about is the way he’s pressed up against you, only your thin flannel pajama pants and his even thinner black boxers keeping the most sensitive parts of your bodies apart.

When he shifts, nustling his nose into the crook of your shoulder, you swear you can feel something long and hard press up against your ass.

And suddenly the warmth that is flooding through you has absolutely nothing to do with the shared body heat. Instead it’s coming from someplace deep down — somewhere yearning and desperate — and also from that strange fluttering thing in your chest.

All there is is white. You know somewhere far above you is an endless sea of stars, blinking down on you. But all you know is the grass beneath you and the swimming white sheets that float above and around you.

Someone’s laughing and you turn your face to see him — Jimin — beaming and reaching out towards you.

Somewhere in your mind you know it’s night time and that everything should be dark — and yet, everything around him is lit up and glows with a sourceless light.

Joy rushes through you and as you reach out towards him, he disappears and a new kind of light — warmth — appears behind you.

“I want—” you start to say, but his hand comes up to your mouth, silencing you.

“If you speak, you’ll break the dream,” he says. “Just enjoy it. Let me be here with you.”

Eyes don’t close in dreams, but you know you drift somewhere soft, the feeling of his body so close to yours and the precious rhythm of his breath tracing your neck.

All there is warmth.

Too much of it, actually.

As your eyes blink open to the dark room, the remnants of some dream, lots of white, Jimin’s smile fall away from your consciousness. You kick your leg out into the freezing air and sigh as the coolness washes the heat from your body. Relief.

The warmth that hasn’t been erased, however, is sitting heavy in your lower belly, pooling and swirling and wanting.

You do your best to ignore it, knowing it’s probably some mix of the dream and the thing that you’ve kept hidden on the edge of your consciousness for too long.

You close your eyes again, wishing for sleep to come back and pull you away from these thoughts. Just as you feel the soft edges of another dream lapping at the edges of your mind, Jimin groans behind you and comes to press up against you again, his hand snaking down over your belly.

Eyes shoot open. There. Behind you. Right between the swell of your ass. You can feel his cock pressing into you, at full hardness. You gasp at the sensation, quickly slapping your hand over your mouth so as not to wake him. Slowly, you try to scootch away from his grip, but he holds you there, his arm only tightening when you try to move away.

It’s not that you don’t want it — you do — your body is singing with electricity at the thought of his hard cock against you, between you, inside you. God, if only. However, it’s the consequences, the unspoken question, the unanswered desires (the answer to which you may just not want to know) that push you away from him.

This is your best friend. The person you’ve always been able to rely on and trust. The man you know you can turn to at any moment and know there will never be a question dangling between the two of you.

Except for now.

As he slowly circles his hips against yours, the most delightful, breathy pants falling from his lips — so soft you can barely hear them — the question looms larger than ever.

Are you in love with your best friend?

However, here, his arm wrapped so tightly around your belly, it’s easy to sink into the desire. To equate the arrival of the question with the arousal rising in your body. To tell yourself this is just pleasure, this is natural.

Jimin’s palm is splayed out across your lower belly, pressing hard against you.

He’s rutting shallowly against you, moving for the sake of his own pleasure. A high note of satisfaction slips from his lips, before a name tumbles shortly after it into your ear.

Not any name.

Your name.

You choke on your own words as you understand it. Confusion rushes over you but it’s quickly replaced by adrenaline as his hand clenches and unclenches around your shirt and he shifts and stretches.

Jimin is waking up. Is he going to say something? Is he going to tell you he didn’t mean it at all? Will he run from you?

His body freezes as he realizes the position he’s in. Wrapped so intimately around you, his hard cock pressed against you.

“Shit,” you hear him whisper. “Shit, shit, shit.”

You squeeze your eyes closed and lay as still as possible as you feel him pull away from you. And then the bed dips just enough and you realize he’s leaning over you, checking to see if you’re asleep or not.

You smooth out your features, hoping he doesn’t catch that you’ve been awake this whole time.

The December morning light is streaming in bold and warm through the window.

Your hand goes searching for Jimin, but all you find is an empty, chilled, pillow. There’s a good chance he’s already headed out for the day to see friends or to run errands and so you assume it’s safe as you tiptoe downstairs to get some water and some much needed coffee. Not that you slept much last night.

As you enter the kitchen, the earthy smell of fresh coffee hits you and you take a deep breath, inhaling the nutty aroma. There’s a full pot of coffee already waiting for you on the counter. You smile. Jimin has always been a considerate housemate, but to leave you coffee in the morning? I’m so lucky to have a friend like him, you sigh as you turn to the cabinet to grab a mug.

“Good morning!” an almost nervous, too-cheery voice sings out from behind you.

“AGh!” you cry, nearly dropping the mug you’re holding. Jimin’s quicker than you are though, and reaches out, just as it drops below your belly button. He’s laughing, his delightful giggle filling the light-painted kitchen but all you can think about is how close he’s standing to you, the mug brushing up against your stomach.

“Got it,” he grins.

“You know you can’t jump out at me like that!” you scold, trying to take the mug back from him. But he turns and goes to fill it up for you.

“I literally said your name twice before you noticed. Someone was too lost in dreamland.”

“Pshh, no, I — you need to be a little louder.”

“Can we talk about last night?” Jimin asks as he hands you a cup of coffee. “I, uh, I think there was an accident, I had a dream you were—”

You panic.

“Last night? Oh gosh yeah! I slept like a rock! Thank you for keeping me warm. I would have frozen to death if it weren’t for you.”

You smile as sweetly as you can at him.

He blinks back.

“I mean — uh, yeah, sure, I mean, you’re welcome but that’s not what I mean —”

“Nothing to talk about!” you chirp, already scurrying towards the stairs that lead back up to your bedroom.

“Hey! I’m trying to talk to you!” he cries as you pad upstairs, making a beeline for your bedroom as the coffee you’re holding sloshes around in the mug.

“Oof, well I’m already tired again, gonna take a nap!”

You sprint up the stairs and as you do you hear him call behind you.

“I’m sorry! I didn’t mean it!”

It hits harder than you want it to.

“Come on, princess. You’re taking forever!”

You’re back down on your bed, swaddled in all the blankets in the house you could find, scrolling through your phone.

“I don’t want to go!”

“Well I do!” The door finally swings open and Jimin stands there, all dolled up for the night out. He’s wearing tight leather pants that hug his toned thighs just right and a half opened black shirt that he’s still buttoning as you look on. Beneath his hands, his chest shows, the muscular planes simple and sheer perfection. A single silver earring dangles from his left ear, the other one filled with a variety of studs.

As you peek out of your blanket fort, you gulp as you take in his flawless appearance. He looks like straight sex, the darkness of his outfit highlighting every muscle and curve.

"You look nice," you manage to squeak, and Jimin blushes, his praise kink showing. "Those pants are..." Hot as fuck? More beautiful than the Mona Lisa? Just asking me to rip them off? Floundering for language, you just let your sentence trail off as he looks on, a pink tinge still dancing across his features.

"You wanna wear them?"

"Pfft, no," you lie.

“Are you planning on getting out of bed?”

“No.”

"Well then, if you're not going to get out of bed and dress yourself I'll do the honors." Jimin stomps over to the tiny door leading to your closet and swings it open. He ruffles through your set of clothes, as disparate from a full flannel collection (one that you are quite proud of) to an evening gown that never got worn. Words you can't quite hear or understand tumble from his mouth in a stream of frustrated mumbles as he seems to be looking for something very specific. "Aha!" he finally cries out. "Here it is."

What he pulls out is not what you expected.

It's a simple piece. A light tan slip dress, one with a bit of a scoop to the bust. One that hugs all of your curves just right and sits low enough the weight keeps the dress exactly where you want it to be and high enough that your upper thighs are deliciously on display - something that simultaneously excites you and scares the hell out of you. You bought it on a whim, hoping it would help you embody your inner club girl (or "inner slut" as your friend Jungkook would correct you - which, if you were being entirely honest, was really what you meant when you spoke about going to the club.)

"That one? Really?"

"What, you wanna wear this?" He turns back to the closet before pulling out a second dress, this one long and emerald green and sparkly with a full slit up the side.

"No." You pout.

"Then what's the problem?"

"Ugh!" you cry, burrowing deeper into your blanket fort. "Itsmyslutdress," you mumble.

"What?"

"Itsmyslutdress!" you mumble, but louder this time.

"Did you just call it a slut dress?"

You pop your head out of the warmth cocoon with a sigh.

"Yes."

"What does that even mean?"

"It is the dress I wear when I want to embody my slutty alter-ego. The dress I wear when I wanna get laid."

Jimin blinks a few times before turning back to you with a grin.

"Well--do you not want to get laid tonight?" he asks slowly.

You gape at him.

Even as best friends, even talking about your hookups, you never really talked about sex iteself. Everytime you brought it up, whether it was at the bar and you were ogling some tall, dark, handsome stranger as if some psychic had promised you he was your entire future, he always seemed to shut down. And yet, around your other friends, he was an open book. "Basically a sex expert," Jungkook had told you once. "A sexpert." He'd added, grinning.

But with you, sex was off the table. You were more open and vulnerable with him than you were anyone in your life - and he with you. But sex was just never on the discussion board for you two.

"Do you wanna get laid tonight?"

"Are you offering?" you shoot back teasingly.

"Of course," he says softly.

Your mouth drops.

Of course? Of course?!

"I mean! No! What? Wait? Can you repeat the question?"

"You said yes," you say slowly.

"What! No! I did not!"

Jimin is basically stomping his foot on the ground.

"You did!"

He looks almost angry and you're not sure whether to laugh at the softness with which he had agreed to fuck you - or to feel hurt by his quick change of mind.

"Did not!"

You break into giggles finally releasing yourself from your cocoon of warmth to sprawl out on the bed in a fit of laughter. Your little tirade is quickly shut down though as the silky fabric of the dress is thrown onto your face and you cough around the material.

"Get dressed. I don't want to be late," he says, his voice flat.

“It’s too cold for the slut dress,” you grumble in a last ditch effort, fabric falling into your mouth as you sleep.

“Then wear a fucking turtleneck and snow pants to the club,” Jimin says. “I don’t care, just please get dressed.”

The door slams and when you pull the dress away from your face, the room is empty again. With a sigh, you roll off the bed and begin to get ready for the night.

By the time you pulled up to the dark, sticker-plastered doors of the club, Jimin had resumed his usually joyful and peppy demeanor, all memories of his little slip up erased from the night.

You knew better than to push him about it. You knew that he shut down when you called him out on these things in the past— like the way his eyes lingered on you for too long when you showed off a new bathing suit, the cute little stutter he donned when he was flustered by you, or the way he would basically run at top speed in any direction away from you when you emerged from the shower, nothing but a towel wrapped around your body.

As you are swallowed into the sea of dancing figures and booming bass, you feel his hand come to rest on your waist. Pushing further into the crowd, his touch is reassuring. Steadying. His way of keeping a hold on you without actually holding onto you.

He sees them before you do, and quickly grabs onto your hand, tugging you forward into the mass of swaying figures. Waving and yelling their names, the two of you tumble towards your friends. Jungkook and Raven stand near the bar, their faces lighting up when they finally spot you in the mess of strangers.

Raven embraces you first, his arms pulling you in for a tight hug.

“I wanna dance!” Jungkook says before you can even step away from Raven. Drinks abandoned, Jungkook has grabbed both yours and Jimin’s hands and drags you out to the dance floor.

The bass courses through you as your friends surround you, bopping and swaying to the barely understandable lyrics.

Jimin has always been a good dancer. A great dancer, actually. His moves range from absolutely side-achingly hilarious to -- dare you say it -- undeniably sensual.

He twirls you onto the dance floor, the two of you falling into your usual routine of swinging and laughing and kicking all around.

And as the upbeat and perhaps misplaced summer hit switches to a more sensual song he matches it naturally, letting his hips sway and glide to the rhythm. He pulls you along with him, twirling you more slowly. When you twist into his grasp, he doesn’t hesitate to take you into his arms, pressing you against him.

As his arms come to wrap around your shoulders, you can’t help but press back into him.

Raven winks at you and you grin back at him, shooing him and his teasing away.

It’s easy to fall into this. Easy to fall into the sway of Jimin’s body and the safety that comes with being pressed so close against him. You fit perfectly into his body, every one of your curve the antithesis to his. Like two puzzle pieces.

You let your hand drop down to his thigh, gripping it for stability as you sway your hips against his. The muscle tenses beneath your touch and you take that as an opportunity to roll your ass against his crotch.

He meets your movements, grinding back up into you, his hand dropping to your waist where he grips you tightly and guides your movements even further back into him.  

"We shouldn't be doing this," he whispers in your ear.

His body pressed against yours feels like the most natural thing in the world. The nights the two of you have spent in your kitchen, sliding around in socks and grooving to your favorite music, springing each other around your shared house — all of those hours, all of those years make it so when he moves against you he knows exactly what he’s doing and exactly what you want him to do. You move in tandem, as if you are sharing a brain, a story, a body.

You tilt your head up to him, nuzzling into his neck.

“Why not?”

“I-I can’t mess up.” He says, but he continues to sway at your back.

“You’re not messing up. I like this.”

As you reach behind you, letting your hand trail up beneath his shirt, you can feel him press into your touch. Chasing it, searching it out. But as your hand trails back down, fingernails scraping delicately against the skin, he seems to snap out of it and steps back from you, even as he keeps his hands on your hips.

You turn, trying to pull him back to you, but you see his brow is furrowed.

“Are you okay?” you ask.

“Just fine!” he says, just a little to cheerfully. “I-I just think I’m done with dancing for tonight.”

Even as he says it he pulls you closer to his chest.

“I’m going to get some drinks, do you want something?”

“You don’t want to dance with me?”

“I— uh— it’s not that.” He shakes his head.

“Please, come on, it’ll be fun,” you groan, tugging on his arm. But he stands firm and stiff. “Aren’t you having fun?”

“I don’t want to dance tonight. Just go on ahead.”

You look your friend up and down. Jimin was never one to turn down an opportunity to dance.

“Okay,” you say, painting a smile on your features even as your heart aches slightly at his rejection. “I just want you to have fun. Do you want me to come with?”

“No--it’s okay. I’ll be back, alright?”

“Alright?”

You watch as he disappears back into the mass of people. You stand still, wondering What the hell just happened?

However, your thoughts are quickly interrupted as Raven reaches out to you, pulling you to him in a graceful spin.

“Distract yourself, darling,” he says with a chuckle. “He’ll come around, don’t you worry.”

Before you have a chance to process his words, Raven spins you out again in the crowd.

You stumble just a little bit, until hands come to rest on the dip of your hips, lingering there just enough to stabilize you. However, they quickly release you as soon as you are standing tall again.

“Oh, ah, thank you,” you half-yell as you turn around, attempting to raise your voice above the noise.

The man who stands behind you is undeniably gorgeous. Tall, with a dark lock of hair hanging into your forehead and the most beautiful smile.

“No worries, it happens all the time,” he grins at you. “What’s your name.”

You yell back at him, but when he can’t hear you, you step closer to him, pressing against his chest to speak your name into his ear. His hand comes down on your waist as you do, lightly.

“My name’s Hoseok. You can call me Hobi though. Care to dance?”

You grin up at him and nod. You’ve never been one to turn down a dance partner.

He takes your hand, quick to find the rhythm of the music.

Hoseok is a natural. As each song progresses, his dances become more intricate. He’s happy to lead you through them and you can’t help but laugh as he spins you around the floor while others are swaying and grinding. You’ve never had this much fun with a stranger, but as he moves against you, you can’t help but think of the way Jimin felt pressed so close to you earlier in the night. It’s just not quite the same.

It’s easy to get lost in him, in his beaming smile and witty jokes that he bends down to whisper in your ear. He compliments you freely, and you do the same in return.

As the night continues you and Hoseok dance closer and closer until he’s pressed deliciously up against your back. You find yourself lost in the sensation of being embraced by someone, even if it isn’t the person you’d want to be there.

“I hope I’m not being too forward, but do you wanna come home with me?” The man leans down, the husk of his voice brushing deliciously against your ear.

“I can’t.” You say, turning back towards him. “But thank you.”

“No problem,” he says, leaning down to chastely kiss your cheek. “Can I ask you a question before you go?”

You nod.

“Does your refusal have anything to do with the man at the bar who hasn’t taken his eyes off of us since we started dancing?”

“What?”

He nods over your shoulder, back towards the bar. Through the crowd, you can barely see your friends, but as you reach up on your tippy toes you see them all gathered around, laughing and talking. And then at the edge of them is Jimin. He stands tall and proud and with an unusually grim expression on his face. But when he sees you looking at him, he quickly averts his gaze to his drink, which he is continually swirling in his hand.

“You’re going home with him, aren’t you?”

“Well, duh, he’s my roommate, I—”

“You should go for it,” he interrupts you.

“Go for it?”

“Go for it.”

“There’s nothing there,” you state, matter of factly. “We’re just really good friends!” You’re not sure why you tell him this, but there’s something soft in his eyes that spurs you on.

“Good friends don’t eye fuck each other all night.”

“We weren’t—”

“No need to explain it to me.” He holds up his hands. “But it seems like you have some explaining to do to him. Or at least to yourself.”

You sputter. “Psh! What! No! I’m just tired, Hobi, and if I had the energy I would be fucking you right here, right now, on the dance floor. It has nothing to do with Jimin. Nothing at all!” You realize you’ve got your finger poking into his chest and you quickly draw it back. “Sorry.”

“Okay…”

“Well.” You put your hands on your hips, wiping the frustrated look off of your face. “I should go, I guess. It was nice dancing with you, partner. I’ll be the first to admit you got great hips.”

He’s laughing, and you’re not sure if it’s at you or with you, but when you extend you hand for a friendly fistbump, he meets it with all the enthusiasm in the world, pulls you into a hug, and is off on his merry way, off to find a new dancing partner.

Left alone in the middle of the floor, you kind of just stand there, mulling over what the stranger had said to you. Soon though, you feel a hand on your shoulder and you spin around to see a blank faced Jimin.

“I, uh, just wanted to check in on you.”

“I’m all good!” you chirp, perhaps too cheerfully. As you begin to make your way back to the bar, his hand comes to rest on your lower back and you shiver at the touch.

“So you’re not going home with him?” He nods back in the direction of the disappearing stranger.

“Why would I?”

“Well, you wore your slut dress, so I figured he was a contender.” He doesn’t meet your eye.

“I didn’t want to fuck him.” You stop, and turn to him.

He laughs, almost nervously. “Well I guess that’s an important factor.”

“Yeah, just a minor detail,” you shoot back, grinning.

“I guess it’s all for the best. Didn’t like the looks of him much anyways.

You giggle. “What? Are you jealous?”

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

“I can’t be jealous.”

“Can’t be? Or aren’t?”

Jimin blinks back at you, an expression of utter surprise on his face. You know his answer in that moment, and yet — there is a kind of doubt that sits in you. That until he says it, it just won’t be real.

And still, he avoids your question.

“I think I’m gonna head home, do you wanna come with or head back with Tae and Raven?”

“I’ll come back with you, there’s nothing left here for me.”

“Great,” he says, a small smile on his lips. “Let’s go.”

“My heat is still out,” you call.

You’re standing at the door to his room in nothing but your pajama shirt. When you’d gotten home Jimin was quick to wish you goodnight and sweet dreams and book it up to his bedroom. You had gone to your own room and changed into sleep clothes, only to climb into bed and realize just how fucking freezing your blankets still were.

But as you stand outside his bedroom, when you press down on the handle, the door is unusually locked. He never locks the door, you think.

“Jimin!”

You push down on the handle, jiggling it obnoxiously as you hope your best friend can hear you from the other side, and isn’t just ignoring you. As you rattle the metal handle, something seems to come loose within the door and all of a sudden the door is swinging open inwards and there’s Jimin, leaning against the backboard of his bed, legs spread, and--

“Oh no—”

Even as your hands flash up to cover your eyes, you know it’s too late.

You’ve already seen it.

It’s imprinted on your brain. The image of Jimin with his head thrown back, hand wrapped around his throbbing cock hastily pulled out of his jeans. He must have been in such a rush he didn’t even bother to pull his pants down. Instead, the leather pants are simply tugged down just enough from him to slip his cock out of them.

“What the fuck!” he yelps.

“Did I—interrupt?” You can’t help but burst into giggles, even as you keep your hands firmly clamped to your face.

“Yes! Yes, you did!” he says, scrambling for the sheet. He pulls it over himself and then does up his pants again.

“If it makes you feel any better you have a nice looking dick!” you squeak out from behind your hands.

He wipes a hand wearily over his face.

“You really wanna have a conversation about my dick right now?”

“See a dick, converse about a dick, am I right?” you laugh nervously.

“No, no, you’re not. It usually goes like ‘see a dick, forget the fact that you ever looked at a dick.’”

“You got a point there.”

The room falls into silence for a moment before Jimin coughs and speaks.

“You can take your hands away now.”

Ever-so-slowly you release your hands from your face, looking over at Jimin who looks — not upset, not embarrassed, not angry — but intrigued. He’s looking at you with a mix of curiosity — and something else. Something you can’t quite put a finger on.

“Welp, I better be going—”

“I thought you said your heat is still out.”

You turn back around slowly.

“...It is. But I can go. I don’t want to make you feel… uncomfortable.”

“You’ve never made me feel uncomfortable. I don’t know if you could.”

“I’ve definitely made you feel uncomfortable before. Like that one time I put peanut butter on your special pickles and tried to fry them—”

“Okay, okay, maybe in like, a superficial way. But not in a deep way.” He pauses. “You’re my best friend for a reason.”

You’re still standing in the doorway, and as he looks you over — gaging your reaction, reading your emotions, trying to understand what’s going on in that far-off mind of yours — he realizes you’ve got your arms wrapped around your torso, protecting yourself from the biting draft that drifts down the hallway.

“Come ‘ere. You’re sleeping here tonight.” He says it without hesitation.

You look at him, and then back down the darkened hallway, and then back at him, the warm glow of his bedside lamp painting his features gold. His cheeks are still slightly flushed, his chest peeks out of his loose button down. And perhaps it’s that image that draws you to him — or, what you tell yourself in that moment, the inviting warmth of the layers of blankets on his bed and the radiator that sits close by.

You climb into bed, quickly tucking yourself into the blankets and rolling onto your side, away from him. However, you can feel his hands reaching out towards you, pulling the blankets closer to you, tucking you in further to their addicting warmth.

“I’m uh, gonna read for a little bit, is that okay?” he asks.

“Yeah, course,” you say, your voice slightly muffled by the pillow you’ve stolen and burry your face into.

He rifles through the nightstand. Behind you, he shifts, getting a bit more comfortable and you can hear the comforting sound of pages turning as he begins to read.

Even as you close your eyes, sleep evades you. As much as you try to banish it from your mind, it seems as if the image of his thick cock is burned into your retina, the vein on the underside of it swollen and pronounced. All you can see in your mind’s eye is Jimin, lost in his own pleasure. His face scrunched, eyes squeezed shut. What would it be like to see what he saw, whatever it was that had him gripping his cock so tight the knuckles began to turn white?

“So do you usually masterbate without porn?”

It slips out before you know what you’re saying.

He coughs behind you, and it sounds like he’s choking.

“What?!”

Well, you think. Now that it’s out there I might as well just go for it. You flip over onto your otherside, face half hidden by the blanket.

“When I walked in on you — you were just… lost in thought. No video or audio or,” you nod at the book he’s holding. “Rip off of Half a Hundred Colors of Dark-White.”

He gapes at you.

“Why are you so obsessed with my masterbatory habits, hm?”

“I-I’m not! I’m just curious, like one would be when they accidentally catch their best friend masterbating. We all, you know, do it. I, myself, have a very lovely connection of multi-colored vibrators — all sizes and shapes and, uh, textures? And vibrations and settings and speeds and—”

“So you wanna talk about it then?” He’s still sitting above, looking down on you. He cocks an eyebrow at your surprised expression. “You didn’t want to talk about last night but you want to talk about how I get myself off?”

It’s your turn to gape.

“Uh, what? Last night, psh no!”

He readjusts his position so he’s facing you now, one leg bent and propped up, the other one folded beneath it. You do your best to keep your gaze focused on his face, and not on the prominent bulge that is now in your direct line of vision.

“So you weren’t grinding on my cock last night — or god forbid tonight at the club — But you wanna know about my masterbatory habits?”

You swallow and despite the chill air of the bedroom, you sit up, letting the blankets fall around your waist.

“I suppose that is what I’m asking.”

Heart pounding in your chest, you lick your lips. You know what you’re asking. You know where you’re pushing things. Everything about this next step terrifies you. And yet, it’s all you’ve been thinking about for the past 24 hours. Hell, the past several years.

You’d be lying if you said that last night’s dream was the tamest of the ones Jimin starred in. He haunted you. His image, his being, were everywhere you turned. Even when you were with other partners or one night stands, all you could do was compare them to Jimin. Were they as softly hilarious as him? Did they know your every thought, your every desire, like he did? Could they anticipate your mood before you even could? Did they fill you with that feeling of belonging and safety like he did? No. None of them ever did. You didn’t just crave Jimin’s attention, you craved his touch.

“You know, most friends talk about this kind of shit.”

“Do they?”

“Yes. They talk about sex. They talk about getting off. They talk about their interests and turn-offs and fantasies and--”

“And you wanna talk about this?” His hand lands on yours. You look up at him as he squeezes your fingers within his warm grasp.

“I-I guess I do. Sometimes it bothers me that we don’t talk about it.”

“Then let’s talk about it,” he says, a little bit more confidence slipping into his voice. He picks your hand up, weaving his fingers in between yours. The way he looks at them reminds you of someone looking at a beautiful vista or an undiscovered creature for the first time. There is wonder -- and also confusion -- in him. “I never wanted to make you uncomfortable. I never wanted to… turn our friendship into something that you didn’t want. Something that made you uncomfortable.”

“And I didn’t want to push.”

“Push me? Into what?”

You glance down at your hands. “I don’t know, something that you were disgusted by.”

“I could never be disgusted by you. It’s the opposite, actually.”

“Then why do you keep pushing me away? When I want to talk about things? When I want to be close to you?”

Jimin is silent for a moment.

“Because I’m never sure if this is just fun to you,” he says softly. “What if something happens and you realize you don’t want it in the way you thought you did?”

“And what if something happens and it’s exactly what I want?” One hand still resting in his grasp, you reach out with the free one to clutch onto his shirt. Not wanting to push too far, you make do with tangling your fingers in the silky fabric, twisting it around yourself until you are lost in it.

You don’t see it coming. His hand reaching up to yours, pressing your hand to his chest. Slowly, he slides your intertwined hands up until he can press your palm to his chest. Beneath the fabric you can hear the gentle thud of his heart beating, quicker than usual. And there, he just holds it. Mulling. Contemplating.

“It feels like I’ve been distracted…” He licks his lips as he considers his next several words. “...for weeks. Probably longer. I’ve been trying to hold everything in because it’s not supposed to be there. But the temptation to just give in… To just lean into the things that I want… It’s always there. It doesn’t go away. But--sometimes I can distract myself from it.”

“What is it that you want?”

His gaze flickers back up from your lips. The look in his eyes is searing. Burning. There’s desire there — one that’s all consuming — but something else too. He refuses to look away from you, instead roving over your whole face as if he’s trying to memorize it. As if when he speaks next he might forget you entirely. And that’s when you realize. It’s not confusion dancing in his eyes. It’s loss. He thinks he’s going to lose you.

“It doesn’t matter. I can’t have it.”

“You can.”  

“I can’t.” He squeezes his eyes shut, like he’s trying to hold back. “There— there are lines that once you cross you can never go back to.”

“Jimin, I want you.”

The words hang in the stilled silence of the room like lead, suspended and out of place. But you push on, and as you do, his grip tightens around your hands and he’s pulling you forward until you’re flush against his chest.

“And it’s not because of your monster cock -- although that’s like a really really great benefit that I’ll be honest, I wasn’t expecting--” Jimin raises an eyebrow. “Anyways, I want you for you. I think I’ve wanted you since I met you, but--” You glance down. “I’ve been too scared to admit it. Too scared or too dumb.”

Jimin raises your chin so that you are eye to eye. He’s so close.

“I’ve wanted you since I laid eyes on you.” He lets his hands drop to your hips, maneuvering you so that you’re fully straddling his waist as he sits up against the headboard. “I wanted you in my life, in whatever way that would be. I wanted you as my best friend and my inspiration and my home -- and to have you like that? I would never want to fuck it up.”

“Then don’t.”

“Simple as that,” he laughs, his hands coming to rest on your hips. He tightens his grip and you instinctively wrap your hands around his neck, tugging him closer to you.

“Simple as that,” you repeat.

The words hang in the air for a moment, filling the space of the bedroom. And then their sound is gone, leaving the air vacant of sound. The weight of what you’ve both just said crashes down upon you.

Simple as that.

“I want to kiss you,” Jimin whispers. “Can I kiss you?”

“Always,” you barely manage to mumble before your lips are crashing together. They begin clumsily, desperate. Teeth knocking together as you both scramble frantically for connection. For the missed years. For the gazes thrown across the hallway, quick and longing.

And then you find your groove. Just like on the dance floor, there is an unspoken communication to the way that you move together. Chasing and pursuing. Biting and pressing. You gasp as Jimin slips his tongue between your lips, swiping against the roof of your mouth.

It feels like forever and no time at all that you’re wrapped up in his arms, his hands climbing the height of your back as he pulls you as close as he possibly can.

As the kiss slips into gentleness, you feel him between your legs. He’s impossibly hard. You don’t know if it’s thought or basic instinct that leads you to press your hips forward, sliding ever so slightly along his length. You know you’ve done the right thing when he groans into your mouth. You do it again, this time swiveling against him. His hands snake down to your hips, fingers digging into the fleshy bits of your sides.

“I don’t think you know what you’re doing,” he groans against your lips.

“I know exactly what I’m doing.”

He kisses you fiercely and you let your hands wander beneath the silk of his shirt, tracing the planes of his skin until you’ve had enough and need more. You attempt to tug the fabric up, but he seems lost in your lips.

“Off, please,” you say when you can’t get it over his shoulders.

He grins at you and shucks it off in one go, tossing it onto the floor.

You lean back just enough to admire him like this, the planes of his chest glowing dimly in the light of the lamp.

“You’re so beautiful,” you murmur in awe.

He captures your lips again, his movements soft and dutiful. And then with all the gentleness in the world, he turns the both of you, cradling the nape of your neck as he lowers you down onto the pillows.

“I never thought I could have you like this.”

“Me neither. I-I don’t know if I can go back.”

“Don’t worry, darling. I already know I don’t want to go back.”  

You smile up at him, a feeling of warmth and love spreading through your chest. As he sits back, looking down on you, you tug your shirt over your head, tossing it to join his discarded top on the floor.

His eyes rove over your naked form, bare of everything except for the grannie panties you slipped on before knocking on his door. At the beginning of the night you wanted nothing but to make sure everything was thoroughly covered. Now you wish you had gone for something a bit more stylish.

Even as you think this, looking at him you know he doesn’t give a flying fuck what you’re wearing.

He leans down again, kissing you. He lets his weight rest just enough on you as he settles between your legs and you arch up at the dull contact.

As he bites down on your lip, you push up into him, searching for more.

“Can I touch you?” he asks.

“Please,” you gasp.

His hand comes down on your thigh, pushing you open just enough. And then, as he comes back to kiss you, he slips his hand down your stomach, fingers teasing at the waistband of your panties.

You can’t help as your hips buck up as he slips a finger down your folds. You’re already soaking, arousal quickly coating his finger.

“Shh, shh,” he whispers against your lips, gaze searching yours. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you.”

As the final word slips out of his mouth, he inserts the first finger into your tight entrance and you yelp in pleasure, the feeling of him filling you more sensation than you could imagine. Ever so slowly, he begins to pump it in and out before adding a second finger.

“I want to get you ready for me,” he murmurs. “If that’s what you want.”

“I want it,” you gasp as he presses against your g spot. “Please, I need it, please, Jimin, fuck me.”

“Patience, baby. I will in due time. But first I need you a little more stretched out.”  

When he adds a third finger, the pressure building deliciously in your abdomen, there’s nothing you can do to hold back the way your body jerks or the whine that slips through your lips.

“God, I never even imagined you would sound this desperate, this beautiful.”

As he continues to press against the soft spongy spot inside you, you squeeze your eyes shut, trying to keep control but quickly losing it.

“You thought about this?”

“Of course I thought about it.”

“Tell me what you thought about,” you pant, his fingers still working rhythmically in and out of you.

“The list is endless,” he murmurs. “I think about what it would feel like to fuck you. What it would sound like to have you call my name. What it would be like to have you cum again and again around my cock, and then walk out of here, with it dripping down your leg so that anyone who sees will know it too. To have you so fucked out and screaming that everyone in a ten mile radius knows exactly who is fucking you so well, who you belong to.”

“Ah!” you cry as your orgasm begins to build. “Jimin! I’m so close, I--”

And just like that, his fingers are gone from your clenching walls and you are left with a feeling of absolute emptiness drifting through you. He pulls back with a smirk.

“Wha--”

“When you come, I want it to be around my cock.”

Your gaze flickers down to his crotch, where his dick is straining against the tight confines of the leather. “That just can’t be comfortable,” you say, your voice shaking even as you unapologetically eye his obvious arousal. “Please take them off. I’ll make you feel good.”

“You can?”

“I want to,” you explain. “I want to help.” You look up at him again and see that his gaze is dark with desire. “Can I?”

Slowly, he nods, and you reach out towards him, for the buttons to his jeans. As your fingers land on the cold metal of the button, his come down atop yours, popping the button open expertly.

As you slowly slide the zipper down, you swallow.

Everything about this feels right. There’s the sensation of a fire burning in your chest. It’s not just wanting his body. It’s chasing the feeling of electricity sparking through you every time he touches you. Chasing the want of his hands, his gaze, his everything focused on you. Something twinges in your heart. Even as you want these things, you know it’s not fair to ask them of him, to expect them of him.

He stands to slip the rest of his pants off and you realize he’s not even wearing underwear. You gulp as you watch him strip, his beautiful body soon revealed in the dim lighting. His cock stands at full attention, deliciously hard and poking against his belly.

“Are you sure you want this?” he asks.

“I want it more than anything.”

The bed dips underneath his weight as he climbs towards where you lay. He lowers himself above you, expertly balancing his weight so that it doesn’t crush you. With one hand, he reaches down to palm his hard cock, the tip red and angry with need. With his knee, he pushes your legs wide open, making room for himself and spreading you out before him. At a devastatingly slow speed, he lines himself up with your aching center.

“So wet for me, princess. You’ve always been beautiful to me, but spread out like this, just waiting for my cock? You’re a dream.”

“Please,” you gasp.

“Please what?”

As he comes to nestle his cock in between your dripping folds, you whimper with need.

All you can feel is his cock, his touch against your skin, the way his presence surrounds you and envelopes you.

“Please,” you whisper. “I need you, Jimin.”

He chuckles.

“You’re so desperate, baby. Tell me what you want.”

“Want you to fuck me.”

“My baby wants me to fuck her?” He slides slowly in and your back arches devilishly at the sensation of his fat cock stretching you open for him. He watches your facial expression carefully, not wanting to hurt you or push you too far too fast.

When he sees you relax just a little, he pushes in even further until he’s nestled inside you to the hilt. Once he knows you’re comfortable, he lets himself slip into the pleasure of you wrapped all around him. His eyes flutter closed, and he nestles his nose into the crook of your neck.

Gathering himself, he takes a deep breath, pushing up off of you so that he can better look down at you, your hair splayed on the pillow, cheeks warm with arousal, eyes wide in pleasure.

“God, you’re perfect for my cock. Like you were made to fit me.”

“Mmf, so big,” you groan as he shifts inside you. “Never felt this full before.”

As he begins to move, you gasp, hands coming up to cling at his back. The drag of his cock against the walls of your cunt is divine and you can’t help as your nails dig into his skin, raking down the planes of his back.

His eyes never leave your face, tracing your pleasure every time it flashes across your features.

“When I imagined this,” he pants, “I never even thought it could feel this good.”

He withdraws at a maddeningly slow pace, until just the tip of his cock rests inside your warmth.

“Please Jimin,” you gasp. “I need more.”

He smirks down at you. “More?” He gives a shallow thrust.

“More,” you groan, trying to push your hips down on him, anything to take him further into you. However, his hand quickly comes down on your hips, stopping all movement.

Leaning down to capture your lips in a feverish kiss, you gasp into his mouth as he thrusts into you with a great force. You cry his name as he bites down on your lower lip, the pace he sets brutal and exactly what you need. Each thrust rolls through your entire body, setting your nerves alight. When he gives a particularly hard thrust, your spine arches, hands slipping away from his back and coming to wrap around his wrists.

When he growls, you clench at the sound.

Your eyes flicker open in time to see his mouth gape and he groans when you do it again.

He answers your tightness with another roll of his hips, this time changing the angle just enough that it hits your g spot directly. You spasm around his cock, crying out as he continues to fuck you.

“You’ve ruined me,” Jimin gasps. “Nothing else, no one else is going to be like this. I wanna fuck this cunt until you can’t think of anything else.”

You start to respond, to tell him how much you want that, but his hand comes down on your clit, rubbing just gently enough that you’re yelping in a mixture of pleasure and overstimulation.

“I’m really gonna fuck you now, baby. I want you to touch yourself until you can’t anymore, okay?”

You nod, reaching down to your clit where your fingers brush against one another. You look down to see his cock rutting in and out of you, coated in your juices. As he withdraws his hand, he begins to pick up his speed.

The pace he sets reaches deep into your body, setting every nerve alight. You cling to him, begging him to fuck you harder. His cock seems to reach every single sensitive spot within you as rock your hips back up to his, meeting his every movement. He lets you now, lost in the feeling of your bodies moving together, seeking the same pleasure together.

When his pace begins to stutter, thrusts becoming long and rough, you know he’s close to his end.

“Baby, I’m going to come,” he groans. He begins to sit back up and withdraw, but you wrap a hand around his neck and pull him towards you, the other one coming to press on the dip of his hips.

“Come inside, Jimin.”

“But--”

“I’m safe. I want to feel you come inside me. Wanna come with you.”

He groans at your words and lowers himself to you, letting his hips grind against yours in a tide of sensation. Each movement pulls you closer and closer to your orgasm until three words are tumbling from his lips and you are tipping over the edge.

He kisses you as you both ride out your orgasm, waves of pleasure washing through your body and into his as if you are connected on more than just a physical level. His lips are soft against yours, guiding you through your orgasm. Everything is breathless and wildly full, all at once.

Pulling back as his cock twitches within you, he peppers your neck with kisses, his plush lips pressing softly against the delicate skin beneath your ear.

“I love you, baby,” he murmurs against your skin.

“I love you too,” you hum, eyes fluttering blissfully closed as you tangle a hand in his hair, pressing him closer to you.

That’s how you fall asleep. Tangled up in each other, bodies meshed together until there’s no way to tell which way is up.

You wake up wrapped in warmth. The kind of warmth that radiates from your heart, shining on outwards and into the room around you. And, as your eyes blink open, you notice it also radiates from the absolute furnace that clings to your back.

“Mmm,” the furnace grumbles, rubbing his nose against the soft nape of your neck. You can feel him press his lips against the top of your spine, his breath fanning delicately against your skin. “G’morning.”

“Morning.” You speak softly, as if any noise will break the memory of last night, his whispered affections against your skin as you drifted off to sleep still hanging in the air. Too loud and you will shatter and destroy the memory. The words of his confession still carved into your skin, your mixed pleasures riddled through your body, the song of his joy and laughter emblazoned into the room -- all of that, you think, will disappear if you move too quickly or speak too loudly.

However, that notion is quickly banished when Jimin rolls over and groans dramatically, spreading his limbs out until he starfishes over the entire bed -- including you. With a little grunt, he flips over on his belly, shimmying over to you. Pulling the blankets down around you, you gasp as the cool air hits your skin.

He’s quick to rectify this as he rolls onto you, resting his head on your stomach, blowing a raspberry into your skin. You screech in laughter and as the sensation rushes through you, tickling you.

It takes a minute or two before you calm down, looking lovingly down at the man who holds your heart and running a hand through his hair, brushing it off of his forehead.

“I love you, you know that?” he mumbles into your belly.

“Do you?” you giggle, doubt still riddled in your mind.

His eyes shoot up to yours.

“Of course I do. Is there any question about it?” You look down on him, worry in your gaze. “Oh, baby.” He’s quick to prop himself up on his hands, but still stays sprawled out atop you, his weight heavy and comforting. “I’ve loved you since I first saw you--” You open your mouth to tell him there’s no such thing as love at first sight, but his hand comes up quickly and covers your mouth, effectively shushing you. “--at least I knew I was going to love you the first time I saw you. I knew I was going to fall madly and deeply in love with all of your quirks and strange obsessions and deep passions and maddenly horrible humor. And I knew I loved you a year in, and every day after that.”

You look down on him, tears welling up in your eyes at his sincerity.

“Come ‘ere,” you say, pulling him up towards you. He crawls up your chest, playfully nipping at your bare breasts before settling against you. He kisses you. Lets you sink into the sensation. And then he pulls back and says,

“Aren’t you going to tell me you love me too?”

You don’t know if you’ll ever get enough of that dorky smile.

But you do know the tears threatening to spill over are rising from the deep, unnamable affection that rolls through your chest, finally released from silence. You want to call it love, and that is what you will call it, but there’s also something that goes so much deeper than the word itself. Something you know you will spend your whole life trying to explain to him.

read more: masterlist 

Taglist: @taestannie @thatlongspringnight @spicykoreantatertots​ @usuallynervoussheep​ @hesperantha​ @myimaginationsrunningwild​@lucedelsole97​ @heichooou​ @jiminskth​

[ppersonna]

make me - myg | m

strawberries on a summer evenin'. baby, you're the end of June. i want your belly and that summer feelin', getting washed away in you - watermelon sugar, harry styles

↳ summary- an ordinary sleepover with your best friend turns into anything but ordinary, thanks to your ridiculously loud neighbors above you.

↳ rating- explicit / 18+ / nc17

↳ word count- 4.4k

↳ pairing- yoongi x reader

↳ genre-  pwp lol, smut, fluff, somehow the dirtiest fluff i have ever written bc there’s some depraved shit in here

↳ warnings- penetrative sex, oral sex (m/f receiving), unprotected sex (dont...pls), dirty talk, rough sex, degrading talk, dom/sub undertones, bratty backtalk

↳ a/n- yooooo dawg this... was fun.  i hope you enjoy!!  ive been in my yoongi feels lately uwu. feel free to comment, message, dm, whatever u want babes.  i love you!

Yoongi thinks if he has to hear your upstairs neighbors fuck for another minute longer he might actually go crazy.

It’s been hours now.  The girl is screaming like a feral cat and the man is doing a terrible impression of a porn star, trying his best to talk dirty but really just calling the howling banshee awful names.  

If only his dick would be as annoyed as his brain.

He knows you’re awake next to him too.  The steady rise and fall of your breathing changed when the bad porn above you began—now it’s faint and too quick to indicate anything but your wakefulness.

“Ohhhhh oppa!” The girl above you screams.

It’s finally what breaks down the silence in your bedroom.  At her wanton sound, you and Yoongi are unable to stop yourselves from bursting into laughter.

Yoongi’s stomach hurts from laughing so hard.  Tears form at the corners of his eyes as you make the bed rumble from the force of your combined laughter.

“God, do they think that sounds hot?” You finally ask after settling down to mere giggles.

Yoongi shrugs and wipes away his tears. “Apparently.  He must like the way she sounds like a dying cat.”

His comment sends you into a spiral of laughter again, and you’re clinging to your chest as it heaves with exertion.

Yoongi is your best friend for a reason.  No one makes you laugh as hard as he does.  No one understands you the way he seems to be able to—it’s almost intuitive the way he can understand your feelings.  

You live for your weekly sleepovers.  You drink wine, watch terrible horror films, gossip about your other friend’s love lives, and fall asleep in your bed together.  It’s never been anything but blissful.

Until recently…

When your heart decided it would beat too fast around him.  When your brain decided to spin and weave stories of romance with your best friend.

Now, you can’t hardly think about anything else around the dirty blonde haired boy.  It’s overwhelming to all of your senses when you see him, feel him near you.  You want to kiss him, to love him, to tear his clothing off.

Which makes lying in your full size bed while the neighbors above you fuck and attempt to act out their wildest fantasies—badly—so much harder than usual.

“God,” Yoongi sighs and tugs the blanket up to his chin. “Does she even like it or do you think she’s faking it?”

You wrinkle your nose in disgust. “Ugh, I know I wouldn’t be into it.”

“You don’t like dirty talk?” He teases with a poke to your stomach.  It makes an eruption of nerves go off in your chest.

“Oh, no I do. But that’s not dirty talk,” you shrug. “He’s just being mean. There’s no sensuality underneath it.”

He hums and lays back down to stare at the ceiling.

“Give me an example,” he asks of you. It makes your cheeks flush red and you’re thankful for the darkness in your room to provide you cover.

“Um, well,” you cough awkwardly. “He’s saying shit like ‘you fuck anything don’t you?’ which, maybe she’s into degradation, but I’m not. Not that extreme.”  Your explanation sounds lame, but you continue anyway. “I prefer to hear things like ‘this slutty little pussy belongs to me’.  Possessive and hot at the same time without being too...uhh...hurtful.”

Yoongi feels his cock rise with piquing interest. There’s a nagging guilt about thinking of his best friend this way, and a tinge of jealousy thinking someone who isn’t him has said that to you.

He feels his throat dry up, and you wring your hands nervously on the blanket. The moaning above you doesn’t stop, and you can hear the telltale sound of flesh slapping on flesh, indicating they’ve commenced into penetration and it makes your body throb with annoyance, and with want.

There’s moments when a louder slap echoes through the room—it’s clear the man is slapping her somewhere—and she whines desperately.  Your core starts building that familiar heat, a slickness gathering you can’t stop. You press your thighs together tight and squirm as subtly as you can. You pray Yoongi doesn’t notice.  

Yoongi, however, does notice.  He breathes a sigh of relief internally knowing he’s not the only being affected by the commotion above. But he doesn’t understand the meaning behind it. For all he knows, you’re just turned on because—well, because it’s sex and it’s loud and who wouldn’t be a little turned on? You’re likely not at all aroused by him, or the thought of him. Right?

Another slap echoes through the room and you can tell by the way the girl gasps that her partner slapped her in the face.

“Damn,” you shiver.  Yoongi turns to peek at you through the darkness.

“You into that?” He asks curiously. “Face slapping?”

It’s hard to swallow for a moment—it feels like you’re trying to down a boulder.

“Uh, yeah,” you whisper. “Yeah, I like pain.”

Yoongi doesn’t reply and it makes you fear you’ve overstepped the line. You’ve gone too far off the ‘best friend’ track and the whole train is about to de-rail.

You’re opening your mouth to apologize for taking it too far when Yoongi finally speaks.

“Fuck it,” he sighs. “You want to fuck louder and establish dominance?”

The world stops turning.  You’re sure that gravity doesn’t exist anymore and the theory of relativity has been proven wrong.

Did Min mother fucking Yoongi, your best friend of over twenty years, just offer to have sex with you to...establish dominance over the neighbors above you attempting to make a cheap porn?

He’s looking at you normally, but there’s a glimmer in his eye that says more.  It says he wants you.  Your stomach twists in on itself.  There’s no way, there is no actual plausible way that the man beside you feels the same way about you as you do.

“You want to have sex with me?”

Yoongi’s cheeks turn pink and he looks away for a minute.

“I also want to date you,” he murmurs.  

If you thought the world ended before, you’re sure this is the fiery explosion that brings a new earth into life with a bang.

The noises from upstairs interrupt the romantic moment with a scream, a guttural howl from the man, and then muffled whispers and sighs.

“What do you say we keep them up all night too?” His mouth turns to a smirk as he awaits your reply.

“Yeah,” you nod as you throw the blankets off you.  “Fuck those guys, lets show them what real kinky sex looks like.”

Yoongi’s eyes turn feral as he works his eyesight down your body.  Your normal sleepwear outfit of a tank top and shorts looks like lingerie to him now and he’s salivating at the way he can see the curve of your breasts, and the press of your hard nipples against the fabric.

You’re throwing yourself onto Yoongi’s body in an instant, pinning him down to the bed and pressing your lips to his.  You waste no time in waiting for him now that you know—now that you’ve heard with your two ears that Min Yoongi not only wants to fuck you, but date you as well.   No use wasting any more time—the time for action is now.

The kiss is hot and Yoongi’s hands falter for a moment in surprise before he’s coming to his senses and tugging at your tank top quickly to pull it off your body.  His hands feel hot on the bare skin of your back, rubbing at your spine and up to your shoulders.  It makes you shiver, and you slide your tongue into his mouth to explore the heat inside.  

His hands navigate forward to cup your breasts, fingers toying with your nipples—pinching and pulling and rolling between the pads of his fingers.  It has you keening into his touch and grinding down on his basketball-shorts-covered cock. 

Yoongi pulls away from you and pulls at a nipple harshly, which makes you gasp out loud.

“It’s real cute how you think you’re in charge right now,” he points out.  “Real fucking cute.  It’s gonna make me almost feel bad for punishing you.”

You’re sure your soul is going to leave your body at hearing your best friend’s sexy baritone voice verbalize your dirtiest fantasies.  If this is how you react now…, may God have mercy on your poor little pussy.

Yoongi thinks he’s possibly never been harder than he is right now.  His best friend, best girl, is sitting atop his boner and he’s twisting your pretty nipples so hard they’ll surely turn purple soon.  You sound so sweet when you whine, and you’re starting to whine louder as he continues the pressure on your tits.

“You thought you could take control, didn’t you?” He asks, slipping further and further into the dominant act.  He loves this, thrives off it.  He didn’t think you’d ever be into it—none of the girls he’s dated before have—and he’s thrilled he doesn’t have to hide this depraved part of himself.

You nod and bite your lip, wincing as he tugs once more on a nipple before letting go.

“Cute,” he sighs.  “But wrong.”

In an instant, he flips you two over and he feels his heart and cock swell at the sight of your sweet eyes widening at the quick change.  

“This feels better, don’t you think?” He asks.  You nod and he shakes his head.  “Answer me, baby doll.  You’re already about to get punished.  You wouldn’t want to make me not let you cum, would you?”

The fear in your eyes increases and you clear your throat to talk.

“No sir, I don’t want that.”  

Yoongi nearly moans.  Hearing you call him sir, being underneath him—it’s his wet dreams come to life.

“Then tell me,” he instructs. “Tell me you need me in charge.”

You’re dying to be a brat, really wanting to pull Yoongi completely out of his shell, show him the full extent of what he can do to you.  Plus, you really wanna give your neighbors a show—a taste of their own medicine, don’t you?

“What if I don’t want to?” You tease.

Yoongi’s grin turns wider and his eyes sparkle with knowing. He’s a through and through brat-tamer, and by the end of the night you’ll be crying for forgiveness.

“Little tease,” he growls as he leans down to latch his mouth on your abused nipple.  

You gasp out loud, and it turns into desperate mewling as his teeth nibble and pull.  You’ll be bruised up for days, surely.  He sucks hard, pulls on it roughly and bites with meaning. You just know your panties are completely soaked.

“Talking back to me, huh? You think that’s going to get you where you want to go tonight, little girl?”

He turns his attention to your other nipple, eyes peering into yours as you struggle to answer with the sizzle of pain in your breast.

“What are you gonna do about it?” You send back with a shake of your hips under him.

The growl he delivers around your nipple and the quick bite makes you yelp.

“I think I should shut that loud mouth of yours up.”

You smile in response and his fingers tug down your shorts.  You lift your hips and allow him to pull the clothing off and you’re left in your slicked up panties.

“Oh yeah?” You retort.  “You gonna shut me up with that fat cock?”

Yoongi visibly shivers. His spine tingles deliciously for minutes after the hair on his neck settles.  He’s dreamed of you like this, under him and begging to be put in your place.  And now, here you are.  And he can’t wait to make it a reality.  He’s even forgotten about the loud neighbors.  It’s now just all about you.

“I bet you’d like that, wouldn’t you? Dirty little slut so horny to get her mouth on my cock.”

Yoongi allows a finger to trail down your clothed slit, and he outwardly groans at how wet you are.  You’re unable to hold back your whimpers of need—he’s so close to where you need him most and where you’ve dreamed of having him.

“You talk a big game for someone who’s drenched before I’ve even done anything,” Yoongi says with a smirk.

Your legs tremble as he pulls your panties to the side to expose your drenched folds. He dips a finger in and touches your clit. You moan in unison—he’s captivated by the heat and slick, you’re feeling air escape your lungs with every swirl of his finger.

“Y-Yoongi,” you whine.  He tsks and pulls his finger out.

“That’s not my name right now.” His hands start to slide your panties down and your stomach leaps with excitement.

“Sir, please.”

“Now you want to be my good girl?” He asks with a chuckle. “Where’s my mouthy little brat who wants my cock to shut her up?”

He leans back on his heels and watches you eye him. You’re nearly bursting at the seams. You’re naked while he remains completely clothed and while you’d normally feel exposed and vulnerable, all you feel is white hot heat. You’re burning for Yoongi, for him to do what you’ve dreamt he could do.

“Why don’t you show me what that sweet mouth can do?”  

He maneuvers to stand at the side of the bed, dick straining against the mesh of his shorts. He waits for you to sit up, which you wordlessly obey.  His cock is now eye level with you, and your mouth feels dry. You’ve dreamt about this dick, about what it looks like and how it would feel in your hand, inside you. The fact that you’re here now, about to find out all your secret fantasies is heady.

Your hand rubs at the straining material, over the thickness of his cock. He feels big, and you give it a squeeze which makes him hiss.

“Still being a tease,” he sighs with faux disappointment. “You’re in a precarious position to be such a little cocktease.  Might need to fuck that right out of you.”

It makes you whimper—his direct threats sounding like smooth promises going straight to your core.

“I’d like to see you try.”

Yoongi growls and grabs a bit of your hair, tugging your head back to look at him in the eyes.

“I think you should shut this fucking mouth up.”  His voice is dark, and his eyes glow with lust.

A grin pulls over your face as you gaze sweetly up at him—his hand still gripped tight in your hair.

“Make me.”

Yoongi is silent for a moment as he stares at you in wonder—his beautiful girl, so rebellious and yet so willing to comply.

“I fucking love you, you little fucking slut.”

Yoongi forces his shorts down and grips your chin, holding it hard in his hand.

“Now choke on my fucking cock.”

You open your mouth complacently and he wastes no time in shoving his entire length down your throat mercilessly.  

It’s hot. It feels like fucking heaven.  Your lips wrap around him and suction and he can feel your gag reflex straining against his tip at the back of your throat.  Yoongi thinks his entire spine is tingling with desire for you and the way you take his cock so well has his toes curling.

You didn’t even get to have a good look at Yoongi’s cock before it was shoved into your throat, but now that it’s there you don’t even need to see it to knows he is fucking thick and long. It stretches your mouth and you know your pussy will be taken to its limit when he finally buries himself inside you where he rightfully belongs.

“Can’t talk back now, can you?” He teases as he begins to fuck your throat. “Mmmm shit—, you suck my cock so fucking good.”

His words are nothing but encouragement for you and you fight back the growing discomfort in your throat and allow him to use it as he pleases.  Tears form in your eyes and slip down your face at the exertion and you soon feel his balls slap at your chin.  You’ve only fantasized of being used like this by Yoongi, and now it’s actually fucking happening.  You’ll be damned if you don’t give him the suck of a lifetime.

Yoongi thinks he’s staring into heaven as he fucks your tight mouth and watches as your eyes fill with tears.  They leak out and he knows you’re loving this just as much as he is by the palpable enthusiasm you accept his cock with.

“Look at my little brat,” he coos mockingly. “Not so big and brave now, are you?  Not with daddy’s cock wrecking your hot mouth.”

He picks up the pace and the sounds turn disgustingly lewd.  It’s a wet, slurping sound as Yoongi forces his cock in and out of your drooling mouth.  Saliva drips onto the bed below you as you take him all, never given a chance to breathe or swallow.  Yoongi takes and you selflessly give. You’d allow the man to split you in half—and you’re actively hoping he does just that tonight.

Suddenly, Yoongi is pulling out of your mouth and leaving you panting and keening for more. He grips his cock with a fist.  He strokes himself roughly and looks down at you.

“Gonna cum, baby girl. Fucking beg for it.”

Your hands grip at his thighs and you’re breathing hard to catch up on the oxygen you were denied.  But it doesn’t stop you from doing exactly as he orders.

“Please, daddy. Please cum on my face.  Let me taste your cum, I want to know what you taste like.  Cum on me.  Mark me, daddy.”

Yoongi whines and increases the speed of his pumps. His mouth falls open as he watches you pout so sweetly and wait so eagerly for his seed on your face. He wants to see your entire body covered in his cum and he plans on ensuring that happens sooner rather than later.

“My eager little bitch. Wants her daddy to mark his territory.”

You nod, tongue sticking out and wagging like a dog for his cum.

“Please, daddy.  Make me messy.”

It seems to be the secret password to Yoongi’s climax. Your desperation, your eager position, the way you beg so sweetly.  It sends him right over the edge and he cries out as his cock pulses white stripes over your pretty face.  

He wishes he could take a picture of the way his cum covers your face.  He’d make it his background photo so he could see it every day, show everyone around him the gorgeous little whore he gets to cum on every night.

“Shit, babygirl,” he groans as he attempts to catch his breath.  “Look at you.”

You smile as your tongue retreats into your mouth and you savor the drops that landed on your tongue.  Your eyes close in bliss as you enjoy the flavor, noting it tastes salty and sweet and you can’t wait to reacquaint yourself with the taste over and over again.

“Lay back,” he orders as he pushes his shorts all the way off.  

In his haste to fuck your throat, he only pushed them halfway.  He slips out of them and pulls his shirt off before he joins you on the bed.

“Let me drink this cunt.”

You whimper in agreement as you press your back in to the pillows and spread open your legs.

“Please, daddy.”

He grins as he lowers himself to lie between your legs.  He blows on it, cool air pushing over your folds chilling you.

“Fuck,” he sighs.  “Greedy little cunt wants it all, hm?”

“Yes, daddy.”

“So compliant for me now,” he whispers as he kisses your thighs. “I like it when you behave.”

He kisses in further, and soon he’s using his fingers to spread apart the folds and pressing the flat of his tongue to your clit and laving it over the aching nub.

“Holy shit,” he groans as he comes up and sucks his tongue back into his mouth.  “Sweetest little pussy.”

You can’t reply, the capability to speak has left you now.  He buries his face back into your cunt and gets to work.  His tongue starts flicking against the bundle of nerves and then dips down to fuck into your channel.  He works his tongue around you and your back arches off the bed and your heels dig into the mattress.  You seek purchase in his hair with your hands, digits gripping at the blonde locks between your thighs.  

Yoongi groans and moans into your cunt, and soon he slips two fingers in to fuck you roughly.

He pulls his lips away and licks his tongue over them to collect the slick that lingers.  His fingers maintain a quick pace and he drinks in the sight of you gasping at the stretch.

“Yeah, look at you take my fucking fingers.  Such a wanton little whore for me.”

He slides another finger in to join, then another, and it makes your cries echo loudly around the room.  He suddenly remembers the neighbors above you and smirks.  He pulls his hands from you, making you keen with desire and desperately beg for more.

“Daddy! Please, I need..” you gasp. “Need you!”

He pulls himself up to join your hips together and rolls his them against each other.  His cock rubs against your soaked pussy and he bites his lip at the feel of it getting slicked up.

“I want you to be nice and loud for me, baby girl,” he demands sweetly in your ear as he licks the shell.  He notes your shiver and smirks, before kissing your ear lightly.  “Tell those mother fuckers upstairs who’s going to take you to Hong Kong.”

“Yes, daddy,” you agree.  

It only takes the consent to leave your lips for Yoongi to spear his cock into you.  He’s not slow or gentle, he pushes it into the hilt immediately.

Yoongi meant to start a pace, to begin fucking into you mercilessly, but he’s frozen inside your tight heat.  You feel so good, so fucking tight and warm and wet for him.  It’s better than heaven, and surely better than any pussy he’s been inside before.  Maybe it’s because it’s you, and no one else.

“Fuck!” He gasps. “Holy shit I could cum right now.”

You whine and move your hips desperately.

“Fuck me daddy! Fuck me hard, please!  Use me like your little cock sleeve.”

Yoongi bites his lip and feels his cock pulse.

“Shit, you’ve got a dirty fucking mouth,” he grits. “Let’s see if you’ve got a dirty little pussy too.”

He sets a pace, desperately wills his cock not to cum yet.  He wants to fuck you senseless, until your eyes roll back in your head.  He’s gonna make sure you get off on his cock before he comes close to his end.

Yoongi grips your chin again, like he did at the beginning as he fucks into you roughly.

“Look at you take my fucking cock so deep,” he bites out.  “Your cunt is so fucking desperate for my fat cock, isn’t it? You need me to fuck some discipline into you.”

You’re nearly screaming now at the force of his thrusts.  He’s pushing all the way into you with each push and his balls smack against your ass deliciously.  You’re babbling, words unable to make sense as he fucks all the brain cells out of you.

“Dumb little cock slut,” he whispers as he leans down to suck a nipple into his mouth and bite at it before releasing it  “Little brat turns into a perfect little fuck hole for me, so fucking good for me.”

“Yes, y-y-yes baby! S-so close!”  

Yoongi’s had you near the verge since his oral, and now with his punishing pace and power in his driving hips, you’re hovering over the edge.

His hand drops down to rub at your clit, a circular motion that has you gasping and screaming his name.

“That’s fucking right,” he breathes. “Tell them, baby.  Tell them who’s got the best fucking cock.  Tell them who fills this pussy up so well.”

You’re eager to comply.

“You, daddy!  Fuck!  You feel so fucking thick in me.  I need your cum, please, please.  Cum on me.”

Yoongi feels his balls tighten impossibly--he knows he’s seconds away from an explosive orgasm.

“Cum on my cock, baby girl.  Let me feel you cream my fucking cock.  Wanna see you all over this fat dick.”

His free hand tugs at a nipple and pulls it punishingly, tugging it so far it pulls the skin around it.  Your screams light up the room, echoing and bouncing off the walls and surely traveling up to your neighbors bedroom.

“Yoongi! Fuck! I’m cumming!” You warn, a millisecond before your world crashes around you.  

Your cunt squeezes his cock so tightly that it causes his hips to stutter in their pace.  It grips him tight, angry like a squeezed fist and Yoongi feels the air get sucked out of his lungs as his climax follows directly after yours.  He didn’t even have a chance to pull out--he’s emptying his load into your womb and whining at the feeling of your pulsating walls milking every single drop greedily.

It’s several minutes later that you’re both caught up to normal breathing and resting beside each other on the bed.  The room is silent, save for little pants and breaths, and Yoongi reaches over to lace his fingers into yours and hold your hand tightly.

“You wanna date me?” He asks sweetly, as if his cum isn’t dripping out of your cunt as he speaks.  

It makes you laugh.  It’s so classically Yoongi that you can’t help but to laugh.  

“Yes, daddy, I want to date you.  I want to date you every single day.”

He pulls you into his embrace and kisses at your forehead.

“Maybe we should send your neighbors some flowers for getting us together,” he teases.

As if on cue, the all too familiar sound of skin slapping against skin and screeching moans comes from upstairs and plays through your apartment like an unwanted jukebox.

“God damn it, our plan backfired.” he grumbles. “I think we turned them on.”

You press your sticky, sweaty body against him and kiss at his lips.  Your hand sneaks down to his cock and grips it again, begging it to come back to life.

“Shall we try again, then?”

[muertawrites]

The Dark of the Moon (Zuko x Reader)

Summary: Late night insomnia turns into a conversation about love, and Zuko makes an interesting discovery about his feelings for you.

Word Count: 2,100

Author’s Note: You can thank Avatar being on Netflix and rekindling my childhood obsession for this one. I wrote this mostly as a dialogue / pacing exercise, but it’s also a bit therapeutic since I can actually relate to Zuko more than I realized or could have ever foreseen watching this show as a ten year old. Enjoy a little emotional romantic fantasy on behalf of a preteen crush and all the toxic friends I’ve ever had. ✌

~ Muerta

Zuko usually slept with you. It started one late night during a mutual bout of insomnia, in which you ran into him as you both wandered the halls of the Western Air Temple. You hardly knew him, but he sat with you and talked about everything that night - anything that wasn’t related to the war or either of your pasts that had been torn apart by it. He surprised you with his dry, even-toned sense of humor, as well as with his intelligence in not only combat but literature and philosophy as well; being a healer and a fortune teller by trade, you found a lot to talk about with him.

As the nights awake became more common, you and Zuko spent more of them together; sometimes you’d wait until you happened upon him in the halls, others one of you would designate a place to meet. Eventually, one of you would go directly to the other’s room and you’d sit, sharing whatever light or heavy thoughts happened to plague your minds. You learned a lot about him in those nights, and grew to feel proud of how far he’d come in such a short time - you often helped others, those much older than yourselves, over months to scale the internal struggles he had, and he’d managed to do so on his own. The more you gave to him, the more he gave back, and it soon became commonplace to fall asleep to the sound of his breathing as he lay in his sleeping bag on the other end of your room. 

And that’s exactly what woke you up - the strange, still energy of your bedroom that indicated his resting place was empty. You rolled over, unable to spy his silhouette under the moonlit windowsill, and you rose, your feet carrying you to where you were certain he would be. 

It was a gorgeous night, with a gentle breeze ruffling the crisp air. You found Zuko in the courtyard, gazing out over the fog veiled landscape under the swell of the full moon. Without a word, you sat beside him, watching the clouds roll by like ships on a silent ocean. His chest churned in turmoil, so intensely you could feel it in your own.

“Apparently, I can’t sleep without you anymore,” you said. “How selfish of you to have problems that keep you up at night.” 

Zuko huffed out a soft chuckle, though the weight in his chest didn’t lift. He leaned back onto his palms, craning his neck backward and allowing the wind to tousle his ash-black hair. 

“You didn’t need to come out here,” he told you gently. “It’s not your job to help me fix myself.” 

“It never has been,” you replied. “I’ve never fixed anyone. All I ever do is listen and recite a few proverbs; everyone comes to their own conclusions in the end.” 

“That’s not true,” Zuko retorted. “I’ve seen you heal. You can do things not even Katara can do, just with whatever happens to be growing nearby. It’s incredible.” 

You smiled, your heart fluttering in your chest. 

“Physical healing and emotional healing are two super different things,” you told him. “Emotional wounds can only really be healed by the people who have them. I mean, unless you want me to crack open your chest and poke around at your heart for a little while.” 

Zuko chuckled again, the tenseness of his muscles easing up just slightly. He opened his palm and spawned a softly glowing flame, both of you watching it flicker in the cool night air. 

“I wish I’d been born a water bender,” he mused. “Something that would do good for others. All fire does is destroy.” 

You were silent for a moment, watching the thoughts swirl, tormented, behind his eyes. You thought of all the times you’d seen him smile, how his happiness made his handsome features all the more radiant and caused your stomach to bubble with joy. The memory shot a spike through your chest.  

“... You know, we only ever see one part of the moon,” you commented, breaking the quiet. “Everything behind that - the dark side - we don’t really consider, even though it’s always there and is as much a part of the moon as the side that’s in front of us.” 

Zuko smirked at you, distinguishing the flame in his hand. 

“Reciting a proverb at me?” he teased. 

You grinned. 

“This one’s more like a metaphor,” you admitted cheekily. “That tea I make, the one that tastes awful but makes pain completely disappear?” 

Zuko nodded. 

“I need fire to make it,” you continued. “I have to roast the ingredients over an open flame before boiling them. Without fire, I couldn’t do most of my healing; it would be too painful without the tea to help.” 

Zuko said nothing, but you could sense your words sinking into the cracks in his troubled thinking. 

“Fire is heat and light,” you added. “It’s just as important to life as water or earth or air. Every element is capable of destruction or creation - there isn’t a single one that’s inherently good or bad. The person that controls them is the only one who determines that.” 

There was another long pause, in which you busied yourself noting the different wild plants growing between the stones that paved the courtyard. You listed the different medicines you could make with each, the process calming you. 

“I’ve done some pretty shitty things to people I care about in order to embrace my goodness,” Zuko finally spat. The bitterness in his tone stung you. You turned to him, and for a split second you caught a familiar, rageful glimmer in his eye; the sight made your own temper flare. 

“Zuko, don’t do that to yourself,” you said. “It wasn’t just your father who hurt you and you know that.” 

“I know,” he snapped, cutting off the end of your words. “I still care about her, though. I don’t even know if she really ever cared about me, but I still… I still miss her.” 

Your ribs seemed to cave in, crushing your heart and lungs. He’d told you about Mai many times, and all you ever saw was that the darkness in her drew out the darkness in him; it even hung over you, clouding out the comfort you felt with Zuko and replacing it with unease and doubt. You feared there was no place in his heart for you - not while Mai still remained in it, no matter how badly her memory made him bleed. 

“It’s hard,” you choked out. “I still miss some of the people who hurt me, too.” 

That was all you could manage to say. You pulled your knees to your chest, half-burying your face in the fabric of your night dress as you forced the tears welling in the corners of your eyes not to flow. 

This is what you get, you scolded yourself. This is what you get for feeling things for people you know could never feel the same about you. 

A sensation of warmth curling around your shoulders made you jolt. Instinctively, you inched away, glancing in Zuko’s direction as he retracted the arm that had draped around you. You expected him to look away, but he didn’t - his pale amber eyes instead locked with yours. 

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled. “You hold your head so high… I forget sometimes that you’re trying to heal, too.” 

His words caused your tears to spill, though you didn’t cry; your face remained stony, and no sobs shook you. Your tears fell as easily as water from a cliff’s edge, impeded by nothing but the will of gravity. 

“... The cards you lent me,” Zuko said after a pause, almost blurting the words. “I’ve been reading them, to help me let go of everything I left behind. I don’t think I’m doing it right.” 

A few weeks ago, you’d given him a deck of cards you used for fortune telling. Each card depicted a different object, element, or scene, and were laid out in combinations that gave insight into a person’s spiritual path. You liked them more than other forms of fortune telling, as it encouraged its readers to make their own assumptions and drive their own fates instead of having it simply told to them. You gave your deck to Zuko so he could reflect on something finite, instead of getting consumed by his own thoughts. It was exactly what you used them for, and you knew they would help.

“Why?” you asked softly. 

“I drew a card that didn’t make sense,” he told you. “I laid down the Tides, then the Crossed Blades, and then… I pulled the Badger Mole. The other two I understand - one is for movement and change, the other is for strength in allies, but I… can’t figure out what the Badger Mole is supposed to mean.” 

“Badger moles are strong, powerful,” you explained, speaking dispassionately from memory, “but they’re gentle. The card represents the duality of both. They mate for life, too, so it also represents love and companionship.” 

As you spoke, you felt a meteor crash between you and Zuko. His face fell, dumbfounded, as he looked at you, his eyes darting minutely back and forth as you watched the pieces mend together in his head. 

“What do you feel?” you whispered, part of you terrified of his answer.

“... I feel like I’m fighting the tide,” Zuko replied, his tone awestruck. “It’s pushing me to shore, but I keep trying to swim back out to sea.” 

The corners of your lips curled upwards slightly, your cheeks still sticky with tears. 

“It’s really scary, huh?” you said. “Loving another person.” 

“Yeah... especially when you’ve never known what it feels like before,” Zuko added softly. 

You reached out, tentatively resting your palm against his cheek. His hand rose to close over yours, the sensation trembling you to your core. 

“How many times have you pulled the Badger Mole?” you asked. 

“Every time,” Zuko breathed. “I’m so stupid for not realizing. You make me feel wild and calm all at once. I get this crushing feeling in my chest when I see you or even think of you, and I thought it was just fear or sadness. But… you don’t make me want to lash out like I used to, with my father and Azula and Mai… just the thought of you makes me want to be the best person I can be. Even though I know you already accept me for not being that person.” 

You couldn’t help but laugh, somewhat defeatedly, your knees falling away from your chest and crossing in front of you. Your body was heavy, but your head felt light. 

“I love you, Zuko,” you murmured. “But I’m afraid.” 

Zuko wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you closer. His forehead fell to rest against yours, his eyes closing as he steadied his erratic breathing. 

“If you’re scared, I’ll protect you,” he said quietly. “That’s what I think lovers are supposed to do.” 

The word made every organ in your body jump to your throat. Lovers. Your limbs felt weak, but your heart felt strong with Zuko holding you. 

Without thinking, you took his face in your hands and kissed him. It wasn’t hard and passionate like you expected, but firm, gentle, his lips pressing to yours like two palms grasped in an assuring embrace. He lay one of his large, able hands on the back of your neck, his thumb tenderly stroking your skin. 

When you finally broke apart, Zuko gazed at you with a soft, forlorn expression. His fingers reached to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. 

“I’m sorry I talk about her so much,” he said. “It must kill you.” 

You shook your head, a soft smile forming on your lips, still red from where Zuko had kissed them. 

“Don’t worry about it,” you told him. “I know some people from my past you’d happily drive a knife into.”

Zuko chuckled, the light, airy smile you saw when he was truly happy spreading to each of his cheeks. The spike that drove itself through your heart when you thought of it earlier was gone, replaced by the sweet warmth of a low flame on a cold night. With him, you were safe. 

“Let’s get some sleep,” Zuko suggested, taking your arm to help you stand. 

His hand slipped easily into yours, your fingers twining together. He leaned forward and kissed you again, his lips only grazing yours, causing your skin to buzz with the sensation. 

“... Do you think we’ll have to talk to Aang about this?” you asked as you walked back to your room. 

Zuko raised an eyebrow at you, confused. 

“He is your great-grandfather,” you elaborated with jest. “I should probably do the chivalrous thing and ask for his blessing or something.” 

Zuko laughed, nudging you with his shoulder so that you stumbled over your feet. You shoved him back, to which he took you by the waist and wrapped you tightly in his arms, kissing your cheek. 

“He probably won’t care,” he replied. “But my uncle will love you.”

[witcher-and-his-bard-archive]

Better Than Gwent?

doing this thing | day 25/26 - drunk sex + “I think I’ve broken something”

This got long and I didn’t have time for two, so I combined them for something I’ve wanted to write for a while now c:

This, like so many other things in their life recently, starts with a game of Gwent. It's been one tournament after another lately and because Jaskier is a very patient companion (and because Geralt's life needs a little more happiness in it) he lets Geralt drag him alone to each and every one of them.

Tonight they're in Dorian and Geralt is playing against a very determined dwarf whose name Jaskier failed to catch. He blames the wine. If there is one thing Geralt is as good at as killing monsters, it's Gwent and he's been winning the majority of his games, leaving them significantly richer and Geralt particularly generous. He's been providing Jaskier with drinks all night and Jaskier is nothing if not thankful.

He's hammered when Geraly starts a new game with a pretty Elf whose name also slips his mind. The wine. It's a shame, he thinks because until she's joined by a very large and menacing looking man, Jaskier was considering asking her upstairs after the match. But the man with her makes no mistake about who she'll be leaving with and Jaskier sighs to himself.

But that's fine. It's been a long time since he's had a good night out with Geralt and from what he's witnessed so far, Geralt is having a very good night. So Jaskier isn't expecting a bad reaction when he lifts one of Geralt's arms and slips into his lap, but he's not exactly expecting to be welcomed.

"Hey!" Geralt's opponent shouts, "he's cheating!" Geralt just huffs a soft laugh and transfers his cards from his right to left hand, circling his now free arm around Jaskier's waist.

"Believe me," he says, flashing a quick grin at Jaskier, "if he was helping me, you'd win with certainty."

Jaskier would be offended, but he's right. No matter how many times Geralt has explained the rules and even talked him through it, Jaskier cannot grasp the concept of Gwent. Nor why anyone would want to spend hours on end playing it. The firm hand on his thigh also goes a long way to distracting from the insult. Jaskier smiles across the table and the woman Geralt's playing gives him a warning look before returning to her cards. The man with her keeps his eyes on him but Jaskier isn't worried; even if they did start something, even drunk, Geralt would protect him.

He settles against Geralt's chest, looping an arm around his neck and looking down at his cards like he has any idea what any of them are for. He hums thoughtfully and Geralt, surprisingly, holds him a little closer, letting his hand slip over his thigh. It distracts Jaskier from the cards and he shuts his eyes instead, basking in the attention.

He focuses on the heat of Geralt's hand, now rubbing circles into his thigh and the sounds of the room around them. Heat coils in his gut, but he ignores it; it wouldn't be the first time Geralt got him worked up when he shouldn't. Only this time Geralt doesn't stop like he normally would. The more into the game he gets, the firmer his grip gets on Jaskier's thigh and the further in his hand slips.

Jaskier presses his nose into Geralt's neck, inhaling the scent of sweat and leather and liquor that only feeds his growing arousal. For someone so frequently covered in monster guts, Geralt smells good and Jaskier can't help himself. He presses his nose right under Geralt's jaw, parting his lips just so and running his tongue up the length of Geralt's throat. In his head it's playful, but Geralt shudders under him, fingers digging into the meat of his thigh. And oh, that's fun.

He does it again, just for fun and Geralt growls low in his throat. It's a warning, but there's no anger behind it and Jaskier loves nothing if not pushing his buttons. So he leans in again, letting his breath dust over Geralt's skin, but he doesn't move to do anything more. It's enough.

Geralt shifts under him, and despite the game, does his best not to move his hand from Jaskier's thigh. If anything, it moves higher, and his fingers slip further between his legs. Jaskier loses all sense of restraint at that point, moaning softly against Geralt's neck.

He's paying so little attention to the game that he doesn't realize it's over until Geralt's other hand rests on his knee and his opponent says, "good game."

"You too," Geralt says and his voice is rough, thick in a way that goes straight to Jaskier's cock. Which, in this position, is far too close to Geralt's hand and swelling rapidly under the attention.

Jaskier mumbles, pressing his nose back into Geralt's neck with a soft moan and Geralt shifts under him turning his head so he's breathing into his hair.

"Jaskier, he breathes and whatever he was going to say next is lost because he slips his hand between Jaskier's legs, pressing his palm against his cock. He inhales sharply and Jaskier whines as Geralt presses harder, fits his hand around him. "Fuck."

Jaskier shifts his legs, spreading them just slightly to give Geralt better access and he's quick to take advantage of it, squeezing him through his trousers and grinding the heel of his hand against him. And fuck, it's a damn good thing they're sitting at a table because Jaskier is rock hard under Geralt's touch and they're already putting on quite the show.

Another challenger slides into the seat across from them and Jaskier groans softly under his breath. The man across from him looks him up and down with a smirk and Jaskier realizes what he must look like; the man probably thinks he's a whore. Which is... probably fair. He's feeling rather dishevelled and his face is hot with lust and it would probably be his first assumption as well. Especially in the lap of a highly intoxicated Witcher. Jaskier decides he'd be quite happy to be Geralt's whore and the assumption doesn't bother him one bit - unless the newcomer tries to join in.

Jaskier is generous and open-minded but absolutely, positively, unequivocally against letting anyone join in on whatever this is with Geralt tonight. Another time, perhaps, but this is unprecedented and if he's only going to have one night with Geralt, he's not about to share it. He makes to shoo the man away, but when he looks back at Geralt, he's already got cards in his hand and he gives Jaskier a pleading look that no one could say no to. Geralt leans in, pressing his nose into his ear and whispering against his neck.

"Can you wait one more game? I'll make it worth your while." He nips at the skin below his ear and presses a kiss to the reddened skin. Pulling back, Geralt offers a smile and, perfectly straight-faced, wraps his hand around JAskier's cock and squeezes.

Jaskier may not be terribly good at Gwent, but he likes to watch Geralt play. He loves the intense focus, the absolute passion and thought he puts into playing - no matter who his opponent. But right now Jaskier is shaking with the restraint it takes not to grind up against Geralt's hand and everything else is a blur in the background. Geralt's palm sits curved around the jut of his cock, unmoving save for the faint twitch of Geralt's fingers when Jaskier leans forward to groan at him.

He shifts in Geralt's lap, pressing himself closer and is absolutely delighted when he slides his hand between Geralt's legs and finds him fully hard and straining against the leather of his trousers. It's too much for Jaskier to ignore and he presses his palm against the bulge, rubbing him through his trousers.

Geralt remains maddeningly calm, though he presses down a little more firmly on Jaskier's crotch. Not exactly the effect he was hoping to have, but a little moan slips from his lips and he drops his forehead to Geralt's shoulder. It suddenly becomes very important to him when this game is going to end.

Geralt wins the first round and the second ends in a tie. Jaskier groans loudly, pressing his lips to Geralt's throat and kissing up to his ear. The third round starts and Jaskier whines.

"Patience," Geralt hums, lips quirked in a smug grin. Jaskier whimpers at him and Geralt runs his fingers up the length of Jaskier's cock, rubbing against him before pulling up and slipping open the clasp on Jaskier's trousers. Maybe one more round won't be the end of the world.

Geralt's hand slips into his trousers, wrapping around his bare cock and Jaskier nearly chokes on the wave of need that rushes through him. Jaskier nearly doubles over, hips twitching up into Geralt's fist. At this point, the entire inn could buy tickets and Jaskier would be happy to give them their money's worth. He doesn't even care that the man across from him is watching or that he's blatantly touching himself under the table. In fact, it's a little arousing in itself, knowing someone else is getting off on this little game.

Geralt continues stroking him absently, apparently unaware of how fucking hard Jaskier has to try not to just tear his clothes off right there. He lets his head loll, rocking into Geralt's touch with a little gasp. He's being intentionally obscene, but neither Geralt nor his opponent seems to mind and Geralt shifts under him, readjusting so Jaskier's ass is pressed against his cock.

He lets out a little groan and Geralt holds him closer, rolling his hips against him. Jaskier is tempted to pull his trousers down and see if Geralt will fuck him right there, but he hears a smug pass from above him and the muttered fuck that follows from across the table.

Immediately, still thanking the other man for a good game, Geralt rises to his feet and Jaskier fumbles, somewhat delayed, after him. He's in a fucking state - trousers open and slipping down his hips, cheeks flushed dark, hair ruffled - but he couldn't care less about it when Geralt's arms wind around his waist, slipping down to cup his ass. He quickly collects his cards from the table and Jaskier spares a parting glance to the stranger as Geralt walks him back toward the dark hallway. Their room is at the end of it, but Jaskier isn't sure he'll make it that far.

Geralt pushes him into the wall, tugging Jaskier's shirt from his trousers as he leans in against him and it's all Jaskier can do not to haul him forward and kiss him stupid. Apparently, Geralt has the same thought. His mouth crashes down against Jaskier's, hot and greedy and Jaskier would collapse under the urgency of it if he wasn't pinned between Geralt's body and the wall.

He whines into his mouth, acutely aware that they're still in full view of anyone in the common room and parts his lips, encouraging Geralt to deepen the kiss. And he does. Jaskier moans at the first press of his tongue between his lips and reaches down for the hem of Geralt's trousers, wrapping his hands around them and tugging him close. He slides on hand down, cupping Geralt's cock through the leather and makes a quick decision that the trousers are much too thick and he needs to be out of them. Now.

He pushes Geralt off of him and takes a step after him to fumble with the buttons on his trousers. He kisses him hard and Geralt's hands fall to his hips, before slipping lower. Jaskier has only just finished unbuttoning Geralt's trousers when he's unceremoniously lifted off his feet and slung over Geralt's shoulder.

"Geralt! You brute, let me down! I wasn't finished!"

He gets an unsympathetic chuckle in response and Geralt squeezes his ass as he carries him toward the bed. Once they're in the room, Jaskier expects to be put down, but Geralt just crouches down next to their things, slipping his cards back into his pack and grabbing what looks like a vial of oil. Jaskier groans at the implications.

Geralt carries him over to the bed and drops him on it, climbing up after him before Jaskier even has a chance to right himself. But gods he doesn't care when Geralt dips down and catches his mouth in a heated kiss. It's not graceful, what with Geralt crawling up over him and Jaskier doing his damndest to rid Geralt of all his clothes, but he feels it all the way down to his toes. Or maybe that's the wine. Geralt shoves Jaskier's trousers down far enough to free his cock and wrap a hand around him, and Jaskier finds he's unconcerned about it any longer.

The only thing that matters is Geralt's hand around his cock, until it's Geralt's mouth around him and then that's the only thing that matters.

He writhes in the sheets, already wound so tightly and eager for release. But Geralt is shockingly talented with his tongue and Jaskier wants to stay like this forever, floating between overstimulation and greed, desperate for more. And Geralt - wonderful, perfect, Geralt - gives it to him.

It's a bit of a struggle to get him out of his clothes like this, but Jaskier does away with his doublet and shirt, happy to see them gone, as Geralt leans on one elbow and slides Jaskier's boots and trousers off. Satisfied, he slides further up the bed again, pressing his shoulders under Jaskier's knees and pressing them up.

Abruptly, Jaskier is displaced and Geralt pulls off his cock, sitting back on his knees. Jaskier watches as he pulls his shirt up over his head, just barely resisting the urge to reach out and touch. But as his eyes roam the planes of his chest, he realizes he can and as Geralt pushes his trousers down, Jaskier climbs to his feet.

He slips one arm around Geralt's neck, sliding the other up his chest. For a moment, Geralt indulges him and when Jaskier wraps a hand around his cock, Geralt's hips snap forward hard.

"Fuck," he breathes, "Jaskier-."

Jaskier's eyes drop shut, letting the sound of Geralt's voice wash over him. He sounds needy and so fucking sexy, Jaskier doesn't quite know what to do with him. Without thinking, he turns them around, pushing Geralt down against the mattress and climbing up over his chest. He's quick to snatch the oil from Geralt's hands and Geralt just watches wide-eyed as Jaskier pulls the cork and drizzles the oil over his fingers.

As he reaches behind himself, he watches the way Geralt's nostrils flare, the way his eyes, so dark and wide dart from his face to his hand and back again. Jaskier presses between his cheeks, rubbing against his hole with a little groan. Geralt watches, enraptured as Jaskier presses in, his eyelids fluttering as he works himself open. Geralt is bigger than anyone Jaskier has been with maybe ever, and he takes the time to prep himself properly, despite being able to hear the way Geralt touches himself.

Eventually, the sound of it is too much and he pulls Geralt's hand from his cock, shifting back into place. He doesn't even care anymore that Geralt is still wearing his boots and trousers because, from this position, he can see every little expression that flits across his face. From here, he can see how Geralt's eyes drop shut and his mouth falls open when he touches him.

Jaskier adjusts himself, pressing the head of Geralt's cock against him and sitting back on him. His own eyes drop shut at the initial pressure, but Geralt's hands come up to hold his hips, thumbs rubbing light circles in his skin.

"That's it," he whispers, "fuck Jaskier, you're perfect." He reaches up, pressing his thumb to Jaskier's bottom lip and Jaskier sucks the digit into his finger, sliding his tongue around the tip as he finally settles on Geralt's cock.

He drops his head back, shifting his hips and rising just slightly off Geralt's cock before dropping onto him again. He gets a loud groan in response and immediately does it again, desperate to draw more of those sounds from Geralt's lips. It only encourages him and Jaskier rides him hard, uncaring of how loud they are or who could hear them. Geralt feels incredible inside him and beneath him and nothing else matters.

He's leaning back, propped up on his hands, when Geralt sits up, wraps an arm around his waist and flips him onto his back. Jaskier lets out a high laugh and Geralt kisses the sound from his lips as he shuffles them back into position. He buries himself deep, rutting into him as Jaskier coils an arm around his neck. The other goes up to hold the bedframe as Geralt's hips dislodge him with every thrust.

Their lips barely part for a second as Geralt picks up momentum, slamming into him hard with every thrust now. He manages to hit the perfect spot every time until Jaskier is writing under him, one hand clenched hard in Geralt's hair and the other still struggling in vain to keep him steady.

Geralt thrusts hard, snapping his hips and there's a deafening crack but Jaskier is unaware of anything but the pleasure that zips through him as he comes. Geralt shifts onto his side, stroking Jaskier through it even as they're displaced onto the floor. Unfazed, Jaskier slips his other arm around Geralt's neck, breaking away from his lips long enough to look at him.

"Fuck Geralt, you're amazing, darling. Are you gonna come for me?"

Geralt presses his forehead against Jaskier's, mumbling a soft, yeah as he shuffles up closer, knees on either side of Jaskier's hips. Jaskier groans as he's bent practically in half, flopping back against the floor and letting his knees hook around Geralt's neck instead. Geralt's so close now, he can't do much but rut into him and Jaskier encourages him, breathing soft words of praise against his lips as Geralt tumbles over the edge after him.

Geralt collapses on him almost immediately and they tangle together, Geralt with his head on Jaksier's chest and Jaskier with his hands in Geralt's hair. His chest is still heaving and he's not sure he'll ever catch his breath, but when Geralt looks up at him again, he can't help but kiss him, sinking into the kiss even as Geralt wraps his arms around him and rolls them onto their sides. Breaking away for a moment, he grins at Jaskier before leaning in and whispering conspiratorily,

"I think I've broken something."

Jaskier glances back at the bed now behind them, one corner of which is bowing significantly lower thangthe others and he turns back with a grin, running his hands up Geralt's chest.

"D'you suppose they'll charge extra for that?"

"Mm, probably," he hums and he smirks, rolling on top of him again, "I suppose we'll have to make it worth our while."

[serendipityjxmn]

Mr. President

Chapter 27

TW: Brief smut ;)

Words Count: 2.9k

Link to Masterlist

It’s almost the end of the year and winter has come with full coldness. But you don’t feel so cold and alone like most winter your whole life. You have someone that gives you warmth now. Your heart swelling at the thought of your husband.

You smile as you give yourself some makeover on your dressing table. It’s the night of the company dinner, and you’re invited to join other staffs. It took some time to persuade your husband but eventually, he gives in.

“Do you really have to go?” He stood beside you when you’re sitting in front of your dressing table, putting on some nightcream before you head to sleep a few nights ago.

“I’ve never had any company dinner before.. and I really want to experience it once..”

“Hmm.. how about dinner with me instead? It’s still a company dinner since I’m your boss.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “That doesn’t count. I have dinner with you every night.”

He pouted. And he looked so adorable so you stood and pecked the corner of his lips before you move to the bed. He followed after you.

“Why don’t you come to the gathering?”

He scoffed. “No employee ever wants the boss to be at a company dinner.”

So that’s how you end up going to the gathering without your husband. He did send you off and told you he’ll pick you up as well.

“So.. Chris and I had been talking.. and.. we’ve decided to get married next month.” Irene says, eyes sparkling.

“Oh my God!” Your hand clasp your mouth. “Oh my God congratulations!” You pull her into a tight hug as she grins.

“Thank you, Mrs. President!” She teases and you smack her arms. She’s never called you that before, only once perhaps and you told her off immediately. “Share me a tip or two later.” She winks.

Your cheeks redden. “I don’t have anything to share..”

“Oh come on! That is obviously such a lie!”

You roll your eyes. “Okay, we need a drink to celebrate this. Come on!”

She rolls hers as well but continues to pour drinks for the two of you, clinking your glass before downing it one shot.

“Ooh, way to go girl!”

And the night goes for a long time, that right after the dinner, there’s a karaoke session, which you find yourself too timid to try. To be honest, you just want to experience the environment and sees what people do at gatherings. You’ve never had the opportunity before. But you’re content enough observing and watching people’s antics. And then not to mention, the drinking session that goes on for two, three, four rounds. You think they’re endless. But you do enjoy the night so far. You think you’ve had your fill of laughter for a week now.

You’re not sure how many glasses you’ve downed now, but you know it’s a lot. You’ve consumed more alcohol tonight than your twenty three years of life combined. You’re starting to get tipsy (definitely not drunk) when you’re starting to feel a little too hot.

“God, it’s hot.” You mutter.

You’re wearing a button down pastel pink blouse matched with a cream pencil skirt. You unbutton your blouse a little.

“Unnie, you’re married right?” Mina, the maknae in the office asks. Both of you and several others are sitting on the table, too tired to join the group singing and dancing and just settle on watching them by the table.

You nod.

Chaerin who’s sitting beside Mina nods enthusiastically. “I heard your husband is really rich. What does he do?”

You bite your lips, contemplating whether to tell them your husband is the CEO of the company they’re working at. They’re fairly new interns, having entered the company sometime early this month. You don’t particularly hide the fact that you’re the CEO’s wife, but you don’t necessarily flaunt it either so it’s pretty common for newbies not to know it.

“He’s a.. CEO.” You settle on saying and Mina’s eyes go round.

“You’re so lucky to have a rich husband! I have no idea why you still wanna work.” She pouts. “If it’s me I would’ve just stayed at home, doing anything I want at home.”

“Me too, me too. Or perhaps go shopping all day.” Chaerin chirps in.

You could only smile hearing them. You don’t think you have it in you to just sit at home and spend all of Jimin’s money although your husband would probably like the idea very much.

“It’s okay. You’ll find one too.” You nod encouragingly at Mina.

She scoffs. “Where am I gonna find one? The most handsome CEO I’ve ever met is our CEO. Shame that he’s married.”

You become alert as your husband suddenly becomes the topic of conversation.

“Agreed. Us single ladies could only drool over him. I wonder how Mr. President and his wife’s sex life be like.” Chaerin smiles wickedly, raising her eyebrow twice.

Why would these people be curious about that?? You look at them in horror but they’re too busy imagining to notice your expression.

“Must be nice.. I mean, Mr. Park is so handsome, and his body is to be drooled over. I’d probably have sex with him everyday if I was married to him.” Mina says.

You snort. As if. It’s almost a year of marriage with Jimin and you’re practically still a virgin.

“It’s so gross to drool over someone’s husband but he’s so hot- ugh.” Chaerin says.

Mina nods in agreement. It’s no surprise to hear people crushing on your husband. You’ve heard people gushing over him so much you’re almost used to it. But you never thought they’d be this vocal. Is this considered some kind of harassment towards your husband? Where and how do you lodge a complain?

Chaerin shakes her head and suddenly puts a hand on Mina’s shoulder. “It’s okay Mina. You can still seduce him.”

W-what? You choke on your drink, almost spluttering.

Chaerin laughs, seeing your expression. “What? You don’t think he’ll stay faithful forever to his wife? No matter how loyal he is.. with a little bit of seduction, he wouldn’t say no if a woman comes and offer herself to him. Like, one look from him and women would fall to their feet to serve him.”

“I- I don’t think- I mean- his wife-” you start to say but she cuts you off.

“Ey~ what do you think a year of marriage can do to a wife? Once they stop dressing up for their husband, it’s all over.”

Is it really? Is that the reason why your husband won’t touch you? You’ve been longing for Jimin’s touch and the fact that he just won’t do it makes you think of all sorts of things. You’re almost on the verge of crying.

So you reach for more alcohol, pouring few drinks for yourself, downing them all in one shot.

“Oh God, Mr. Park.” Someone whispers, you’re not sure if it’s Mina or Chaerin.

You look up then. Your eyes find him easily although your vision is slightly unfocused. You smile as he takes his step towards you when he spots you.

You tilt your head. “Oh, it’s my husband.”

You could almost see from the corner of your eyes, Mina and Chaerin’s priceless expression.

He narrows his eyes at you once he reaches you. All staffs stand to greet him and he gestures for them to sit immediately.

“It’s okay, just go ahead and continue. I’m just here to pick up my wife.” He smiles politely and nods. You think Mina’s jaw dropped while Chaerin’s hand clasped her mouth. He looks down at you. “Mrs. Park? You ready to go home?”

You pout and shake your head. “Why don’t you come and join me drink?”

He stares at you for a few moment. Then he pulls your arm and you’re vaguely aware of everyone staring at the both of you. You let him lead you to to the bar counter as he asks for empty water.

You prop one hand on the bar and grins at your husband. He looks wonderful as always, in his working attire. He still has his suit jacket on, making him look a hundred times more handsome.

His eyebrow lifts.

“You’re drunk.” He states.

You shake your head. “No no no. I’m not.. I just had two.. three.. four? Or five glasses..” you say through a slur. And then you hiccup. “Oops.”

He shakes his head, although a fond smile is tugging at his lips. He then calls for the bartender again as he orders a drink for himself. Your empty glass of water is served and he pushes the glass towards you and gestures you to drink.

You pout. “No.” You shake your head.

He narrows his eyes at you. Jaw slightly clenching.

You suddenly straighten yourself and looks at him seriously. “You.” You point your finger at him, taking him by surprise. “You said you loved me.”

He frowns. Perhaps wondering where you’re going with this. “I do.”

It’s your turn to narrow your eyes at him. “Then why?!” You say, voice slightly raised.

“Why what?” He frowns.

“Why won’t you touch me?!” You ask, tone getting higher, and his brows furrow deeper.

He leans forward slightly, and then he raises his hand, tenderly running it across your cheek.

You huff at him harshly. Hands crossing against your chest. “You know that’s not what I meant!”

You’re starting to get more vocal about your annoyance. The alcohol helping you to spill everything that’s been frustrating you.

And when he doesn’t reply, you continue your outburst. “I meant sex! Why won’t you fuck me until I see the stars and into oblivion? Why are you holding out?!” You say, tones raising higher, drawing several attentions from other employees that you no longer care about. You just need some explanation from your husband.

Jimin seems partially surprised and amused by your outburst. He purses his lips a little and eyes around and everyone else hastily turns their gaze away from the two of you.

“Baby, you’re drunk.” He says calmly.

You glare at him. “I’m not.” You say and lean forward, hands coming up to grip his collar and pull him into a kiss. You kiss him hungrily, hands fisting his collar tighter as your mouth moves frantically over his. Your breath uneven in a matter of seconds. You force yourself to pull away when you remember you’re still at the bar. “See? I’m not drunk.”

You don’t really intend for the kiss to come off as intense as that in the short span of time. Perhaps a little, because you’re trying to tell him what you’ve been wanting from him for so long. But you think the kiss is innocent enough, or at least that’s what your alcohol induced mind tells you.

But Jimin’s eyes tell you otherwise. The way you kissed him had made him hard. And you’re quick to notice the dark glint in his eyes.

He narrows his eyes for a fleeting second. “Let’s go. I’m taking you home.” He pulls you and you giggle as you willingly comply.

He stops for a while to let people know that the two of you are leaving and most people bid him goodbye. You glance at him from the corner of your eyes. He looks down at you at the same time.

“You drive me crazy sometimes.” He mutters under his breath.

Your breath hitches, together with another hiccup. “I like driving you crazy.”

He stares at you and then lets out a huge breath, like he’s trying to stop himself from doing something reckless. Like, pushing you against the wall just outside the bar and kissing you senseless.

He opens the car door for you before he slides in at the back of the car beside you, pulling you flush against his chest during the whole car ride.

His embrace is so warm against the freezing weather outside and your eyes unconsciously flutter close as you let out a moan, leaning completely against Jimin.

The last thing you feel is his kiss on the top of your head and his hand that runs soothingly up and down your arm before you fall asleep during the car ride.

You’re awake only when you hear his voice beside your ear.

“Baby? Wake up, we’re home.” He says.

Your eyes flutter open and your vision slowly recurs. He wraps you in your coat swiftly and then he’s out of the car, hands holding out to you and you take them gratefully, feet a little wobbly.

As soon as he closes the door behind you, he lifts you like a bride, making you gasp. He laughs as he carries you across the house. He makes his way to the kitchen and finally settles you on a countertop. He lets go of you and turns to the sink to fill a glass with water before going back to you and hands you the drink.

Having napped on your way home, you’re in a more sober state now. So you wordlessly drink the glass of water Jimin hands you and it really sobers and wakes you up all the same time.

You bite down your lip as he looks at you, standing in front of you. “Jimin?”

“Hm?”

You could literally feel the flush of heat creeping into your cheeks before you even utter the words. His hand comes up to touch your upper thigh mindlessly, a soothing gesture rather than a sensual one.

You take a deep breath and stares into his eyes determinedly. “I want to do it with you.”

His breath catches but he’s quick to recompose himself. He swears he just finds you so adorable but then he decides to tease you. “Do what?”

You stare at him in mortification. Does he really wants you to say it aloud? You hesitate for a moment before giving in. “I.. I want to.. make love with you.” You say, cheeks turning fifty shades of red as you look down.

His lips turn to grin in an ear splitting grin. Then he just smiles fondly at you. “Y/N, you’re drunk. I don’t want our first time to be while you’re drunk.” He shakes his head.

You quickly straighten yourself. “I’m not. Really! I’m sober now.. please... Jimin?”

He continues to stare at you.

“I.. I just don’t understand.. I.. I mean.. we’ve been married for a year now.. and then I was talking to Mina and Chaerin just now.. and they say you could easily no longer be interested in your wife anymore a year and more into a marriage.. and we’re.. you.. I mean.. you won’t touch me and-” you’re just ranting by now.

He stares into your eyes all the while you’re ranting and finally decides to cut you off by pressing his lips firmly against yours. When he pull away, he lightly flicks your head and you pout in response.

“I don’t know what kind of things did Mina or Chaerin brainwashed your head with, but it’s not for the reason you’re thinking about.”

“Really?”

He nods. And then his face leans closer towards yours before your lips meet again in a gentle lip lock. For a moment, you think this is gonna be another episode of him kissing you after rejecting your request and then pulling away before things start to get heated.

But it’s not.

He deepens his kiss, lips tracing your mouth in a steady pace, not too rushed but not too slow either. And when his tongue starts demanding entrance, you gladly grant it.

It isn’t long until the soft, gentle kisses starts to escalate and grow heated. He kisses you passionately and you return it with the same intensity. His hand reach behind your neck as he holds it firmly to tilt your head slightly, guiding you towards the angle he desires.

You let out a slight moan when he lightly suckles on your bottom lip. Your hand cards his hair, bringing him even closer.

You slowly spread your legs as you pull him flush against your heated body, your skirt hitching up to accomodate him between your thighs. He groans when he feels your chest pressed against his, making a rush of arousal pour through you.

You could feel the slick gushing out of you, pooling at the bundle of nerves between your thigh where it’s so close to your husband’s erection.

He runs his tongue over your bottom lip and lightly bites it for one last time before he drawls.

Your breath uneven and Jimin’s breathing is labored too. He growls when he takes in your look, eyes briefly looking down at your figure as he notices your exposed chest.

“Come on.” He says as he pushes himself off of you. He then swiftly lifts you off the counter and you quickly wrap your legs around his firm waist. He stares at you as he carries you across the large house.

“Where are you taking me?”

His lips quirk but doesn’t answer, only a mischievous look on his face.

“To our bedroom?” You dare to ask.

He tries to stifle his smile. “Yes.”

Your heart races. “To bed?”

“Yes.”

“To.. sleep?”

He chuckles. “No baby. To fuck you until you see the stars and into oblivion.”

And your heart couldn’t beat any faster when he says that.

A/N: Can't believe we're almost at the end of the journey now. I hope you guys stay till the end, even if you know what's coming >;D Also, the upcoming final chapter would be divided into two parts, because first part would contain explicit content hahaha so to make it easier for little kids, you can actually skip it directly to the second part :D

Link to Chapter 28

Posted on 210604 9:00PM

[silenceofthecookies]

William Vangeance domestic headcanons

I’m rewatching Black Clover and I’m having so many feelings for William. Domestic William popped in my head while watching so instead of bothering my fellow writers even more with my William obsession, I decided to write myself a little treat. Enjoy 💖

William always wakes up at first daylight, it’s just a habit. On days where he doesn’t have too much going on, he enjoys staying in bed with you and cuddling. It doesn’t matter if you’re awake or not, as long as he can hold you in his arms, his day is off to a good start. If for some reason you have to cut the morning cuddles short, he will get a little pouty. Morning cuddles are sacred to William.

Despite his incredible magical power, when it comes to physical power, William is pretty useless. Because of his magic, most of the time this is no problem. It is a problem in the kitchen though. William often struggles with opening jars. Whenever he can’t open one, he will hold it out to you with a slightly ashamed smile. He doesn’t mind if you laugh or make fun of him a little for it, he understands the sight must be funny and he can laugh with it himself as well.  

William does not leave the house without a goodbye kiss to you. Once outside he prefers to keep PDA to a minimum (though sometimes he finds it hard to not randomly kiss you to when the sun- or moonlight enhances your features so nicely), so he will use any excuse to get his daily dose of affection at home.

Williams favourite kisses are forehead kisses.

Whenever he is stressed, William likes to lie down on top of you and rest his head on your chest, right above your heart, while you play with his hair or rub circles on his back. He’ll cling to you like you’re his lifeline while he calms himself down. Your heartbeat combined with your gentle touches will light up his day in a matter of minutes. If you’re stressed, he’ll gladly do the same for you.

No matter how long you’ve been together or how many times you’ve said it, William will always smile and blush a little when you tell him you love him. To him, the words will never lose their impact.

A big garden is a must for William. He loves having his own private patch of nature to go to whenever he wants to relax. He also has a bunch of bird baths and bird houses there. Birds are always drawn to William, and he loves listening to them chirp as they sit on his hands or shoulders. If you want one on your hand or shoulder, William will gladly pass them over to you if the birds allow it. The sight of you with all the little birds on and around you makes his heart swell.

William loves homecooked mails. He’s actually pretty good at cooking himself because he grew up in the Forsaken Realm, though he has very little time to cook for himself anymore. If you cook for him, he will be putty in your hands. On his days off though, he’ll gladly prepare a romantic dinner for the two of you.

Marriage is definitely a goal for William, though he’s very hesitant to bring it up. If you’ve been together for a long time, he might gather up the courage to talk about it or just to propose to you if he already knows it’s something you want as well. It’s still a far-fetched idea to William that someone would love him so much that they’d want to spend all their life with him, but he is hopelessly devoted to you and he wouldn’t want anything more than to put a ring on your hand to officially make you his.  

[unabashegirl]

HI!! cn u pls do one of y/n surprising harry on tour or sth and doing sth with the fans while doing so hehehe MAKE IT SUPER FLUFFY PLS KSNDJDND 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

CHOCOLATE CAKE

I sure can! I hope you like it! Let me know what you think!

Also, continue to SEND YOUR REQUESTS!

masterlist 

----

There he stands, hearing his name being chanted by hundredths of people but he has never felt as lonely; not even when he was single. At least then he hadn't had a taste of her. Now he is addicted to her love and her soft touch inflicted by her tiny, delicate hands. The same hands that hold him in his darkest times. And the same hands that he has held above her head when he makes sweet love to her.

Y/N is quiet, reserved — an introvert to the t. She prefers to stay home than dressing up and partying in crowded spaces. If there is one thing she enjoys the most is quietness. Perhaps that was what captivated him when he met her that afternoon at an art exhibition. He is so used to the screaming and loudness of people that he now naturally, gravitates towards the quietness. Thus, why he had stumbled into that small, serene exhibition that day. He started the conversation after noticing her admiring for far too long a single painting out of the bunch. Harry couldn't understand what she found so alluring and his curiosity got the best of him. They sat for hours on an uncomfortable bench talking about their lives as if they weren't complete strangers, but acquaintances.

Falling begins getting played by the band: an organic smile spreads across his face, product of remembering the first time that he played the album to her — in the privacy of his home. 

That day she sat on the couch with her legs crossed just after preparing herself a hot cup of tea. She wore one of his colorful jumpers and an old pair of grey pajama pants that were too big for her small frame. He would never forget the way, her eyes swelled up in tears when the last song was played. 

He’s been quiet all night and everyone has noticed. He hadn’t been his usual careless self throughout the rehearsal nor he had danced around to the music. The truth is that he hasn’t stopped thinking about her. He has been gone for far too long and it is starting to take a toll on his mental health. He misses the way she always manages to put him to sleep by just running her fingers through his hair. He misses how she always goes to bed wearing socks, yet wakes up barefoot. He misses the random conversations in bed when she can’t remember how to sleep and how she always wakes him up to a cup of tea and a minty, fresh, morning kiss.

His eyes are tightly closed with both ringed hands wrapped around the mic. His throat veins pop out as he hits the perfect note in the chorus. He knows he can’t do much about the obscure heaviness he currently feels in his heart. Nothing could ever fill the void that he feels in her absence. The only thing he is sure about is that he will never again leave her behind. He regrets the day he agreed on her staying because of work.

The melancholy song comes to an end earning quite loud cheers and howls from the crowd. He opens his eyes after taking in the last bit of his emotions. The crowd had felt his pain. They have known for a considerable amount of time, the woman that makes Harry’s knees go weak.  One afternoon a reporter had taken a picture of her getting picked up at work by Harry.  The next morning, her face was splatter everywhere. He was irate. He didn’t want to keep her hidden, but he wanted to reveal the relationship at their own time and terms. And the reporter had stolen that from them.

“What’s yeh name?” Harry asks an individual in the crowd as he approaches the edge of the stage. He knows how much fans appreciate and enjoy having some type of interaction with him. He also realizes he hasn’t been as in the moment as other times. Hence, why he is trying to make up for it. 

It takes him a few times to perceive what she is saying through the ear-piercing screams. 

“Are you sad?” A small smile appears, still surprised at the skill that the fans have developed to figure out his demeanor based on his tone and mannerisms.

“M’not” He replies, trying to hide the sun with a finger. No one in the crowd believes him especially with that little smile of his. 

Suddenly, their attention is ripped away from him. Their eyes drift back and to the side where the curtain is situated. It takes Harry a few minutes to realize that everyone’s got their attention focused on something behind him.

Y/N stands shyly a few feet away from Mitch, fiddling with her fingers. She looks tiny from where he is — adorable actually.

He is shocked — speechless even. Harry isn’t sure if he is more astounded that she has managed up the courage to appear on stage with him or that she is finally, in the same place and in the same country as him.

Meanwhile, the crowd is going crazy. They are just as shocked as Harry. Most are happy and giddy that Harry was reunited with his girl and that she had managed to surprise him. They thought it was a particularly precious gesture from her.

Y/N gives everyone a shy smile and a wave causing everyone to go nuts. It also manages to snap Harry out of his trance.

It takes him only takes four strides to stand before her.  He throws an arm over her and pulls her into a warm embrace while he holds the mic with his other hand. Harry kisses the top of her head. This is obviously not the only way he wants to greet her, but he recognizes that he is in front of a crowd with phones. He craves to kiss her but still wants to keep some grade of privacy and intimacy in his relationship. 

“Shows over. Go home” He jokes for the first time in the night. “Just kidding. This is Y/N — my girlfriend” A big smile covers his face, crow’s feet visible. She hides her blushing face with her hands. “She’s a bit shy. Aren’t you lovie?” The term of endearment is enough to cause everyone’s hearts in the arena to melt. “Anyway, I don’t think I should embarrass her any longer. Say goodbye to Y/N!” Harry asks the crowd as he escorts her off the stage. 

As soon as they are off stage, he doesn’t waste time in connecting their lips. “I love you” he mumbles one last time against her lips before running back on stage to finish his show.

Y/N watches him the rest of the night from the side of the stage. She is pretty proud of herself. She has managed to pull the whole thing through. Jeff had helped her planned it. He had arranged everything for her to fly out and arrive a few hours before the concert. Jeff had also managed to keep her hidden from Harry most of the night. 

--

Y/N sits next to him with an elbow on the table and her head resting on her hand. She knows it's not polite to have her elbows on the table at dinner, but she can’t help admiring her boyfriend. 

Harry sits beside her, his hips turned towards her even though he is talking to Mitch from across the table. His left hand resides on her thigh, holding her close while he uses his other to gesticulate. Even if it’s a habit of his to have the first buttons of his shirt undone, she can’t help admire his bare skin and the pearl necklace that wraps around his neck. 

Harry can feel her expressive eyes on him. He can slightly see her from the corner of his eye. He attempts to ignore her gaze and continues the conversation with him. Although it becomes harder to do with every passing second. 

“Stop looking at me like that” He whispers as he turns his attention momentarily to her. His grip on her thigh tightens as a warning. His tone is rough, but his cheeky smile contradicts his statement. Mitch smiles at the couple’s interaction and decides to give them a bit of privacy. Therefore, he turns to the next conversation happening beside him. 

“What are you talking about? I am not doing anything” She says just in time as dessert and coffee get served. Y/N had ordered a chocolate lava cake with vanilla ice cream and a cappuccino. On the other hand, Harry had ordered a double expresso and had refused to order anything else. Even though Y/N knows that he will probably end up taking most of hers. 

Harry’s hand reaches down and grips the edge of her chair, yanking it closer to him. 

“Hi” He smiles as he pushes a loose strand of hair behind her ear. 

“Hi” Y/N kisses the tip of his nose before turning towards her dessert.

“Lovely shirt you are wearing” Harry’s right arm wrapping around her as he leans in to kiss the skin below her ear.  He can smell the faint scent of her favorite Chanel perfume.

“Thank you. It’s my boyfriend’s actually. He is just kind enough to lend it to me” She shrugs feeding herself a mouthful of hot lava cake. She is wearing one of his white linen, button-down shirts along with her own beige skirt. The shirt seems to tie the entire outfit together. Plus, it still smells like him. It made sense at the time. This is why Y/N has been especially careful not to ruin or spill anything on the designer shirt — all night long. 

“Really?” Harry reaches out and with his thumb wipes the remaining chocolate off the corner of her bottom lip. “Lucky bastard,” he says, sucking the chocolate off his thumb. Y/N slices a piece of the dessert knowing what’s coming next. “Can I have some, lovie?” 

She giggles proceeding to feed him a spoonful of the ridiculously sweet dessert. 

“What?” 

“You always manage to steal my dessert” 

“S’not true!” Harry opposes even though he knows she is right. He doesn't fancy anything until she is already eating it. “okay. maybe a bit” it’s not until she gives him a look that he finally confesses with a mischievous smile. 

She responds by wrapping her arms around his neck and whispering near his ear an intimate ’I love you’. Harry grips her chin, giving her the proper kiss that he has been waiting all night to share with her. He can taste the combination of the sweetness of the chocolate and the bitterness of the coffee while kissing her. 

“Thank you for today. I’ll never forget this”  Harry admits with his forehead pressed against hers...

[spencers-renaissance]

tell me how to balance my coins

Summary: When Spencer falls down the stairs one morning he decides not to tell anyone, his insecurities about not being enough winning out. Too bad insecurities don't matter when they end up trekking through miles of barren land on a search and rescue mission, and his injuries finally become too much. The team knows exactly how to make it better.

Tags: hurt!spencer, whump, hurt/comfort, hiding medical issues, insecurity, angst with a happy ending, fluff, team as family TW: self-esteem issues

Pairing: GEN / Spencer Reid & Derek Morgan

Word Count: 3.2k

Masterlist // Read on AO3 // Bad Things Happen Bingo

Set in S1 but there's no Gideon because he didn't really fit the plot, so it's just the five other field agents here. This entire fic was inspired by this post by @i-write-whump so credit goes to them for the premise! Title from this poem by Zahraa Surtee <3

Maybe it’s embarrassment that stops him from telling the team. Spencer runs headfirst into dangerous situations every day, puts his life on the line repeatedly and escapes unscathed more often than not, but his nemesis this time is the single flight of stairs in his apartment building he descends each morning.

He’s later than he usually is, and already feeling a little flustered from both his toaster and coffee machine breaking, leaving him with a cup of instant coffee and an overripe banana from breakfast, which only makes the situation worse. As if lying sprawled out in a public stairwell wasn’t bad enough. He gingerly pulls himself up, catching a glimpse of a “Caution: Wet Floor” sign he somehow missed, and winces as pain floods his body.

His ankle is screaming at him, throbbing and burning, and for a moment Spencer has to close his eyes against the gut-wrenching pain of a twisted ankle flaring up his calf. A couple of thankfully undisturbed minutes later, the pain eases enough for him to open his eyes and inspect the damage. It’s already swelling slightly, and he’s certain he’ll be covered in bruises by tonight if the aching of his entire body is anything to go by.

For a brief moment he considers calling Derek or Penelope or someone else on his team; maybe even calling in sick, but he quickly pushes that thought away. It’s not embarrassment that stops him from telling the team. It’s a good cover story to keep him from addressing the real reason, but it isn’t the truth.

The truth is that the only time he ever feels valuable is when he’s contributing to a case. That cruel voice in the back of his head will waste no time in piping up, telling him how worthless he is, what a burden his friends see him as, how insignificant he is to the team if he doesn’t suck it up and head into work.

Fighting back the tears burning hot behind his eyes with ardent determination, he drags himself up by the stair handrail until he’s upright. His ribs ache and his ankle burns something fierce, but he compartmentalises it, breathing deeply and taking a few tentative steps, one at a time until he’s limping towards the train station.

The moment he walks into the bullpen, JJ grabs his elbow. “You’re just in time, Spence,” she says, marching towards the briefing room with a pace Spencer can’t quite keep up with. “We have a new case. Rural Kentucky.”

Everyone’s already seated at the round table, and no matter how much he tries to disguise his limp, putting far too much weight on his battered ankle, he can’t get it past a room full of profilers.

“Hey, pretty boy, you alright? You’re limping.” Derek’s tone is light, carrying the cadence of joking banter, but he can see the concern in his eyes, and that’s just unacceptable. He can’t have people worrying about him: he’s not worth their pitied looks or vapid attempts at comfort, especially not when they have a far more important case to be focusing on.

He slips into a seat, and manages to conceal a wince at the movement of his ankle swinging forward. “Oh, uh, I just stubbed my toe pretty hard on the way in.” It’s not convincing even to his own ears, but luckily it’s enough of a time-sensitive case for JJ to barrel on regardless, drawing everyone’s worried glances away from him and towards the board full of grizzly crime scene photos.

Even though he’s been on the team for close to three years now, he still feels like the new kid. Elle is newer than him, but she’s still far more confident in her place on the team than he is. He suspects that’s probably because someone like Elle doesn’t have trouble fitting in anywhere. It’s never been quite that easy for Spencer.

Pushing his insecurities aside like he always has to do in these meetings, he reads the case file thoroughly before offering his own contributions. The unsub is snatching young women from bars and clubs and holding them for weeks before leaving them to succumb to the elements in the rural countryside of Kentucky. With a missing woman and the expected deadline for the unsub dumping her fast approaching, they don’t waste any time in boarding the jet and flying the short way to West Kentucky.

It’s a short enough flight that there’s no time for personal conversation — no time for Derek (or anyone else for that matter) to confront him about his blatant lie and obvious injury — since they spend the whole journey discussing the case. Thankfully, throwing himself head first into theories and hypotheses keeps his mind off the pain a bit, but he can’t fully keep it from bothering him.

He’s just thankful that he has enough experience in disguising his true emotions that no-one’s attention is drawn to him by poorly hidden winces.

They dive straight into the investigation when they arrive at the sheriff’s station, everyone laser focused on finding Marissa Williams. By mid-afternoon, though, Spencer’s gritting his teeth as he forces himself to persevere through the pain despite it increasing incrementally every hour, and he curses himself for not being able to dedicate 100% of himself to the case. If he can’t help everyone find this woman, then what is he good for? His stomach twists at the thought.

“You gonna tell me what’s really going on, Spence?” Derek asks him as it approaches 4pm, cornering him at the coffee machine.

Spencer looks around as subtly as he can for an escape, but he quickly succumbs to his fate. “I’m fine, Derek,” he promises. It’s so far from the truth he wants to cry.

The concern in Derek’s eyes only intensifies at that. “Seriously? You’ve been quiet this whole case, I catch you wincing when you think no-one’s looking, and you’re still limping. A stubbed toe wouldn’t do that, kid, and you know it.”

He sighs, knowing the jig is up. “It’s nothing I can’t handle, Derek.” He’s not sure it’s the truth, but it’s close enough to it that it doesn’t bring burning tears to the backs of his eyes.

Derek’s about to say something when JJ calls out for him. They both turn to look at her, Spencer feeling relief flood his chest, while Derek’s expression quickly morphs into one of frustration, sighing heavily as he curls his hands into tight fists.

“This isn’t over,” he says, levelling him with a serious look before walking back over to JJ, leaving Spencer to stir his bitter coffee in peace. It definitely doesn’t make him want to cry.

They finally get a break in the case at nightfall, a call on the tip line combined with their profile leading them to a secluded wooded area down by a small river. Knowing there’s nothing more for them to do at the office, Hotch gathers them all up, insisting they join the search party to find the poor, beaten woman currently suffering exposure, awaiting their rescue.

Spencer’s heart sinks as everyone gathers their equipment, and he’s almost relieved when Derek speaks up.

“Reid can’t go,” he insists to Hotch, only barely in earshot of Spencer. If he doesn’t go out in the rescue party, then he’s still served his purpose hasn’t he? He helped with the profile that narrowed down the area she’s likely to be in, he worked the case until this point, he can rest and still be worth something. Right?

Besides, it’s not exactly like he can don the heavy walking boots everyone else is pulling on. If he goes out, he’ll have to wear the same loafers that have been squeezing his swelling joint all day, and that’s hardly going to work. Hotch will let him stay back, and for once, he’ll accept the rest he’s offered.

His hope is quickly dashed. “We need all the manpower we can get,” Hotch says, clearly distracted in the same way he has been throughout the entire case. Spencer likes his boss but he has a tendency to wear blinkers when on a job, not noticing anything that doesn’t pertain to the ultimate solution. “He’ll be fine.”

Derek sighs again, clearly frustrated.

“I’ll be fine,” he says as Derek comes over to sit with him, not sure who he’s trying to convince. His ankle is still burning in pain. The last time he checked it, it was bruised and swollen, tender to the touch. It’s nothing short of a nasty sprain.

“You stick close to me, Spencer. I mean it.”

He can’t help the small smile that crosses his face, genuine happiness warming his heart at the concerned protectiveness of his friend. “Sure, Derek,” he says softly.

The pleasant temperature of the mid-Spring day drops to almost freezing as the sun sets, the moon and stars taking over the clear night sky. Even Spencer’s thickest coat isn’t enough to keep him from practically vibrating with the force of his shivers as they trek across the miles of terrain, staying as quiet as possible to listen for anything that could indicate their victim’s whereabouts. They’re spread out a little, but for the most part they all walk reasonably close together, the beams of their torches criss-crossing as they fight their way through the windy countryside.

Thankfully, it’s only a couple of hours into the search and rescue mission that a call crackles over the radio, telling them that Marissa had been found, beaten and weak but alive. Spencer can’t even bring himself to feel any kind of victory or relief, nothing being able to penetrate the haze of pain he’s in. Everyone else chatters happily enough as they converge back together for his silence to go mostly unnoticed.

His obscurity doesn’t last long, though.

“Are you ever gonna tell us what happened to your foot, Spence?” JJ asks, raising an eyebrow at Spencer’s heavy limping and Derek’s worried hovering. By the second mile of their walk, Spencer had given up trying to hide the limp, instead focusing on gritting his teeth and breathing through the pain as it flares up his leg.

She’s clearly voicing what everyone else is thinking, judging by their worried expressions. Part of him wants to give in and tell the team, but the part that wants to continue to hide his embarrassment away, the part riddled with fear and insecurity wins out. He stubbornly shakes his head, closing his eyes tightly. In the kind of terrible timing so emblematic of the life of Spencer Reid, in the short second he has his eyes closed he manages to stumble into a small divot in the ground, and he trips, twisting his ankle all over again as he falls down.

His vision whites out, the pain suddenly all-consuming, punching nausea through his stomach and he can’t help the cry he lets escape as he lays helplessly in the grass.

“Spencer!”

Derek crouches next to him, laying a hand on his shoulder as he checks him over frantically, and Spencer can’t help but lean up into it, craving the kind of comfort he can only get from his best friend. Hotch joins them quickly as JJ and Elle stand close enough to offer support without crowding him.

“That’s it, Spencer,” Hotch says firmly, blinkers well and truly off by now, “you need to tell us what’s going on.”

As the blinding pain slowly fades into something minutely more bearable, Spencer forces his eyes open to face the team. “I fell down the stairs this morning,” he finally admits, sullen and teary. “Pretty sure I sprained my ankle.”

Hotch wastes no time in gently rolling his trouser leg up, exposing his ruined loafers and the bruised, swollen joint to the torches of his teammates. Derek audibly winces as he positions himself behind Spencer, supporting his back as his tired, aching body starts to collapse.

Hotch levels him with a stern glare after he finishes his tender inspection of his ankle. “Spencer, it was incredibly irresponsible to hide something like this. You not only put yourself in danger, but you put the rest of the team at risk, too—”

He doesn’t get any further in his lecture before the tears he’s been holding back all day, finally spill over and a dry, sudden sob, his bruised and aching rib cage heaving as he starts to unravel at the seams. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

Softening immediately, Hotch puts his leg down gently and shuffles closer, taking Spencer’s hand in his. “Hey, it’s okay, I’m sorry for yelling,” he says soothingly, watching as Spencer presses closer into Derek’s hold. “You’re not in trouble, I’m just worried about you, Spencer. Why didn’t you tell us you were hurt?”

He squeezes his eyes closed again: it’s as much dignity as he can hope for when his face is crumpling and he’s sobbing on the cold, hard ground as it nears midnight. “I just… I just wanted to be worth something.” It’s an admission he’ll regret later, he already knows that, but he’s so so tired and all he wants is the comfort that only his team can provide.

Derek pulls him into an even tighter hug before anyone can react, holding him against his chest fiercely while his hand plays gently with his hair. “Spencer, you are worth something whether you’re injured or fully intact, you hear me? We’d love you with a broken leg, with a bad case of the flu, if you quit the team tomorrow and decided to never work again. But most importantly, we love you now, kid. No matter what. Nothing can change that, alright?”

“He’s right, Spence,” JJ says softly, sinking to the ground along with Elle. “I know you think we only tolerate you because of your brain and what you bring to the table on a case, but you’re so much more than that. We love your nerdy rambles and your awkward waves and the way you love so openly and protectively, no matter how many times you’ve been hurt before. We love everything about you, Spencer.”

“Yeah, if you’re hurt, Reid, we wanna know,” Elle chimes in, sounding a little hesitant as the one who’s known him the shortest amount of time, but firm in what she’s saying nonetheless. “I know I haven’t been on the team that long but this is a group of people that watches out for one another, that supports each other, that builds everyone up leaving no person behind. That includes you, Spencer Reid, even when you don’t feel like it.”

“Everyone is right, Spencer,” Hotch says softly, still holding his cold and shaking hand protectively in his gloved one. “I’m just sad that you still prioritise your work over your own health. You are not this job. You are an incredibly talented and multi-faceted person that oftentimes needs a little TLC, and until you’re willing and able to do that for yourself, we’ll be here to do it for you, okay?”

Tears are streaming down his face as he nods, feeling warmer than he has all day despite the cold dark night they’ve found themselves in. The strangest part about it all is that he’s actually starting to believe them. It’s not like they haven’t all said similar things before, but hearing them all vehemently corroborating each other’s stories, hearing it all laid out in front of him as they promise him with earnest expressions that they’re telling the truth is doing something to shift the leaden weight of insecurity and low self-esteem that presses on his chest each and every day.

“Now, come on,” Derek says. “Let’s get back to base and I’ll go with you to the hospital to get you checked out, make sure it’s nothing more than a sprain.”

He shifts behind Spencer, using his already firm hold on his waist to help gently pull him up to a standing position, taking most of his weight as Spencer whimpers at the pain that swiftly reignites at the movement.

Derek turns around and bends at the knees slightly as Spencer leans on Hotch, before looking over his shoulder, his signature grin returning. “Hop on, pretty boy.”

“What— Derek! I’m way too heavy!”

Everyone immediately breaks out in amused laughter, even Hotch chuckling fondly.

Derek rolls his eyes. “Come on, Spencer, you’ve gotta weigh what, like, 140lbs? 150? You can’t exactly walk on that ankle anymore and it’s the only way we’re getting back without calling for a search and rescue team of our own.”

“Reid, I’m pretty sure I could give you a piggy-back ride,” Elle points out, raising her eyebrows. “Just let him carry you back.”

Let us take care of you is implicit enough in everyone’s words and expressions that it doesn’t really need to be said, but Spencer hears it anyway.

Hotch helps him up onto Derek’s back and they begin the long trek towards the search and rescue base, and Spencer’s never appreciated the easy banter they all share more. Hotch is visibly relaxed with the case solved and his youngest team member soon to be taken care of, so he joins in with the conversation, his light and happy expression that he only ever wears around his family or the team on rare days and nights off, replacing his focused frown.

Spencer clings on tightly to Derek and presses his face into the space between his neck and his shoulder, closing his eyes as he listens to the conversation, the vibration of Derek’s laugh and the shameless flirting between Elle and JJ taking his mind off the pain that throbs in his ankle with each step Derek takes.

When they finally get back to base, they all gather round the ambulance that’s been designated to take Spencer and Derek to the hospital.

JJ steps forward to give him a hug first. “Love you, Spence. Let us know what they say, okay?”

Hotch surprises him by stepping forward and wrapping him in a hug as well, forgoing the macho pats on the back for a short but close embrace that feels fatherly enough for tears to prick the back of Spencer’s eyes. “We all love you, Spencer. Remember that okay. And actually listen to what the doctors tell you. Morgan, you’re my eyes and ears.”

“Well now I want a hug, too,” Elle says dramatically, squeezing him in a tight embrace for just a moment before stepping back, lining up with JJ and Hotch to present a united front of people on his side.

“We’ll see you both in the morning,” Hotch says as the paramedic starts prepping for the journey, moving Spencer onto the gurney and rolling him in.

“Hope they don’t keep you too long!” JJ calls just as the doors close, making them both chuckle.

Derek takes his hand in both of his, staying out of the paramedic’s way as she quickly places a line of mild painkillers before sitting back, knowing that there’s not anything more she can do for Spencer until they get to the hospital.

Derek must see the anxious look on Spencer’s face, because he’s quick to reach a hand out and brush his cheek gently. “Hey, I’ll be with you the whole time. I’m not gonna leave you on your own, okay? You’ll be alright, pretty boy, you’re gonna be just fine. I promise.”

And on the flight home the next morning he realises that Derek’s promise was kept. He’s fitted out with a crutch and a temporary wrapping around his ankle, resting comfortably with his head in Derek’s lap while his foot sits elevated on a pile of cushions carefully built by JJ, surrounded by people who swear up and down that they love him while proving it to him in a thousand little ways, and he’s really not sure it gets any more alright than that.

taglist: @criminalmindsvibez @suburban--gothic @strippersenseii @takeyourleap-of-faith @negativefouriq @makaylajadewrites @iamrenstark @hotchseyebrows @temily @jellejareau @reidology @spencerspecifics @bau-gremlin @tobias-hankel @garcias-bitch @oliverbrnch @physics-magic @sbeno22 @im-autistic-not-stupid (taglist form)

[stitch1830]

Change

Kantoph Mondangst here we go! I'll probably have more to add to this before it's posted on ao3, just a heads up :)

......

“What are you doing?”

He said nothing as he kissed her neck and gently rubbed her stomach while she cut vegetables for dinner. They weren’t unwelcome gestures, in fact, she quite enjoyed the attention. Still, Toph had tasks to complete and she couldn’t have her boyfriend cling to her like this for the next six or so months. So when he didn’t stop kissing her neck and rubbing her stomach, she feigned being exasperated and once again commented on his antics. “Don’t you have something better to do?”

“Nope,” he replied quickly, grinning into her neck. His hands gently wrapped around hers and coaxed them to release their hold on the knife and vegetables, and once she did, he turned her around to face him. “I have nothing to do except kiss you and say hi to our little baby badgermole all day long.”

“That baby badgermole is barely a baby right now,” she teased.

“Nonsense. I can tell already.”

“Are you calling me fat??”

“Please Toph. You’re perfect the way you are.”

“That’s not a no, Hotshot.”

He said nothing, but leaned his forehead against hers and swiped his thumb over the small swell in her belly. Normally, such close quarters and cheesy gestures would’ve had Toph complaining until the man stopped, but with Kanto, it was okay. In fact, she enjoyed it. Loved it, even.

His hair tickled her forehead as he stood there with her, leaning on the counter. She could practically feel his mind reeling with thoughts, and one of them he thought aloud. “You can actually feel the heartbeat, huh,” he quietly remarked.

Toph chuckled. “Yeah, ever since Katara said that’s what the echo was, can’t stop hearing it.”

“I wish I could feel it.”

She teasingly clicked her tongue at him. “If you weren’t such a lily-livered earthbender, you probably could.”

“Hey!” he playfully shouted as he wrapped his arms around her, effectively ‘trapping’ her. “Some would say I’m a pretty good earthbender.”

“Pretty good doesn’t cut it with seismic sense, Hotshot.”

He grumbled and buried his face into her neck, and she breathed out a laugh as his towering figure huddled over hers. They stood in their kitchen, content with the silence and the intimate moment they shared with one another. Pretty soon, those moments would be limited, so there was no need to rush. And it was strange how soon things would change. One moment, they were two, the next, they would be three. A change that while they had months to prepare for, would still be rather sudden for the both of them. For that, a wave of apprehension overwhelmed Toph. The idea of motherhood was distant, and she wasn’t sure she’d ever be prepared.

It was as if he knew what she was thinking, because he commented on the very same idea.

“Funny,” he began. “A year from today, our lives will be so different. And the year after that will be different, and so will the year after that.”

The comment seemed straightforward, but it left Toph curious. She had only told him last week that she was pregnant, and while he had been ecstatic then, there was that fear in the back of her mind that this wasn’t what he wanted. She swallowed thickly and noted, “You say that as if it’s a bad thing.”

“Not at all,” he reassured her quickly. “If anything, it’ll be amazing and perfect. I just mean, it’s crazy what can happen in a year.”

“I suppose,” she pondered.

Toph meant to say more, but she refrained. Perhaps it was the uncertainty of the change, or the weariness she still felt about becoming a mother, or a combination of both. Change could be good, but she feared it wouldn’t be all perfect like he dreamed it would be.

He seemed to be reading her thoughts once again. “Don’t worry,” he began, “I’m going to be with you every step of the way, and you’re going to be a great mother. The very best mama.”

She could hear the smile in his voice, and as quickly as her worries came, they disappeared. Her response, however, was filled with sarcasm and sass for their continued banter. “I feel so much better knowing you’ll be there to hover all day,” she jabbed. “And of course you’re not worried about being a dad. You’ll be a natural.”

“True,” he replied, mimicking Toph’s dramatic tone. “But that’s only because we’re gonna have a baby girl that’s gonna be just like you. And I know you like the back of my hand.”

Toph scoffed. “How do you know that??”

“A father’s intuition.”

“Well, my motherly instincts say it could be a boy. And if he’s anything like you, I know you like the earth beneath my feet.”

“Oh yeah?” he jokingly challenged. “What happens when I pick you up from the ground and you’re not on the earth, huh?”

His hands found her waist and did just that. He lifted her up and set her on the counter, her feet losing the sense of the world around her. Toph laughed at his antics, and he chuckled with her as her legs wrapped around his waist. “I’d hit you until you put me back down,” she threatened, thumping his chest with her knuckle.

Kanto breathed out a laugh. “I suppose I deserve that.”

She smiled at him while his thumbs smoothed out the wrinkles on her shirtfront. Her hands found his face and traced out the marvel and joy etched on it. Things were perfect, even with change looming over them. Oddly enough, it didn’t seem so bad with Kanto around for it, despite what she thought moments ago.

He looked up at her. “I know you’re still worried, but I’m really looking forward to what this year is gonna bring us.”

His heart beat with hers, and his hands were warm and gentle and reassuring, and fear was far from her mind. All she felt was joy and excitement with him.

So she didn’t hesitate to respond, “I’m looking forward to it, too.”

~~~

She dreaded this day. She wanted anything but this day to come.

But the days came and went with the wind, and a year had passed since she felt his heart beat in time with hers, a year since his warm hand was in hers, a year since she heard this deep, calming voice.

She hated today. It reminded her how much things could change in a year.

Toph bitterly chuckled at the thought. He wasn’t wrong when he spoke about change before they had Lin. Change came suddenly and unapologetic. And their lives were so different from a year ago. But they weren’t better. That was apparent.

The memorial itself was a lovely, intimate ceremony with her friends and some close work colleagues in attendance. He would’ve loved it, or, she hoped he would’ve. Out of all the endless conversations they had, death was not one of them.

All the flowers had to be shipped in; Republic City’s bitter winter started to roll in early, and no native flora could withstand the sudden overnight freezes. Still, it was important that the hill had a flowery aroma with the incense. His botany obsessed heart and mind would’ve rattled off all the different types and facts of each flower, and he would’ve spent half the time describing each petal in great detail to Toph.

She insisted that there be at least one panda lily to set by his memorial, and the lengths she went through to have one in bloom in time for today was no small feat. It hung low by her side in one hand, the other occupied with her—their—daughter. Poor Lin didn’t understand the reason behind today. The chilly wind bit at her cheeks, and she sought refuge in the crook of Toph’s neck while she waited for the adults to carry on with whatever kept them outside on this cold, windy afternoon.

Zuko gave the speech. It was lovely, really, but Toph didn’t remember a single word of it. And all the hands and pats to her shoulder and back felt distant; they weren’t his steady hands, and if they weren’t his hands, then she didn’t want their support.

At the end of the formal ceremony, those in attendance dropped a single, unique flower by the memorial portrait. Some took a moment to say something to his picture, others dropped the flower and left. It meant a great deal that so many came to honor him, but truthfully, Toph didn’t care about anyone in attendance. She didn’t care about the number of flowers that dropped to the ground for him. Because in the end, only one mattered, and it wasn’t even hers.

When everyone dropped their flower in honor of him, Toph set Lin down and held onto her hand. Katara handed her the very last flower designated to be placed for him, and Toph gently steered Lin toward the memorial. It took a few moments, but when Toph and Lin arrived at his picture, Toph placed her panda lily on the pile for him, and gave a white chrysanthemum to Lin. She wrapped Lin’s chubby fingers around the stem and gestured toward the flowers.

“Come here, Lin,” Toph prompted, rather shocked that her voice sounded so strong and calm just then. “Give your flower to Daddy.”

At the sound of his name, Lin toddled over to his memorial and the pile of flowers. Her little body crouched down to the level of the pile, and she set hers on top.

Toph pulled Lin into her arms and whispered to her, “Good job, Lin.” She placed a single kiss on Lin’s cheek, and listened as her daughter said, “Dada,” over and over.

She ignored the sting of the breeze as it hit her tear-stained cheeks. “Tell Baba you love him,” she told Lin.

Lin whispered to the wind those words, saying them only loud enough for Toph to hear.

Spirits, she hated all of this. Time moved so slowly each and every day, and yet, here they were, remembering his life because it has been a year since he was alive. She hated that a year had passed, she hated that she still wasn’t over it, she hated that all the things they used to forever memorialize him were things that she couldn’t enjoy to their full extent, and she dreaded the day Lin wouldn’t call for her Baba any longer. Because that day would be sooner than Toph cared to think about.

There were too many people around, now. Toph wanted a moment with her family, no matter how broken it was. But it didn’t feel right to snap at the others and scream at them to leave, so she waited.

And waited.

And waited.

Until finally, Toph Beifong got her wish. As the crowd disappeared and all who remained were her closest friends, Toph only told them once that she wished to be alone. When they left her alone with Lin and his memorial, and as her friends waited at the bottom of the hill, Toph wept openly for him. For the drastic swerve her life took, for the inevitable reality that she’d spend more time separated from him than they were together, and for the change that the future held for her, because she no longer looked forward to it.

[yoditorian]

The Pancake King

javier peña/reader

yeah i know i said i had no more wip space but then i had a headcanon idea which turned into a note on my phone which turned into,,,,this, which might turn into something else but for now it’s a standalone oneshot that can be read as a sequel to this

main masterlist

word count: 2.5k // warnings: some swears, unnamed boyfriend cheating, food, work stress mentions

This week really, really doesn’t want to give you a break. 

The mountain of paperwork waiting for signatures and stamps only seems to get bigger, obscuring half the office from your little corner desk. Every time you have a moment to get through a few of them, you’re pulled into somebody else’s office for a meeting, or someone needs you to double check one of their own forms, or you have to clean up somebody else’s mess. As usual. 

And then there’s your life outside of work, if you can even call it that. But your air conditioner is broken and the mailman keeps giving your letters to everyone but you, it seems, and it’s too fucking hot during the day to have to deal with any of this shit. 

So you took the day, called in with a fake-cold and promised you’d be back in tomorrow. How much could the office fall apart in just one day? The air conditioning is still broken, but you’d gone out and bought three of the biggest fans you could find. Problem one, sort of solved. The mailman is his own mystery, seemingly vanishing into thin air as soon as you’d spotted him on the sidewalk, at least Connie was in to give you the mail that had gotten mixed up with hers. That, and you’d managed to sneak in some baby cuddles with Olivia. There’s not much you can do about the weather itself, besides wear as little as can be considered publicly decent and pray for the thunderstorm the weather forecast keeps promising is on its way. 

Only, as luck always has it, things get worse. 

You’d called the boyfriend you left back home, just like you do at the same time every Thursday night. And some chirpy woman had answered, introducing herself as his girlfriend. And that was the last straw. 

You can’t even remember what you told her, now. Something about how he could drop the key to your apartment back with your best friend, maybe something along the lines of how he can go fuck himself too. That sounds about right. You’d hung up before she could say anything else. 

It’s just you and the wall now, the television not even good enough company to quiet the stress of literally everything in your life. You’re vaguely aware of your stomach rumbling, although you’re not sure you have the energy to get up and root around in your fridge. You ate the last of the leftovers in there yesterday anyway, and you’re pretty sure everything else involves some kind of preparation. Which you really don’t have the energy for. Sleep, sleep can be your dinner tonight.

Javier and Steve get back from the office at the same time Connie comes trotting down the stairs to leave for a shift. 

“Can one of you check on them?” She asks, pulling on her cardigan to keep off the evening breeze. There’s something in her tone that has Javier’s brow furrowing even further than it usually is, and it doesn’t go unnoticed by either of the Murphys.

“Last time we spoke, I thought they were gonna hit me,” Steve raises his eyebrows in disbelief, a little too dramatically, “This one’s on you, Peña.” 

He’s off up the stairs before Javier can argue that he probably, definitely, is the last on the list of people you want to see if you’re having a bad day. He’s responsible for half the forms waiting on your desk, seemingly doubled over the course of the day. That, and his comforting skills aren’t exactly legendary. Connie, for all her tact, shrugs apologetically at him before she’s leaving too, and he’s left standing in the hall wondering exactly what it is he’s supposed to do now.

He remembers his bad day, the really bad one, a few months ago. How you turned up on his doorstep with homemade nachos and a smile, exactly what he needed before he even knew it himself. He hears his father in his head, waxing poetic about the way that people comfort others is often the way they like to be comforted. And, honestly, who doesn’t like a good meal when everything feels a little bit against them? 

Javier can’t cook, he’s not arrogant enough to pretend that he can make anything off the top of his head. Nor is he certain he has any of the ingredients for anything in the cookbook Steve had bought him as a joke for the Christmas just gone. There is one option though, he just hopes it’s the right one as he starts to pull a frying pan out of the cupboard. 

You’re surprised when there’s a knock at your door and you have to struggle out of your blanket for a minute, your ass numb from sitting on the ground for too long. It’s probably only Connie, checking that you’ve eaten. She’ll see right through your lie but you doubt she’ll push it, only remind you to eat breakfast with a stern look that you know she only pulls out for her most difficult patients. You’re not sure when that privilege extended to you. 

It’s not Connie. 

Javier stands in the light of the hallway, a foil covered plate in his hands, and looking like he’d rather be literally anywhere else. You start to wish you hadn’t worn your blanket like a cape to answer the door. 

“I, um-” He can’t seem to pick where to look, eyes settling somewhere to the right of your head before he tries again, “You had a bad day.” 

Oh, oh, he really couldn’t have tried harder. It’s an odd parallel of a moment, months ago, when you barged your way into his apartment with nachos and good intentions. There’s an uncomfortable swell of something right under your lungs and you beg it to stay quiet. He gestures with the plate in his hands, the smell of sugar and sweetness wafting out from underneath it, and your stomach gurgles. The sound pulls a giggle from both of you, and things start to feel a lot more comfortable. 

“Welcome to the pit of despair.” You laugh, gesturing for him to follow you in and toward the kitchen. 

You pull your last two clean forks out of the cutlery drawer as Javier sets the plate down on the kitchen table and reveals whatever it is he spent the time and effort to make. Just for you. 

Pancakes.

And, honestly, you couldn’t imagine anything more Javier. He barely leaves the office, and you’re pretty sure you’ve only ever seen him eat outside of his desk when Connie forces him to come to dinner. You can’t stop the smile that slips onto your face, the first one all week if you’re being honest. 

“What?” He asks, taking the fork you offer out to him and settling down in the chair across from you.

“You made me pancakes?” Your voice is smaller than you expect it, the intention of his actions catches in your throat and makes you a little more emotional than you thought it would. He looks like he’s about to say something else, but thinks better of it when you reach out with your fork and rip a chunk out of the stack of frankly perfect looking offerings. 

And they are perfect. Fluffy and light and sweet and wonderful. An odd juxtaposition to their chef, but you don’t think about it. You don’t think about anything, you sit and eat in silence and try to prolong this one moment of peace for as long as you can. 

It ends sooner than you want it to. Every last crumb devoured between the two of you, and suddenly everything doesn’t seem so bad. Pancakes will do that. 

He’’s gathering up the plate and forks before you can protest, moving wordlessly to tackle the pile of dishes that you’ve been ignoring in your sink for the last couple of days. 

Javier can’t help himself when he spots the stack of dishes behind you. You’ve looked like you’re on the verge of crying since you opened the door and if there’s one chore that’ll reduce someone to tears, it’s doing the dishes. So he doesn’t even think about it, just collects the empty plate and pulls the fork out of your hand and gets to work. 

You’re about to protest, tell him something about how you can deal with it, or that it’s late and he should go home, get some sleep. He knows you well enough, and your face when he turns to look at you over the shoulder as the hot water starts running proves as much. Just as you know the no-nonsense look on his face isn’t one you want to argue with. He waits, watching, for you to rise from the table and shuffle back towards the living room, listens carefully for the sound of you flopping onto the couch, before turning back to the sink and getting to work. 

It’s times like these he wishes he asked more questions, then he might know what prompted you to call out with a cold when you’re clearly the picture of health. Physically, anyway. Although sometimes he thinks you could be all kinds of sick, and that little voice in his head would still tell him you’re pretty. If he knew, or had any kind of hunch, he could help a little more than this. Pancakes and dirty dishes only go so far, although he’s never been great at comforting people beyond his cousins’ scraped knees when they were little. It’s not a case of ignoring any time you’ve opened up about your life outside of work, there’s always some part of his brain ready to soak up your every word like a sponge. Maybe it is as simple as that, maybe it’s just work that has gotten a bit too much. Maybe it’s a combination of things.

The dishes are neatly lined up on the drying rack before he even notices he’s finished, fishing around in the bottom of the sink for a full minute until he realises everything has been washed. 

You’re still sitting on the couch when he comes through to the living room, hands dried and clean. You shuffle up to make room for him, having just dumped yourself unceremoniously in the middle of the cushions, and keep your eyes on the dormant television in front of you. You’re expecting him to say something, to tell you it’ll be okay, or that everything will work itself out, or that it probably won’t seem like a big deal in the morning. He’d be right, it probably won’t. But right now, all you can feel is the weight that settled on your chest as the whole of the past week makes itself comfortable. 

You pull the blanket tighter against you, shoulders straining the thin fabric, as if you could squash all your problems until they disappear. But they only seem to get bigger.

“You remember my boyfriend, back home?” You’re quiet, more so than you had been earlier. As if you’re afraid of the words as you speak them.

He does remember. The guy came down to visit once, only a few weeks after you’d been transferred. Steve had done his best to befriend the guy, where Javier hadn’t extended anything beyond a handshake and a raised eyebrow in your direction. Not that he didn’t like him (he didn’t, still doesn’t, but that’s besides the point), but all Javier really remembers is your disappointment come Monday morning when you’d trudged into the office and told them he’d had to leave early. Work emergency. It had smelt like bullshit then, it smells like bullshit now. Still, he nods, and lets you continue.

“Not only mine, turns out.” It all comes out in one breath, and all he can do is watch as you curl even further into yourself. Scumbag. Sure, Javi’s been around the block a little, or a lot, but he’s never stooped so low as to cheat on anybody. He’s above that, at least. 

The barely audible sniffle from under your blanket pulls him right out of thinking of all the ways he could make this guy’s life hell back home, and he sends a prayer up to whoever’s listening that he won’t make it worse with what he’s about to do. 

A soft tug on the corner of your blanket is the only warning you get, and suddenly you’re being pulled across the length of the couch until you’re half in his lap.

“Javi.” You manage, barely hanging on to your composure. You know he knows that, but you don’t know why he won’t leave you to it. 

The look on your face just about breaks his heart. All big watery eyes and confusion, the nickname you so rarely use sounds so soft whispered in the air between you. You’re already beginning to crumble, if only from the way he’s holding you like you’ll shatter with the slightest breeze. Maybe you will.

It’s the tenderness that gets you, in the end. How he seems to just know what you need, far better than anyone else has in a long time. The weight of his arms around you, gentle but firm, makes it suddenly difficult to breathe past the lump in your throat as the tears start to fall. And Javier holds you through it all. Even though you’re both at an awkward angle and you’re pretty sure his leg is trapped underneath you, he doesn’t budge. It’s easy to forget, alongside your easy camaraderie with Steve, that Javier works with you all day every day too. 

It can’t be more than an hour later that he feels you slump against him and your breathing begins to even out, save for the occasional stray hiccup. Something about the way you’ve snuggled into him, head on his chest and fingers fisted in the soft black t-shirt he reserves for cold nights and bad days. A crack of thunder and sudden downpour of rain jolts you as you sleep, sends you even further into his embrace, and he holds you to him a little tighter. It’s nice, oddly. Even though having you so close makes his heart want to burst right out of his ribcage. 

At least the rain sends a welcome gust of cool air through the open bedroom window, swirling down the hall and mercifully circling around the living room. 

Javier tugs the blanket out from around you, just enough to cover the both of you, and shuffles as much as he dares to try and get comfortable. You need the sleep, and he’s not about to take it from you just for the sake of blood flow in his leg. You barely notice when he settles, comfortable even on your old couch and the weight of a grown human on top of him. His back will kill him in the morning, but you’ll have rested better for it and that’s a small price to pay. 

He tries not to think too hard about what that might mean. 

TAGLIST (add yourself here):

@bee-dameron @keeper0fthestars @thevoiceinyourheadx @firstofficerwiggles @1800-fight-me @ew-erin @chatterbean @darnitdraco @greeneyedblondie44

[twisted-crumpets]

Could i request the first kiss with fem!mc but with the vice dorm leaders, please? The other one was so good! 💕 Thankyou

Ayyyyy of course I can and welcome.

Also thank you for the kind words I really do appreciate them. 🖤

━━ Trey Clover ━━

Trey was always pretty observant and soon noticed how his feelings may not be as unrequited as he previously believed.

Pink blushes and eyes dreamily locked onto each other’s for too long was sort of a dead giveaway. However, Trey wished to formally explain his feelings for his S/O.

Unfortunately, an Unbirthday Party was coming up and whilst all of the treats were made, the roses were a far cry from done and Cater begged anyone who’d listen for help.

Hearing the third year’s desperate pleas, his darling decided to meet up with Trey so they could both tackle as many roses as possible.

The job wasn’t completely unpleasant, yes they both would rather be doing something perhaps a bit more enjoyable, but they both treasured each other’s company and the small talk was rather entertaining.

It wasn’t long before it finally clicked in Trey’s mind that they were alone and peered down at the girl who was honing her all into making a stubborn rose red.

“S/O, I’m sure you are well aware but I just wanted to say.. I love you.”

His darling nodded at first before taking a violent double take and glancing at Trey baffled and red at his casual confession.

“Hmm~ was it not obvious already? I would’ve thought you already knew.”

Teasingly chuckling at her, he pressed a gentle kiss against her crimson cheek, unable to hide his smirk. Cupping her warm face in his hands, he looked deep into her eyes to ask for permission before pressing his lips against hers.

The kiss was long and warm. It filled them both with a feeling of home and and comfort and neither of them wanted to leave.

Eventually, Trey pulled away, poking her still red face with his finger, unable to wipe his former smirk off of his face at her bashfulness.

The garden may not have been very finished, but they couldn’t care less when they had one another in their arms.

━━ Ruggie Bucchi ━━

Ruggie was worried. He always knew that he wanted to eventually confess how he feels to his love, but he knew that with essentially no money, he had limited resources.

Sneaking money out of Leona’s wallet little by little, Ruggie began to feel more confident in finding the perfect inspiration or possible gift for his beloved. As he stood in Sam’s shop, he felt a deep sense of regret for not just stealing a necklace to sell instead.

Prices so high it made him dizzy in the head and weak in the knees. Despair lingering in his chest.

That is, until he saw Trey buying some eggs which caused an idea take root in his mind. Baking was something couples did often and it did sound rather romantic. Plus, who was he to deny spending time with his love and filling his stomach for delicious doughnuts?

After class, S/O was nearly tackled to the floor by the blur that was Ruggie who had a strong determined look twinkling in his eyes.

“Shishishi sorry about that... hey! Uh before you go, I’ve been asked to make some treats by Leona, but I barely know much about it. Do you mind giving me a hand?”

Tentatively, his S/O nodded her head, eyebrow raised in bewilderment before parting ways, delighted and perplexed.

Making her way to the kitchen, she began to wonder what was in store. The hyena loved to play pranks, maybe he had one in store for her?

It was however a great relief to see the cheeky student frowning at the recipe as if it was in another language.

His ears cutely twitching hearing her giggles, his head shooting up and with a grin so wide that it could’ve split his face in two adorned on his face.

Hours passed and she couldn’t deny that the evening was very gratifying, with the happy chatter and raucous laughter that filled the room. When doing a count of the doughnuts that were laid out on her tray, she soon noticed one had gone missing and quickly informed Ruggie, teasingly questioning him about its whereabouts.

“Shishishi ahhhh S/O this has been gone for ages~~ you are too easy to trick!”

Placing it back on the tray, she observed the design on the surface, eyes widening to the size of dinner plates after resist to messy “I love you” scrawled onto the surface of the small treat.

Cooing at the sweet gesture, she wrapped her arms around the trickster and softly responded to his feelings, immediately feeling him let out a gigantic sigh of relief.

Pulling away slightly, she stared at his lips entranced before finally connecting them, a cute yelp escaping from the boy.

The kiss was sugary sweet and fluffy and many more was stolen by the playful thief, accompanied by booming laughter and warm doughnuts.

━━ Jade Leech ━━

The Monstro Lounge has always been a rather busy establishment and had many a particularly busy day. Today seemed to be one of them as the orders kept piling up and showed no signs of stopping. Tireless hours catering and cleaning, until finally the crowd has thinned until the room was empty once more and the Lounge was finally closed.

Weary and stressed, Jade decided to go to the school pool and unwind. The tranquil silence flooded the room and Jade slowly sank into the room watery depths, feeling himself becoming truly serene. Which was sadly interrupted by voices from above calling his name.

With a slightly irritated sigh, he heaved himself onto the pool’s edge, scanning his surroundings with narrowed eyes. That was until they befell onto his love and instantaneously softened.

“Oya? What are you doing here S/O? Surely it is due time for you to be back in your dorm?”

His stomach suddenly felt light and filled with his butterflies learning of his dearest’s concern for him and slowly shut his eyes, not expecting her to stay and hurried rush a variety of sentences jammed together creating one love fuelled mess.

Disheartened by the lack of reply, she went to leave, slightly embarrassed before she was stopped by a cool hand wrapped around her wrist, revealling a slightly pink Jade.

“I must inform you that your feelings are not unrequited.. I love you too, my flower.”

Tugging her wrist to kneel by the pool side, he tilted his head upwards and connected their lips, completely intoxicated by the contrast between their bodies.

Gasping for air, his darling didn’t notice the toothy smile spread across Jade’s face as he pulled her into the pool, wrapping her arms around his neck and connecting their lips once more.

Addictive kisses were stolen and exchanged and neither of them could ever wish for more as they melted into one another, hearts swelling with every touch.

━━ Jamil Viper ━━

Jamil was ready to pass out. His usual menial chores were increased tenfold as a result of Kalim and his impulsive decision to let his wild pets roam free inside the dorm.

The chaos of the day finally reaching its end, Jamil dragged himself towards his room, ready to sleep as soon as his head hit the pillow. Until, he set his eyes on his love sat patiently on his bed, instantly brightening and then furrowing her eyebrows in worry over the fatigue that seemed to radiate from every part of his body.

Ushering him to bed hurriedly, Jamil fought every urge to sleep as he inquired about why she waited for him at such a late hour.

When hearing her admit her worry for him, he scoffed and gently flicked her nose, thankful for the darkness of the room hiding the pink that was painted across his cheeks.

“That was rather foolish of you. This is my job and has always been, you don’t need to worry for me.”

He softened at her indignant whines of protest he brought her into a warm hug and sleepily murmured his feelings into her hair, blissfully unaware of what he just said until he felt his beloved stiffen up in his arms.

“Hmmmmm.... I love you, you know that right, Jewel?”

Calmly he apologised, unable to hide the slight disheartenment in his tone which left him as soon as he heard her shyly repeat his previous words.

Cradling her face, he pressed his lips to hers in a small tired kiss, lips moving in sync lazily. Tiredly pulling away, Jamil crawled under his covers and gestured for her to follow suite as he pressed his warm frame against hers and held her back close to his chest. His heart thumping wildly in joy, his brain still struggling to process the sheer amount of love he holds for his beloved.

“Goodnight my Jewel, I will wake you up in the morning.”

━━ Rook Hunt ━━

Rook had been acting suspicious. He already did have a shady appeal to him, but it was even more apparent than usual.

Whenever he appeared before her, his scent began to be rather sweet and fragrant and his hands where always stained green.

It didn’t help that he kept staring intently at his love like she was the last star in the sky, and despite his usual romantic bravado, this new behaviour screamed at her that he was planning something.

During the lunch break, Rook eagerly bounced up to her, hearts almost visible in his eyes, asking if she was free after school. Taken aback by his suddenness, she stood and stared for a while trying to gather her bearings. Agreeing apprehensively, she couldn’t hide the curiousity filling her eyes.

Upon hearing her reply, he could’ve sworn he entered heaven.

He almost launched her to the botanical garden, his heart running marathons, his mind a mess of thought out poems combining into one chaotic choir of infatuation.

With happiness radiating in every step, he took her to an picturesque area where an archway of orchids greeted them.

“Dear S/O, no amount of words could possibly describe how much my heart swoons for you, my love for you is as bountiful as the sea, encasing me in your radiance. This simple archway is a humble tribute to your golden heart, which I hope to one day own.”

Going weak at the knees at such a heartfelt confession, she responded with such excitability that could have put his to shame.

A stronger sense of devotion was glowing in the hunter’s eyes as he wrapped his toned arms around his love, span her in a circle, holding her close to his heart and kissed her with immense passion.

The kiss was fiery and warm and his darling could feel themselves melt even further into him.

The kiss went deeper and deeper, drowning them both.

Pulling away, Rook panted for air and presses his forehead against her’s.

“Hehe, ma bichette, our love seems to truly be written in the stars.” *

━━ Lilia Vanrouge ━━

Lilia was always very mysterious, but it truly did reach new levels of strange.

The mischievous fae had planned to hang out with his S/O a week in advance and seemed to be up to no good, with the telltale glint in his eyes being a dead giveaway.

Meeting up with his darling at her dormitory, he placed a hand on the small of her back, and began to lead her into the forest.

“Kufufufu I believe that in order for our small rendezvous to be truly enjoyable, one must insist for their guest to close their eyes and have faith in their partner. “

Apprehensively, she placed both hands into Lilia’s cold and calloused hands, shivering slightly at the temperature different between the two and closed her eyes, making her more aware of the sounds the dark forest created.

Sweet bird song and the light windy breeze clashed together in perfect harmony, gifting her the ability to completely relax and put her faith in the impish boy.

It felt as though they both had been walking for a millennia until she was finally stopped in her tracks, and the giggling from the man who was once before her turned silent.

Curiously, she opened her eyes and gasped in amazement. The scenery around her being nothing short of magnificent.

The moon had begun to peak out and painted the trees a beautiful silver. Small delicate beads of light flickering around, illuminating the forest gracefully.

Slowly turning around, she jumped at the sight of the usually talkative fae, quietly smiling lovingly at the innocent joy on his lover’s face.

“Sweet dove, the words I utter now are the words you are the true emotions that have taken flight within me. I love you. No, love isn’t enough, it scarcely passes as sufficient enough. There is no word that exists within any of the dictionaries in all the world that could possibly describe how much I cherish every part of you.”

Hearing her acceptance towards his feelings, he giggled so purely it reminded her of tinkling bells and elegantly dipped her, gazing at her loving expression that was aimed at no one but him and pressed his lips smoothly against hers.

He could’ve sworn that nothing fit quite so perfectly as the two of them, lips moving in sync, hearts beating a thunderous rhythm, joy and mirth beaming through their lovestruck grins.

*my doe

Thank you for this request and sorry it took a while, I was struggling with getting some of the characters right. I tried to make each confession specially tailored to how each character would go about love.

I hope you enjoyed your meal!